“What am I looking at here?” Whitworth asked, with a little more impatience than he had intended. It had been a long day.

“A bullet,” Jackson replied. A round table stood between them. On it, was a tray holding a single terrible thing, a cylindrical case tapering at the neck to wrap around a sharp point.

“What’s so special about it?” Whitworth asked.

“We built it out of a .338 Lapua. The tip is lonsdaleite embedded in a tungsten core. Inside is a hollow chamber filled with Q-toxin.”

Whitworth raised a brow. He knew the answer, but just to make sure, he asked, “Who knows about this?”

“Two people, now,” Jackson said. He picked up the round like a poet cradling their muse. “The irony has not escaped me, but the truth is, if you want to take down a gifted, Q-toxin is among the best ways.”

“Yes, I suppose it served Hitler well enough when Zyklon-B only made some of his gifted prisoners sneeze,” Whitworth said with morbid mirth.

“This composition is diluted,” Jackson said simply.

Moments like this made Whitworth wary. The things Jackson did to get the job done, and with the indifference one would have taking out the trash.

“It should disable her,” Jackson continued, “if you ever feel the need to do so. The Q-toxin should denature the protein structures responsible for powering gifts and then break down without a trace. Though I do not know how the toxin would react when it comes in contact with those senary structures she possesses. As far as I know, Doctor Terelich has not made significant progress in understanding their function. Anyways…” He placed the round in Whitworth’s palm. “It’s your quandary now.”

“When I asked for a contingency I wasn’t quite expecting something like this, Jackson,” Whitworth said.

“Oh come on, I’m sure you’ve done worse in your long career.”

“Ever think about taking over my job?”

“No,” Jackson said, laughing.

--

Xiaoshu slammed his third skirmisher bot into the walls. Its metal chassis crumpled, but it still held out better than the concrete behind it. A spider web of cracks grew outward from the impact, splintering the side of the building.

His was a simple gift, category 3 strength. It came with a host of benefits to his health; splinters all but never happened, knives broke on his skin, and he could flip a car without trying too hard. He reminded himself of the count. Three kills, three victories; proof that he was worthy and the tally helped him focus.

But his concentration lapsed, and for a moment he thought of several years ago when he finally told his mother and father his dreams: to be a professional hero. And a frown had come upon their faces. They had looked to each other, as though unsure of what to say, as though the idea was so ridiculous they needed time to conceive of a gentle way to disarm their foolish son from pursuing such a goal.

“Your gift is… useful,” his father had said. “But don’t you think it would be better served elsewhere?”

And Xiaoshu had said, “What greater good is there than to serve the people?”

So his mother replied, “But it’s so dangerous to fight crime. You might get hurt!”

And Xiaoshu had said, “If it might be dangerous for me, then it is even more dangerous for ungifted.”

And so for the next few weeks they had tried in various ways to disillusion him from this dream, only to have him hold steadfast against all attempts. Until that fateful day the sky fell.

“See, son?” His father had said. “Not even Victory, with all her strength, could save all of us. And she is the greatest hero of our generation.”

“Please give up this dream,” his mother had added. “Focus on school instead.”

And Xiaoshu had said, “I do not want to compete with Victory. If I save even one person, then the world would have been a better place because of me.”

And there was nothing more they could say. What can be said against such blinding righteousness? It was, of course, also a useful shield.

The skirmisher bot still showed some signs of life, so Xiaoshu struck it in its head, pushing it further into the concrete wall. The cracks expanded. He struck it again, and again, and again, until his knuckles bled. He stood there, panting for a few breaths so that he could collect himself. The memory faded, and he could think clearly again. He left the metal carcass there. Seconds later the wall collapsed from the punishment.

Nearby, another machine warrior fell to pieces. Xiaoshu thought what he had done was excessive. He watched Lyssa—covered in black armor—rip a bot limb from limb, leaving ravines of glowing, half-molten metal in its body. Then her armor turned to dust and she fell to a knee, breathing harder than he had. Her face was slick with sweat and pale from exhaustion.

“You know, I’m kind of tired,” Xiaoshu said. “Can we take a breather?”

“No,” Lyssa said. “I can hear them. They’re still underneath all that.” She nodded at the mountain of rubble further down the street.

Xiaoshu had been surprised when Lyssa had passed the entrance practicum, and yet again when she made it through the first game. Now he was disturbed. She seemed to have become a completely different person than who she had been in high school. Sometimes she seemed to change in the middle of combat, then revert back to ‘normal’ when it was over.

“I hate to ask, but how do you know exactly?” He said.

Lyssa stood and kept moving.

“I have to go,” she said to no one in particular. “I have to go save them.”

She walked ahead.

A shadow rose out of the ground next to Xiaoshu, solidifying into a human being.

“What do you want to do about this?” Ecto asked.

Xiaoshu twitched. “My god, lady,” he said. “Don’t do that.”

“She wasn’t like this when we were part of Vortex’s team,” Ecto said.

“Driven?”

“Obsessive,” Ecto said.

“Hmm…” Xiaoshu wondered what should be done. “Maybe-”

The ground was shaking. A shadow turned the corner of a street and descended towards them. Windows shattered. Fragments of walls jutting out too far were scraped off as the shoulders of a category 5 machine rolled towards them.

“Is the gate open yet?” Xiaoshu asked.

“No,” Ecto said. “I checked a minute ago. Still red.”

The machine was seconds away. The ground was beginning to feel like a turbulent ocean from the thunderous steps. The smartest thing to do was to not engage. Xiaoshu planned to take Lyssa and sprint, but he only managed to make it two steps.

Lyssa stood to her feet unsteadily, then disappeared in a wisp of black smoke. An instant later a hot flash of light struck the machine’s torso. Xiaoshu flinched as a metallic scream clawed at his ears. A small figure was burrowing into the robotic enemy with sun-like claws, even as the armor was rippling apart like a pebble breaking the surface of a lake. Lyssa disappeared inside the machine. It clutched its stomach frantically, then jerked to the side, falling into a series of seizures and whining actuators. White light poured out of the wound and spilled from its joints. Finally, it fell to the ground one piece at a time.

They ran towards the smoking destruction just as Lyssa climbed out of it.

“That was amazing!” Xiaoshu said. “How did you- Lyssa? Are you okay?”

Lyssa stumbled towards them. She was clutching her chest. Her face looked more ghostly than Ecto. Without a word, she collapsed. Xiaoshu managed to catch her before she fell onto the asphalt.

He exchanged looks with Ecto.

“What do we do now?” He asked.