The armor fired its left arm—a grappling hook, crude but functional. It wrapped around Jes's torso, yanked her off her feet. She hit the ground hard, the impact dividing into nothing but the surprise still jarring.
"Okay," she muttered, grabbing the cable.
"That's annoying."
She pulled. The armor pilot, not expecting resistance from someone her size, stumbled forward. Jes rolled aside, came up with the cable, and wrapped it around the armor's legs. One hard yank and the whole assembly toppled like a drunk robot.
Dante was a blur, circling. "I can't keep track of him. Every time I look away, I forget where he is."
"Then don't look away."
"Jes, I have four bombs to disarm in three minutes."
The forgettable man walked closer. Jes tried to keep him in her peripheral vision, but it was like trying to hold water in a sieve. Details leaked away. Was he closer? Farther? Had he moved at all?
"You're good," he said conversationally.
"But you can't fight what you can't remember."
The armor was up again, limping but functional. The pilot seemed to have figured out that bullets didn't work. Instead, he charged, arms wide, trying to grapple.
Jes ducked under, drove an elbow into the exposed wiring at the waist. Sparks flew. The armor seized, locked up mid-step.
"Your friend's not great at this," she called out to the forgettable man.
"He's a distraction," the man replied. "I'm the problem."
"Yeah, I'm getting that."
Dante stopped moving, standing perfectly still. "Jes. Idea."
"I'm listening."
"If I can't remember him, I can't anticipate him. But I can search everywhere he isn't."
"That's… actually smart." Jes retorted
"Don't sound so surprised." He was gone, a streak of motion that covered the entire block in seconds.
The forgettable man frowned. Maybe. It was hard to tell.
Jes kept her eyes on him—or tried to. "So what's the plan here? Blow up the block, rob the bank, fade into the crowd?"
"Something like that."
"And you thought a guy in a trash-can suit would help?" said Jes
"He's enthusiastic."
The armor finally rebooted, stumbling upright. The pilot seemed to have given up on sophistication. He just charged, swinging both arms like a drunk gorilla in a metal suit.
Jes sighed, stepped to the side, and swept his legs. The armor crashed face-first into the pavement. She stomped on the back of the helmet. Something crunched. The whole suit went limp.
"One down," she said.
"Two bombs down," Dante's voice crackled in her ear. "Two to go. Two minutes left."
The forgettable man didn't move. Didn't react. Just stood there, arms crossed, completely unremarkable.
Jes took a step toward him.
And forgot why.
She blinked, looking around. There was something… what was she doing? There'd been a fight. The armor. Right. She'd disabled the armor. And then…
Focus.
There was someone else. She knew there was someone else.
Where?
Her eyes slid across the street, finding nothing, seeing everything, remembering none of it.
"Dante," she said slowly. "I need you to describe the street to me."
"What?"
"Just do it. Everything you see."
"Uh… burned-out car. Broken storefront. Unconscious guy in a robot suit. Lamp post. Mailbox. Trash can. Traffic light—"
"Stop."
She turned, focusing on each object he'd named. Car. Storefront. Armor. Lamp post. Mailbox.
Traffic light.
Person.
Trash can.
Wait.
She rewound.
Traffic light.
Person.
Trash can.
There.
Person.
Trash can.
Person.
He was standing right there. Between the traffic light and the trash can. She forced herself to focus, to hold the image in her mind even as it tried to slip away.
"Found you," she whispered.
The man's expression shifted—surprise, maybe. Hard to tell.
Jes charged.
He tried to sidestep, but she'd already committed. Her shoulder caught him center mass. They both went down, tumbling across concrete.
Up close, the paradox was worse. His face was a blur. His features meaningless. But she could feel him—solid, real, present.
She grabbed his collar, hauled him up.
"Here's the thing about being forgettable," she said through gritted teeth.
"You can't be memorable enough to scare people. And if you can't scare them—"
She headbutted him. His head snapped back.
"—they're not afraid to hit you."
The man went limp.
Immediately, details snapped into focus. Brown hair. Hazel eyes. Scar on his left cheek. A face she'd recognize anywhere now that she'd actually seen it.
"Huh," she said. "You're actually pretty memorable when you're unconscious."
"Last bomb defused!" Dante announced,
appearing beside her. "With forty seconds to spare. I'd call that a—holy crap, that's what he looks like? I was picturing something way different."
"You were picturing anything at all?" Asked Jes
"Good point."said Dante