“The bubble continues below London,” Quake says. “Also, it is impregnable. I cannot pass.”
Quake moves through and disturbs solid matter. He travels underground, amongst deep roots, fossils, and buried history.
This is his home turf. His parents, Russian emigrants, wanted a life of finance for him, of old school ties and a political future. They named him Quentin, cruel fuel for public school bullies. He renamed himself Quake.
“So,” Alpha takes stock, “it’s resistant to physical strength, to phasing and to teleportation.”
“Effectively muzzling us,” Thunder says. “Alien tech?”
“Like none we’ve encountered. We’re in England. I’m guessing magic.”