Victor's heel caught on the edge of the hallway rug. He didn't stumble; he turned the fall into a slide, his shoes squeaking against the hardwood like tortured mice. The air pressure in the house had changed. The wind outside was innocent; the sudden, vacuum-like displacement of air came from something massive entering the kitchen window at terminal velocity.
"Incoming!"
His voice cracked. Far from a heroic shout, it emerged as the high-pitched yelp of a man who knew exactly how much glass cost to replace.
Iron-Jaw, the cyborg who was supposed to be a walking fortress, was currently useless. The dirty electricity from the earlier surge was still flushing through his system, leaving him in a state of tactical hangover. He stood in the middle of the hallway, his mechanical eye spinning co
