“Scavenged,” said Stingray. Turning his head, he hacked up a glob of spit and sent it onto the platform. “We wouldn’t all still be scavenging for goods if it weren’t for your lot, now would we?”
Leroy lifted an eyebrow—or the muscle where an eyebrow would have been, but had been burned off ages ago. “If it wasn’t for our lot, then the boy with the barbed tail almost certainly would have been slaughtered at birth, his remains stuffed into a jar of formaldehyde for further examination.”
Stingray’s face contorted with anger, but Leroy went on, “Your Council has had domain over this city for almost ten years. If they haven’t managed to restore your economy, perhaps you should ask them what’s taking so long, rather than wasting your time blaming us.”
Frostbite dragged the ice shard to the side, leaving a thin cut beneath Cyanide’s chin. He flinched, but only slightly.
“Maybe if the Council wasn’t having to defend the people of this city from mindless attacks, they could focus on cleaning up the mess that villains like you made of this world.”
“Maybe,” said Leroy, “with so many prodigies brainwashed by their tutelage, they could stand to update their security measures.”
The ground rumbled again and Aftershock appeared at the entrance to one of the tunnels, each step he took sending mild quakes into the earth. “Nothing down that way but a bunch of moldy books.” Planting one hand on the ledge of the platform, he vaulted himself up to stand beside Stingray.
“You must not have looked very hard,” came a dry voice. Aftershock spun to see a dark form emerging from the tunnel he’d just left—Phobia’s pitch-black cloak forming as if made from the shadows themselves, the blade of his long scythe catching on the dim overhead lights. No loungewear for him, of course. Of their whole group, he was the only one Nova never saw outside of his uniform—the hooded cloak, the mask of shadows, the scythe that arced over his head. Also unlike Ingrid and Honey, Winston and Leroy, Phobia was the only member of the Anarchists whose given name remained a mystery. Sometimes Nova wondered if he had been born so terrifying from the start that his horrified parents had settled on Phobia even back then.
“They really are pathetically unobservant.”
Nova glanced up, to where Ingrid was sitting on the narrow pedestrian bridge that crossed over the tracks to the opposite platform, her long legs dangling through the rails.
“I’ve been up here this whole time and not once did they think to look up. Honestly, it’s amazing this city is functional at all with you people in charge.”
Frostbite snarled. “Get her down.”
Aftershock lifted one knee and stomped—hard. A fissure opened in the concrete, arcing toward the staircase. The ground split apart beneath the steps, a gap opening in the earth. The stairs slumped downward. The bridge tilted sharply. Ingrid leaped to her feet moments before the bolts holding the metal rails pulled free and the bridge careened to one side—half of it sinking into the chasm that Aftershock had made, the rest crashing down onto the tracks. Ingrid jumped clear of the bridge at the last moment, diving into a roll and coming to a crouch not far from Leroy’s train car.
“That’s better,” Frostbite said breezily, one hip jutting to the side.
Sparks flashed in Nova’s eyes. Taking a step back, she lifted the rifle, turning the barrel toward Aftershock. But no sooner had she found him in the sights than a figure moved between them.
She lowered the gun. Ingrid stood between her and the Renegade, her back to Nova. She reached back with one hand, sweeping her fingers in Nova’s direction.
Nova glared, annoyed at being shooed away like a pestering child.
She would have been even more annoyed, though, if a part of her didn’t know that Ingrid was right. It would be careless to give herself away, and what was she going to do with this gun and a handful of darts? Without any poison, an offensive attack would serve only as a minor annoyance.
“I recommend caution,” said Phobia, his raspy voice as patient as ever. “These are old tunnels with old foundations. You wouldn’t want us all to be buried alive, would you?” He spun his scythe overhead. “I wouldn’t mind so much, but I doubt that was your intention when you came to interrupt our repose.”
With Ingrid still blocking her view, Nova sank back between the wall and train car. She reached the metal rungs on the side of the car and, gripping the gun in one hand, scampered to the top. She stretched out on her stomach, inching forward until she could see the platform below.