Brass Eagle and Mug hurled the tenacious clones off their backs, but they seemed to be fervent clingers. Mug probably crushed one or two in the chaos, and Brass Eagle succeeded in ramming one into an empty, unbroken tank.

But their numbers were huge. The clones poured forth with the power of a thousand tidal waves, washing back and forth across the two men.

And just as suddenly as they had started, they stopped. Every clone stood in perfect stillness, mid-punch or jump, even, suspended in the air. Through the silence, slow, measured footsteps could be heard from the stairs. Eagle and Mug tried to look up, only to find that they were frozen as well.

The Caretaker’s voice drifted over to them.

“My, my, what have we here?” he said, showing uncharacteristic emotion, the triumph that comes with complete control over enemies. “It seems I’ve caught you two, if only I could catch the other three…”

Eagle lifted his eyes. The Caretaker stared at him with such unconcealed malice it felt tangible.