Still muttering about unannounced telekinesis, Voln stepped over the thug in the water, leaving him to gurgle a trail of agonised bubbles into the muddy puddle. He approached the leading man, who was rubbing at a fresh cut on his forehead and wearing an expression more normally associated with toddlers deprived of candy.

“I’m bleeding!” the unsuccessful attacker whined. “From the head! That’s the worst kind of blood-losing!”

“Man, you could’ve been a doctor with that kind of diagnostic ability.” Voln picked him up. “How much money you got on you?”

“Voln!” Cerrekk snapped.

“What?” said Voln, as if hurt by his colleague’s tone. “He wanted to take ours, and I’m running short on the physical stuff. Most of my credit is digital but, you know, the Undergound’s market prefers using-”

“We are not going to… counter-mug the man. That’s not how we operate. We’re professionals.”

Voln snorted. “Yeah, whatever. You just stole a guy’s shoe.”