My eyes snap open at the sound of gunfire, and I'm in the hallway without a second thought. I manage to stay on my feet this time, though I do stumble a bit as I examine my surroundings. So far I've only seen my room, Mom's room, and this hallway, so I don't exactly know the layout of the facility. However, the lack of windows in any of those places implies that we're either underground or in the middle of the building. Odds of stray bullets reaching Mom are low. I head toward the exit sign down the hall to the left of my room; should be a staircase. Then my gut flares up and I duck under someone's attempted grab.

"Whoa, it's just me!" shouts Hannah as she dodges my elbow.

Oh, right. Paula said Hannah was coming before I fell asleep. Good. She'll know her way around. "Need my gear. Where's it hid?"

"I'm not letting you fight like this, George. You shouldn't be moving around at all. Tamara's got security people. They'll handle it."

"Like they handled Terence?"

"It's probably just randos."

"Then it won't hurt anything if I gear up. And if they do break through, I'll be ready."

Hannah raises an eyebrow. "Hit me."

"What?"

"Hit me. Because I don't think you ca-" I interrupt her with a swing from my good arm, but she steps aside. I switch to an elbow strike, but she leans back just far enough that I don't reach her, so I follow that with a knee, but a wave of nausea cuts that idea short. Then she starts circling me. I try to twist, but that annoys my danger sense as well, and she taps me lightly on my sore ribs before I can adjust. "See? You're slow and fragile. No fighting. Hiding is the thing to do."

"Yeah, you're right." But the gunfire isn't stopping. "No hand-to-hand. Traps and range are fair game. I need tools, and I still want my gear. If nothing else, I need to trade this stupid gown for clothes."

Hannah sighs. "Workshop's that way, around the corner on the left. I'll go grab your bag."

I head down the corridor as fast as I can without hurting myself. I can't help but flash back to Pharmedica, but I shove that aside. There's work to do. Now, where is it... Ah, there. Big double-doors to make it easy to move equipment through. I shoulder past one of them and scope the place out. A lathe, drill press, milling machine, bandsaw, soldering stations, beakers, Bunsen burners, fume hoods, other fun things... and Tamara, wrapping duct tape around a pressure tank and some gadgetry while she mutters to herself. "Knew I should've built those turrets. But no, I was being paranoid, they said..."

"Remote release valve?"

She jumps a little, then turns to grin at me. "Exactly." Her grin inverts. "You're out of bed."

"Can't sleep with all that gunfire, and I'm pretty sure it's technically tomorrow now. I'd know for sure if somebody hadn't taken my watch and put me in this idiotic gown. What are we facing up there, anyway?"

"Butterfly Flock. At least twenty. We have seven well entrenched guards, but two are newbies."

"Is the Flock still suspiciously non-super?"

"Yup," she says with a nod. "Makes our job easier." She points at a pair of extra tanks and parts. "If you're going to insist on aggravating your wounds, be productive about it."

"That was the idea." I get to work replicating her improvised gas trap as she starts rooting through drawers. My cast is making this awkward, but I can still use my fingers, so it's manageable. "Do we know why they're here?"

Tamara snorts. "Looting medical supplies, I assume. The stores have been picked clean and the police are guarding the hospital." She tosses me a respirator like the one already hanging from her own neck before grabbing the other unused tank.

"I take it you don't think throwing some first-aid kits at them will help?"

She laughs darkly. "This is a biotech firm, not a pharmacy. We've got some supplies for doing experimental surgeries or treating accidents, but probably nowhere near as much as those idiots expect. Certainly not enough to patch up all the injuries they're getting trying to make it past Ian." She glances at me for a moment. "And I already used a good part of what I did have putting you and Patty back together."

"Thanks, by the way. I should have said that before, but I was distracted by the food. I'd thought we were goners."

"I take care of my people. But the one you really should thank is Ray Llewelyn. I'm no surgeon. He's back at Tonbosa Memorial right now though, so it'll have to wait."

I nod and we load the four finished gas traps onto a cart. "What's in these, anyway? Chlorine?"

"Yep. I'm going to go put these in place in case our perimeter's breached. You stay here and see if you can come up with anything else. Ian's crew will be running out of ammo soon."

"Right." I look around the workshop as she rolls the cart out.

Half a minute later the doors open again and Hanna comes in with my pack. "Penny for your thoughts?"

"Over the long term, flechettes. There's plenty of metal stuff to make flechettes from, as long as we still have electricity or hacksaw blades to cut it with. We'll need a way to accelerate it. Pressurized air, or strong electromagnets, or exploding hydrogen. We've probably got plenty of cleaning supplies to make hydrogen and other fun gasses from, or we can use electrolysis. They could counter flechettes with improvised shields. Tables from one of the offices. Tables are flammable, the wooden ones anyway, especially if we soak them in accelerant ahead of time, but we don't want to burn the place down around us if we can help it, and I don't know if Paula can affect flames she didn't create herself. Might be better to douse the hallways in water and then electrify them. The survivors might react by finding and destroying our connection to the grid. Does Tamara have backup generators?"

"I have no idea." She laughs and gives me a careful hug. "I'm glad you woke up, George. I missed your brand of crazy. Here's your stuff. Do I want to know what's up with the respirator?"

"We made chlorine bombs. Check that drawer over there to see if she's got an extra you could wear."

"What?" she says a little shrilly. "And what about your mom?"

"She's already on oxygen. But we should be fine down here anyway." I rub my chin. "Flechette guns are only practical as a long term solution, if this fight becomes a siege. I need to think shorter term, something we can build in the next few minutes..."

Hannah sighs and pulls a respirator over her head to check the fit, then slides it up onto her forehead. "Isn't chlorine denser than air?"

"Well, yeah."

"George, we're underground."

"Mmm hmm. So if you see a pale yellow gas caressing your feet, don't crouch down and breathe it. But what good is bug bombing the Butterflies if it spreads out and leaks down here instead of staying bunched up where they can enjoy it? Tamara's not stupid, and this was her idea. She'll find a way to make sure it stays contained up there." I fish my Skullbuzzers out of my pack. They're good as new. "Is Joe here, or is he at the Wheelhouse?"

"It's three in the morning. He's at home, asleep."

"Oh. Didn't realize it was that late." I squint at Hannah. "But you're here. Is everything alright with your folks?"

She shrugs. "They were fine when I checked on them yesterday."

"You mean you aren't even..." She glares at me and I trail off. "Okay then. Minding my own business." I set the Skullbuzzers aside and root through my pack for my spare clothes. "Speaking of privacy..." She steps out while I dress and armor up. It's a bit awkward with the injuries, and I have to cut the right sleeve off my shirt to get my cast through it, but I manage. "Much better!" I've only got the use of my left Pepper Fist, but that's alright. Just having wheels on my feet again makes me feel lighter, and pulling down my mask erases a lump of anxiety I hadn't realized I'd been feeling. "Done!"

Hannah comes back inside. "Okay, so now what?"

I point at the ceiling. "Hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Exactly. Either it's over, or both sides are out of bullets and things are about to get ugly." I eye a blowtorch and some tubing as ideas begin taking shape.

Hannah starts to say something, but her phone buzzes and my Skullbuzzers hiss into life. "Wheels, Halon. Masked Flame here. T said to let you know we've got it under control before you do anything reckless."

I grin at Hannah behind my mask. "Excellent. Did you find Dillan?"

"Yep, he's here, but he's pretty worn out right now. He'll need to rest. We'll meet you down there. Get some clothes on. Your stuff's in an office-"

"Already done. Halon hooked me up. No trouble finding him?"

"Definitely trouble. Halon didn't tell you? I've been keeping her informed."

"He just woke up," Hannah says into her phone. "Didn't have a chance."

"Ah. Nothing we couldn't handle, Wheels."

"We?" I ask. "Dillan helped?"

"A little. Fair warning: I had to bring Cupid and Buckler, and they wouldn't let me blindfold them. I was going to help you sneak out and meet them nearby, but then we heard the shooting."

I turn to Hannah as we head for the door. "Buckler? How is he involved?"

She shrugs. "She said he was in the tree house with Cupid and Dillan."

"Yeah," says Paula. "He makes a shield. Useful guy."

That doesn't add up. I mute my mic and whisper to Hannah. "When did Frank join the Fist? Did Carrie join too?"

Hannah creases her eyebrows. "What?" Then her expression clears up. "Oh, no, not that Buckler. I forgot we were calling him that. This is one of Dillan's friends from the Fist of Doom."

"Ah, gotcha." I think for a moment and unmute. "Don't bring them all the way down here, Flame. Not until you've got some backup to make sure they behave."

"Too late," she says as the door to the staircase opens and she steps out, followed by Cupid and a boy I don't recognize carrying Dillan between them. They're all out of costume, though Cupid has his bow and quiver. "I'm not worried about it," she continues. "These two are okay in my book."

I glance at Hannah and note that she's pulled on her respirator for the sake of privacy. Good. "What happened to Dillan?" I ask.

"Sleeping," says Cupid. "Worked too hard today."

"She told you what we need?"

"Said you're too hurt to fight. You look fine to me." I raise my cast and he rolls his eyes. "Like that would slow you down. You'd just use it as a club."

"The broken ribs are harder to weaponize. But the real problem, as far as I'm concerned, is my- the lady in that room. She's... not well. Might not make it."

Cupid winces. "Sorry, man, that sucks. Do you think she can hold it together a few more hours? Dilly here is spent. I might be able to wake him up in an hour or so, but he won't be good for much more than a patch job if we don't give him a few hours of sleep first." He glances at Paula. "She might need a redo too. Noticed her wincing a lot since the fight."

"They shot you?" I ask.

"The Butterflies?" She shakes her head. "No. We ran into Hemopalooza. One had laser eyes."

"Great. Superpowered white supremacists. That's the last thing we need. It's going to just feed into all that ubermensch Nazi garbage."

"Yeah, about that. I have bad news."

"That wasn't the bad news?"

"Pharmedica's 'serum' is just blood from other supers." She pauses to let that sink in for a moment. "Hemopalooza is aware of this, and according to Cupid here, they might be cooperating with Pharmedica as well."

"Oh hell."

Cupid nods. "Yeah, I saw one of them on Pharmedica's team. Mighta been coincidence, but..."

Paula sighs. "So basically, they've transcended caring about race and are going around injecting people of all colors with their own blood as a sort of cleansing ritual, and I assume they're conscripting the survivors and murdering the ones who don't play along."

"Or keeping them as blood stock," Hannah suggests quietly.

"...Or that."

I heave out a breath. "Well, I've- we've got our work cut out for us, then. First things first. Let's find Dillan a bed, then we can spend a few hours planning while he sleeps." I check my pockets and find that they are devoid of granola bars. "Gonna need some more food too..."