Tar looked down at his hands. Blood was beginning to ooze from a thousand tiny cuts that etched his skin.
Kat-grrl, getting up from where she’d flung herself prone behind a panel van, sniffed the air, and then bounded across the street to him, covering the distance in three graceful leaps.
“That was some blast. Are you okay?”
He held up his hands as small droplets began to sprinkle the sidewalk, dark red on off-white. The black tar that covered the rest of his body flowed up from his arms, recovering his skin and staunching the blood. He winced.
“Stings a bit. Like I just washed my hands with sandpaper.” He looked around. “Anyone else hurt?”
“Yours was the only blood I could smell. Ransack is gone.”
“Yeah, he boosted it to the rooftop over there just before it went off.”
“And the reporters are around the corner over there.”
“I’m surprised they haven’t come out yet.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Well, it sounds like the woman dropped her equipment. She’s probably going to need a broom.”
“And the other guy is helping her?”
Kat-grrl shook her head. “No. No, he needs to change his underwear.”