Price of Blood [Worm fanfic] (Complete)

[pepperjack]

Could be unfrozen by then. We don't have a specific time frame.

Click to shrink...

Maybe, but the scene suggested an immobile trooper to me. If I missed some evidence to the contrary, please do point it out to me.

 

[Darkarma]

Maybe, but the scene suggested an immobile trooper to me. If I missed some evidence to the contrary, please do point it out to me.

Click to shrink...

Without giving her a chance to reply, he ended the call. Time was critical now; he sent a text to Corporal Reed's burner phone. SHADOW STALKER COMING YOUR WAY. IMPERATIVE THAT SHE ESCAPES.

Click to shrink...

Its a phone so like not directly attached to the guard in question. Most likely.

"Watch him. When he unfreezes, disarm and secure him. The brass is gonna want to have words with him."

Click to shrink...

Time enough for reinforcement arrives so probably well after the 30 second minimum of his freezing power. Also they are prepared for him to unfreeze

"Attention. We are no longer under lockdown. Personnel may now move freely about the building. Thank you."

Click to shrink...

This probably only happens after they get confirmation that Shadow Stalker went through the window, likely when Aegis spots her outside. So a reasonable amount of time has passed to enable Aegis to get through all the security precautions and get outside.

"Shit," he muttered. He'd know Armsmaster's helmet anywhere. A gauntleted hand, made enormous by proximity, loomed on his screen. He saw the camera come on!

Click to shrink...

We could argue that he hasn't removed the phone but it may be stuck in the guy's hand to pocket. It really depends on how much of the person Clock tagged, but my guess is they just relieved him of his devices after he unfroze.

At least that's my take.

 

[pepperjack]

He accessed a very customised app on his phone; this gave him specific access to a certain number of modified handsets. Selecting Reed's, he activated the camera function. An image swam on to his screen, then sharpened.

Click to shrink...

...for some reason, I'd assumed this was referring to a trooper's helmet, not his phone. Maybe I read "handsets" as "headsets"?

 

[Ack]

timeline:

SS flees from Wards section. Goes into air ducts.

AM and Aegis start up the stairs.

SS calls Coil. he tells her to get to the fifth floor.

He texts the traitor.

The air ducts start up as AM starts the announcement about lockdown

SS gets out of the ducts at the end of the announcement.

Danny sticks his head out the door just after the traitor finishes reading the text

Delta Squad (on that floor) gets word that the blockage in the duct was over the mens' bathroom.

SS goes to the womens' bathroom. Delta goes into the mens' bathroom.

SS goes into the ceiling just as the rest of Delta goes into the womens' bathroom.

She drops down into the corridor, the traitor turns his back, she dives into the infirmary.

CB and Gallant come around the corner as the troopers emerge from the bathrooms.

They get to the door just as Danny sees SS at Taylor's bed.

CB freezes the traitor, Gallant tries to stop SS. She gets away.

Gallant contacts AM, who sends Aegis after SS.

The traitor unfreezes, they take him into custody. AM gets the phone.

Calvert hears the all clear then checks on the traitor's phone. AM is just about to investigate it.

 

[Biigoh]

Coil got lucky... in the time frame he checked his minion's phone.

 

[edale]

Prediction: Dragon was actively monitoring the computer systems when Calvert shredded those files, so noticed the activity.

Odds of being true: ~20%

 

[Cailin]

With the name of the story I was terrified for Danny when Sophia was going to end up in the room with him.

 

[Ack]

Price of Blood


Part Eight: Loose Threads


Armsmaster

Something went pop inside the cell phone, and smoke drifted out of the case; Colin swore. Giving up on finesse, he levered the phone apart. There, where the SIM card should have been, was a crater of molten plastic. He could also smell the unmistakeable acrid odour of thermite, as well as a lot more smoke.

"Fuck," he muttered again.

"Problem?" asked Dragon. "Oh. I see. A burner phone, then?"

"It appears so," he muttered, before he realised what she'd said. "That was bad."

A muted fire alarm began to beep in sync with the flashing of a red button on the wall. He tapped the button to forestall a shower of fire-retardant foam. This was a precaution that he'd installed years ago. It was a pain cleaning foam out of everything if his soldering iron produced a little too much smoke.

Dragon grinned, her eyes twinkling. "I try."

Colin glumly surveyed the ruin of the interior of the phone. "Well, I'm not going to get anything more out of this."

"I might be able to."

His head came up. "What?"

She shrugged. "Leave it on your workbench. Give me access to your waldoes. I'll see what I can find while you go and interrogate the man you got it off."

Standing up from the workbench, he put his hands in the small of his back and pushed, eliciting several pops from his spine. "Have I ever told you how good a friend you really are?"

"I could always stand to hear it a bit more." There was something else behind her smile, but he wasn't quite sure what it was.

He lifted the helmet off the bench and put it on. "Well, you are. Let me know what you figure out."

"Aye aye, cap'n." Her smile had morphed back into a grin.

Shaking his head, he exited the workshop.

<><>​

Shadow Stalker

West and Farley. She put one foot on the parapet on the edge of the roof, looking down at the intersection. At this time of night, traffic was non-existent, and there were very few cars parked around. As such, her target was easy to spot. There's the van.

However, there was a precaution that she had yet to take. From sheer reflex, she glanced around. Nobody in sight. I've got a minute. Taking out the burner phone, she pressed the power button to turn it all the way off, then tucked it and the earpiece into a pouch on the back of her belt. Playing it by ear from here on in.

Stepping from the roof, she went to shadow and drifted down. The moment she touched solid ground, she changed back to her normal form and stepped up to the van. Whoever was inside was on the ball; the side door slid open as she approached.

"Get in," growled the big man inside.

For a long moment, she hesitated. This is it. I can walk away, go back, and let the operation tank. Or I can step up, put my life on the line, and bring these assholes down.

Put that way, it wasn't really a choice. She climbed into the van. The door slammed shut. Sophia found herself sitting down more or less involuntarily as the van started off. There was a screen behind the driver's seat, so she couldn't see who was in the front of the vehicle, but she was sharing the rear compartment with two large men. She refused to let the crawling sensation in the vicinity of her spine take over the rest of her body.

One of the men held out a hand roughly the size of Sophia's head. "Phone."

"What?"

He gestured. "Phone. They can trace it, ya know."

"I handed over my Wards phone earlier."

"That's good," he said patiently, "but you got another phone, right? Private one? Soon as they realise you've defected, they'll be on that like gold on Scion. GPS is a thing, ya know."

"Oh." Belatedly, she realised that he was right. She took it out, but before she could take the back off to get to the battery, he plucked it from her fingers. "Hey! That's mine!"

"Just a phone." He dropped it into a silvery bag, which he sealed tight. "Right now, it's useless to ya. Worse than useless. It's a fuckin' time bomb."

"It's still mine." She gauged her chances of winning a fight in the van. Against two large opponents, in cramped conditions? Not good. And what if I blow my cover? Even worse. She inhaled through her nostrils, trying to keep her voice even. "I want it back, right the fuck now."

"Ya still ain't gettin' it." His voice was almost patient. Talking down to her. She hated being talked down to. "Ya don't call family. Ya don't call friends. And if ya had that phone, you'd be tempted. You'd talk yourself into believing that just one call won't matter."

She gritted her teeth. "I can be discreet."

He shook his head. "What ya just done? Discreet ain't enough. Ya just dropped your whole life down the shitter. Slip just once, it'll be all they need. They'll come down on ya like Behemoth on fuckin' acid, kid. Especially as a white hat that went black mask. So cut all your ties and keep 'em cut. Only way to stay free and clear."

As much as she hated to admit it, he made a certain amount of sense. She lifted her chin. "Thanks for the advice. I might even follow it."

His expression was almost a sneer. "No skin off mine if you don't. What made ya cut an' run, anyway? What were they after ya for, I mean?"

She returned him sneer for sneer, although hers was hidden behind the mask. Her tone of voice conveyed it pretty well, though. "That's for me to know, and you to find out sometime." Just as soon as I find out what they've framed me for. "Who do you work for?"

He laughed out loud. "No-one ya need to know about. We were just given the heads-up that your career was about to come to a sudden an' screeching halt, an' that interested parties wanted to talk to you. So we got paid good money ta exfil ya from enemy territory."

Sophia almost asked what 'exfil' meant, then decided from context that it probably was something like 'fuck off'. She forced a nonchalant tone. "Eh, whatever." Butterflies were multiplying in her stomach in plague proportions, but she resolutely pushed them down. She held her hand out. "I want my phone back anyway."

"Nope." His refusal was just as blunt. "Ya get it back after you've seen the people ya gonna see. Not before. An' not when I'm anywhere around ya." He pointed at the side of the van. "Or you can get out now an' walk. Your choice, kid."

Her temper warred with her determination to see the mission through. Almost, she grabbed the phone. Almost, she decided that it wasn't worth it. But finally, she talked herself around. "Fine. I'll play along. For now."

His brutal face assumed an expression that could have been a smile. She took it as condescending. "That's the spirit, kid."

Yeah, right. And sometime later, when this mission is over, I'm gonna find you and make you pay for calling me 'kid'.

The thought comforted her. She was still the master of her own fate. At least they didn't get the burner phone, too.

<><>​

Cpl Kendall Reed, PRT

The door to the interrogation room opened, and Armsmaster entered. There was a certain tightness to the hero's jaw that told Reed volumes. He got squat from my phone. Good. The armoured hero sat down in the metal chair opposite Reed; it creaked under his weight, but held.

"Kendall Reed." Armsmaster's voice was flat, hard. "Or should I say, Jasper Holt. Late of South Africa, along with other locations around the world."

"Oh, good." Holt forced himself to relax and not give off any tells. "You can do a background check. Oh, wait. You did one when I signed on. Great job, guys. Really great job."

"We ran a facial recognition check. It pinged you as an international mercenary," Armsmaster grated. He dropped a Manila folder on the table. "You've done a lot of bad things. You shouldn't have even been let into the country. But it was a mistake for you to come to Brockton Bay."

Inhale. Calm. Exhale. "Oh, I don't know about that. I got a good job out of it. Well, up until about half an hour ago. Money was pretty good, too."

Armsmaster slammed his fist on the table. "Who were you working for?"

Holt did his best to control the flinch. "Didn't you know?"

The armoured hero leaned forward over the table menacingly. "Tell. Me."

"The PRT, duh. At least, that's where the checks came from." Holt forced himself to stare at the man's visor.

Armsmaster straightened up. "No. Who are you really working for?"

This was kind of fun, if a bit dangerous. If he managed to goad Armsmaster into hitting him, he'd skate right out of there with a slap on the wrist, according to every crime TV show he'd ever seen. But a broken jaw would be no fun at all.

Holt grinned. "Lung."

That got him about one second of solid attention, then Armsmaster shook his head. "Doesn't fit. Lung doesn't hire non-Asians."

"Wow, racist much?" Holt rolled his eyes. "You're going to make assumptions like that about the guy when you haven't even spoken to him?"

Armsmaster took a deep breath, then slowly let it out. "Try. Again."

Holt deliberately looked up and to the right; according to literature that he'd read, this was supposed to be an obvious tell that he was lying. "Fine. Skidmark."

Even before he finished saying the name, Armsmaster was shaking his head. "No. Someone like you, working for someone like him? I don't see it."

"Hey, I work for whoever's got the folding stuff," Holt pointed out. He brought his hand up to his mouth, the handcuff links clanking through the metal fixture on the table, and mimed puffing on a joint. "And I don't mind a bit of mary-jane every now and again."

"I still don't believe you." Armsmaster's voice was adamant.

"Okay, fine. Who should I say I'm working for? The Undersiders? Uber and L33t? Coil? Faultline's Crew?" Holt spread his hands as well as he was able. "Bring in a dartboard, and I'll throw a dart for you. It's not like you're going to believe me anyway."

"Perhaps you don't understand quite how much trouble you're in," Armsmaster began sharply.

Holt put his up hands in a 'time-out' gesture. "Whoa, whoa, threats now?"

The armoured hero paused. "Well, if that's what it'll take."

"Fine." Holt folded his hands in front of himself. "I'll see your threats and raise you a lawyer."

Armsmaster opened his mouth again, but Holt got in first. "Lawyer."

"I -"

"Lawyer."

"You -"

"La-la-la-LAWYER!"

Armsmaster drew in a deep breath. He may well have been glaring. Holt didn't care. I love the American legal system. Pull this in South Africa and I'd be spitting out teeth.

If he wound Armsmaster's crank any tighter, the man would grind his own teeth to flat nubs. Holt found the thought amusing. Now all I have to do is wait till whatever public defender they find me shows up. Doesn't matter if he's blind and deaf; if I go to jail, Coil gets me out. His amusement grew as Armsmaster rose and turned away for a moment. Ten bucks says he punches the wall.

<><>​

Gallant

'Well?" Armsmaster's voice boomed in the small room, with the slightly indistinct quality that came from subvocalising his words.

Gallant spoke quietly but firmly into the microphone. "I'm pretty sure that I caught a flicker when he said 'Coil', but he's not overly worried at the moment. He's confident that he's not going to suffer consequences from his actions."

"He avoided saying 'Kaiser'," Miss Militia observed from beside him, also watching the scene through the one-way glass. "Maybe he's working for the Empire? South Africa would suggest a connection."

Gallant shook his head. "He dropped Coil's name in among the others, but there was just a flicker of self-satisfaction as he said it. Sort of blah-blah-blah-ping-blah-blah. Right now, he thinks he's pulling the wool over Armsmaster's eyes."

"Right. Good work, Gallant. Miss Militia, time you took over."

"On my way." She made sure the earpiece was in firmly, nodded once at Gallant, then exited the observation room.

Gallant leaned closer to the window, watching the mercenary closely, trying to interpret every tiny flicker of emotion. We screwed up with Shadow Stalker. I'm not going to screw up here.

<><>​

Jasper Holt
AKA Cpl Kendall Reed, PRT

The door opened once more; this time, it admitted Miss Militia. Holt was obscurely disappointed; Armsmaster had not yet punched the wall.

"Armsmaster." Her voice was low and mellifluous. He wondered if she sang at all; with a little training, she could be really good at it.

"What?" snapped the armoured hero.

"Step back. Cool down a little. Let me talk to him." She spoke calmly, soothingly. Reluctantly, Armsmaster backed up a few steps, while Miss Militia seated herself at the table. Her weapon of choice today seemed to be a Colt M1911, which she laid on the table before her.

"So," Holt observed. "You'll be the good cop, then. Here to give me some coffee? Offer a plea bargain? Give up my boss and I get a reduced sentence?"

"Not really," she told him sweetly. "Your comrades have already been swept up. Dragon ran all the PRT files through facial recognition, and they were arrested while you were waiting in here. So we're going to be interrogating them separately, to see which one gives up the the rest of you first."

Shows how much you know. I don't know who they are, and they don't know me. This might not be so bad, after all.

Then Miss Militia smiles slightly. "And of course, this means there's nobody left to sneak you out of your holding cell in the middle of the night."

"Or sneak into your cell and put a bullet in your head. So there's that." Armsmaster seemed to have calmed down considerably; his voice no longer held the rough edge of anger.

Holt did his best to keep the jolt of dismay off his face. Oh, shit. I didn't think about that. Okay, this isn't the end of the world. I just have to figure out what they know, and work around that.

"Well, you're still talking to me, instead of bundling me off to a hole in the ground," he observed. "So there's obviously something you want from me."

"We'll get to that in a moment," she assured him. "Do you mind if I tell you something about myself first?"

"Not at all." He leaned back, pretending to relax. "You show me yours, I might show you mine."

Her eyes glinted for a moment, then she nodded. "Well, for a start, you probably know that I'm an immigrant. I arrived in America when I was quite young. My parents and many of my friends were killed in the country I called home. So while I grew up here, I had many memories of my earlier life, and as I compared the two, I grew to love America more and more."

"It's why you wear the flag, right?" It was pretty damn obvious.

She bestowed what he decided was a beaming smile on him. "Good. You are paying attention. Well, once I learned English, I decided to find out what made America so … American. I read the Declaration of Independence, and the Constitution, then I began to study the laws. Just to become a better superhero, you understand."

"Makes sense," he agreed cautiously. Where is she going with this?

"So imagine what I found in a certain section of the laws." Her smile, behind the scarf, became colder. Her eyes, more slitted.

He was beginning to worry now. He also had no illusion, now, as to who was the bad cop. "What did you find?"

"I'm glad you asked." If her voice was a purr, then it belonged to something with a mane. "But before I answer, let me ask you something in return. What do you call someone who enters the country illegally, then uses a false identity to infiltrate a government facility, with the full intention of passing sensitive information out of said facility into enemy hands?" She paused to let that sink in. "And what do you think happens to people like that when they're caught?"

It took him a moment to connect the dots, and figure out exactly what she meant. When the penny dropped, however, it dropped hard.

Oh, shit. He could see it all now, laid out for him. I am so fucked.

"It's not like that," he blurted. "I'm not a spy. I'm a mole."

"Much the same thing, wouldn't you say, Armsmaster?" she asked without taking her eyes off of Holt.

Was it his imagination, or was Armsmaster actually smiling just a little? His sphincter clenched convulsively as the armoured hero spoke. "I have to agree, Miss Militia."

"And not only did you enter a government facility, but you entered a PRT facility, dealing with parahumans on a daily basis," she went on relentlessly. "One of the few in the nation that houses teenage parahuman assets in the same building as the PRT. Which makes me all the more unhappy. In fact, nobody in my chain of command is likely to be thrilled with this concept. So, I have to wonder, which nation are you working for, and who were you trying to sell our Wards to?"

"Sell? Wards?" He was taken aback for a moment. "No. You've got it wrong. I'm not working for another nation," he blurted desperately. "I'm a private contractor working for a cape."

"Which cape?" asked Armsmaster, taking a step forward. "Kaiser?"

Holt hesitated, pretended reluctance. "Uh … maybe, maybe not." Take the bait, take the bait …

"Well, here's the thing," Miss Militia said, drawing his attention back to her. "Unless you give me the name of the cape, I'm going to just have to assume that you're working for someone who doesn't have America's best interests at heart. And you already know how I feel about that sort of thing." The pistol on the table dissolved into a green-black mist that reformed in her hand as a Desert Eagle. Absently, she thumbed back the hammer. The muzzle aperture looked enormous.

"Someone like the CUI, you mean?" asked Armsmaster. "They have a reputation for trying to grab every cape they can. And they really don't like the PRT."

Holt felt a jolt of panic. "I'm not working for the Chinese!" Why aren't they jumping on the Kaiser thing?

"Are you certain?" Miss Militia asked. "I mean, you yourself stated that you work for whoever's got the folding stuff. And it would be just like them to hire an amoral mercenary to do their dirty work for them."

Holt took a deep breath, but it didn't seem to be calming him down. He tried it again. "I think … I want my lawyer now," he managed.

"Well, that's going to take a little while." Miss Militia might have been smiling, but he was under no illusions as to her attitude toward him. "We need a military lawyer for this case. One who's been cleared for all the secrets that you might have heard during your time here. Because an espionage case requires a court-martial. And for one of this magnitude … well, the death penalty is definitely on the table, here." He could hear the satisfaction in her voice.

Death. Penalty. The words hit him like a double-tap to centre mass.

Jasper Holt was a violent man. He had killed before, and narrowly missed being killed in return. Death was an ever-present threat in the career he had chosen. But to be locked in a cell, to await an inevitable end, not being given a chance to fight against it … he struggled to keep his expression calm while inside he began to crumble.

"I keep telling you," he insisted. "I'm not a spy. I don't work for anyone outside America. I'm being paid by a cape to work here."

Miss Militia tilted her head. "I'd need some sort of proof. Such as the name of your real boss, if you're telling the truth, of course." She tilted her head. "If you're not, then … well, do you know what happened to the last CUI spy we caught inside a PRT facility?"

He swallowed; there was an unaccountable lump in his throat. "Um, no?"

Leaning closer, she smiled under the scarf. "Neither does anyone else."

While he was till digesting that, she stood up from the chair. The pistol dissolved, then reformed as a claymore slung across her back. "We'll be back later. Don't go anywhere, now."

Armsmaster opened the door, stepping aside to allow Miss Militia to exit first. The door clicked shut behind them; Holt sagged in the chair, his mind racing in tighter and tighter circles as he tried to see a way out. Any way out that didn't involve rolling over on Coil.

He couldn't see one.

I was wrong. It is the end of the fucking world.

<><>​

Deputy Director Paul Renick, PRT ENE

Paul folded his hands and looked over the desk at Armsmaster and Miss Militia, the older heroes flanking Gallant. "So you got all that from him, did you?"

"Yes, sir," Gallant replied. "He's definitely working for a cape. I'm about ninety percent sure that it's Coil." He stifled a yawn. "Excuse me, sir." Renick did a mental tally as to how long Gallant had been on duty. He should've clocked off hours ago.

"Don't worry about it, son." Renick gave the young hero a firm nod of approval. "You've done well tonight."

"I didn't do enough," Gallant said. "If I'd been more on the ball, Shadow Stalker wouldn't have gotten away."

"We all fell down on that one," Armsmaster admitted grudgingly. "She reacted faster than we expected. Aegis is sure she was tipped off."

"It's possible," Gallant said. "I'd have to ask her to be sure. Thinking back, she seemed to catch on awful quick. She went from calm and smug and a little wary, to very wary when she saw the tech with the phones, all the way to run-like-hell when she saw Aegis."

"He didn't deliberately tip her off." Renick took care to word it as a statement, rather than a question.

"No, sir." Gallant shook his head. "I talked to him when he was getting his hands stitched. He was pi- I mean, he was really unhappy that she got away. He took it as a personal failing on his part."

"I'll talk to him about that," Miss Militia. Paul noticed her eyes twinkling in response to Gallant's shift in word choice. "Walk him through what he did, as opposed to what he should have done. And of course, nobody expected her to be carrying those lethal arrows on a routine patrol."

"I don't think we expected any of this," Paul pointed out. "It's why we were blindsided so thoroughly on the matter. Now, Gallant, effective immediately, you're off duty. Go get some sleep." Ten bucks says he wants to keep going.

"But, sir, I'm good to keep going," the teen hero protested.

Mentally, Renick paid out on his own bet. "I'm sure you are," he said. "But you're a minor under our care, and child labour laws require you to be in bed by a certain time. This being an emergency, we can stretch that a little, but the emergency is over for the moment. Get some sleep, young man."

"I'm not sure I'll be able to sleep," mumbled Gallant.

"Good point," Renick said. "I'm authorising mild sleeping pills for the night, for all Wards on base. If you're still awake and alert in thirty minutes, take one."

"Yes, sir." Gallant nodded at Armsmaster and Miss Militia. "Good night." He walked to the door, opened it, and exited. It closed behind him.

"Aegis isn't the only one who's beating himself up over this," Miss Militia noted quietly.

Amen to that, Renick thought. "They all feel responsible," he said aloud. "They thought they knew her. Hell, I thought I knew her. Acting out a little, sure. Getting a little violent every now and again, sure. Nothing a week or so of console duty couldn't deal with. But this?" He could hear the disbelief in his own words. "I just didn't see it coming."

"We should have." Armsmaster's voice was flat. "If she behaved like that where we could see her, then how could we expect her to follow the rules when we weren't keeping an eye on her?"

An uncomfortable silence fell, which Renick used to consider Armsmaster's words. They were surprisingly perceptive, considering the armoured hero's reputation for not being a people person. He's got a point. "We should maybe have put more supervision on her activities at school," he ventured.

"We had that," Miss Militia pointed out. "The Bright woman. She was up to her eyebrows in it, colluding with the Winslow faculty to keep Sophia Hess on the roster there, so they could collect the extra funding, while she kept her cushy job. Oh, they punished her for acting out when they couldn't avoid it, but Bright always soft-soaped her reports so that we didn't notice anything on this end."

"That was a single point of failure," Armsmaster noted. "We should have had supervision on the supervision."

"We can't go looking over all our employees' shoulders all the time," Renick objected. "We have to trust them at some point. If only for the reason that the people we'd need to hire to check on the other people would basically double our roster." And wouldn't the Director love that.

"I may have a simpler solution," Miss Militia said. "You know how we rotate our therapists?"

Renick nodded, hearing from the tone of her voice that she shared his feelings on the matter. "I know that we do it, but I don't approve of the practice. Which reminds me; we need to bring them in early. The Wards are going to need it." He paused as he realised where she was going with this. "Are you suggesting that we do the same with the case workers?"

"Well, yes." Miss Militia spread her hands. "I don't agree with the therapist angle either, but if we rotate case workers, they're less likely to become invested in keeping any one Ward out of trouble, as Ms Bright seems to have done."

"But that means that the case workers are less likely to learn the individual quirks of each Ward that they cover." Renick wasn't necessarily opposing it, but he did want to see how she met that particular objection.

Armsmaster's tone was blunt. "It's better than having them cover for the Wards instead of doing their damn jobs."

"And they'll have their case notes to work off," Miss Militia said. "Also, it'll keep them on their toes and stop them from becoming complacent."

"I like it." Renick gave each of them a firm nod. "I'll draft a proposal to that effect and submit it for the Director's approval in the morning."

Miss Militia returned the nod. "And maybe we can stop this sort of thing from happening again. Was there anything else, sir?"

Renick shook his head. "Not at the moment," he decided. "I'm going to catch some sleep myself. After the day we've all had, you two should, as well."

"I will, once I've checked on my lab," Armsmaster said. "Dragon's been working on the burner phone we got from Holt, but I doubt she'll be getting anything out of it."

"Well, there are the other two phones we captured," Miss Militia pointed out. "Once Dragon alerted us about the self-destruct aspect, we sealed them in Faraday bags until you could get to them."

A slow smile spread across Armsmaster's face. "Where are they?"

Renick began counting down silently. Five … four … three …

"In your workshop," she replied; by the time she finished saying the last word, he was already halfway across the room. "They can wait -" As the door closed behind him, she turned to Renick and shrugged. "Apparently they can't."

"One thing I've learned in this business," Renick said with a smile. "Never get between a Tinker and his toys."

She chuckled. "I believe I've heard that a time or two, as well. Good night, sir."

He nodded politely to her. "Good night, Miss Militia."

<><>​

Armsmaster

Colin burst into the workshop. "Where are they?"

One of the desktop waldos waved at him. "Well, hello to you too, Colin," Dragon greeted him. "How are you feeling? I'm fine, thank you for asking." She sounded … amused?

He paused, realising how he must have sounded. "Uh … sorry. I was being a bit abrupt there, wasn't I?"

"Maybe just a little." The amusement was still there. "But I'm not offended. I know how you are. You're asking about the phones they got from the mercenaries?"

"Uh, yes," he said, relieved at her good humour. "We got some information from Holt, but I want to see what these phones have to offer. They might even give us a more comprehensive lead on their boss."

"Who do you think it is so far?" she asked. "Oh, and just so you know, I investigated the phone that blew up. I couldn't get anything out of it."

"Which means that I wouldn't have gotten anything either," he decided. She's far better at computers than me. "He tried to lay a false trail in the direction of Kaiser, but we're pretty sure that it's Coil."

"Hmm." She looked pensive. "Okay. Did you want to start work on the other phones now, or tomorrow? It is quite late."

Colin snorted with amusement. "It's not even midnight yet. I'm good if you are."

"Ooh, is that a challenge I hear, mister?"

He bared his teeth with the atavistic thrill of the hunt. "Bring it."


End of Part Eight

Part Nine

 

[Darkarma]

The Armsy-Dragon dynamic you have going there really works well. In regards to everything else good chapter. Also on the case workers, this can't be the first time PRT has had a bad apple like Shadow Stalker, one would think they would have a better monitoring solution. Did canon ever touch on Sophia's handler?

 

[Ack]

The Armsy-Dragon dynamic you have going there really works well. In regards to everything else good chapter. Also on the case workers, this can't be the first time PRT has had a bad apple like Shadow Stalker, one would think they would have a better monitoring solution. Did canon ever touch on Sophia's handler?

Click to shrink...

She's briefly mentioned in the Emma/Taylor/Winslow showdown where Alan Barnes threatens to bankrupt Danny (she tries to downplay everything so Sophia gets minimal punishment). Then when Taylor asks Sophia about her (years later), Sophia calls her a "PRT twit".

 

[Starfox5]

Interesting twist there, with the spy angle. Original and logical. Glad to see they're not resorting to breaking the law - so far. I like the mercenary NPCs so far too.

 

[Ack]

Interesting twist there, with the spy angle. Original and logical. Glad to see they're not resorting to breaking the law - so far. I like the mercenary NPCs so far too.

Click to shrink...

Yeah, my beta mentioned the idea, and I ran with it.

 

[SwiftRosenthal]

Miss Militia tilted her head. "I'd need some sort of proof. Such as the name of your real boss, if you're telling the truth, of course." She tilted her head. "If you're not, then … well, do you know what happened to the last CUI spy we caught inside a PRT facility?"

He swallowed; there was an unaccountable lump in his throat. "Um, no?"

Leaning closer, she smiled under the scarf. "Neither does anyone else."

Click to shrink...

A Worm/24 crossover would make for an awesome fic. But it can't possibly involve Taylor, so no one will ever write it.

 

[Prince Charon]

She's briefly mentioned in the Emma/Taylor/Winslow showdown where Alan Barnes threatens to bankrupt Danny (she tries to downplay everything so Sophia gets minimal punishment). Then when Taylor asks Sophia about her (years later), Sophia calls her a "PRT twit".

Click to shrink...

A lot of people seem to ignore or forget that scene, or that aspect of it. I think this may be the first time I've seen confirmation that she did work for the PRT, as opposed to 'Well, who else would she have been working for?', and the other side of the argument harping on 'lack of evidence.'

 

[Ack]

A lot of people seem to ignore or forget that scene, or that aspect of it. I think this may be the first time I've seen confirmation that she did work for the PRT, as opposed to 'Well, who else would she have been working for?', and the other side of the argument harping on 'lack of evidence.'

Click to shrink...

Specific reference:

"Difference between you and me," she said. She glanced over her shoulder at the guard behind her, then planted a foot against the little ledge beneath the bulletproof glass. Her hands, handcuffed, settled in her lap. "Your daddy cared. You know, that meeting where you tried to get us that in-school suspension? I was more pissed at the fact that your dad was there than the suspension."

"Then the woman was-"

"A PRT twit."

Click to shrink...

 

[Prince Charon]

Specific reference:

Click to shrink...

Thank you. Even if I forget exactly the source by the time that argument crops up again, I should be able to find it - or I'll ask you, since you do seem to like reading Worm fics.

 

[Ack]

Price of Blood

Part Nine: Slowly Unravelling



[A/N: This chapter beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]



Dragon

The waldo moved in with micro-millimetric precision, bringing the probe gently into contact with the circuitry of the SIM card. "So, how long do you think Shadow Stalker's been working for Coil?" It was easy for her to divide her attention as the data unspooled into the probe's memory chips.

"Hm." After his initial grunt, Colin looked up from the dissected phone he was working on. The thermite and detonator which he had removed from the guts of it were now languishing in a Faraday container on his desk. Both phones had been disarmed in this manner before he began work on the first one, just in case. "It's hard to tell. Maybe since before she became a Ward. It might explain the way she's kept herself from connecting with the rest of the team."

"On the one hand, being on probation means that she's under more scrutiny than, say, Vista," Dragon observed, shifting the probe to a different part of the card. "On the other, her accepting that very level of scrutiny might have put her case officer off guard. After all, what kind of infiltrator would choose to be in a position where their actions were likely to be watched like a hawk?"

"From the information you picked up at Winslow, I got the impression that they were giving her an unusual amount of free rein there already," Colin said. He straightened up momentarily, leaning back with his hands pressing on his spine. "How are you going with the card?"

She let her avatar on the screen smile with entirely justified self-satisfaction. "I've almost reconstructed the last month's worth of communications made with this phone, and the cell tower the phone pinged off to send them."

"Damn," he muttered. "That's pretty good." He brightened. "Though I have managed to narrow down where this guy's been over the last week. Has anything popped yet?"

Okay, this has been fun, but I've teased him enough. "Yes, actually. If I'm right, we have a very real chance of nailing down our bad guy." She shifted the probe again, drawing more data into the probe. There was no point in not being meticulous.

"How's that?" he asked, his pupils dilating fractionally as he sat forward.

Her smile widened just a little. "I've got calls that came into this phone from a landline. Locate the landline, locate the villain." That sounds like the tag-line from a movie. Probably a bad one, from Earth Aleph. The thought momentarily amused her.

"That shouldn't be too hard," he said. "I know how good you are at this stuff."

He didn't, not really. But she allowed herself to preen for a moment anyway before getting back to business. "There is one minor problem. The number itself is ID-blocked. I know that it belongs to one specific landline, but not which one."

"I don't see the problem." His tone was quizzical. "Just trace it back." He didn't quite say this is kindergarten stuff for you, but his expression said it loud and clear.

Mentally, she took a deep breath. This was where she was going to have to tread carefully. "Okay, but I'm going to need authorisation to access the PRT server logs. And to trace it back through outside exchanges, or this is going to be one very brief investigation."

He rubbed his chin, then smoothed his beard with finger and thumb. "Ah. Right. Well, the server logs I can swing; after all, they're in the same building. Anything outside of that, we're going to need another search warrant. Which is going to take time to get." He tilted his head and lowered his voice, as if anyone was going to be listening in on Armsmaster's lab with her handling the security. "Can't you just … you know, have a quick look? Unofficially?"

"Colin!" She tried to sound playfully outraged. "Are you, a superhero, seriously asking me to break the law? The very idea!"

"I, uh …" He paused, flushing slightly. "It's just … sometimes the red tape gets in the way, you know? I just thought … I mean, I wouldn't even think of asking anyone else, but I know I can trust you to go in and have a look without anyone ever finding out. But if you're uncomfortable with it …"

"Oh, Colin." She smiled warmly at him, then made her expression much more serious. "If it were any other scenario, I'd do it in a heartbeat. You know that. But this is a really sensitive situation, and there are people out there who'd love to stick it to the PRT. They'll have us under a microscope, and even the slightest hint of impropriety would give them free rein to rip our case apart. So we've got to cross every T and dot every I, just to make sure that it's not all for nothing."

He grimaced. "Well, you're right, of course. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to put you on the spot like that. I … I value our friendship too much to throw it away on something stupid like this."

"It's all right," she said, her tone carefully reassuring. "So, I'm authorised to investigate the internal PRT server logs?"

"Yes, you are." He leaned back, resting his elbow on the bench. "As if you have to ask."

She made her voice light to deflect that line of thought. "Well, like I said, crossing every T." Yes, I have to ask. It's not like I want to tell you that I require specific permission. That would come too close to telling you what I am. Already, she was delving into the server, blowing past firewalls and password protection with all the speed and finesse of which she was capable.

For a moment, she wondered if Richter had indeed been correct, if she did need the limitations that he had placed upon her to keep her on the straight and narrow. I could make one hell of a black-hat hacker if I wasn't such a nice person. But then her musings of that nature were brought up short as she reached her goal. For a moment, she thought she'd overshot the timeslot for the recorded call. It was the work of a moment to double-check the timestamp, and then she did the electronic equivalent of looking around with a certain amount of puzzlement. I'm in the right place. Where's the call log?

"Okay, that's weird," she said out loud, spreading the web of her search wider just in case digits had gotten transposed somewhere. It was highly unlikely, but she had to check anyway.

"What's weird?" he asked, leaning forward. He wasn't even pretending to work on the phone any more.

"There's no log at all of that call," she reported, baffled. "There are other calls that overlap that timeslot, but nothing that covers it exactly. It's like someone either spoofed the call, or spoofed the GPS." She took another moment to re-check the card. "But no, the call data on the card shows it as coming from the PRT server log. And data analysis on that shows it as genuine. So we've got evidence of a call on the phone, but not in the servers. Like I said, weird."

Colin frowned. "That makes absolutely no sense at all. A phone call has to go somewhere."

That was when the realisation hit her. What if the server logs have been tampered with? "Unless it did, and someone hid it." Dragon felt a sense of excitement growing in her. "If I'm right, our guy just made a big mistake."

"Now you're not making any …" He started out sounding grumpy, as if he suspected her of pulling some sort of practical joke on him. But halfway through, his voice trailed off, and his eyes opened wide. "You think someone screwed with the server logs?" His voice teetered between excitement and hurt pride. "I run the security on those!"

"I think it's a possibility, yes." She made her tone neutral. "It's one logical reason for the call to be not registered on the logs. If you can think of another one, I'm open for suggestions."

Indecision twisted his face. She made a private bet with herself that he would protest that nobody could breach his security. He took a deep breath, opened his mouth, then stopped. "I … can't think of one," he admitted after a few seconds. "So what do we do?"

More than a little impressed by his clear and logical thinking, she treated him to a beaming smile. "Well, once I get permission to go in and have a look at the actual programming, whoever's responsible for that will be our bad guy. And given that he has to access the back door in order to make use of it, there's got to be some way to trace it back to him."

He blinked once, slowly. "But that means …" His voice trailed off as he stared at her. "Does that mean what I think it means?"

On the screen, her avatar nodded. "If our bad guy is indeed Coil …"

"Which I'm about ninety-five percent sure is the case." Colin's voice was firm.

"Me too." She smiled. "Then that means Coil works in the PRT building." She paused to calculate the level of PR backlash if that ever got out. There were a few variables she couldn't nail down, but the overall result was 'immense'. "That would explain a lot."

Colin's expression bared more teeth than the average smile. "Yes. It would." Then his mouth closed, and his brow furrowed. "But I just don't have the level of authority to order that sort of deep search. I'm going to need the Director in on this."

His tone was diffident, but Dragon caught the glint of battle in his eye. "Are you going to call her right this minute?" She was pretty sure she knew the answer to the question, but she asked anyway.

Colin levelled a glance at her monitor. "Would you wait till tomorrow?" His voice was almost challenging.

"According to popular culture, Hitler lost the war because nobody was brave enough to wake him when the Allied invasion began on D-Day, " Dragon noted. "We have not only uncovered moles inside the building, but to the best of our knowledge an actual supervillain works here as well. Hell no, I wouldn't wait."

Colin nodded. "Didn't think so." He picked up the phone on his desk and spoke briskly. "Put me through to Director Piggot's home phone. Security protocols Sigma-Alpha-Ellisburg-Scion."

As the phone began to ring, he looked over at Dragon's monitor. A momentary flash of worry crossed his face. "I hope to God we're not wrong about this."

Dragon thought about the ramifications of the situation. About how big the shitstorm would be once this got out. I wouldn't mind being wrong. But she was uncomfortably certain that it was a forlorn hope. "Don't worry," she said, unsure whom she was trying to reassure. "If you're wrong, then so am I. And I'm very, very rarely wrong."

He smiled at her, though she could see the worry underneath. "That's what I'm counting on."

<><>​

Emily Piggot, Director of PRT ENE

Emily's home phone had several distinct ringtones. These ranged from 'ordinary call' through 'low security' and 'high security' to 'most urgent'. That last ringtone was sounding now, pulling her out of a sound sleep. By sheer reflex, she was reaching for the handset before she was even properly awake. As she held the receiver to her ear and pressed her thumb to the reader on the phone, she felt the pulling of the dialysis tubes that were still plugged into her. Finally, her eyes fell on the alarm clock. This had better be really fucking important.

Unfortunately, given the ringtone being employed, she knew it was. It always was. Still, she had a whole store of acerbic phrases ready to be used on the first of her subordinates who used the emergency line for a non-urgent situation. It hadn't happened yet, but she lived in hope.

"Piggot. Talk to me."

"Armsmaster here. There have been developments since you went home."

"Why aren't you bothering the Deputy Director with this?" So I can get back to sleep.

"He can't give Dragon the clearance to investigate the programming in the PRT phone servers." That was Armsmaster, straight to the point. Some days, it was annoying. Right now, it was what she needed.

"Explain these developments, and how it pertains to our servers."

"In order; we gathered enough evidence to hold Shadow Stalker for questioning. She evaded the trap we set her, and escaped. We suspect she was tipped off, and have captured several moles who were working for the supervillain Coil. In the ensuing investigation, Dragon determined that Coil may well be a PRT employee, and that the PRT phone servers have been tampered with. We need your authorisation for Dragon to go in and find out exactly what's been done to them, and who did it."

By the time he finished speaking she was wide awake, and her mind was racing forward through the branching potentialities of what he was saying. "Do you agree with Dragon's summation of the situation?"

"Yes, ma'am, I do. It's the only conclusion that makes any sense. As alarming as that may be."

She would have used a far stronger word than 'alarming', but the man had had time to get used to the idea. "Very well. She has it. By my order."

"Thank you, ma'am. I'll have a report on our findings, first thing." She noted the tone of grim satisfaction in his voice, just before he cut the call.

Replacing the receiver, she lay back down again, casting an aggrieved look at the alarm clock. If she didn't complete her dialysis fully, problems could mount up, possibly even sidelining her until her health issues were brought back under control. She couldn't risk that. God damnit. As much as she itched to get up and head straight back into the PRT building, she couldn't.

And nor, she decided with cold logic, would she. Even once the dialysis was completed, she still needed a good night of sleep. While Armsmaster was a driven man even under normal conditions, this incident had pushed that trait to a whole other level. He would have a report on her desk by morning if it was at all possible, and she needed to be awake and able to deal with whatever it said.

Coil, a PRT employee? What the hell's going on? Has the world gone crazy? Crazier? She had almost come to accept that some PRT troopers held covert sympathies for the ABB or the Empire Eighty-Eight. Some of them, she suspected, might still be passing information on to the gangs. A few of their predecessors had been shitcanned when their activities became too blatant, but it was all too possible that the latest crop were smarter and more subtle. Even with that in mind, the idea that a supervillain might be drawing a PRT check boggled the mind. Someone fell down on the job, big time.

It felt a little bizarre to think that arresting a supervillain may well be as simple as inviting him to attend a conference, then taking him into custody once he walked in. Of course, it probably won't go that easily. The PRT files didn't hold much information on Coil …

"God damnit!" she snapped out loud as the pieces clicked together. Of course they wouldn't, if Coil worked in the damn building. Especially if he had high-level access to the computer files. Laying back, she thumped her head against the pillow. This redefined the phrase 'inside job'. Once they found out who Coil really was and took him down, they'd have to backtrack everything he'd ever done in the building, and go through it with a fine-tooth comb. Everything he's ever accessed is suspect. It would be all too easy to edit details, little by little, until what they thought they knew was entirely incorrect.

Leaving that aside, the word on the street was that Coil didn't have powers. What he did have, if the reports were correct, was a small army of mercenaries. Several of whom, if she interpreted Armsmaster's verbal report correctly, had already been swept up. Which was probably how they determined it was Coil. She couldn't wait to read that transcript. Or to give the order for Coil himself to go down. Once they figured out who he was, of course.

The pleasant fantasy of being the one to slap the cuffs on a supervillain—it'd been a long time since she'd had the chance to do that—helped to relax her, and she began to drift once more. With any sort of luck, Dragon and Armsmaster would have something for her to act on when she woke up. Up to and including an idea of where Shadow Stalker had run to. A Ward gone bad, and loose in the city to boot. Christ. If this gets out, it'll be a PR nightmare. Another PR nightmare.

This pleasant thought ensured that it took a while for her to get back to sleep.

<><>​

0807 Hours
February 3, 2011
PRT HQ, Brockton Bay

The blue and silver armoured figure stood straight and tall before Emily's desk. She eyed him suspiciously, wondering just how many signs of fatigue that helmet covered up. "I hope you've been getting appropriate sleep, Armsmaster."

"I have a cot in my workshop." He sounded neither smug nor defensive. "Dragon did a lot of the heavy lifting. But I've looked it over, and it's solid."

I know you have a cot there. I was the one who ordered its installation. He hadn't, she noticed, actually said that he'd used the cot, just that it was there. She decided not to push the issue quite yet.

The situation was still eminently fragile and if Armsmaster chose to push himself a little to bring it to a satisfactory conclusion, she could yell at him later. Maybe later, if he pushes himself too hard. Not right now.

"Hm." She kept her tone non-committal. The report sat atop her desk, with a memory stick beside it. She squared the former with her hands, resisting the temptation to dive into it. "Give me the summary."

"We were correct. Our servers have been compromised." His voice was matter-of-fact, almost robotic. She wondered how much of it was repressed anger on his part. "There's a program that allows the near-traceless deletion of records of phone calls in and out of the building."

"Near-traceless?" She pounced on that. "Please tell me you got something out of that."

"Not enough." His jaw seemed to be set in stone inside his helmet. "But we got enough to know that it's been used quite a bit. Not enough to get the number of Coil's landline inside the building, unfortunately."

She nodded to acknowledge the point. "Continue."

He took a breath. "Dragon was unable to trace it back to a single user – it was keyed to respond to an incoming passcode, and to delete the records of each usage afterward – but it's our culprit, all right. There's nothing else that fits. That's the bad news."

Her eyebrows hitched up slightly. "Tell me there's good news." A moment later, something he'd said earlier caught up with her. "Wait – you said there is a program. You didn't erase it?"

"No." Now he smiled. "But Dragon did alter it. The very next time Coil tries to use it, it'll work perfectly from his end. But it will also deliver full data on the call, including a transcript, to your desktop and mine."

She could see his logic. The two of them were the only ones she could guarantee were not the person they were chasing. After all, the PRT had no clear description of Coil. But that didn't bother her right at the moment. A broad smile began to spread over her face; the first one she'd had in forever. "If I ever meet Dragon, I might just kiss her."

"She does do very good work." That, she knew, was Armsmaster's highest accolade. "I'll pass on your thanks to her."

"Please do that. Minus the comment about kissing her, please. Just say 'thank you'," she hastened to say. "Is there any more information on where Shadow Stalker's gotten to?"

"I'm sorry to say, no," he said, his shoulders slumping almost microscopically. "We tried pinging her phone, but it's either shut down altogether or it's in a signal-dead area such as a Faraday cage."

"This suggests she's still got it on her, correct?" She tried to extract some level of optimism out of the situation. "Otherwise she would probably have just discarded it."

"Unless she considered it to have damaging information on it, which is almost certain," the armoured hero corrected her. "She's many things, but she isn't stupid. However, that reminds me. We need legal permission to tap her home phone and inform her family that they need to contact us if she gets in touch with them."

Emily sighed. This had all the hallmarks of a problem in the making. "We're going to need to be very diplomatic with them about it. If we rub them the wrong way, they may hold back information out of pure spite."

"Understood. I'll put Assault and Battery on it. They're good at connecting with people." Armsmaster's voice was matter-of-fact.

She couldn't hold back a certain amount of surprise. He's not normally this insightful. "That's … actually a very good idea."

"Dragon and I talked about it." He shrugged. "It was obvious, once she explained it to me. How are we going to handle telling the public about Shadow Stalker?"

This was the part that Emily really hadn't been looking forward to. If talking to the family was bad, how to break the news that a Ward had gone off the reservation? Worse, the PRT had been pushing Shadow Stalker as proof that teen vigilantes could indeed integrate well with the Wards program. If it came out that she'd actually been shoehorned in under strict probationary guidelines, and that she'd continued breaking those rules almost from the moment she showed up in the Wards … this has Charlie-Foxtrot written all over it.

She took a deep breath. "For the moment, we say nothing to the public." He began to say something, but she held up a hand. "Hear me out."

He went still for a moment, then slowly nodded. "I'm listening."

It would've been good to see his eyes, so she could gauge the impact of her words. However, she didn't have that, so she just had to trust her own instincts. "We will be informing local law enforcement. They'll be warned to keep it highly confidential and that anyone seeing her is to report the sighting but nothing else. But we don't tell the general public."

"We don't tell the police to apprehend her if possible?" She was sure that his eyebrows were raised at this point. Hers certainly would've been.

She snorted. "Let's be realistic here. What chances do you think the average beat cop has of actually taking Shadow Stalker into custody? In the normal run of things, given surprise and a good dose of taser, a cop might have been able to get the drop on her. But now? She's on the run, she'll be on guard against everything and everyone."

"But members of the public would also be able to report on her whereabouts." Why can't we use every resource at our command? he didn't quite ask out loud.

He had a good point, but he wasn't thinking it all the way through. "We can't just out her, because that would endanger her family. So we can't tell the public to look out for Sophia Hess. And that's not even addressing how the Empire would absolutely love this. Every teenage girl who's got even slightly dark skin would be have a target painted on her back, whether we outed the Hess girl or not."

"So we just sit back and wait till she commits a crime, and hope to catch her then?" He sounded frustrated. She couldn't blame him.

"No." Her tone was definitive. "I'll get the warrant to tap her home phone. Assault and Battery will talk to her family. The Protectorate and Wards will be told to keep an eye out for her. The PRT will also be on alert. If she puts a foot wrong, we'll get her. We did before."

"But the last time, she didn't know we were hunting her and there wasn't a supervillain possibly backing her," Armsmaster noted. "That's a game changer."

"It is," she agreed. "But we've got a line on him, which he hopefully doesn't know about. With any luck, he'll communicate with her from this building, which will give us a location on both of them. And even if we don't get her when we roll him up, she's without resources once more. Villains won't trust her and heroes will want to arrest her. Pretty soon, she'll have no place to hide."

"Hmm." He sounded contemplative. "I see where you're going with this. But what are you going to tell the Hebert girl?"

Emily sighed. "That's not a conversation I'm looking forward to."

<><>​

Vicky

Carol crossed her arms. "I don't see why we have to come in this way." She looked from side to side, at the deeply-tinted windows of the PRT van. "New Wave isn't about secrecy."

"No, but there are more secrets at stake than you know about," Miss Militia replied from the front seat. The driver, an otherwise nondescript man in basic urban camo, offered nothing to the conversation. Most likely, thought Vicky, he'd been ordered to drive and keep his mouth shut. "You didn't have to come along, you know. This was just about Panacea."

"It's not just about Panacea," she said without looking at Amy, who was sitting in the seat behind her. "It's also about the Swarmbringer." Her voice held sour satisfaction in revealing that tidbit. "Did you really think you could hide that from us? From the public? She needs to be held accountable, not kept in an undisclosed location and given valuable healing from a member of my team."

"Where did you hear that?" The Protectorate hero's voice was suddenly cold. Turning in her seat, she raked Amy and Vicky with her eyes.

"We didn't tell her, I swear!" Vicky did her best to project her innocence into her voice. "She figured it all out. She's really good at that."

"Victoria is telling the truth," Carol confirmed. "They weren't going to tell me at all. But I connected the dots. And you've got a lot of explaining to do. What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that you don't have all the information yet." Miss Militia sounded utterly sure of herself. "There's far more to this situation than you're currently aware of. Now, I'll need your phone." She extended her left hand back toward Carol.

"You can't take my phone!" Carol's voice rose. She flicked a glance at Vicky.

Oh, crap. Vicky knew that her mother was technically in the wrong, but Carol was her mother. New Wave was all about solidarity … but nor did she want to side against Miss Militia over something like this. Amy had been adamant that Taylor was effectively innocent in all this, and it seemed that Armsmaster and Miss Militia were in agreement with her. What if Mom won't listen to reason? I don't want to fight her! What do I do?

"If you don't cooperate, I will be forced to place you under arrest to ensure that you don't speak of this to anyone else until you've learned the true facts of the situation, and signed a non-disclosure agreement regarding them." The Protectorate hero didn't take her eyes from Carol. "Which will it be?"

Carol unfolded her arms, and a blade of pure light appeared in her right hand. "Victoria, stop this van. We're leaving." Her voice held the snap of command.

Whoa, whoa, this is going too fast. "Mom – no!" Vicky raised her voice. "Stop! Don't do this!"

"I'm under threat of false imprisonment, and you're saying don't do this?" Carol stared at Vicky. "Who are you and what have you done with my daughter?"

"Mrs Dallon," snapped Miss Militia. "Don't look to your daughter. As a Protectorate cape, I am a duly appointed officer of the law." She had turned in her seat so that she had a good view of the back of the van. However, her right hand wasn't visible, so Vicky couldn't see what weapon she was holding. Her voice was steady. "Through your own ignorance, you are threatening to expose information which could do far more harm than good if it reached the public domain. I'm ordering you to remain in your seat until we reach the PRT building -"

"Two hundred and seventy-three people died!" snapped Carol. "I have friends in the hospital! I'm not going to assist the PRT in a coverup, just so you can get another powerful cape on your roster!" She drew back her arm, preparatory to slashing out the side of the van. In the next instant, however, she collapsed, slumping limply into her seat. The blade barely scorched the paint before winking out.

Vicky stared as Amy drew her hand from the back of Carol's neck. "Ames, seriously? What the everloving fuck?" She got to Carol and shook her, to no avail. "What did you do?"

"You saw her," Amy said. "She wasn't listening to reason. I didn't have any choice but to put her to sleep. You'll let her go once she signs the NDAs?" The healer directed the question toward Miss Militia.

"If she signs and agrees to abide by the terms once she knows the facts, then yes. She'll be free to go." Miss Militia raised her eyebrows. "I'm impressed. Have you ever done that before?"

"Not under combat conditions, no," Amy said. "But I was kinda out of options."

"I can't believe you did that to Mom!" Vicky made sure that Carol was still breathing—though where Amy was concerned, that was kind of a given—then went back to her seat. "I mean, I can kind of see why you did it, but surely we could've talked her down."

Amy shook her head. "You heard her. She was about to bail out. And she would've been on the phone to the papers just as soon as she figured she was free and clear. She didn't have all the facts, and she definitely didn't have the important ones, but she could've done damage with what she had."

"A lot of damage," Miss Militia agreed. "In my estimation, you did exactly the right thing. What you did didn't harm her in any way?" The tone of her voice made it a statement rather than a question.

"No." Amy grimaced. "But it's not gonna matter. Even if she agrees with you and willingly signs the NDA, I am so grounded. Like, until I'm forty." Her voice held resignation, along with just a little irritation.

"Don't worry, Ames. I'll talk to her." Vicky moved over to sit beside her sister. Despite her shock that Amy had resorted to using her powers on their mother, she had to admit that Carol hadn't given them much in the way of choice. And I just sat there and let it happen …

"Thanks, but I can't see it doing much good." Amy hunched into herself. "New Wave is all about trust. Trusting each other to do the right thing. I just betrayed that trust. Attacked her while her back was turned."

"Hey, she betrayed our trust first," Vicky reminded her. "She said she'd come in and see what was happening before deciding what to do. Then she just went off the deep end." She put her arm over Amy's shoulders. "I know that it couldn't have been easy for you."

Amy turned her head curiously toward Vicky. "You're being awfully calm about this."

Vicky grimaced. "If she'd kept going, I would've had to either stand back and let her escape, help her get away, or stop her. And I didn't want to do any of that, mainly because I'm pretty sure she's wrong in what she thinks is going on. And because I didn't want to have to hurt her." She gave her sister a squeeze. "So what you did is about the best thing that could've happened. Nobody gets hurt, and Mom's free and clear once she signs the NDA."

"Yeah, I guess." Amy leaned against Vicky, just a little. "Though I'd be a lot happier if it hadn't happened this way."

"Yeah, well." Vicky sighed. "It'll all be sorted out. You'll see."

I hope.

<><>​

Shadow Stalker

"Up an' at 'em, kid. Time to go. Your ride's here."

The disembodied voice coincided with the thud of a boot against a wooden door, not three feet from Sophia's head. She sat up, blinking in the near-darkness. Where the fuck am I? This was not her bed at home. Nor was it her crash-space at the Wards base. And who the fuck was it who'd kicked the door, and called her 'kid'?

Wait a minute … She rubbed at her eyes, abruptly aware that she wasn't wearing a mask. What the fuck's going on? That was when the memories started to cascade through her brain, each one triggering another. She'd been on patrol with Clockblocker, but she'd gotten that phone call … and she'd accepted … and then they'd been waiting for her … so she ran for it … then the infirmary, and the guy with the bedpan … ah. Right.

Carefully, she rubbed the back of her head, wincing as her fingers touched the sensitive spot. Beaned with a bedpan. I better hope Clockblocker never finds out, or the jokes just won't stop. With a start, she recalled that she wouldn't even be working with Clockblocker again—or any of the other Wards—until she was finished with the mission. Mission. Right. I'm on a mission. Abruptly, she recalled that she'd agreed to go undercover in a criminal gang, to gather information and ultimately bring it down from within. And so she'd run from an all too realistic pursuit, to give her story verisimilitude. And they bought it. They had to have. I'm still alive, right?

"Kid! You awake in there?" The door shuddered as the boot came into contact with it a second time.

"Yeah, yeah, hold your horses. I'm coming." She felt around in the near-darkness until she found where she'd put the rest of her costume; she had, of course, stripped down to the body-stocking to sleep. Body armour was a real pain to sleep in.

Fortunately, she was adept at costuming up in the dark and in cramped spaces. It only took her another minute or so to get the body armour settled into place. She missed the comforting weight of her cloak, but it wasn't like she could go back and get it. Taking the phone from the pouch, she turned it on and tapped out a quick text: About to go see someone important. Will keep you posted.

There was no immediate answer; nor did she expect one. Turning the phone off, she replaced it in the pouch at the back of her belt. A full-body search would find the phone and earpiece, but she could hope that her hosts would assume that the phone they'd taken off her was her only one.

Without a mirror she couldn't check on her appearance, but she had to trust that she was presentable. With her mask in place, she opened the door and stepped out into a dingy living room. Four men were waiting for her; two were the large men who'd been in the van the previous night, while the other two wore urban camo and closed-face helmets. The latter had assault rifles slung over their shoulders. Okay, that's fuckin' weird. "Who are you?" she asked bluntly.

"You can call me Senegal," said one of the men in urban camo. "You're coming with us."

"Hey, wait a minute," protested the guy who'd called her 'kid'. "How about our pay? We did our bit."

"Good point." Senegal turned his head toward the guy. "Fish, take her to the van." His gesture toward the door was so smooth and natural that even Sophia didn't see the rifle coming into his hand until the stock was against his shoulder. The barrel was lined up on the biggest guy, but it would only need a single movement to aim at the other one. "Now."

"You heard him." 'Fish' stepped over to Sophia, careful not to get between his partner and the men that Senegal was holding at gunpoint. "Let's go." He didn't go for his gun as well, but she noted that he always kept his right hand free and the fingers flexed.

"Sure, no skin off mine." Sophia felt an atavistic thrill as she preceded the oddly-nicknamed 'Fish' down the stairs. Whoever she was going to be infiltrating, they obviously considered their secrecy to be paramount. And, to be honest, the big guys hadn't exactly endeared themselves to her. "Hey, they had my phone. And there was a driver, too."

"We got the driver already," Fish said bluntly. "And Senegal'll get your phone. This isn't his first rodeo." Sophia had no doubt of that. Nor, from the way he moved, was Fish a novice at this.

They had just reached the bottom of the steps when two quick bursts of fire echoed down the stairwell. They were somewhat muted to Sophia's ear, but she supposed that a suppressor would be a good idea in a situation like this. She glanced back over her shoulder. "That really necessary?" The question wasn't prompted by prurience or squeamishness; she just wanted to hear his answer.

"Sure," said Fish. "A cape going bad is big news. PRT and Protectorate will be pulling out the stops to get you back before the public hears about it. They can trace the van all they like, but no amount of plea deals will get those two to talk now." He tilted his head slightly as they started down the narrow alley. "So what'd you do to piss off the law, anyway?"

Sophia's brain went into high gear. "Well, I dunno what they've decided to hang on me," she temporised. "But there's shit I've done, any of which could fuck me up. I've killed a couple guys. Hurt some others pretty damn bad, even after I got in the Wards." She stopped talking, hoping it sounded like a natural pause in the conversation.

"That's pretty bad, sure," Fish conceded. "But what they put you in the Wards for, nailing that guy to the wall? If that didn't put you in juvey, what would?" His voice was entirely devoid of judgement; he might have been asking about the chance of rain tomorrow.

Fuck. How did he even know about that? I've gotta say something else. She knew what it had to be. Drawing an aggravated breath, she snorted it out through her nose. "There's this bitch at school. Weak as shit, but doesn't know her place. So I've been keeping her face in the dirt, where she belongs. January, me and some others locked her in her locker for maybe an hour. Along with a mess of pads and tampons to keep her company." She thrust out her chin, almost daring Fish to denigrate her achievements.

"Well, damn." He almost sounded impressed. "Yeah, that might piss 'em off just a little. This why you're running?"

"Nah." She shook her head. "Just before the Swarm? I got some guys to chase her down with duct tape and tie her to a telegraph pole. Rough her up a bit, you know? She's gotta learn her place." She decided to keep the information about Hebert being in PRT holding to herself for the moment. No sense in giving these assholes everything.

"Nice." Fish nodded approvingly. "Gotta teach 'em who's boss."

"Yeah, but I figure she bitched to someone about it, and someone in the PRT connected the dots. Which is why they're after me now." Sophia kicked a rock, and watched as it skittered down the alleyway.

"Well, that does kinda suck." Fish pulled something off his belt, then a van up ahead flashed its parking lights as the doors audibly unlocked. "In you get. Senegal'll be along in a minute."

Sophia opened the side door of the van and climbed in. Fish got into the front, then handed something back to her. "Gonna need you to wear this. Infosec, you understand?"

She took it, realising almost instantly that it was a soft cloth bag, solid black in colour. "Bag on my head? Really?"

"It is what it is." His tone was almost casual, but she sensed the inflexibility under it. "Boss says this is how it goes, this is how it goes."

Behind her mask, she pulled a face. I better get a goddamn medal off Calvert when this is all done. "Okay, fine." Taking a deep breath, she pulled the bag down over her head. It smelled a little musty, but not too gross. Squint her eyes as she liked, the dense weave of the cloth defeated any chance to see through it. However, she did have a trick up her sleeve; specifically, the electricity sensors in her mask. Normally she recharged it on a nightly basis, but the battery shouldn't be flat yet. She decided to use it sparingly, just in case she didn't get the chance to plug it in for a while.

It wasn't long before Senegal returned. Fish greeted the man as he opened the side door and climbed into the van, the springs compressing slightly under his weight. "Get everything?" Fish asked.

"Roger that," Senegal replied. "Phone and all. No evidence she was ever there. Let's get going before the fire really catches."

God damn. These guys mean business. For a moment, Sophia was lost in admiration. If these guys hadn't been working for a villain, she figured she would have gotten along with them just fine. Rules are for sheep. These guys are wolves, like me.

A moment later, she recalled what Senegal had said. "Hey, Senegal?"

"Yeah?" he asked as Fish started the van. "What is it? 'Cause if you gotta go to the bathroom, you're just gonna have to hold it."

"Nah, not that," she snapped, trying not to think of the fact that she hadn't had the chance to relieve herself after she got up. "Just saying that I'm gonna need my phone back."

"Sure," he said easily. "Just as soon as the boss says you can have it. But not until then. You understand." His tone wasn't gloating or teasing, just matter of fact.

She disliked the situation, but once again reminded herself that Commander Calvert had picked her out specifically for this job. He's counting on me. I've gotta make this work. Settling back, she prepared for a long ride.

<><>​

She wasn't sure how much later it was that the van started down an incline. It couldn't have been more than twenty minutes, but probably not less than ten. There were no down-grades that she knew of in Brockton Bay proper, which meant that they were coming to the end of the journey. Thirty seconds later, she was proven right as Fish brought the van to a halt and turned the engine off.

"Can I take the bag off yet?" she asked, finding herself starved for light. Even in the darkest Brockton Bay night, there was always some illumination. Except, of course, when she was fighting that asshole Grue. The absolute blackness his power brought about was unnatural, as shown by how it interfered with her powers. Hey, if I run into him while working for these guys, I can kill him legit. Say I was ordered to.

"Not yet," rumbled Senegal's voice from beside her. "I'm just gonna take your arm, okay?"

"I'm blind, not fuckin' crippled, all right?" she snapped. Sliding out of her seat, she felt for where the door handle should be. After two or three attempts, she found it and slid it open. Moving carefully, she eased herself out of the van until she stood on what she judged was bare concrete. Behind her, she heard Senegal's boots hit the concrete and the side door slid shut. A moment later, she heard the bip-bip as the van locked itself.

"Okay," said Fish from in front of her. "This way."

She heard his footsteps receding and tried to follow them, but it was hard to hear through the bag. "A bit to the left," rumbled Senegal from behind her.

"I knew that," she retorted, but corrected her course slightly.

As far as she could tell, she was in a parking garage of some sort. The echoes had that quality. She followed Fish, with Senegal giving helpful comments from behind her, across the garage until Fish told her to stop. There was a strange grinding noise, followed by a gust of air across her front. This time, Senegal took her shoulder. She felt, rather than heard, the closeness of the tunnel around her as she walked forward, and then the grinding sound occurred again, from behind.

"Okay, you can take the bag off," said Senegal. "And we're gonna need your crossbows. Just in case, you know?"

Sophia wanted to protest, but she was too busy yanking the bag from her head. Light hit her eyes for the first time in what felt like hours; even if it was just dim fluorescent tubes, it was still glorious, wonderful light. She handed the bag back to Fish, never wanting to see it again.

"Crossbows," Senegal reminded her. The assault rifle he held might not be too useful in this situation, but he still wore a sidearm. And, she was careful to recall, hadn't blinked at murdering the two who had picked her up off the street. Also, she reminded herself yet again, she actually wanted to be recruited by whoever she was going to see.

"Fine, but I'm definitely gonna need these back," she said, grudgingly taking the crossbows off her belt and handing them over. "Otherwise I'm not gonna be much use to your boss."

"That's for him to say," Fish said neutrally. "But we're gonna need those arrows too. It'd be too easy to stab someone with them."

He was right, of course. Aegis could attest to that. But she really, really disliked being disarmed. With a deep breath, she unhooked the arrow-case from her belt and handed it over. Then she unclipped the arrows from each arm-guard and handed them over as well. "Is that all, or would you like to frisk me as well?" she asked sharply. "'Cause I don't do well with frisking."

"Nah, it'll be fine." Fish put his hand on his sidearm. "Just remember, I'll be right behind you all the way. Let's go." With his left hand, he pointed down the corridor.

Sophia nodded and set forth, setting a rapid pace. Senegal and Fish matched her stride for stride until they reached a heavy metal door at the other end. Fish stepped in, presenting her with his broad back as he tapped in a security code. The door opened, and they moved on. There were more uniformed men here, and she was starting to get an idea who they were taking her to see. Though I had no idea his operation was this large.

The base was huge, but she got the distinct impression that it was still under construction. Much of it had an unfinished look about it. However, she was not given the chance to dawdle and look around. Senegal and Fish marched her along a catwalk and toward a door, which slid aside as they approached. Sophia glanced at Senegal, who nodded. She stepped forward and entered.

Inside was an office, with bookshelves, filing cabinets, and a computer setup on a desk. It was so banal that Sophia almost stopped dead. The only jarring note was the man rising to his feet behind the desk. He was tall and almost emaciated, though she could tell no other details. This was because he was dressed in a skin-tight black costume, with a white snake winding over it.

Although she'd never met the man before, she'd heard about the costume. It confirmed her suspicions about who owned the base. Who she was going to be working for.

She halted in front of the desk, uncomfortably aware of Fish's presence behind her. The man in the snake costume seemed to look her up and down. She didn't feel comfortable under that faceless gaze, but she did her best to meet his eyes anyway. Or rather, she looked at where his eyes should be on the featureless cloth.

At last, he spoke, with a dry, dusty tone that may as well have been produced by a machine. "Shadow Stalker."

Curtly, she nodded. "Coil."

He made some sort of noise, perhaps a snort of amusement. "I understand that you are no longer welcome in the Wards."

Behind her mask, she grimaced. "That's about right."

His head tilted slightly. "Well, then. Allow me to be the first to offer you alternate employment. You'll find the pay scale to be quite adequate."

"Do I get to kick ass?" She raised her chin. "Money's good, but it's not the be-all and end-all."

"Why, yes." From his tone, he was smiling under that damn mask. "You will certainly get that opportunity."

"Then sure. I'll work for you." She let some real bitterness creep into her tone. "It's not like I've got any other choices right now."

"They say that when one door closes, another opens. I'm a great believer in that." He leaned forward and offered his hand to shake. "Welcome to my employ, Shadow Stalker."

She took it; for a skinny guy, he had a serious grip. "Good to be here."

Now all I've got to do is survive long enough to bring you assholes down.



End of Part Nine

Part Ten

 

[edale]

Wow, I just realized, 9 chapters and it still hasn't been 12 full hours from the beginning.

I know I'm waiting to see Carol's reaction when she finds out the truth, let alone Taylor's...

 

[Ack]

Wow, I just realized, 9 chapters and it still hasn't been 12 full hours from the beginning.

I know I'm waiting to see Carol's reaction when she finds out the truth, let alone Taylor's...

Click to shrink...

A lot's been happening.

And yes, there are going to be some reactions.

 

[GW_Yoda]

If I was Director Piggot, I would totally lay a lot of the blame on Coil when she talks to Taylor and Danny. Yes, Sophia was in the Wards. Turns out, she was an agent of the supervillain Coil. We found this out after she escaped when we tried to arrest her. Not sure how she got away with what she did at Winslow, but Coil might have had something to do with it. Things along that nature. Do that and apologize and you might have a Taylor that is more pre-disposed to joining the Wards. Definitely wouldn't want to work for Coil at least.

Fun chapter. Looking forward to another one in September since I want to see more of this. Hopefully, the PRT/Hebert meeting and the fallout for Amy will come in the next update.

 

[Ack]

If I was Director Piggot, I would totally lay a lot of the blame on Coil when she talks to Taylor and Danny. Yes, Sophia was in the Wards. Turns out, she was an agent of the supervillain Coil. We found this out after she escaped when we tried to arrest her. Not sure how she got away with what she did at Winslow, but Coil might have had something to do with it. Things along that nature. Do that and apologize and you might have a Taylor that is more pre-disposed to joining the Wards. Definitely wouldn't want to work for Coil at least.

Fun chapter. Looking forward to another one in September since I want to see more of this. Hopefully, the PRT/Hebert meeting and the fallout for Amy will come in the next update.

Click to shrink...

Another one in September it is.

 

[Ack]

Price of Blood

Part Ten: Legalities and Illegalities



[A/N: This chapter commissioned by GW_Yoda and beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]



Director Emily Piggot's Office
PRT ENE HQ
0824 Hours

Emily, feeling somewhat better than she had the night before—it was amazing what a good night's sleep could do—stood up as Glory Girl carried an unconscious Brandish in through the door to her office. Armsmaster followed, with Panacea trailing in last. The healer looked as though she wanted to be anywhere but there. The Director sympathised with her, but it was a truism that you rarely got what you wanted. Be glad you only have to live with the result of one hard decision today.

"Put her there," she directed, pointing at the chair directly in front of her desk. She knew, of course, exactly why Brandish was in this state and how she'd gotten there. Miss Militia's verbal report, delivered over the phone, had been extremely concise. Which left the next step in Emily's hands. She wasn't looking forward to it; Carol Dallon had a well-deserved reputation for being stubborn, and that could make for problems if the interview went badly.

Glory Girl carefully placed her mother in the chair, arranging her hands in her lap. She stayed there, one hand on Brandish's shoulder so the woman wouldn't loll forward and end up on the floor. Emily nodded fractionally in approval, then turned her attention to Armsmaster. "Miss Militia isn't attending this meeting?"

The armoured hero shook his head. "No, ma'am. She considered that as she was present for the disagreement, her presence may exacerbate the situation, so she asked to be excused from the follow-up." His tone was pragmatic; Emily got the impression that it didn't matter to him one way or the other. Personally, she thought Miss Militia had a point. Stepping aside to let her superior deal with a tricky situation might be seen as cowardice by some, but Miss Militia had never been accused of that. With a situation this volatile, it was only wise to ensure there was as little chance as possible for things to go wrong.

"I can understand that." She sat down and clasped her hands on the desk in front of her. "Panacea, are there any complications inherent in putting someone to sleep like this?" As she spoke, she captured the healer's gaze with her own. If the girl chose to lie, Emily wanted to know about it before anything was done.

"None at all." While Panacea was nervous, her eyes didn't flicker to the side in any kind of obvious tell. Nor did her voice hesitate. Emily was willing to bet she was telling the plain truth. "I just told her body to go to sleep. I can wake her up at any time, and she'll be fine."

This fitted in with what Emily had already heard of the healer's capabilities. Panacea's healing capabilities reportedly came with the ability to anaesthetise her patients, which was very convenient for all concerned. There was nothing, Emily supposed, stopping the girl from using the anaesthetic side of her power on someone who was perfectly healthy.

"Good." Emily nodded. "Wake her up, please." Despite the phrasing, she meant it as an order. If she was going to sort out the current problem with Carol Dallon, the woman had to be awake for it.

"O-okay." It was interesting to note how Emily's tone put steel in Panacea's spine. With a steady step, the healer approached her mother and put her hand out. Emily watched carefully as the girl touched Brandish's neck lightly for just a few seconds. There was no visible power effect, no crackling transfer of energy or glow of light. Carol Dallon just … woke up.

As soon as the woman stirred, Emily gestured to Panacea to move away. Obviously not needing the hint, Panacea stepped back to join her sister at the back wall, alongside Armsmaster. To her approval, Emily noted that the local leader of the Protectorate was standing at parade rest, treating the situation with the dignity and gravity which it deserved.

"Wha-huh?" Carol Dallon flailed for a second, her arms coming up as she stared around wildly.

While Emily could understand her confusion, the last thing she wanted was a confused Brandish cutting her office to pieces with a blade of pure unstoppable energy. "Brandish!" she snapped. "Stand down!" Into the words she projected every bit of command presence of which she was capable.

It seemed to have an effect. Carol's attention sharpened, focusing on her. "Director Piggot," she said, almost disbelievingly. "What happened? How did I get here?" She began to rise, looking around the room. Although her face was turned almost totally away from Emily when her eyes fell on Panacea, it was still obvious when the last pieces fell into place. "You," hissed Brandish, her hand reaching out in a grasping motion.

"Sit. Down." Emily didn't shout, but her voice cracked across the office like a whip. "Brandish. You will face me and talk to me about this. And once we've sorted it out, then you can take it up with your daughters." She hadn't used that tone in far too long, but it was still gratifying to see Carol Dallon, as strong-willed as she was, slowly herself back into the chair. "Now," she continued, knowing just how important it was to keep up the momentum, "I believe you have a grievance regarding the cape currently known as the Swarmbringer."

"Yes," spat Carol. "I know you're harbouring her and giving her healing. And once you let me out of here, I'll be shouting it to the rooftops." Her jaw set mulishly, and Emily knew she meant every word of her statement.

Fortunately, she knew her own words were just as telling. "Not unless you've got a pressing need to inspect the interior of the Birdcage."

Carol paused, obviously taken aback by the blatant threat. "Wai … what?"

Emily leaned back in her chair. "Now I have your attention, let me be perfectly frank. There will be no 'letting out', because you're not being kept against your will. But telling all you know would be unwise in the extreme." Emily's voice was quiet. "Not only would it endanger an innocent girl and her father, but you would also be violating the Vikare Act." She could see the exact moment when the point of her words hit Carol properly; the other woman's eyes widened fractionally.

"But …" Carol stopped, opening her mouth and closing it again.

After a moment, Emily nodded encouragingly. "Go on." She could see the inevitable conclusions piling up behind Brandish's eyes, but she wanted the New Wave hero to articulate them, to bring them out into the real world. Once said, they could not be unsaid.

"But the Vikare Act is about unmasking heroes." Carol's voice was almost plaintive. "That doesn't apply here." Her eyes focused on Emily. "Or … how does it apply here? It doesn't apply to villains!"

This was true, on the face of it. While the Vikare Act specifically forbade the "deliberate revelation and/or broadcasting of the secret identity of a heroic superhuman" and was punishable under United States law, rogues and villains were not covered to the same extent. An unmasked rogue could pursue civil suit for the loss of earnings connected to a costumed identity, while a villain had no legal redress at all. All the latter had to fall back on were the 'unspoken rules', a loosely adhered-to set of codes that boiled down to "you don't screw with me, I won't screw with you". While the PRT didn't officially recognise these 'rules', they tended to keep the body count down, so nobody bent them too hard when anyone was watching. When minor villains were captured, for instance, they were identified, but that information was never made public.

Occasionally it had come to pass that a villain accidentally learned the secret identity of a Protectorate-approved superhero. This didn't fall under 'deliberate revelation', as neither a deliberate act nor any actual revelation were involved. However, there was always the risk of the villain later reconsidering his stance, especially if said hero was seeking his capture. So the not-quite-official measure of reciprocal unmasking had been adopted, as a kind of mutually-assured-destruction. Both capes then generally avoided one another assiduously thereafter.

Also, while the Protectorate as a whole was larger than any given villain group, it was a fact that some of the larger villain groups were known to outnumber local Protectorate forces, sometimes by a ludicrous amount. This led to a state of armed semi-truce, where neither side was willing to escalate past a certain level of violence, in the certain knowledge that whoever started kicking sand at the other would also end up being hammered into the ground. There were those, of course, who ignored these limits; this was almost always self-policing, as the worst violators usually ended up in the Birdcage or dead. Or both.

So while some considered the 'unspoken rules' to be a ridiculous holdover to the comic-book mentality of the early days of capes, Emily tended to let them be. Without them, she was certain, things would be a lot worse.

"This is true." She conceded the point gracefully. "It doesn't apply to villains. However, there is a great deal you do not know about this case." Come on … take the bait.

Carol eyed her with suspicion. "What I want to know is why you're giving the Swarmbringer those protections. Protecting her under the Vikare Act." She tilted her head. "How would I be violating it, exactly?"

Emily unclasped her hands from one another and laid her right hand on one of the two folders that lay before her. "I can't tell you until you sign an NDA about what I'll be telling you." She placed a pen atop the folder and slid it toward Carol. In the background, she heard Glory Girl make a muted noise, perhaps a cough or chuckle; no doubt the girl had caught on to the Catch-22 aspect of the situation. That's right. I can only tell you how to avoid breaking the law by having you sign a document where you promise not to break the law. She had to admire the legal minds which had thought up that little wrinkle. But she did her admiring from a distance, and she washed her hands afterward.

Carol eyed the document as though it were a particularly loathsome snake. "Or I could get up and walk out of here." Despite her words, Emily noted that she made no move to do so.

"You could." Emily kept her tone light, as if discussing the weather. "Except that as I've just informed you the Vikare Act is in play, you will be held fully accountable for anything you say that's in violation of the Act. Even if you've got no idea what you've said that did it."

Backing up her words was another factor neither of them needed (or wanted) to articulate. Parahumans were demonstrably capable of doing much more than any one normal human; thus, it had long been recognised that capes who chose a heroic role were essentially irreplaceable national assets. From there, it was only a short step to determining that anyone who acted to undermine the utility of such capes—such as by outing their secret identities—were in fact working against the national interest. For Protectorate capes, this could be—and had been, more than once—defined as treason. However, even those heroic capes who didn't draw a federal paycheck were still of considerable use to the nation. Thus, the part of the Vikare Act which covered them had been appropriated from legislation originally intended to counter domestic terrorism. While the First Amendment was aggressively used by civil-liberties groups to combat any attempt to curtail free speech, the Vikare Act had already weathered several court challenges aimed at overturning its 'unconstitutional' provisions. The only way to sidestep the Act and avoid the draconian penalties thereof—which could, depending on circumstances, include incarceration in the Birdcage—was to first prove the cape involved wasn't actually a hero. And if the PRT kept insisting otherwise, this could be a problem.

Brandish's lips thinned. It was obvious she didn't appreciate being pushed into a corner. Then again, who does? Emily watched her closely, applying ten years' worth of facing parahumans over this very desk toward trying to figure out which way she'd go. Unfortunately, the woman was a consummate professional, at least in the legal field. She'd probably be hell to face over a poker table, as she'd only given away that one particular tell.

"I've got one question." It was almost a growl.

Emily smelled surrender, so she nodded easily enough. "What is it?"

Carol nodded toward the other folder, under Emily's left hand. "What's that one for?" She had her expression and voice under control once more; even to Emily's trained ear, she may well have been making light conversation.

For her part, Emily was mildly impressed. Lawyers had to think three steps ahead, and Carol was obviously no exception. "It's another NDA," she explained. "The one you have covers what Glory Girl knows. This one covers what Panacea knows."

"I see." Carol eyed the second folder, even as she tapped the one before her with a lacquered nail. "If I sign this one, will I gain more of an insight as to what's in that one?"

Emily considered the question. It skated right on the edge of what she considered acceptable when it came to digging for information. However, as the answer—a simple 'yes' or 'no'—couldn't actually give Brandish any more data on the case, she nodded. "You will," she confirmed.

Carol nodded, then opened the folder. Even as she retrieved the pen and clicked it in and out a few times, she read through the form, her eyes flickering back and forth. Her expression never changed as she turned the page. I am definitely never playing poker with her.

When she reached the bottom of the second page, Brandish put pen to paper and affixed her bold signature to the document. She nodded slowly as she read back through it, then closed the folder and slid it across the desk to Emily. "Okay, I've signed," she said bluntly. "What aren't you telling me?"

"Her name is Taylor Hebert," Emily said crisply. "She has the power to control bugs. Yesterday afternoon, through no fault of her own, she was attacked, subdued and tied up with duct tape. There were five of them. When she realised what their ultimate intention was—specifically rape and possibly murder—she panicked and began to build a swarm to defend herself. However, that was when they must have realised she was a cape, because they beat her unconscious."

Carol's lips tightened again while her hands clenched into fists. "They deserve whatever they got, then," she muttered, apparently more to herself than to Emily. Emily privately agreed, though she couldn't exactly say so then and there. "But why did she build such a large swarm and attack so indiscriminately? That's more the mark of a villain than a hero."

Emily could almost sympathise with her; she'd also had trouble with that particular conclusion as well. But it was what it was, and they had to accept it and move on. "It was a very specific circumstance," she explained carefully. "What she didn't know at the time was that her powers would remain active even after she was knocked out, carrying out the last order she gave: protect me. Attack those around me."

"Ahh." The word was more an exhalation of pure revelation as Carol leaned back in her chair. "That's what I couldn't understand. Her orders to the Swarm were interrupted before she could refine them."

Once again, Emily was impressed by Brandish's grasp of the situation. "Essentially, yes. In fact, we have a recording of her stating her intention to be a hero." Thank God. She had no desire to kill a fifteen year old girl, no matter what the circumstances. Thankfully, the way this was playing out meant she wouldn't have to go down that path, or put her own career in jeopardy by standing in its way.

On the other hand, there was now a strong possibility of bringing another hero into the fold. New heroes were always good. While Emily preferred to put her faith in the PRT, she was fully aware that some parahumans could only be realistically opposed by other parahumans. And when push came to shove, she knew damn well she'd rather have as many parahuman assets on her side as possible. Because the alternative—facing them over the barrel of a gun—rarely ended well.

"In any case, we weren't going to be using 'Swarmbringer' as a cape name for her," Armsmaster interjected from where he stood at parade rest behind Carol. "That name was applied by the public under the erroneous impression that the Swarm was a deliberate attack on the city." His diction was precise, reinforcing the facts for Carol's benefit. Emily noted his word choice and silently approved. The man could be irritating at times but, in this particular instance, his methodical nature was exactly what she needed to ensure Carol didn't decide to doubt what she'd just been told.

Behind their mother, Glory Girl and Panacea still stood alongside Armsmaster, each of them in a less formal stance than the senior hero. The healer had her arms folded and seemed a little nervous, while the young Alexandria package was fidgeting, apparently anxious for the conversation to be concluded. As Armsmaster finished speaking, Glory Girl opened her mouth to speak, but Emily caught her eye and shook her head slightly. Wonder of wonders, the girl actually paid heed to her and stayed quiet.

"But she isn't officially a hero yet." Carol set her jaw slightly, a trace of stubbornness still present in her voice. It wasn't hard to see how she'd gone as far as she had in her chosen profession; when she got hold of a fact, she didn't like to let it go. But Emily was working to a time limit and she knew it. Taylor would be waking up soon, whether Panacea was there to rouse her or not, and Emily had to have all her ducks in a row by then. Bringing Brandish around to understanding the facts wasn't the most important task she had to face, but nor was it a trivial one. It was just one more thing that, if neglected or mishandled, could scuttle the entire effort.

"She's clearly stated her intention to be one, and has expressed considerable remorse over the deaths." Emily's voice was flat and hard. "Armsmaster and Panacea were witness to this." She decided to leave out the fact she'd been listening in the next room over the intercom. While it would still be admissible in court—if this ever got to court—that sort of thing was less useful than someone who had been there at the time. "Given how she was attacked, it's unsurprising that her powers went on the offensive as they did. The circumstances are unfortunate in the extreme, but they are not her fault." She knew she was laying it on just a little thick, but if that was what it took to get through to Carol Dallon as a woman and a mother, rather than Brandish as a self-righteous superhero, then that was what it would take.

For a long moment, Carol tried to muster a defiant gaze in return, but the fire died from her eyes and she sat back a little in the chair. "And you're treating her as an avowed hero under the law." It was more a statement than a question; at the same time, it was an admission of retreat from her previous position. She nodded slowly, even though Emily hadn't replied. "I suppose I can accept that." Her tone became thoughtful. "But here we have a problem. Over two hundred people are dead, and there's that picture of her outside the Denny's. How do we avoid having her named as the culprit in the public's eye? Especially when it was her power that caused all the deaths?"

"We have a culprit." Armsmaster spoke bluntly. "The person who set those five boys on her committed a crime in doing so. That crime led to the deaths of all five perpetrators, and to the two hundred and sixty-eight other fatalities, as well as the thousands of injuries. As the five are dead, the culpability for all the deaths falls upon the shoulders of that one person." Emily had to admire his presentation. The man could state a case in a way that made it sound already signed, sealed and delivered.

She wondered briefly if he had a program in his helmet feeding him public-speaking tips. I wouldn't be at all surprised.

"Wait, why didn't you say so earlier?" Carol turned to face the armoured hero. "Who is this culprit? Are they in custody? Why did you give me all this song and dance about how the Swarm- I mean, the girl is innocent when you've already got someone?" The fire was back in her voice.

Emily almost smiled as Carol shifted her lawyer persona into high gear. Now she's on our side. Of course, they still weren't out of the woods. There was one more tricky bit of negotiation to do. She cleared her throat, drawing Carol's attention back to her. "If you wish to know the name of the culprit, and the details of the surrounding case, you'll have to sign the other NDA," she warned. "The situation is extremely sensitive, and has recently become even more so." She awaited Carol's reply, trying to discern which way she was going to jump. On the one hand, the woman was a lawyer, and lawyers always wanted to know the details. However, in this particular instance, signing the second agreement would be tying Carol's hands in the matter unless she could acqire the same information via separate means; as a superhero, Brandish would dislike that in the extreme. I know I would. It all came down to whether she felt more like being a lawyer or a superhero at that moment.

Carol frowned, looked briefly at her daughters, then she turned back to the desk. "Am I to understand Amy knows the rest of it?" The distaste that filled her tone explained why she wasn't willing to address the girl directly. Emily hadn't heard the complete story of what had happened in the van yet, but Miss Militia's verbal report had given her the shape of it. Being knocked unconscious by one's own daughter would have to be upsetting, to say the least.

When Clockblocker had first joined the Wards, he'd pranked a few people by freezing them in embarrassing postures; disciplinary action had put paid to that particular habit, but his victims reportedly had trouble trusting him afterward. This felt like much the same thing. I hope they sort it out.

"Panacea knows more or less all the pertinent details, yes." Emily wasn't telling the entire truth—after all, the Dallon girl didn't know Shadow Stalker had escaped capture—but that was a hair which didn't need splitting right now. And when it came to determining the innocence of Taylor Hebert, it wasn't really a pertinent detail, as such. In any case, Shadow Stalker had escaped after the healer had gone home for the night.

"Hm." Carol's expression became pensive once more. "Well, then. I believe I can leave the other one for the moment. You've made a good case for the Hebert girl's innocence, and I can stand by that."

Had Carol chosen to debate that specific point, arguing that two hundred plus fatalities outweighed a possibly concussed declaration of wanting to be a hero, it would've almost certainly come down to a court case. Even if Taylor were subsequently acquitted of all wrongdoing—not necessarily a sinecure, given the current atmosphere surrounding the Canary case—the PRT would most assuredly come out of it with a great deal of blame attached. Emily knew she'd be out of a job, as would nearly everyone with any connection to Shadow Stalker. The Wards and Protectorate would be split up and assigned around the country, and entirely new teams brought in to cover Brockton Bay. And the local villains, Emily knew with a certainty that bordered on prescience, would chew up and spit out whoever was brought in to 'handle' them.

Thus, she was feeling just a little relief as she nodded in reply. We aren't quite out of the woods yet, but we're closer than we were. "Thank you, Mrs Dallon. You're now on the same page as Glory Girl. The two of you may now discuss the case freely, assuming nobody else is listening in." Her eyes flickered momentarily to the time display on her computer screen. She still had a few minutes up her sleeve, but fewer than she would've liked. "Were there any more questions?"

"Just one." Carol Dallon stood, brushing her hands off on her skirt. She gave Emily a long, considering look; not in the least bit intimidated, Emily returned it with interest. "Is the culprit free or in custody?"

"You're not cleared to know anything about the culprit," Emily reminded her just a little tartly. She just never stops. "And no pressing Panacea on the matter, either." While she didn't think the healer would give her mother chapter and verse, there was no harm in giving the lawyer a firm directive.

"You won't have to worry about that." Turning, Brandish pointed at Glory Girl. "Victoria, come along." With a purposeful stride, she made for the door. Emily was just starting to realise what was happening when Glory Girl stopped.

"Mom," the blonde teenager protested. "What about Ames?" She looked back toward her sister, and Emily could read the worry in her eyes.

"What about her?" Carol paused at the threshold. "Director Piggot, Panacea attacked me from behind. She used her powers on me without my permission. I can forgive many things, but not that." Standing in the doorway, she gave Emily a direct look. "I wash my hands of her. You seem to have need of her; I don't want to ever see her again."

"Brandish." Emily didn't raise her voice, but she could see she had Carol Dallon's full attention. "You're making a mistake. You can't blame your own daughter for subduing you before you could start a fight inside a moving vehicle. Especially over a situation where you've admitted that you were ignorant of the facts." She strove for a reasonable tone, but even as she spoke, she saw the woman's face shut down altogether.

Brandish looked bleakly back at her. "You're the one who's making a mistake. Two of them, in fact. First: New Wave is not under PRT orders, so you don't get to tell me what I can and can't do. Second: Panacea isn't my daughter, and never has been. I've had my doubts about her for a long time, and today merely proved me right. She doesn't belong in New Wave. As of right now, she's off the team."

Emily cursed herself for the wounded pride she heard in the woman's voice. She was the one who'd dismantled Carol Dallon's carefully constructed narrative and shown how close she'd come to making a catastrophic mistake. In the normal run of things, she had no doubt Brandish would have cooled down and become amenable to reason in a relatively short time. However, in this particular instance, Carol needed to salve her hurt feelings by lashing out at someone. Emily was manifestly just doing her job, but Panacea had also drawn her mother's ire. This apparently coincided with an ongoing problem between the two of them, bringing it into the open once and for all. I think I'm going to have to revisit Panacea's file.

"Mom!" Glory Girl stared at her mother, then at her sister. "You can't just -"

"Glory Girl." Emily's tone brooked no interference. More importantly, she interrupted the teen hero before she could repeat the mistake that Emily herself had just made. "Go with your mother. Panacea will be fine." She glanced toward the healer, noting how she was huddled inside her hoodie as if trying to disappear into the wallpaper. … I hope.

Goddamn cape drama. She suppressed the thought even as she watched the door close behind Glory Girl. The stakes right now were more important than the hurt feelings of a prima donna cape. Maybe Brandish's family would be able to talk her around, and maybe they wouldn't. What was important was that Taylor Hebert woke up to a friendly, non-threatening environment. Which meant Panacea had to be on deck for that. Is she up to it?

"Miss Dallon. Are you all right?" Emily made her voice as gentle as possible. Picking up the folder, she stood and moved around the desk, stopping short of actually crossing the room and crowding into the teenager's space. Wonder of wonders, Armsmaster took the hint and moved a couple of steps away from Panacea as well.

Panacea sniffled and surreptitiously wiped her eyes with her sleeve. "I … I guess," she mumbled. "That was a bit sudden, is all." She drew in a deep breath and straightened up again. "I can deal. She'll cool off. Eventually." Emily wasn't quite sure whether or not to believe her. She wasn't even certain if Panacea believed her own words.

Armsmaster, apparently, had fewer doubts. "That-a-girl," he said encouragingly. "You did what you had to. She'll come around." He paused for a moment. "And even if she doesn't, we've got the Wards program -"

"- but we'll talk about that another time," Emily cut in briskly. Not the right time, Mr Wallis. "Right now, I believe Taylor's about to wake up. Amy, do you feel up to sitting with her again?" She didn't quite hold her breath over the answer, but if pressed, she would've admitted to a certain amount of tension. Amy Dallon's insights into the teenage mindset had come in extremely handy on the previous night.

Panacea's chin came up and her resolve visibly firmed. "I can do that," she said; to Emily's ear, her voice held a note of something akin to gratitude.

Right at that moment, Emily had no idea what was going through the girl's head. The mood whiplash made her want to sigh with relief and bang her head on the desk, all at the same time. I need a teen girl whisperer for my teen girl whisperer. Is this what it's like to be a parent? "Good," she said out loud. "I do appreciate the time and effort you're putting in."

Wonder of wonders, that actually got her a wan smile. "Thanks," Panacea said. "I'm just glad I can help someone to not have a shitty day today."

"Well, she's still got several pieces of unpleasant news to take in," Emily reminded her. "But with you there, I'm certain she'll take it better than if you weren't." Which was, she knew, about the understatement of the century. Her background was in the PRT as part of field operations, which meant she was accustomed to giving orders and expecting results. Working with children, having to dance around hurt feelings, was not something she was good at. Of course, she reminded herself sourly, that also applied to working with some of the adult capes as well. Armsmaster's antipathy toward Dauntless was, after all, perhaps the worst-kept secret in the Brockton Bay PRT building.

Amy Dallon nodded. "I'll do what I can," she promised. She squared her shoulders and moved toward the door. "We'd better get moving. She won't be asleep for much longer." Now she had been reminded of her charge, Emily noted with bemusement, she was once more acting like a medical professional rather than a traumatised teenager. There would probably be an emotional crash coming at some point in the future, but Emily knew the wisest course of action was to deal with one problem at a time. We'll deal with that when we get to it.

"Well, then," Emily said. "Let's not waste any time." Moving toward the door, she opened it, then paused. "Armsmaster."

The armoured hero stopped halfway to the door. "Yes, ma'am?"

"Get some sleep. That's an order. Panacea and I can handle this." It felt good to say it.

To his credit, he didn't even try to argue. "Yes, Director."

"Good." With that, Emily turned and led the way toward the infirmary.

<><>​

Taylor

This time, when I woke up, my mind was a lot less confused. It took me only a few seconds to recall that I was in the PRT infirmary, and what had gone before. It would still have been frightening and unfamiliar, but my blurry vision made out Panacea—Amy—sitting at the side of the bed, her hand touching mine.

"Hey," I said, my voice a little raspy. "Did you get any sleep last night?" Taking her hand, I squeezed it. "Dunno if I said thanks last night, but thanks."

"And what about your dear old dad?" It was Dad's voice, all right. I turned my head as my glasses were pushed into my free hand. After fitting them on to my face—and rubbing the sleep from my eyes—I took a good look at him. For once, he looked well-rested and clean-shaven, and the smile he sent my way was worth more than gold or jewels to me. Letting go of Panacea's hand, I sat up and hugged Dad fiercely, feeling his arms go around me in return.

"Feeling better, kiddo?" he asked, the smile showing through in his voice as he let me go. My smile only broadened; he didn't often call me that, but when he did, he meant it. It showed the depth of emotion he was feeling right at that moment.

"Lots, actually." I meant it, too. I still remembered what had happened the previous evening, but with the distance of a good night's sleep between now and then, I was able to view it more objectively. Of course, there were some things I didn't really want to remember, and for which I'd probably need therapy, but … "Well, not totally okay." I took his hand and squeezed it, feeling him return the pressure. My eyes went down and away from him. "I don't know if I'll ever really be okay again. But I'm not as big a mess as I was last night."

"That's good to hear, Miss Hebert." I looked up at the new voice, just as Panacea recaptured my free hand. A heavy-set woman wearing a blue business suit had entered the infirmary. She looked vaguely familiar to me, but the big hint was the way the guard stood to attention as she walked past him. "I'm Director Emily Piggot. You're in my building. Do you have any complaints about your treatment here?"

I tried to sit up a little straighter. The name of the Director of the local branch of the PRT was known to me, of course. Somehow, I'd thought she'd be taller. Grey eyes glinted back at me as I struggled to think of something to say. "I, uh, no, everyone's been really good. Thanks, uh …" Thanks for not Birdcaging me? How do I even say that without sounding like an idiot?

She gave me a measured nod, although her expression didn't change. I got the impression she only smiled for important events, such as the defeat of an Endbringer. "You're entirely welcome, Taylor. May I call you Taylor?"

Unlike some people who asked that sort of question, she actually paused after asking, instead of automatically assuming consent. I blinked stupidly for a second, then forced my mouth to work. "Uh, yeah, of course. Uh, Director."

"Thank you. I'm here to speak to you about several important matters, Taylor." Her gaze, which had already been intimidating, became even more intense. "But first, an important thing to note. You are not in trouble. Do you understand this? What I'm about to say is very serious, but I've had my people working hard through the night, and they've ironed out the details of what did actually happen yesterday. And it's not your fault."

I wanted to believe her; I really did. But the memory of what I'd done came home to me once more. "But … I killed those people. With my powers." I felt Panacea and Dad squeeze my hands at the same time. It helped, a little.

"Taylor, I've been doing my job here for ten years." Her voice was firm, if a little harsh. "If there's anything I've learned in my time here, it's that there's a clear distinction between responsibility and guilt. Yes, your power is responsible for those deaths, but that doesn't make you guilty of murder."

Her words weren't making sense. "If I'm not … then who is? Who can you blame for this? My power did it."

I'd been wrong about her not smiling, although the expression that crossed her face was almost predatory. "The boys who attacked you would have been held responsible, but they're all dead. So the blame devolves on to the person who gave them their orders."

My eyes opened wide. "Sophia Hess?" Wait—they can actually blame her for all this? Then reality returned, like a dousing from a bucket of cold water. It's not like they can prove it. "She'll just say she didn't do it."

"As I said." The Director's lips tightened. "My people have been busy. However, there's something you don't know about her. Something you need to know before we go any farther. Something that changes everything."

I had no idea what to make of this. "Um … sure?"

She moved closer to the bed and held out a folder to Dad. "I'm going to need both of you to sign this, to show you're aware of the legal ramifications of passing on anything you hear in this room."

"Sure, but I'm going to be reading it through first," he said. I wasn't surprised; given his job in the Dock Workers, he always treated any contract with extreme caution. It wasn't what was in there that you had to worry about, he had once told me. It was the stuff that was implied but not actually included. So I was content to relax back onto my pillows—Panacea thoughtfully stole a pile of them from the other beds so I could sit up without discomfort—and let him peruse the document at his own pace.

Eventually, he finished looking it over and nodded. "That makes sense," he said. "Though what's the Vikare Act again?" As he spoke, he took the pen that was clipped to the folder.

"It's got to do with stopping people from outing heroic capes," I blurted, then felt myself flush as he and the Director both looked at me. "We covered it in World Affairs last year."

"I'm pleased to see our educational system isn't quite failing today's youth." Director Piggot's voice was just a little dry. "But that's basically correct, yes."

"Right." Dad signed his usual illegible scribble at the bottom of the document, then passed it over to me, along with the pen. I scrawled my own signature, then passed the folder and pen back to the Director. "So, what's so important my daughter needs to sign her life away before being told what's going on?"

She took a deep breath, looking extremely uncomfortable. I saw her eyes flicker to Panacea; to my surprise, the healer nodded slightly and made a go-on gesture. A grimace crossed the Director's face. "I'm going to do something now that I very rarely do. Taylor, Daniel, I want to offer my sincere apologies for everything Taylor's been through since September last. It is, at least in part, the fault of the PRT for not keeping Sophia Hess in line."

After a few moments, I became aware I was gaping, my jaw hanging open like a landed fish. People like the Director didn't apologise. Not to people like me. Not about … "Wait. Did you say Sophia Hess?"

An expression very much like physical pain had taken up semi-permanent residence on her face; I could see it settling into lines already worn into her face. "I did. You see, Sophia Hess is otherwise known as Shadow Stalker."

My jaw dropped for the second time in as many minutes. "Wait, what? The living fuck? Sophia's Shadow Stalker? A Ward? Fuck … that's …" My thoughts whirled. Dad looked just as confused as I did, but Panacea … "Wait, did you already know about this?"

"Not until last night," Panacea said quietly. Her hands were both holding mine. "Shadow Stalker's always been very close-mouthed with her secret identity. If I'd have had even a hint …" Her grip tightened on mine, and I squeezed back. Her support meant so much to me, right at that moment.

"How long have you known?" This was a different side of Dad. His jaw was set, and his tone was granite-hard as he faced the Director. "How long has the PRT been letting this go on?"

"It seems it's been permitted to go on since last September." The Director didn't look any happier, but she wasn't being defensive about it. "I found out last night. Shadow Stalker, you see, wasn't exactly a model citizen before she joined the Wards. She had a handler, who was supposed to be reporting any irregularities. Between that woman and your Principal Blackwell, nothing of any note got through to me. That side of things is being dealt with as we speak. It was an unconscionable state of affairs, but it's now at an end. Thanks mainly to your daughter."

"And we're supposed to be grateful after the fact?" Dad wasn't giving an inch. "After my daughter was bullied to within an inch of her life? After what happened yesterday?" His grip on my hand tightened, and I squeezed back. "I could've lost her, because you were all looking in the wrong goddamn fucking direction!"

The Director shook her head. "I don't expect thanks, Mr Hebert. You're entirely correct. This is my job, and I missed things I should've caught. Well, I'm aware of it now. Shadow Stalker's case worker is currently in custody, pending charges. Principal Blackwell is almost certainly going to lose her job, once what my people found on her computer system makes its way to the right people. So are half the teachers in Taylor's year." She put the folder on the end of the bed and spread her hands. "I acknowledge that the PRT screwed up, Taylor. As the Director, this is ultimately my fault. Right now, I'm working to fix it."

Dad jumped in. "And how exactly are you planning to do that?"

The Director looked him straight in the eye. "From what we found in the Winslow computer system, you're due a considerably larger compensation check than you got from them last month."

"Wait a minute." My head was still buzzing with all the new information, but I picked out several important bits. "You went to Winslow? In the middle of the night? Just for me?"

"Fuck the money!" Dad's eyes locked on to the Director's, and he pointed off to the side. "What are you going to do about Sophia Hess, given she blew out through that window last night? Has she been recaptured?"

"It's a work in progress," the Director stated firmly. "We know her capabilities, we know her skills, and we'll have her home locked down solid. It's only a matter of time before she's in custody." I watched her face. From her expression, she was just as angry as Dad, but she was better at concealing it. "She's been caught before. We can do it again."

"And what happens once you get her?" Dad wasn't letting this go. "A slap on the wrist? Juvey for a couple of years? Shuffled off to the Wards in a different city under a different name?"

"None of the above." The Director's expression hardened. "I'm going to be pushing for the Birdcage, myself."

"Really? A teenager?" Dad's expression was sceptical. "Is that ever really going to happen, or are you just saying it? Because I've had people put their hands on their hearts before and -"

"Mr Hebert." She was starting to show her anger, now. They faced each other, bristling like two dogs that both refused to back down. "If you think for one moment -"

"Director!" I didn't want to step in between them but I knew if this kept escalating, Dad might just throw a punch, and that would be bad for everyone. She swung to look at me, eyes still flinty with anger. "Uh, you said something about finding stuff on Principal Blackwell's computer. Was it really that bad?"

She took a breath then, and seemed to relax slightly. "Yes. I authorised Armsmaster to call in Dragon to help." She didn't have to say any more. If there was a better person to work with computers than Dragon, nobody knew of them. She was the computer Tinker. "And Dragon found everything there was to find."

"And Blackwell's losing her job?" I had trouble believing that. While I hadn't personally interacted with the principal of Winslow very much, she had been the authority figure overshadowing my time in high school. With every act of unpunished bullying, every time my complaints had been trivialised, I had learned to trust her less and less, until she was simply there, the anchor to the whole system. It wasn't that she had ever acted against me; more like she had never acted for me. But why that had been, I still couldn't … "Wait. Did she know -" Was she bending over backward because Shadow Stalker is a Ward?

The Director nodded. "Yes. We have arrangements with schools that have Wards attending them. It seems she was inclined to let Shadow Stalker's misbehaviour go a little farther than it should have, in order to keep her in the school and collect the stipend. We have yet to analyse everything we got, but if it seems too egregious, there may be prison time involved." She seemed neither pleased nor unhappy at this, merely satisfied she was doing her job.

"Good." Dad had managed to regain his own cool while the Director was talking. He shot me a grateful glance, then directed his attention back toward her. However, his tone had lost a lot of the aggression from before, and he was definitely happy at this turn of events. "She doesn't deserve to run a hot-dog cart, let alone a goddamn high school."

"So I gathered." The Director gave him a measured nod. "And you can be certain we'll be dealing appropriately with Shadow Stalker once she's in custody." She turned toward me. "But there's something else you need to know about. Something that is not your fault."

Involuntarily, I tensed up. Those three words, no doubt intended to make me feel better, had exactly the opposite result. I glanced from Dad to Panacea. Neither one seemed to be surprised by the way this was going. "Uh …"

"I'm here for you." Dad squeezed my hand. "Hear her out." I squeezed back, glad of his presence, but still not sure what was going on.

"Me too." Panacea gave me a slightly damp smile. "It's gonna be all right. I promise."

Don't make promises you can't keep. I took a deep breath and looked the Director in the eye. "Okay, hit me."

She nodded once, looking uncomfortable. "The death toll of the Swarm wasn't just the five people you know about. There were … more. Many more."

My breath caught in my throat. "M-more?" I heard my voice squeak, and I hated myself for it. "How-how many more? Ten?" My eyes clenched shut, not wanting to see the look in her eyes. The look of pity, with a strong hint of sadness. "Fifty?" There was no answer. "A hundred?"

"Taylor." Panacea let go my hand; a moment later, I felt her wrap her arms around me. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. It was two hundred and seventy-three people."

… two …

"What?" I nearly screamed the word. "No! Not that many! How? How?"

… hundred ..

"Shh, shh ..." Dad's voice was soothing in my ear as he stroked my hair. "It just happened. Your powers were really widespread. It's not your fault."

… seventy …

I bucked against Panacea's hug, not sure why I was fighting. "No! I don't believe it! It's not true! How could I do that?"

… three …

I felt Panacea's cheek against mine. It was wet with tears; hers or mine, I wasn't sure. "You didn't do it, Taylor. You didn't do it. You stopped the Swarm as soon as you woke up. You saved lives. It's Shadow Stalker who killed them. Not you."

… people …

I pushed away from Panacea, tears running down my cheeks, and screamed. My voice echoed from the walls, interspersed with my racking sobs. I screamed again and again, until my throat was raw and I had a headache from the effort I was putting into it. Outside the building, I could feel the bugs starting to get agitated, but I couldn't make myself care. My voice, harsh and ragged, echoed through the room yet again, and blackness welled up at the edges of my vision. I began to slide away into some dark place where I could wail and scream in the darkness, where nobody could hear me.

Then I was back, shuddering and crying. Panacea held me as I sobbed into her shoulder. It felt … better. I could control my emotions more, and the bugs began to settle down again. Someone, probably Dad, patted me on the back.

I might not have been personally responsible for this—despite the Director's assurances, I still harboured some secret doubts—but it was still my power that did it, no matter who had set off the situation. Maybe I should've attacked them earlier. Maybe I should've … I didn't know what I should've done. Something.

I had no idea how long it took for me to cry myself out. All of the repressed emotions came out. All of the anger and fear that had filled me at the time, the terror as I realised what the boys intended, the despair and hopelessness I felt more and more these days. It all came bubbling up as I cried on Panacea's shoulder.

At some point, I realised the headache was gone, and my throat was no longer raw. I still felt like shit, but it was a level of feeling-like-shit I could tolerate. Slowly, I opened my eyes, realising someone had removed my glasses during my crying jag. Panacea smiled at me, close enough that my poor vision could spot it, and offered me a handkerchief. I took it and wiped my eyes, then blew my nose. That went on for some time. Then she took it away and gave me my glasses back.

"Hey," she said quietly. "You okay?"

I took a good look at her for the first time in … well, ever. Everyone had seen the publicity stills for New Wave, with Glory Girl posing in mid-air, front and centre. In those pictures, Panacea was usually standing off to the side with the cowled robe and the facial scarf, with only her eyes showing. She couldn't fly or bounce bullets off her chest. The prominent red crosses on her costume pointed out her role to all concerned. Nobody bothered her, or bothered with her.

She'd pushed her hood back so messy brown hair framed her concerned eyes. Tiny lines around them told me she hadn't had as easy a life as some people probably thought. She had problems, or she'd had them in the past. I had no doubt that I had similar lines on my own face. I was no great judge of feminine beauty—I knew I didn't have any worth noting—but I figured if she put the effort in, she could be pretty, though her cheekbones weren't pronounced enough for anything more than that. She did have freckles dusted over her nose, and I'd heard some guys found that sort of thing cute, so there was that.

Looking at her from this close, something struck me as weird. Glory Girl's face was well-known, as were the more active members of New Wave. Both Brandish and Glory Girl had classically beautiful faces, with strong cheekbones and heart-shaped faces. Panacea … looked nothing like them. Not in the hair, not in the eyes, not in the shape of the face. And while Flashbang had light brown hair and Brandish was blonde, Panacea's hair was darker than her father's and downright frizzy. Nobody else in New Wave had curly hair at all. Or freckles, for that matter.

"What?" she asked, flushing slightly. "Is there something on my nose?" Lifting her free hand—the other one was still holding mine—she rubbed at it.

"No, sorry." I felt embarrassed to have been caught staring. "It's just that I've seen your picture a thousand times, but I've never actually seen your face before."

She rolled her eyes in what looked like a practised move. "It's just a face. Nobody looks at me. Everyone looks at Vicky." I wasn't quite sure what to make of her tone. Was she annoyed or relieved?

"I know what that's like." I didn't like to think of Emma, with all she'd done to me, but if it let me relate to Panacea even superficially, I could stand it. "I … used to have a best friend who models occasionally. All the boys look at her. Never at me."

"Um, honey, why do you say 'used to have'?" asked Dad. He was still standing next to the bed, I realised with an awkward start. Director Piggot was still standing off at a discreet distance. I had no idea what she thought of me now. Overly emotional teenager probably rated high on the list.

"Uh …" I stopped short. Dad didn't know about Emma, or Madison. He knew about Sophia, but not that she was connected to them. Oh, god. What do I tell him?

"She screwed me over." It took me a second to realise the voice was mine. I was speaking the words I'd never thought I would say out loud. "Sophia's her best friend now. They've got another friend called Madison. Ever since we went to Winslow, they've been bullying me." With an effort, I closed my mouth, panting slightly. What the hell was that? I'd managed to keep all that secret from Dad for more than a year, and now I was just casually blurting it out?

"What … the … hell?" Dad's eyes opened wide behind his glasses. "Why didn't you tell me? Like … a year ago?" I could see the anger mounting in his face again.

I thought I had it. The emotional release from all the crying had temporarily knocked down my normal barriers. My filters needed re-establishing before I blurted out all my secrets to the world. "At first I thought it was me." Okay, that's good. "Then I tried complaining to the teachers. But it didn't help. And you were still grieving for Mom, and I didn't want to put more on your plate. Then it was too late. It had gone on too long, and I didn't know how to tell you." Yeah, that's better.

The Director pulled out a phone and stepped away from us, dialling a number. I didn't know what was going on with her, but I guessed if it was urgent, she would've spoken to the guard at the door.

"Still, you should've told me," he said, an agonised look on his face. "I mean, god, Taylor."

I sighed softly. Panacea squeezed my hand encouragingly. "Yeah, I got it." My voice was resigned. "I'm an idiot." Then I remembered something he'd said before I'd been given the news on the death toll. "Wait a minute. You said Sophia blew out of here through that window. How did you know she … wait, did she do that while I was in here?"

He nodded reluctantly. "She was going to—I think she was going to try and kill you. But I stopped her." He opened his mouth, then shut it again.

"Stopped her?" Now I was curious. "How did you do that?" My Dad, the hero. For a moment, I imagined him tackling Sophia to the ground and wresting the crossbows from her hands.

"I, uh, hit her on the head …" He mumbled three more words so quietly I didn't hear them. But apparently Panacea did, because she burst out laughing.

"What?" I stared at him, then at her. "What was that? What did he say?"

"With a bedpan!" she whooped. "Mr Hebert, that's awesome!" She held up her hand for a high-five across the bed. With a bemused expression on his face, he returned it.

As the mental image of Dad bonking Sophia Hess over the head with a bedpan sent me into a fit of the giggles, a thought occurred to me.

Things could be worse.

<><>​

Sophia

This sucks.

Sophia looked around the confines of the small room she'd been shown to. It was a little larger than a prison cell, but not hugely so. Also, she was fairly certain it was underground, which explained the total lack of windows. In fact, the whole base struck her as being still under construction, with trailing wires here and there, and lots of crates with odd stencilled markings on them stacked up in large piles. Coil's mooks seemed to be relatively disorganised, which would suck for them if the place had to be defended in a hurry. If the PRT came in here right now, they could roll these guys up pretty easily.

Standing up from the bed—at least it was an actual bed, rather than a hard concrete slab—she took three steps and opened the closet tucked away in one corner. There were hangers, but no clothes at the moment. Let's hope I'm not here long enough to need to store anything in here. She moved on, into the tiny bathroom that the room boasted. Washbasin, commode, shower cubicle. All the fittings looked as though they'd been bought pre-fabricated and plugged into place. I wonder if that actually means something I can use?

After a moment, she dug the phone out of the pouch on the back of her belt. Powering it up, she checked the charge. It still had over seventy percent, which was heartening. Unfortunately, it also showed zero signal bars. Figures. Lots of concrete means lots of rebar. But this didn't mean she couldn't use the camera. Maybe Calvert can match these to a purchaser. Careful to turn the flash off, she took several shots of the bathroom fittings, and one of her bed. A distant clanging warned her someone was approaching her door. It did have a lock on the inside—for which she was obscurely grateful—but she had no illusions about its ability to withstand a determined force.

By the time the mercenary banged on her door, she had the phone powered down and back in the pouch. She unlocked the door and opened it. "What the fuck do you want?"

"Here." The uniformed man thrust a carrier bag at her. "Boss wants you costumed up and out front of his office in ten." His helmet had a closed faceplate, just like the rest of them, though his nametag read MINOR. She wasn't sure if that was his real name, a codename, or an indication that he was only seventeen. Not that she cared either way.

"I'm already costumed up." She ignored the carrier bag and tapped the mask she was wearing. "See?" Moron.

"Nope." He shook his head. "You're not Shadow Stalker any more. Protectorate sees that costume, they'll come down on you like the hounds of hell. Some cape they've never seen before, it'll be business as normal. Take the damn bag."

He had a point, though she didn't like to admit to anyone getting the better of her, even in an argument. With a sneer that was wasted on him, she snatched the bag from his hand and stepped back into her room. Even as she closed the door again, the resonant clanging indicated he was heading off again on whatever other duties Coil had planned for him.

Reaching into the bag, she pulled out a tinted visor attached to a boxing-style head protector. This she tossed on to the bed. The next thing she found was a shopping bag containing half a dozen sets of feminine underwear, all in generic brands. She sneered again; Emma had shown her the difference in quality between generic and designer brands, and she'd never gone back. Finally, she found a set of urban-camo fatigues in her approximate size, and a hooded cloak in the same pattern.

I'm Shadow Stalker, damn it. She didn't want to change costumes, because that meant these assholes were impressing their wills on her, and she didn't take that shit. Not for one hot Brockton Bay second. But she knew she had to play along, just for a while. Right up until I can turn around and fuck them up hard.

Five minutes later, her Stalker costume was folded neatly on the bed, or as neatly as she ever folded it. In its place, she was wearing the urban camo. Over her face, she fitted the faceplate; it didn't obscure her vision nearly as much as she'd worried about. After a moment spent figuring how to attach the cloak to the costume, she headed into the bathroom to check herself out.

It was definitely a good look. With her normal mask, people could focus more or less on her eyes, but with this one, there was nothing to focus on. Like Clockblocker, but badass. It changed her whole appearance, a lot more than she'd figured it would. I think I can scare the fuck out of people like this.

With that pleasant thought in mind, she headed back into the main room and considered the utility belt. If I put it on, people might wonder why. After a few moments, she took out the phone and earpiece. The latter went into her ear, almost entirely concealed by the head protector even before she pulled the hood up. The phone was more problematic; she tried it in half a dozen different pockets before deciding that tucking it into her bra was her best bet. It rode awkwardly, and wasn't particularly comfortable, but it was the best she was going to get.

Thus fully costumed, she strode from her room toward Coil's office. Every mercenary she passed had a sidearm or a rifle, whereas she had no weapons. Even though the strongest reaction she got was an occasional odd look, every step caused her to feel the lack of armament more and more keenly.

When she got there, she hesitated. Do I knock and wait, barge in, or phase through the door? No, scratch that last. It's almost certainly wired. The Tinkertech circuitry in her Shadow Stalker mask had not been replicated in her visor. While this wasn't exactly surprising, it did leave her feeling slightly more vulnerable.

She was just making up her mind to knock when the door slid open and Coil stepped out. She couldn't see his eyes, but from the way he moved his head, he was looking her over. "Good," he said, his dry-as-dust voice giving her the creeps. "It suits you. Unless you have an objection, your new codename will be Spectre."

What the fuck do I say to that? On the one hand, 'spectre' was a little close to 'spook', which still got used as an insult from time to time. On the other, it was kind of badass. And hadn't there been a James Bond villain group called that? Then she took a mental grip on herself. What the fuck am I worried about? They can call me what they like. I'm goddamn Shadow Stalker, bitches. "Sure," she said. "Sounds kickass to me."

"I'm glad you approve." She couldn't quite tell if he was being sarcastic. "Go with Fish. He'll take you to meet the people you'll be working with." He turned away from her and headed back into his office. She considered striking then and there, decapitating the organisation, but that would make her chances of survival somewhat slim. I'll wait till later. See what Calvert has to say.

With that thought in mind, she turned to go look for Fish, only to find the burly mercenary standing right behind her. "Holy fuck!" she yelped, jumping half a yard back. "Don't do that!" He wasn't there ten seconds ago. And how did he sneak up behind me? Is he a fucking cape too?

"Do what?" He handed her the shopping bag from her room. "That's yours. Let's go." His voice revealed nothing out of the ordinary. For all she knew, his hobby consisted of scaring the living shit out of teenage girls.

Numbly she took the bag, then glared at him—to no avail, she recalled a moment later, as they were both wearing tinted visors. "The fuck? You get this out of my room?"

"And if I did?" He shrugged. "The boss said to get it and meet you here. Anyway, you're being posted away from this base. Your other stuff will go into storage until you get back." There was no triumph, no gloating. Just simple statements of fact. He pivoted on his heel and moved off, his boots clanging rhythmically on the metal catwalk. "Coming?" he called over his shoulder.

After a moment, she followed. He moved easily, with a long stride she couldn't duplicate; as it was, she had to half-trot to keep up. Bet I could still outrun you on the flat, asshole. With a permanent sneer on her face, she kept pace with him as they headed for the exit.

When they reached the last door, he pulled a familiar-looking bag from his pocket. "Gotta put this on."

She shook her head. "No. Fuck off. I'm one of you guys now. I'm even wearing your pansy-ass uniform." Even though it does look kinda badass on me.

Unmoved, he shook his head. "Boss's orders." He offered the bag again.

Fuck. I have got to get orders soon. And for that, I've gotta get outside. With a snarl, she snatched the bag from his hand, pulled back the hood, and yanked the bag over her head. "Okay, happy now?"

"Totally." His voice was deadpan. She felt his hand descend on her shoulder, and he guided her to a vehicle. After she heard the door open, she felt her way around until she could climb in. The door closed behind her, then after a moment Fish got in on the far side. "I'll get you close, then give you directions," he said. "You can walk the rest of the way. They know you're coming."

"Who the fuck are they?" She hated asking, especially from inside the bag, but she also hated being kept in the dark. Figuratively and literally. "And when will you assholes be giving me my crossbows back?"

"You'll find out when you meet them." Fish started the car. "And you won't be getting your crossbows back. They're too easy to trace back to you. Boss says you'll be supplied with new weapons." The vehicle moved off, leaving Sophia to stew in her own thoughts. The mercenary was right, she decided, but she didn't have to like it. And she really didn't like being unarmed. Not that that was really an issue; if it came down to it, whatever weapons the enemy had would soon be her weapons.

Still, the loss of the crossbows hurt, even if they would identify her to the PRT and Protectorate. God damnit.

<><>​

"Okay, we're here." The car pulled to a halt. Sophia had no idea where she was, save that the roads had been getting rougher.

"Can I take the fucking bag off yet?" she snapped. Her nostrils felt suffused with the musty smell of unwashed cloth.

"You could've taken it off five minutes ago," he said, a tone of mild surprise in his voice. "I kind of figured you liked it that way."

Asshole! She jerked the bag off her head and gave him the finger with both hands at once. "Not fuckin' funny, shitbag," she hissed.

Although she couldn't see his face, she got the distinct impression he was raising an eyebrow at her. "Actually, it kinda was." He pointed out through the windshield. "See that intersection? Turn right, go half a block. Big-ass building on the right. You'll hear dogs barking. Go on in. Introduce yourself."

She wanted to hit him, but there was no way it would go well after that. With one final impotent glare, she opened her door and got out, then stomped on down the street. She heard the car pulling a U-turn behind her, and looked back to get a read on the license plate. To her irritation, it was smeared with mud. Which was, she decided, probably deliberate. Because Coil's not stupid. Which is gonna make it all the more satisfying to take his ass down, once and for all.

She trudged on down the street and turned the corner. This was the crappy area of town. Shopfronts were closed, and wrecked cars decorated the street here and there. Down on the right was indeed a large brick building. She broke into a trot to get there before anyone spotted her, the cloak billowing out behind her. Rather than wait for whoever was inside to unlock the personal-entrance door, she phased into shadow and stepped through the obviously-stuck roller-door. Inside was dark and smelled of rust and mould. And dog, too; even as she registered the smell, a storm of barking started up from … above?

Looking around, she saw a spiral staircase ascending into the gloom. She took the stairs two at a time, moving as quietly as she knew how. Whoever these guys were, she wanted to make a proper appearance. She just wished she had her weapons, so she could ensure they knew not to fuck with her.

As she reached the top, she heard voices over the barking. Someone was shushing the dogs, while other people were talking to each other.

"Sounds like our new member's here." That was a girl.

"Any idea who it is?" A guy, sounded kinda husky.

"Eh, so long it's not some kinda dork." Another guy, with what sounded like a no-shits-given attitude.

There were lights on inside, so she decided to show off a bit. Placing the shopping bag on the floor, she turned to shadow and leaped inside, rolling to her feet and turning solid with her new cloak flaring behind her. It was, she decided, one of her better entrances.

"What -"

"Holy shit -"

"Look out -"

Two guys and two girls were staring at her. None were masked or costumed, but there seemed to be something terribly familiar about them. The stocky auburn-haired girl kneeling with the dogs recovered first. "It's Shadow Stalker!" she yelled. Raising her hand as the dogs began to growl, she pointed at Sophia and started to frame a command.

"No, wait!" It was the blonde with the elaborate French braid in her hair. "Guys, this is our new member." Amusement flared in her eyes, and she began to chuckle. Then that devolved into full-on laughter.

"The fuck?" The skinny guy with the delicate features and curly hair stared at her. "Shadow Stalker is our new fucking member? How the fuck does that even work?"

The big black guy stood up, towering over Sophia even from across the room. Darkness began to leak from his skin, confirming her rapidly-growing suspicions about whose base she had just walked into. Fuck me. It's the Undersiders. And she was unarmed, up against Grue, in a confined space. Someone whom she'd shot with a broadhead arrow not so very long ago. He'll fucking murder me.

The blonde—fucking Tattletale—let up on her laughing for just a moment. "She—she ran from the PRT," she gasped. "Wanted for—oh shit, this is too good—all the shit she's done. She's legit, guys." With that, she lost control of her hilarity to the point where she fell off the sofa arm she'd been perched on, ending up out of Sophia's sight. Her feet stuck out into view, kicking at the carpet in tune with her repeated peals of laughter.

Grue rubbed the back of his neck and stared at her. "This is not fucking cool," he growled.

For the first time in her life, she found herself agreeing with him.



End of Part Ten

Part Eleven

 

[macdjord]

I need a teenage whisperer for my teenage whisperer.

Click to shrink...

I think this should be 'teenager-whisperer'.

 

[Ack]

I think this should be 'teenager-whisperer'.

Click to shrink...

Eh, possibly. It flows more easily off the tongue this way.

 

[macdjord]

Eh, possibly. It flows more easily off the tongue this way.

Click to shrink...

True, but it loses meaning. Given it's a modification of a more famous, easily spoken phrase, 'dog whisperer', it doesn't have to be smooth and easily spoken in itself.

 

[Darkarma]

I give Tattletale an hour before she realizes that while Sophia has every intention of betraying them, that PRT is actually after Sophia.

 

[Chojomeka]

Jeez Brian's always going to be looking over his shoulder now that he's got fucking Shadow Stalker forced onto his team.....Lisa's going to spill once Sophia's gone isn't she?

 

[Muroshi9]

Jeez Brian's always going to be looking over his shoulder now that he's got fucking Shadow Stalker forced onto his team.....Lisa's going to spill once Sophia's gone isn't she?

Click to shrink...

Sophia has nowhere to be gone too.

 

[Ack]

True, but it loses meaning. Given it's a modification of a more famous, easily spoken phrase, 'dog whisperer', it doesn't have to be smooth and easily spoken in itself.

Click to shrink...

Except that it's Piggot saying it in her head.

And you understood what was meant. Nobody who read it didn't.

 

[preier]

thanks for sharing ack, as always.

interesting mirror situation from canon. i think those undersiders are going to be about as stable as ClF3

and about as dangerous to their surroundings, actually...