In the same moment, Stingray spun and lashed his barbed tail at Honey. The venomous spines caught her in the side and her cry of surprise turned to one of pain as her body went rigid and collapsed. In almost the same motion, Stingray swung the tail back toward Leroy, stinging him in the shoulder as he tried to back away. Leroy froze, then tipped backward, landing hard on the concrete.
Nova pulled the gun closer, this time targeting Stingray. But his attack had already ceased, leaving Honey slumped awkwardly over the fallen shelving unit, and Leroy motionless except for his eyes, which were blinking rapidly as he gaped toward the low ceiling. Nova was not exactly sure what sort of venom Stingray had in his tail, but they both appeared paralyzed, motionless but for twitching limbs as the venom rushed through their veins.
Ingrid roared and charged toward the platform, a sphere of blue energy swirling in her cupped palm. Frostbite thrust her hand toward Ingrid’s feet and a stream of ice shot out from her skin, forming a small glacier around Ingrid’s legs. Ingrid cried out in surprise and barely caught herself, her momentum carrying her upper half forward while the ice held her feet cemented to the tracks. The bomb she’d been crafting evaporated as her focus transitioned from fury to bewilderment.
“You seem to be the last Anarchist standing,” said Frostbite, nonchalantly popping off a few ice crystals that had formed on her knuckles and letting them fall to the ground. “For now, that is. Humor me—is there any reason why we shouldn’t kill you all after what happened at the parade today?”
Ingrid snarled. Blue energy began to hum around her hands again. “I wasn’t at your stupid parade,” she said, and even though Nova knew it was a lie, she found it to be a shockingly convincing one.
“I don’t care,” said Frostbite. “Winston Pratt led an attack against the innocent people of Gatlon City, and it’s my job to make sure that’s the last time our civilians will ever be terrorized by an Anarchist.”
“Winston Pratt attacked your parade, and to my knowledge, you now have him in custody,” said Ingrid. “So what do you want with us?”
Frostbite snorted. “You expect me to believe that imbecile was working alone?”
“That’s exactly what I expect you to believe,” Ingrid said. She seemed to relax, her snarl turning to a cool glare. “And you and I both know you don’t have any evidence to suggest otherwise, because if you did, we wouldn’t be having this chat while you wait for me to say something that will incriminate myself or the others.” She started to toss the glowing bomb into the air, catching it easily every time it came back down. “I’ve seen your Council’s edicts. No one shall be found guilty by mere association, right? So don’t threaten us, sweetheart. And good luck finding something that will connect us to the Puppeteer’s crimes. He was on his own today. We had nothing to do with it.”
Frostbite moved forward until the toes of her boots hung over the edge of the platform. “I don’t need to connect you to the attack on the parade,” she said, waggling her fingers. A new stream of ice shot toward Ingrid. The block of ice around her legs grew larger, expanding over her thighs and hips. “To attack a Renegade is an offense of the highest order. With your temper, it won’t be that hard to get you to lash out. Sort of like poking a rabid dog, now that I think about it.”
Ingrid hissed as the column of ice made its way over her abdomen. She had stopped tossing the bomb and was gripping it in one fist.
“I know what you’re thinking,” said Frostbite. “You’ll insist it was self-defense. Except … without anyone being here to witness it, who’s going to believe your word over mine? An Anarchist versus a celebrated Renegade.” She clicked her tongue in feigned pity. “It seems you have a decision to make. Attack me, and we’ll arrest you. Or confess your involvement at the parade today, and we’ll still arrest you, but we’ll be a bit nicer about it.” She shrugged. “Or do nothing. What do you think will kill you first? The cold or suffocation? I’d bet on the latter, myself.”
The ice made its way over Ingrid’s chest and began to climb over her shoulders. Soon she would have no use of her arms, or her bombs, at all.
Nova squeezed her eyes shut, trying to think clearly despite the way her veins were pulsing, hot and steady.
These were the superheroes the world idolized? Maybe Ingrid wasn’t wholly innocent. Maybe none of them were, but then, the Renegades weren’t, either. Here they were, torturing Ingrid, trying to force a false confession. They had ruined Honey’s hives, caused destruction in their tunnels, torn through the supplies they needed for survival, all in an effort to find a legitimate excuse to have them imprisoned.
Her finger slipped over the trigger. She opened her eyes and her vision seemed suddenly clear. Her mind free of obstructions.
She found Frostbite through the scope.
Maybe the darts weren’t poisoned, but that didn’t mean a well-targeted shot couldn’t do plenty of damage.
She focused on Frostbite’s eye, which was pale blue. Lighter than Captain Chromium’s, but not by much.
The trigger pressed into her finger.
She had just begun to squeeze when a cascade of fire, bright and blazing, roared across the tracks.
CHAPTER NINE
NOVA GASPED AND PULLED BACK, peering over the edge of the train car.
The tracks were on fire.
No—it was a column of flame shooting out from the shadows. In seconds it had burned through the channel of ice between Ingrid and Frostbite.
Frostbite cursed and drew back, spinning toward the tunnel as heavy footsteps clanged off the walls.
Nova’s jaw dropped as he came into view, his armored suit somehow more ominous emerging from the darkness than it had been beneath the sunshine on the city’s rooftops.
The Sentinel.
“Much as I would love to see each of these villains behind bars,” he said, his voice steady and low, “something tells me the Council wouldn’t approve of your methods for arresting them.”
“And who are you?” Frostbite said, curling her fist and forming another long shard of ice. “The Council’s lapdog?”