The seizure doesn't look like a normal seizure.

  That's my first thought as the Jumphead's back arches off the ground at an impossible angle, his limbs jerking in violent, uncoordinated movements. His eyes are wide open, glowing an unnatural turquoise, and electricity - actual visible electricity - crackles across his skin in blue-green waves. Definitely not normal electricity, either.

  "Everyone back!" Bulwark shouts, stepping between the kid and the gathering crowd of police and EMTs. "He is not stable!"

  Hector grabs my arm, pulling me away from our supply kit as a bolt of energy arcs from the seizing kid's fingertips to the metal clasp of a nearby medical bag, melting it instantly.

  "What the hell?" Deena whispers, backing toward our ambulance. "That's not normal Jump."

  It's not. Even from ten feet away, I can sense something wrong with his blood - not just the chemical signature of Jump, but something else, something that makes my blood sense tingle uncomfortably. The rhythm is all wrong, like his circulation is shorting out with every pulse.

  Damnit, I should've smelled it earlier. His blood is thin. Thinner than the usual Jump. Almost watery. His heartbeat is turbo-erratic, more than just nerves and panic would provide. I mean, well, it was, and now he's having a seizure.

  Bulwark steps closer to the Jumphead, his body rapidly transforming into full granite armor. It sort of just pulls itself together, like through the world's quickest-ending sandstorm, leaving his face exposed.

  Then, the electricity simply passes through the stone like it isn't there, wrapping around Bulwark's granite-covered arms and sending him stumbling backward with a surprised grunt. I see it happen in real time. An arc that sort of cuts through his rock, looking like a really bad movie effect, clipping through him.

  "Everyone, please stand back," he announces, sounding genuinely shocked. "This is not standard electrokinesis."

  The kid convulses harder, his back arching until I'm worried his spine might snap. Foam mixed with blood trickles from the corner of his mouth, and the electrical discharge intensifies, keeping everyone at bay. I hear the wail of additional ambulances in the distance, but they won't arrive for minutes. By then, it might be too late.

  I know what's happening. Status epilepticus - a seizure that doesn't stop on its own. Without intervention, his brain will literally cook itself with electrical activity. I remember from our training that anything over five minutes can cause permanent damage or death.

  Hector tries taking a couple of steps forward. No dice. Lightning lashes out at him like a clawing animal, scarring a scorch mark into the asphalt.

  "We need to administer something," I say, eyeing our medical kit. "Stop the seizure."

  "Yeah, and get fried in the process," Hector says, frustration evident in his voice. "And we can't wait for hazmat. There's an autoinjector of midazolam in the kit, but I think he'd just blow it to pieces"

  I look at the medical bag, then at Bulwark still shaking off the effects of the shock, then back at the kid whose lips are turning blue between gasps. My mind is racing through options, calculations, probabilities.

  "There's an autoinjector of midazolam in the kit," I repeat, my voice steadier than I feel. "I can do it."

  Hector and Deena both turn to stare at me like I've grown a second head.

  "Absolutely not," Deena says firmly. "That electricity could stop your heart."

  "I'm smaller, lighter. Less chance of serious damage," I argue, the lie slipping out easily. "And you guys are career EMTs. The city needs your experience more than mine."

  "That's not how this works," Hector begins, but I can see him weighing the options, watching the Jumphead's increasingly violent convulsions.

  "Give me the autoinjector and a bite block," I say, already moving toward the kit. "I'll be fine."

  "Sam--" Deena starts, trying to reach out for my wrist

  "We don't have time to argue!" I snap, yanking open the kit and looking for something labeled 'midazolam'. "Bite block. Now."

  Hector hesitates only a moment longer before grabbing a rubber mouth guard from the trauma kit and tossing it to me. "Straight into the thigh, hold for ten seconds. Then get the hell away from him."

  I nod, shoving the bite block between my teeth. It tastes like rubber and sanitizing chemicals. Behind me, I hear Deena radioing for additional medical support, her voice tight with controlled panic.

  Bulwark steps beside me, having given the Jumphead some well-deserved space. By now, onlookers have started watching - from windows, from sidewalks, from a safe distance. Is every single superpower incident a spectacle to you guys? "I will try to shield you as much as possible," he says, though we both know his armor won't stop whatever this is.

  "Get ready to pull me off if I can't let go," I tell him around the bite block, the words coming out garbled but understandable.

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  Then, before I can reconsider, I launch myself forward and drop to my knees beside the convulsing Jumphead. The effect is immediate and excruciating. Phantom electricity engulfs me, passing through my clothes and skin like they're not even there, setting every nerve ending on fire. My muscles spasm, nearly sending me toppling over. I watch it arc over and through me. It feels like the world's worst funnybone hit, everywhere, all at once.

  I bite down hard on the mouth guard, focusing through the pain. With shaking hands, I press the autoinjector against the kid's outer thigh and slam down, driving the needle home through his jeans. The electricity intensifies, my vision blurring with cyan-tinted spots. I have to stay conscious. Have to hold the injector in place.

  Click.

  One one-thousand. Two one-thousand. Three one-thousand.

  Each second stretches into eternity. I can't feel my extremities anymore, just white-hot pain radiating from my core. My heart pounds erratically in my chest - too fast, then skipping beats, then hammering again.

  Four one-thousand. Five one-thousand. Six one-thousand.

  The pain is so intense I can't even scream. My jaw is locked around the bite block, teeth grinding into the rubber. Somewhere, distantly, I hear shouting - Hector or Deena, maybe both. I try to focus on counting, on keeping my grip on the autoinjector.

  Seven one-thousand. Eight one-thousand. Nine one-thousand.

  My vision tunnels, darkness creeping in from the edges. I'm losing consciousness. My heart feels like it's seizing up, stammering in my chest like an engine trying to turn over in the dead of winter.

  Ten one-thousand. Click.

  I try to pull away, but my muscles won't respond. I'm locked in place, electricity coursing through me. Someone's shouting my name. Large granite hands grab me under the arms, yanking me backward despite the electricity arcing between us. Then I'm airborne for a moment before landing hard on the asphalt several feet away.

  The world goes silent, then black.

  I come back to consciousness with the taste of blood in my mouth and the sound of someone shouting commands. My chest hurts like someone's been doing CPR, which I realize a moment later is exactly what's happened. Deena is leaning over me, her face tight with concern.

  "She's back," she calls out, relief evident in her voice. "Sam? Can you hear me?"

  I try to nod, but my muscles aren't quite taking orders yet. Everything feels shaky and distant, like I'm watching through a foggy window. I manage to turn my head enough to see the Jumphead, now surrounded by newly-arrived paramedics. His seizure seems to have stopped. That's good. Worth it.

  "Stupid, brave kid," Hector mutters, checking my pulse. "Your heart stopped for twenty-three seconds."

  That explains the fuzzy feeling. Oxygen deprivation. I should probably be more concerned about that, but all I can think is that I've had worse. Getting disemboweled by Shrike puts temporary cardiac arrest in perspective.

  "The... the Jumphead?" I manage to croak.

  "Stabilizing," Deena says, sliding an oxygen mask over my face. "The midazolam worked. You probably saved his life."

  "Probably shortened yours," Hector adds, but there's grudging respect in his voice. "What were you thinking?"

  I wasn't thinking. Not really. Just reacting, falling back into the pattern that feels more natural than breathing - see danger, intervene, worry about consequences later. Dad's words from the gun range echo faintly: "Some responsibilities don't go away just because you're not actively using them."

  More EMTs arrive, taking over my care. I'm lifted onto a stretcher despite my weak protests that I can walk. As they're loading me into a different ambulance, I catch sight of Bulwark speaking with a group of paramedics and police officers, his expression grave.

  "...not the first case," I hear him saying. "Tainted Jump pills are appearing across the city. This is third incident this week."

  "Any idea who's responsible?" one of the officers asks.

  "Initial evidence points to the Kingdom of Keys," Bulwark replies. "They are intercepting Rogue Wave shipments, modifying the chemical compound, then releasing it back to street level distributors."

  "Why would they do that?" a paramedic asks, helping to secure another victim into an ambulance.

  "It is a gang war. They are warlords. It is not so different from where I came from. Well, not my home, but many like it. They are each competing over resources, like starving animals. If people are afraid of Jump, Rogue Wave has their market share decrease." Bulwark shakes his head. "The NSRA should be coordinating with hospitals, but they are being... difficult. Politics." He almost spits the last word.

  As my stretcher is secured into the ambulance, Bulwark breaks away from the group and approaches. The paramedics step aside respectfully - one of the perks of being a well-known hero.

  "Miss Small," he says quietly. "That was either very brave or very foolish."

  "Thin line between the two," I reply through the oxygen mask.

  His mouth quirks in a half-smile. "Indeed." Then, more seriously: "Your heart stopped."

  "I noticed."

  "Yet you seem remarkably untroubled by this."

  I shrug, wincing at how much effort it takes. "Better me than him. Or Hector. Or Deena."

  Bulwark studies me for a moment, his expression unreadable. "The Kingdom's involvement with these tainted Jump pills... This young man was doing business with men in suits. We would do well to be more vigilant around those in formalwear."

  I think about Nina, about the Kingdom nightclub where she worked. About Derek patrolling as the new Bloodhound. About Maggie's warning not to investigate alone. His words sound like a joke, but I can tell he's dead serious.

  "Always is with them," I say. "How's the, uh, Shrike injury?"

  He smiles at me. "I am recovering well. Well enough to continue work. But I do not think, well enough to handle full-body electrocution. I think my doctor would be upset if I re-opened my wounds that way. Or any way. I think you and I share that in common."

  I sort of nod, sort of grunt.

  He nods back, pulling his lips shut into a tighter smile, stepping back as the paramedics prepare to close the doors. "Rest, Miss Small. Philadelphia needs people willing to step forward when others step back."

  As the doors shut and the ambulance begins to move, I close my eyes, feeling the ache in my chest slowly beginning to fade as my body slowly breaks back into its natural rhythm. I begin to worry, just a little bit to myself - does cardiac arrest count as an "injury"? It's just my muscles not doing what they're supposed to. Could I have regenerated from that? Or did I just get very, very lucky?

  I broke my promise today - twice. Once with the rock, once with the seizure. Not exactly a great track record for someone supposedly retired from the hero business. But I couldn't not act. That's the problem.

  Dr. Kaplan would have a field day with this. So would my parents. I'm not looking forward to explaining how I managed to get myself electrocuted and technically killed on a routine EMT shift. But the Jumphead is alive. And I heard something useful - the Kingdom is tampering with Jump. Creating chaos. Testing compounds. Why? What's their endgame?

  I should let it go. I promised.

  But as the ambulance weaves through traffic, sirens wailing, I know I won't. Can't. Some responsibilities don't go away just because you're not actively using them.