The less I talk, the better. I've started holding my breath. Without access to my gas mask, all of this comes down to a race. I've had enough exposure to my own tools that the dizziness isn't instantaneous, but in the end, a single full breath should be enough to knock out several people in the immediate vicinity, once the gas has spread— I'm no exception to that rule. And a man can only survive without air for so long. The more he talks, the more silence he seeks to fill, the better my odds are. Something tells me I need all the luck I can get, too.

Another cave, though— I wonder what this man has heard. I wonder just how many secrets Jason has armed his allies with, but if there's anything to take comfort from, it's the sense I've gotten that this man isn't fighting to kill. He's hardly drawn blood. Everything falls under an effort to knock me unconscious, where stars are still forming at the corners of my vision.

I wrench my arm suddenly in his grasp, relying on the slight give of glove and gauntlet to whirl myself around, facing him again, one hand freeing in time to try and send my palm directly in his face, the two broken halves of the pellet still pressed there.