Stops a powerful bullet

CRACK came the sickening sound of shattering bone. Vista’s right arm exploded, vanished, between blinks. Red blood spurted from the wound, splattered like raindrops all over the pavement — more, way more than seemed possible for a single person, from a girl her size. She did a nauseating mockery of a pirouette, completed one full spin, more blood surging from the stump of her shoulder, then collapsed onto her back like a puppet with severed strings.

For a long moment, we were all frozen, and we stood there, stunned. A puddle began to form underneath her, a gushing torrent of vivid red — blood, oh god, there was so much blood — that darkened the road and seeped out along the asphalt, expanding rapidly. My brain stuttered, died, tried to wrap itself around what my eyes were seeing, what was right in front of me, because it didn’t make sense. One second, Vista was fine, shouting, yelling, spewing anger at anyone in range. The next, oh my god, her arm is gone!

My stomach churned threateningly. My mouth was dry as a bone. There was no Siegfried in my head to offer experience and control.

CRACK came a sound like distant thunder.

It was Vista screaming that broke the echoing silence, the chilling, hair-raising sound of her screaming her lungs out. She thrashed on the ground as though trying to kill an invisible fire, kicking with her legs as her remaining hand went to her mutilated shoulder, rocking back and forth in her own blood.

For just an instant, for a fraction of a second, I was back in that alleyway, unable to see, unable to hear anything but my own screams, unable to feel anything but the agony of every nerve set ablaze. I was the one rolling on the ground, trying to douse flames that weren’t there, wishing, begging for it to just end.

Around us, the altered space snapped back to its natural shape and size, returning us to a normal street in the middle of Old Town. Vista’s power collapsed as suddenly as she did.

It was enough to set us all back into motion.

“SNIPER!” someone shouted. It might have been Clockblocker.

“Get out of the open!” commanded Victoria.

I made to move and duck out of the way, but before I could do anything, something slammed into me, forcing me back a step, and tinkled as it fell onto the road. When I looked down, there was a deformed metal disk, roughly the size of a silver dollar.

A bullet.

Someone was trying to kill me.