“You gotta stand, T-  Skitter.  Stand up.”

Hm. Sounds like there might be someone else around besides Grue and Bitch – otherwise he might not have caught himself like this, rule of using cape names while they’re in costume or no.

More through Grue’s efforts than my own, I was helped to my feet.  Every movement exacerbated the pain in my chest.

Except it also sounds like next to no time has passed, and Grue seems to be acting like Mannequin’s not there anymore…

I gingerly touched the site of the gunshot.  Flecks of what looked like glass fell as I ran my hand over the cloth.  Still couldn’t breathe.

Glass…?

Hm.

So here’s a thought that started forming in the back of my head a couple quotes back: What if the bullet was special in some way? Mannequin’s a tinker, he could absolutely come up with special ammunition, especially if it’s some sort of biocapsule.

The explosion had ignited every piece of rubbish at this end of the road that stood taller than the inch-high water level.  Grue and I weren’t, thankfully, blazing.  My hair hadn’t been ignited either, and perhaps most importantly, we hadn’t been pulverized by the shockwave.

Considering how close you were to the source, you’re probably quite lucky. Although I can’t imagine Grue’s darkness doesn’t have something to do with it.

…in fact I could see the darkness completely countering the shockwave, because it works similarly to sound. In a sense, the shockwave is sound.

It hadn’t been a huge explosion, but it had been substantial enough.

Yeah, seems that way.

“Bastard, back,” I said, tugging him to one side.  I wasn’t about to let a dog take a bullet for me.

Bitch so wouldn’t approve of that.

Besides, a part of me suspected that Mannequin was going to let me live so he could make me watch while he killed my friends and followers.

A part of me thinks that is absolutely correct.

I stared at his blank, featureless face, praying my instincts were telling me the truth.

The first rule of making yourself a human shield when you’re not actually that defensively tough (Skitter’s armor is tough, but we still don’t know if it’s bulletproof): There’s gotta be something keeping the attacker from just killing you first.

He stepped back, and I realized his foot had been on Grue’s chest.

I don’t blame Taylor for having a hard time keeping track of Mannequin’s various appendages.

I watched as Grue stood and then began limping toward me.  Bastard growled and tugged on the chain I held.

Somehow I feel like Bastard is going to be important to whatever solution this situation has? I’m not sure how, though.

I was in the process of reaching out for Grue to help steady him when I saw Mannequin move.  He closed his mouth, raised one hand, and I could see a hole appear in the base of his palm.  The barrel of a gun.

Here we go again!

Wait. Is he threatening to do it himself, implying “come on, like I wouldn’t survive that better than you”?

“No!” the word was as much a grunt as anything else as it came from my throat, too choked for me to say anything normal.  I grabbed for Grue as I’d planned and I shoved him to the ground.

Good move if he’s actually doing it.

Hmm… What if Bastard being a wolf means Bitch’s power makes him more bulletproof than the other doggos?

But Grue?  Grue had surrounded himself in a thick cloud of darkness, to the point that I couldn’t make out his arms and legs in the midst of it.  From what I could gather, he was getting some benefit from it, and was pushing the gas away.  How long could he sustain that, though?

Hmm.

We haven’t really seen any limit to how much dark gas he can produce, but there might be a time limit on how long he can match the pressure from Mannequin’s gas, as Mannequin continues to produce more of it. However, Mannequin’s gas is affected normally by fluid dynamics, while Grue can control his darkness.

Was the darkness filtering it out, or was he holding his breath, slowly suffocating?

…right, that would be bad too.

“Mannequin,” I said, sounding a million times more calm than I felt.  “You’re going to back off and you’re going to let him go.”

Let’s see if Taylor can bluff convincingly and make him think she’s going to throw a match into his cloud. (At least I think that’s where this is going.)

Although, knowing the cloud is small, she actually might do it.

He cocked his head to one side.

“I am?”

I raised the matchbook and, after checking again that my bugs were gas-free, lit it.  A handful of my bugs carried it into the air.

I said “throw”, but this possibility did occur to me a little bit back. I just forgot to acknowledge it.

This is basically Taylor’s way of “throwing”, anyway.

Mannequin looked at me, and his mouth was open, engaged in that same shuddering up and down movement as before.

Shake it!

I raised one hand to the fabric that covered my nose and mouth and backed away. 

Probably a good call.

Were Bitch and Sirius close enough to be getting gassed too?  I could feel bugs crawling on them.  Both were breathing, though Bitch’s breaths were rapid and hoarse. 

The bugs remaining alive is a good sign too.

My bugs were alive, as well, which meant they were safe where they were.

Yes, I already said that.

A quick test with my bugs told me the cloud around Mannequin was small, with a radius of about four or five feet.

I guess he already spent most of his built-up gas for the initial cloud that Bitch ran into.

There was no gas around me, either.  The bugs on me weren’t suffering, and they’d be the first to die or feel symptoms.

Smaller bodies, more susceptible. Makes sense to me.