Unpunished (Worm Au)

[Joko]

Spoiler: Author's Note

Spun this idea out of one of the minor plot threads from LD1449's No Good Deed... thus the title.
No Good Deed...'s prologue arc contains spoilers as Unpunished's major conceit stems from it. But similarities will be broad at the start and even more so as things progress so feel free to give it a read. It's worth it anyway.
This'll be 22-25 chapters depending on how I break up scenes.
I'm very much looking for comments and constructive criticism and please do point out any errors.
Happy reading.

Synopsis: After narrowly avoiding a painful end and with Empire Eighty-Eight threatening the city, Shadow Stalker finds that being a survivor isn't as simple as she once believed.

Be warned. The first two chapters contain graphic torture scenes.



Prologue
I
II
III
IV
V
VI
VII
VIII
IX

Unpunished
-----------------------------Prologue-----------------------------​

If there was one thing Sophia knew about the world it was this: the world is a brutal, cruel, mean motherfucker. It was the sort of thing most people knew but few understood. Well, there were few who really understood. And they never could until they're facing down the barrel of a gun, forced to choose whether to roll over and die like a dog or to fight. And survive.

If you're weak, too weak to even fight for yourself, you get stepped on. You deserve to be stepped on. It happened every day. Some gang banging bastard might come along, or some dope fiend mugger or just a drunk having a bad day. To them, some faceless loser is just an easy target. Someone to be left dead in a shallow ditch somewhere. Don't expect anyone to care either. Heroes could preach and lecture all they want but at the end of the day, everyone was out for themselves.

All that matters, in the end, is being strong. Strong enough not to crumble when the world wants you to, strong enough to take all the bullshit, strong enough to fight back. Whoever can face down their worst days and come out in one piece are the people who come out on top. That's just the way the world works, Sophia knew; it's all a matter of being a survivor or a victim. Sophia, of course, was a survivor. And she could prove it too.

Sophia stood over Taylor Hebert in the hallway of Winslow High. A surprise body check from around the corner was all it took to send the girl sprawling on her ass. Sophia kept walking, stepping over Hebert as if she hadn't even noticed. No one else seemed to notice either. They did of course but no one cared. Sophia watched from the corner of her eye with a pleased smirk as the stone-faced girl scrambled to collect her things and pick herself up from the floor.

There were other survivors like herself, of course, and so Sophia passed along her wisdom when given the opportunity. Emma and Hebert had been friends before Emma smartened up and started seeing the world the way Sophia did. And now, Sophia, Emma, and Madison, along with a few other girls, had caught Hebert after class, standing in a half-circle around her so she couldn't escape.

Sophia hadn't passed on any wisdom to Madison. Didn't need to. Madison saw who the queen bitches in school were and simply decided she knew what it took to be one too. Just like the other girls, the hangers-on saw exactly who was on the bottom and who was at the top and decided, as if on instinct, where they didn't want to be.

Mr. Gladly, exiting his classroom, took a glance at the group of girls surrounding Hebert, then turned away and walked on.

Sophia only watched this time with a grin that bared teeth as the other girls taunted Hebert. They mocked the ugly clothes she wore which were a size too big, her stupid geeky glasses, the way she stood just slightly hunched over. It didn't matter what any of them said. The girls laughed. Sophia laughed. But Hebert just stood there, expressionless, taking it, never fighting back, just waiting until everyone is satisfied. That's exactly what made her weak and why she would always be a victim and nothing more.

But in the end, Hebert's reaction didn't matter, not to Sophia. Heberts only purpose was to prove a point. She was a lesson, for Emma, for Sophia, for whoever was watching: if you aren't strong then you're weak. Simple as that. That's just the way the world works, Sophia knew.

 

[Joko]

I
-----------------------------Hero-----------------------------​

Shadow Stalker perched on the rooftop of an old apartment building. Her heavy dark cloak draped over her body fully covering the black skin-tight suit she wore which was overlain by interlocking armor panels in vital areas.

Though it was still early, the day was fading away into the night. Against the backdrop of the darkening sky, anyone would have been hard-pressed to catch sight of her hunched over form from the street below. Every few minutes, however, she had to shake herself clean of snow building up on her shoulders.

From her vantage point, Shadow Stalker could see everything going on down below. She'd been waiting there for nearly an hour already. If something didn't happen soon she knew she'd miss her opportunity.

A car pulled up to the curb and parked. Its headlights went off but the engine still ran. A few moments later a man left the apartment building across the way. White, muscular, with a slight limp and despite the snow, all he wore on his upper body was a white wife-beater that did nothing to hide his various tattoos. A few, in particular, told Shadow Stalker plenty. Empire Eighty-Eight. Brockton Bay's resident white supremacist gang. The number eighty-eight was supposed to mean something. Neo-nazis, for whatever reason, enjoyed having their little hidden messages in everything, but Shadow Stalker didn't care enough to know exactly what any of them were supposed to be.

The E88 thug took a quick jog across the street and got into the passenger side of the car. After a short exchange, the thug exited the car and sauntered back up to the apartment he'd left not a moment ago. The car drove off. A drug deal, obviously. Could have just been some weed or maybe an eight-ball, or even a bit of heroin. Didn't matter really. The man re-entered the building and Shadow Stalker went on the move.

She jumped down from the roof shifting into her shadow state as she did coming to the ground so softly that the fresh powdery layer of snow on the sidewalk had barely shifted at her landing. The apartment's front door was locked and behind metal bars. Decent enough security if all someone wanted was to feel a little better at night. No match for her shadow state. She shifted and simply stepped through the door drifting a bit off the ground as she did. In the lobby, she returned to her solid form and kept forward.

This was Shadow Stalker's third raid of this kind of small-time setup by the Empire that week and was to go exactly like the others. Hit 'em hard and fast then burn their stash. Along with whatever else of their's she could find that she wanted to burn while she was there. Just because she could.

She'd known E88 goons were selling out of this building having followed a dealer back here while out on patrol. Back then, unfortunately, she got called in before making her move.

This time, she still had another hour before she had to report to the PRT headquarters for her official patrol. Those were a joke though. A waste of time. Out patrolling with the Wards she'd be lucky to find a mugger to hit. More likely they'd run around with their thumbs up their asses stopping every once in a while to sign some autographs for a few gawkers. It'd be even worse given that it was only a few days before Christmas. Going out solo was the time when she could get shit done.

Shadow Stalker slowly rounded a corner and saw the E88 thug just as he stepped into an elevator. She waited until she heard it lift upwards before she drifted through the shut metal doors finding herself in the elevator shaft. Lightly, she tapped on the metal frame of the shaft, shifting states each time she needed a push, and made her way up.

The elevator had finally stopped near the top floor of the building. Her last nudge pushed her slowly through the floor of the elevator car. The thug didn't notice the wispy visage of Shadow Stalker's metal mask peering at him from just behind his heels as he exited. Shadow Stalker floated up into the elevator proper and shifted back into her solid form to keep the doors from closing on her as she peeked into the hall just in time to see the thug being let into an apartment by another, also obviously E88, thug.

These fuckers really like their wife-beaters don't they?

Shadow Stalker stepped into the hallway. This was not, by any means, a nice place to live. Trash littered the floor, the walls were covered in what seemed to be some sort of mold, and various disgusting smells wafted through the air.

She made her way to the door where she saw the gang members enter and walked straight past it, instead, facing the door of their immediate neighbor. She knocked then slid to the side prepared to shift into her shadow state and hide in the wall. No one answered. She knocked again, a little harder this time and slid to the side once more. She repeated this one last time before she was satisfied.

No one home. Good.

In her shadow state, she stepped into the apartment and took a look around. The view in there didn't look much better than in the hall. She made note of the apartment's layout. Front door faced the living room. Smallish kitchen to the left with a bar-like counter that looked out over the rest of the room. Past the kitchen was a short hallway leading to the bathroom and a bedroom on either side. From the layout of the building, she judged that the rooms probably weren't mirrored.

Readying one of her crossbows she started at the far end of the living area and stepped through the wall. The room was dark and she heard snoring from something like a hibernating bear. Well, a kind of bear anyway. She was in one of the bedrooms where atop a mattress strewn lazily on the floor was a large hairy man with a crusty graying beard and a beer gut out to there. Shadow Stalker reflected briefly that a particular piece of clothing he was wearing had probably gotten its name for a reason.

She aimed her crossbow and fired. A tranquilizer bolt hit him squarely in the neck. The drugs presumably worked their magic. Bear-man, for his part, didn't seem to notice.

Through the cracked door, the loud-mouthed chatter of the apartment's other residents reached her as did the strong smell of weed smoke. All men as far as she could hear. She peered into the hall carefully but they all sat around the corner, in the living room, so she was unable to confirm their numbers. Five? Six at most. Didn't matter. She had a plan. She closed the bedroom door slowly and locked it.

In her shadow state she drifted through the wall again, this time landing herself in the adjacent bathroom. Aside from being filthy, there was nothing of interest there but she locked that door too. No reason to give them too many options. She drifted through the wall once more and stepped into the other bedroom.

There was a stockpile of guns, ammunition and drugs stacked, piled and otherwise heaped upon each other. Shadow Stalker closed the wide open door as quietly as she could. The thugs didn't hear the creaking old hinges over their loud rowdy conversation.

Then, she grabbed the guns and, shifting them with her into her shadow state, embedded each of them into the walls. When that was finished all she needed was to make a little noise. She quickly decided that a firm front kick to the drywall would do the job. She drew her twin crossbows and kicked. More of a stomp, really, so not to get her foot caught. She pulled her leg out with a spin placing her back against the wall behind the door. Twinges of excitement and adrenaline began to well up from deep within her.

If the world was all predators and prey then Shadow Stalker was a predator of course. She liked that idea. Being a hunter, choosing her targets, and taking them down. Why these targets in particular? Well, that was a simple question to answer. She was a good guy they were the bad guys and bad guys deserve to get what's coming to them.

Shadow Stalker had no particular grudge against Empire Eighty-Eight despite them being white supremacists which she had to oppose purely on the fundamental basis that she herself was not white. No, usually her solo patrols hit all of the local gangs in roughly equal measure or, at least, as equal as each of them warranted. The Azn Bad Boys typically earned about as much attention as The Empire. The Merchants, on the other hand, were barely worth spitting at. Recently, though, E88 was getting a little too rowdy for her liking. A little too big for their britches. They needed to be reminded that they weren't allowed to run wild in her city and if they did they'd better run quick.

"The fuck was that?" Shadow Stalker heard one of the thugs yell.

"Ed?" Another voice called out. She heard footsteps as the thug came closer to her. He tried to open the bedroom door opposite her finding it locked before he started to bang hard on it. Shadow Stalker hadn't necessarily counted on them being too drunk or high to tell where the sound had come from but it worked either way.

"Ed, what the hell?" He yelled again.

In her shadow state, Shadow Stalker stepped through the door. Standing across from her, still hammering on the opposite bedroom, and facing the exact wrong direction was the very same thug she followed inside. The one with the limp. She smiled behind her mask as she kicked him in what she figured was his bad leg taking out his knee. As he crumpled she hit him in the back of the head with the butt of her crossbow bashing his face into the door leaving slight red smear as it bounced back. Next, she put an arm around his neck wrenching him sideways until he faced the opening of the hallway. She shot a tranquilizer into his foot. It would take longer to work but that way he'd be able to hold himself up for a little while to be her meat shield.

One of the other thugs finally reacted and stepped out where Shadow Stalker could see him. "Fuck!" Was all he could get out as before a tranquilizer bolt was shot neatly into his chest. He dropped. Another thug stupidly poked his head out, gun drawn this time, but he recoiled the moment he saw his friend being held in between him and his enemy. Shadow Stalker hit his shoulder and he whirled back around the corner. She heard him slump against the wall. From the living room were the sounds of clattering guns being readied. Shadow Stalker smiled.

Her shield finally recovered from the several surprise jolts to his body, attempted to fight and struck at her hard metal mask with his elbow doing more damage to himself in the process. The tranquilizer started kicking in and he began to go limp. Before he passed out completely she dragged him up, pushed him forward and with a stumbling gait he went headlong out of the hallway. Shadow Stalker flew along after him in her shadow state.

In the midst of their confusion at seeing their ally fall forward into the living room, Shadow Stalker floated by twin crossbows at the ready.

Bang.

A gun went off and she felt a bullet pass through her ethereal form harmlessly punching itself into the wall behind her instead. She aimed and fired both crossbows at once. One for the thug standing in the middle of the living room in dumbfounded confusion still not knowing where to look and the other for the thug who'd belatedly tried to duck his head behind the kitchen bar. She landed in her solid form with her back to the wall.

Her last and final quarry was cowering behind a sofa. He was a skinny scared looking son of a bitch. Shadow Stalker waited to see if he'd try something. Pull a gun, try to fight, anything. But he just sat there tucking himself away. Like prey.

Shadow Stalker smiled.

She stepped forward slowly to bring the man in full view as she lined up her shot, savoring her moment of victory. Then, he moved. Wires shot from the stun gun in his hand. Shadow Stalker cursed as she stepped back and to the side to avoid the potentially painful jolt of electricity. The bolt from her crossbow went slightly off target piercing the sofa's armrest instead of the skinny thug behind it. With his stun gun out of shots she aimed her crossbow once again and suddenly a jolt of pain shot up from her ankle and she crumpled forward.

What.

Despite the painful spasms throughout her body, she craned her neck, her mask scraping against tile, and she saw the bastard pressing a taser into her calf. The one with the limp.

The.

As he stood he plucked the tranquilizer bolt she hit him with from his shoe. From the ruffling of his pants, Shadow Stalker saw and understood. A goddamn prosthetic.

Fuck.

As immediately as she was able, Shadow Stalker shifted into her shadow state.

"Not this time you fucking bitch." The crippled thug said as he plunged the taser into her shadowy form. Shadow Stalker screamed as the pain found her again, intensified by the inherent vulnerability of her shadow state. She became solid but he didn't let up. He held the Taser against her back for long seconds. She felt it starting to burn her skin. She wanted to scream but her muscles were seizing too badly even for that. So instead, her mouth hung open behind her mask in a silent cry.

When he finally let up Shadow Stalker drew in a desperate breath before being kicked in the stomach. Repeatedly. The skinny one apparently found his courage and joined in. He grabbed a bat from somewhere and hit Shadow Stalker across the jaw leaving an impression in her mask. When she tried shifting into her shadow state again she was tased again. And then beaten again. One swung, then the other kicked. One stomped, the other battered. This went on. And on. And on. Until they were satisfied.

The men stopped when Shadow Stalker was barely clinging to consciousness. There were spots in her vision, her mouth was filled with the taste of blood and the pain she felt all over her body settled into a dull ache. The crippled thug leaned down and forced the taser into her neck. The pain was the most intense yet as every bruised and beaten muscle in her body seized up. The last thing she heard before passing out was, "So what the fuck do we do now?"

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------​

Smelling salts.

Shadow Stalker roused slowly. The first things she noticed were the aches and pains in her body every time she tried to move. Then she was hit by a chilling splash of water that jolted her awake.

Breathing in heavy gasps she started taking in her surroundings finding herself in some kind of basement or boiler room. The floor and walls were all bare gray concrete. Her skintight black costume had been stripped of any armor. Still wearing her mask, however. There's always hell to pay for anyone who goes around revealing a cape's identity. Not that that fact would be much help to Shadow Stalker at that moment. Beneath her mask, she felt and tasted the cloth gag in her mouth tied around the back of her head.

A cursory tug at her arms revealed that her wrists were tightly bound behind her back by duct tape that wound around her arms up to the elbows. Behind her, there was the droning hum of a gas powered generator in which was plugged the bright orange extension cord that was wrapped tightly around her legs and shoulders. She followed the path of the cord up to the ceiling where it looped around a pipe and was tied into a bright orange noose. It swayed slightly, backlit by a single light bulb that projected its beckoning shadow squarely at her feet.

Under the noose, directly in front of her, were three of the E88 thugs from the apartment. Bear-man, Ed as she recalled, was holding a bucket. The water he'd thrown on her had a pungent odor to it. God knows what else that bucket had been used for. The skinny one stood off to one side with a crazed grin plastered across his face. And the fucker with the prosthetic foot in-between them sitting casually on a backward chair facing her.

Crippled bastard.

Shadow Stalker struggled against her bindings but found there was no give. The noise of the generator was a constant reminder that shifting into her shadow state only meant death. The three Nazi thugs chuckled as she desperately pulled against the cords gaining no leverage. She cursed at them; through the gag, however, her words were only muffled growls.

Finally, she stopped struggling heaving short angered breaths through her nose.

The cripple spoke first. "What's wrong? Got an itch?" His tone was mockingly friendly. "We can help you out with that."

Ed stepped forward; Shadow Stalker began struggling again at his approach, getting nowhere. Ed kneeled and reached behind the chair grabbing Shadow Stalker's bound hands. Both had been balled into tight fists since waking up but beneath the large man's powerful grip she was forced to open them. She thought for a moment that Ed was simply about to crush her hands in his but instead, he gripped her index finger and snapped it backward. Shadow Stalker's vision flared into lights and patterns as pain shot up her arm. The accompanying scream came out as another gag muffled growl.

"Yeah, that's right." The cripple spoke again. "You got a real itchy trigger finger, that's what I hear. As a matter of fact, you use both hands to shoot don't you?"

Did they fucking rehearse this?

Ed repeated his work and snapped the index finger of her other hand. She screamed again and was left heaving more desperate shallow breaths through her nose. Ed backed off returning to his place next to the cripple. He was smiling.

"That's right we know all about you." The cripple thug said. "Likes, to take what doesn't belong to you. Likes, to burn our shit. Should have fucking known you'd be a goddamn nigger. Everywhere monkeys like you think you can run wild and good people pay the price.

"That's just what your kind does isn't it? Take and destroy. Just like what you're doing to the city. Just like those goddamn chinks. You know what you are? You're poison. Well, guess what? We're fixing it now. Starting with you."

He casually gestured upward. Despite herself, Shadow Stalker's gaze followed. The noose hung there, eerily still.

"But first," He continued. "I think the boys got some anger to work out." He tapped the back of his chair jauntily and leaned forward.

Ed bent down to grab something from off the floor. The scraping sound of metal against concrete reverberated off the walls as he brought the heavy crowbar into his grip and stepped forward. He swung the blunt side into her gut and she let out a pained grunt as the wind was knocked out of her. He swung again, this time hitting her ribs. Shadow stalker thought she could feel them give.

The skinny one was fumbling with a black cord. When he had it all straightened out he reached up toward the ceiling and plugged it into the end of the orange extension cord that hung from the noose. Then, he lifted from the floor a power drill and tested it with pleased fascination. His grin only grew in response to the whirring of the spinning corkscrew drill bit in front of his face.

Ed, never let up. Shins, ribs, shoulders. A metal on metal ping resounded throughout the small room whenever the crowbar smacked her mask. The indentations left behind created the illusion that the bar was still pressed into her face.

The drill whirred a few more times as the skinny thug stepped closer. Eventually, he was spinning it in Shadow Stalker's ear. He laughed as she turned her head trying to escape the noise. Ed had taken a step back to watch as the skinny one crouched and pressed the drill into the side of Shadow Stalker's knee. Frantically, she moved her leg back and forth before the thug gripped it tight in one hand with surprising strength.

"Oh, you don't want to do that." He said almost gleefully. "See, the thing about knees is that there's this artery that runs right through the back of 'em." He tapped the back of Shadow Stalker's knee with the drill bit as demonstration. "Nick that son of a bitch, you're bleeding out in five minutes flat. And we want to keep you nice and alive. You want to stay alive don't you?"

Shadow Stalker said nothing. Her racing heart created an unpleasant pressure in her chest as it tried to leap away with every beat.

"Good." He returned the drill to its place on the side of her knee. "So anyway, we gotta be very careful about that there artery. But if you do things just right-"

The drill whirred to life. Shadow Stalker screamed. For a moment the pain took away her senses in cruel anticipation of the coming flood of agony. Vision warped and blurred as she shut her eyes tight. The smell of the foul water that had been dumped on her had long only been a passing thought, as was the taste of the none too clean rag in her mouth. Hearing went away; unable to sort the coming input into something that made sense it decidedly settled on dead silence. When it returned what she heard was a jumbled mix of the low humming of the generator, her own muffled scream and the droning of the power drill, muffled in its own way inches deep in flesh and cartilage.

The skinny thug kept the drill running until he pulled it out. Blood splattered in every direction as it spun to a stop. Shadow Stalker's entire body shook and quivered despite itself. Ed nodded like a sagely madman. The cripple only sat and watched with a grin that bared teeth.

"People always like to do hands and feet and shit like that." He said pushing himself up with a slap to her thigh. He took a single step around. "Maybe we'll get to all that later. But what folks forget about is the psychology of it all. Fucking with joints, now that's fucking with people's heads. Can't use their arms or legs no more, can't get away, right? That's why I always start at the knees." He pressed the drill into the side of Shadow Stalker's other knee. "Yeah, I'm full of helpful little tidbits like that. Now, hold still."

None of her senses had the decency to leave her this time. She felt the drill enter her leg and whirl around. A jolt pain for each scrape against her flesh. Then, a snap.

"Fucking shit." The skinny thug yelled suddenly abandoning his calm sadistic demeanor. "The goddamn thing broke." He held up the drill with its bit broken off at the base for the other two to see. They shook their heads.

"Fuck it." The cripple said. "We gotta wait till tonight to take care of this anyway. Just leave her for now."

Ed and the skinny one each shrugged and walked forward out of the room receding into the darkness. The crippled thug stood up from his seat and tapped the hanging noose making it swing widely left to right, before backing into the darkness himself.

In the vacated room, Shadow Stalker sat trying to remain still. Every minute movement sent sharp pains throughout her body. She didn't dare shift her legs even a little. Warm trails of blood trickled down each of her calfs. Her chest felt as though it were about to cave in on itself with every breath. There, she sat. And waited.



Shadow Stalker didn't know exactly how long she'd been left to stew. A few hours certainly. They'd left the light on just so she could sit and stare. Stare at the walls. Stare at the noose and its shadow, stare at what had become of her, stare and see that there was no escape.

They wanted her to be afraid but she knew better. She was strong. She trained herself, practiced breathing techniques, learned to control her body. She would make it through this.

A familiar ruckus approached. Noisy shouts just like she heard in the apartment. Shadow Stalker smelled them before she saw them. The smell of booze and strong liquor flowing from the darkness. Then they stepped into the light one by one all of them shouting insults and slurs.

More of them had come down this time. Some were pouring beer down their throats in between abuses. When one had finished he threw the empty bottle at her. Shadow Stalker flinched as it shattered against the wall behind her. The rest followed suit throwing more bottles, some breaking at her feet, some smashing against the wall and a few hitting her. One, still half full collided with her mask.

The cripple took his seat again. He smiled.

The skinny one stepped forward having finished fiddling with the power drill he'd left. Holding it up to her showing off the fresh drill bit he fitted it with and said, "Back in business."

He laughed. The crippled fucker laughed. All the bastards laughed. Sophia steeled herself.

I'm a survivor.

 

[Joko]

II
----------------------------The Ticking Clock----------------------------​

A long yawn bellowed from Danny Hebert's mouth. Glancing out of the small square window of his office door he could see that the rooms outside were dark and empty. It would be, of course. It was Christmas Eve's Eve and working hours had ended nearly three hours ago and yet here Danny was reading over paperwork, and writing in pen.

The clock on the wall to his left tick-tocked incessantly but Danny didn't dare turn to look at it. That would only waste time and the sooner he finished his work the sooner he'd be able to spend the next couple of days at home with his daughter. Incidentally, the clock would also tell him exactly how much time he wasn't spending with her but there was also no time to feel guilty about that.

Maybe later.

For now, he needed to finish as much as possible so he wouldn't come back to a pile of work after his time off. Though he knew would be anyhow.

Forms were spread out on his desk; a paragon of organized chaos, each telling a different story. Two worker's comp claims, a couple of guys who managed to slip on some patches of ice. Understandable. Brockton Bay was rarely hit with a winter so cold and people had a tough time keeping themselves upright in such foreign conditions.

Some new-hire paperwork. A young man who made quite an impression on Danny during his interview. Polite, respectful and, in fact, lived not too far from Danny's home. In a city as troubled as Brockton Bay, it was good to see someone like that, barely out of high school, not turning to crime. He was happy to give the boy a chance.

The shipping industry in Brockton Bay had all but dried up. When the local industry started spiraling downward protests by the seafaring shipping companies sent things from bad to worse. The result: the boat graveyard which blocked all vessels from reaching port. The only shipping being done was by truck through relatively small contracts for Brockton Bay's shrinking number of local companies like Medhall. That's what made the papers Danny had been looking at for the past hour so concerning. Part of what made it concerning anyway.

Inventory had to be logged for all incoming and outgoing orders. The outgoing inventory form seemed to be the correct amount for the materials requested by a company called Graham & Dexon. However, the incoming shipment showed an excess of materials.

This was the first problem. This sort of theft wasn't unheard of, a supervisor or someone with enough authority ordering more materials than needed, signing off on it, and then walking away with the excess to turn for a profit.

Danny knew everyone among the dockworkers' management and they knew him. Any of them should have known better than to try something like this. Messing with shipments meant messing with contracts. And losing contracts meant losing jobs. That's why theft, whenever suspected, was always taken with the utmost seriousness.

The second problem, however, might have been a far bigger one for Danny. In his hand was a notice of paid suspension for none other than Kurt Langley. Danny couldn't believe it. He knew Kurt. He worked with Kurt for years, went out drinking him, hell, Danny had been best man at his wedding. They'd been working together ever since Kurt, himself and Lacey, the woman that would be Kurt's wife, were all fresh hires moving boxes around.

The discrepancy had been discovered when an order was sent out that seemed to be missing what was brought in. The signature on the outgoing inventory sheet had been Kurt's while the incoming form was signed by a different worker. In the end, no one could make heads or tails of what happened to what went missing. Of course, that didn't necessarily implicate Kurt but he was supervising that shift and so he has to take responsibility pending an official investigation.

When Danny spent forty-five minutes seeking out the past month's inventory sheets for the same orders from the same company during the same shift, he found that all incoming and outgoing forms were signed by Kurt as well. In fact, he seemed to make a point of being there to fill them out despite counting boxes being so low on his list of responsibilities. To anyone with eyes, it would seem like he had messed up and missed his chance just one time.

Danny was the Dockworker's Union representative. As was his station he was expected to be a leader, act for the good of his workers, even against one potentially harming the rest. But Kurt was his friend. And he simply couldn't believe that Kurt, the man he knew for decades, would do something like this. It was a mistake. It had to be. It was-

There was a knock at his office door. Danny's head popped up suddenly shaken from his contemplative stupor. The fluorescent light above him shined through the small square window of the door illuminating the face of the bespectacled girl peering in at him. She opened the door and swung her head in.

"Dad?"

"Taylor?" Danny finally said. "What are you doing here?" Taylor scooted herself into the office proper looking directly into her father's eyes as she did.

"'Taylor, if I start working too late again you have my permission to come find me and drag me away kicking and screaming'." She said quoting her dad's words from hours earlier.

Danny finally looked up at the clock; it's ticking was even louder than before. It was late.

"Ah. Taylor, I'm sorry. I got kind of wrapped up in something… important." He said feeling a sudden tiredness. "I just need to-"

"Dad, come on. Can't it wait?" Taylor said exasperatedly. "You did this last year too. I ended up putting the tree up myself, remember?" Danny hung his head.

"Yeah, I do remember." Or rather he didn't remember. For a moment Danny hung his head and stared with weary eyes at his desk, at the pile of paperwork, at his friend's damning signature. Then, he looked at his daughter. Cheeks flush from her walk in the cold, her lips slightly curled in disappointment, her own weary eyes staring back at him, damning in their own way. Then he stood.

"Yeah. You're right. It can wait."

In a few quick motions, Danny stepped from behind his desk, threw his thin jacket around his back and shut off the light.

The pair navigated themselves around desks and emptied trash cans with the help of street lights crossing the streets and sidewalks outside to shine through the office's windows.

"Have you eaten?" Danny asked. "Maybe we could drop by Fugly Bob's. How's that sound?" Taylor shook her head.

"Already closed by now." She said. "Besides I have everything ready to make spaghetti."

"Oh. Sounds great. I bet it'll be even better than Fugly Bob's"

"My plate will be. Yours… too early to tell." She smiled. Danny smiled too finally feeling at ease. And that damn ticking clock was nowhere around.

The parking lot was empty save for Danny's car. He flopped into the driver's side just as Taylor was fastening her seatbelt. He patted himself searching for his keys. The winter coat he wore gave him several more pockets than he was used to having. Finally finding them her reached for the ignition. At that moment Taylor said, "Is someone else working late too?"

Danny looked up at his daughter who was staring at a warehouse across the street. Surprised at the intensity of her glare, he looked too. Sure enough, there was a car parked there. That particular warehouse, however, just like so many others throughout the area of the docks, had been abandoned. They continued to stare with slowly building dread as they both realized, without a word, that the car was not empty.

The shadowy figures came into full view when the doors swung open and three men stepped out. One of them held a phone to his ear surveyed the area.

"Taylor get down," Danny said the words in a hushed tone as he ducked low. Taylor, on the other hand, with a quickness of mind, pulled the lever next to her seat and reclined backward. Both were still peeking up through the window to see what they could.

The man's gaze stopped on the car for a long moment. The Heberts hid themselves holding their breaths as though he might hear. Soon the man put his phone away and moved on to help the other two. From the car's open the trunk and were pulling things out. A metal fold out chair, a gas can, and-

"Oh my god." Taylor cupped both hands over her mouth as she gasped. Danny saw what she had; sweat bead from the pores on his brow and his face went white.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------​

Shadow Stalker might have thought she'd lost consciousness in the darkness of the car trunk if not for the low roaring of the engine and the occasional bump in the road. The assortment of objects accompanying her in the tiny space slid into her and each other at every jostle and turn.

In normal circumstances, she might be able to phase out of the trunk. Or, barring that, kick out the taillights or even try to break the latch. Unfortunately just lifting her head or managing a twitch in one of her unbroken fingers might have been asking for too much.

It was hard to think. Pain and exhaustion had eroded her senses down to nearly nothing. Sounds were dull hums in her aching head and what little she could see from behind swollen eyes and the slits of her mask blurred together into a menagerie of shapes and color.

Shadow Stalker had passed out before when it became too much. That had been the cue the Nazi thugs needed to decide that enough was enough, so they moved her. She awoke seemingly not a few minutes later being dumped into a car trunk and an apparently modified shock collar meant for a dog wrapped around her neck. That brought all of the expected jokes at her expense.

They had even made a point to remove the gag around her mouth. Even if she could manage a decent cry for help, and by then they knew she couldn't, there would be no one who'd care. They wanted her to know that. Everything they did seemed to have those little messages.

And so it was, helplessly curled up in the back of a trunk hands still bound, Shadow Stalker faced down certain death. Soon to be murdered and left in a shallow ditch.

Some part of her wanted to be relieved. Relieved that the ordeal would be over soon. That she wouldn't be kept and broken down slowly over days or weeks. She wanted to feel relief. But the cruel truth of the matter is that there wasn't any. She was scared.

The car came to a stop and the engine died. Shadow Stalker heard the thugs' voices as they circled around. She finally saw the faintest light as the trunk opened. The big one hefted her onto his shoulder with a distinct lack of gentleness. She'd made a note of his name earlier but it didn't come to her again.

He carried her for a ways before tossing her down onto a chair. She was only held up by her arms being draped over the chair's back. Her legs were useless and limp; her ruined knees leaning on each other and feet splayed outward.

Shadow Stalker tried to gather herself and get her bearings. Her head bobbed and rolled about her neck as she attempted a glance around. They'd taken her inside. Light from the streets streamed in through broken windows from a high ceiling. A warehouse. Three men were in front of her. She recognized them. They had been there from the start. From where they stood, next to the large open door they'd brought her in, they seemed to be more illuminated than their surroundings. Her head finally stopped its roll and hung forward.

A warehouse. They'd kill her and leave her corpse to be eaten by rats right up until some junky finds her. This is how it ends.

She heard one of the thugs stepping forward. A chill washed over Shadow Stalker as a liquid was poured over her. She instantly shot her head up with renewed strength, eyes behind her mask as wide as they could open. She smelled it. Gasoline.

Oh, God.

She began her struggles again, as meager as they were. She moved her head back and forth away from the stream.

Oh God not like this. Somebody. Please...

The gas was poured over her head, shoulders and into her lap. She tried to throw her self from her seat but only managed to rock it left and right not nearly enough to cause it to tip. The thug soon left her and poured a trail leading back to the others.

Shadow Stalker wanted to swallow any pride she'd had left. She wanted to plead and beg but all that escape her lips was a pathetic whimper. As if understanding its meaning one of the men spoke. She recognized his voice. This one liked to talk.

"We ain't animals, you know." He said coolly. "I'd give you one in the head and leave it at that but that ain't the way the chinks do it."

She could hear the chuckle in his voice. Her heart almost stopped as two of the men lit up cigarettes. The same one spoke again blowing smoke from his nose.

"And you have to understand, it ain't every day guys like us get to pull one over on capes. Couldn't waste the opportunity. Not for you especially."

He flicked his lighter again and again. The flame flickered and died again and again. Her vision still a blur Shadow Stalker watched the flame glow with a soft glare that obscured everything, before disappearing. Again and again. She trembled.

"Any last words? We'll be sure to write 'em down for you."

Shadow Stalker's mouth opened and closed, her lip quivered but no words came.

"Didn't think so." He said with a laugh.

"I hear they always manage to scream though." Another one said. The thug standing in the middle flicked open the lighter one last time. This time it stayed lit.

"Really now?" He said. "Let's see."

He tossed it. Shadow Stalker sucked in a sharp breath and time slowed to a crawl. The lighter spun as it arced through the air coming to rest at one end of the deadly trail laid out before her. Fire burst from where it landed with explosive quickness and coursed up the serpentine path leading to her. Within fractions of a second, the fire nipped at her feet, curled up her legs, before it met her body and consumed her.

She did scream.

The hurting in her chest was old by then. Especially so, when fresh agony flared up on every part of her body. The chair finally tipped over in her writhing.

She screamed.

Shadow Stalker had a vision.
She saw a great being impossible in its hugeness. Impossible but real, and familiar, and dying as it fell to the Earth.

The vision faded as soon as it had come and she was burning again.

Eyes wide as they were, she watched as the thugs tried to scatter much too late as a car came barreling at them from outside. The crippled thug was hit hard and his head cracked against the windshield. The skinny one was clipped and went for a tumble. The big one seemed to fall back on his ass and was missed altogether. But a man stepped out of the driver's seat and started beating him senseless with something hard and metal.

From the passenger's side, a girl leaped out dragging a blanket with her as she did. The skinny thug produced a gun and aimed but the girl kicked it away and sprayed him in the face with something. He yelled and cursed but the girl didn't give him any further regard and ran at Shadow Stalker with a thick blanket cradled in both arms and seemingly unperturbed by the still lit trail of flames she was stepping over.

The girl met Shadow Stalker in a near tackle as she wrapped the blanket around her and dragged her away from the fire. She patted the cape down and shifted more of the blanket over her body as the polyester melted in some places.

Finally, the girl uncovered Shadow Stalker's head and looked down at her. She was familiar. Plain face. Long dark brown hair. Stupid geeky glasses. Hebert.

Taylor cradled Sophia, resting the Cape's head in her lap gently resting a hand on one cheek. Sophia didn't hear what Taylor was saying but she managed to speak a reply of sorts. In a rough, ragged voice, barely even a whisper she said, "Thank… you."

 

[Joko]

III
----------------------------Twenty-Five Hours----------------------------​

Armsmaster's motorcycle sirens blared as he weaved through the city streets meeting the speeding PRT vehicle en route. The van was nearly identical to the heavy transport vehicles used to cart around troopers, heroes and captive villains. The major differences being the word "ambulance" written in clear letters on the back, sides, and roof -for the benefit of flying capes- and the interior which was outfitted with emergency medical equipment and decked out to accommodate parahumans.

Armsmaster maneuvered his bike so not to impede the path of the ambulance as they both pulled into the medical wing of the PRT headquarters.

The hero dismounted just as two medics opened the back of the ambulance and pulled out their passenger. On a stretcher, head, arms, and legs all strapped down and stabilized was Shadow Stalker.

The medics had opted to remove her mask to attach a respirator. Although the vast majority of PRT staff weren't cleared to know the secret identities of members of the Wards and Protectorate the medics could hardly be blamed for their decision given the circumstances. Besides that, Shadow Stalker's face was so swollen she was barely recognizable. Still, all of the staff would have to be vetted after all was said and done.

The doors into the building held themselves open as the Ward was wheeled inside.

There were more arrivals. Aegis, the leader of the Wards, touched down from his flight as another PRT van, this time a standard transport vehicle, pulled in. From the back emerged Armsmaster's colleague, the Protectorate hero Miss Militia, a pair of PRT troopers as well as a middle-aged man and a young woman; father and daughter. The young woman's hands and arms were bandaged in hastily applied field dressing.

Miss Militia and Aegis led them through another entrance.

Then, landing just next to Armsmaster was Glory Girl who carried in her arms, princess-style, her sister the cape healer, Panacea. Glory Girl was in her usual costume, a white dress, with a cape draped over one shoulder, as well as what appeared to be pajama bottoms. She rubbed both of her bare arms for warmth. Panacea on the other hand, in her heavy red and white robes, didn't seem to pay any mind to the brisk temperature even after the flight

Armsmaster nodded at the pair and moved toward the door.

"This way please." Armsmaster realized after a moment that he might have thanked them for coming so quickly or apologize for calling them there so suddenly but there would be time for that later, he supposed. Just before entering the building he glanced back one more time.

Another car had entered through the PRT's front gate. Indistinct, dark colored, with tinted windows. The driver opened the door for a young man and a woman holding a small child before leading them into the building. Armsmaster frowned.

A pair of guards stood outside of the room where Shadow Stalker had been taken. They looked toward the heroes as they approached having heard the heavy steps of Armsmaster's armored boots. One of them opened the door and spoke a few words. A few seconds later a doctor emerged and stepped aside.

Armsmaster gestured for Panacea to enter before raising his hand to stop Glory Girl from following.

"Please, wait here."

"Fine." Glory Girl said stretching her arms and taking a strolling step backward.

Armsmaster closed the door behind him. Panacea was already at Shadow Stalker's bedside. The Ward was in a worse state than he'd imagined. The sensors in the visor of his helmet had already made note of a few of her injuries.

"Please, begin." He said.

Panacea nodded and raised her hand toward her patient.

"Do I have your permission to-" Panacea said absently to the unconscious Shadow Stalker before stopping. She hesitated a moment further before looking toward Armsmaster who gave her a short nod. Then, she proceeded to lightly rest her hand on the nape of Shadow Stalker's neck. To her credit, Panacea seemed largely unfazed by the situation. A true professional.

"Fractures in her jaw, left collarbone, and ribs. A minor concussion. Nothing I can do about that." Armsmaster recorded as Panacea noted of Shadow Stalker's injuries. "There's some sort of stab wound in her right shoulder, elbows, and knees. Some foreign piece of metal in her left knee. And second to third-degree burns… everywhere." Armsmaster stood stock still but his already clenching fist tightened.

"Is that everything?" He asked.

Panacea shook her head. "No."

"Please continue." Armsmaster's frown deepened as Panacea continued listing off the nature Shadow Stalker's injuries. More fractures, more breaks, more wounds. The fact of the matter was she'd been inches from death when she was found.

Little was thought of it the night before when Shadow Stalker had failed to report for patrol duty. It was not something she'd ever done but then again she always had discipline issues. The other Wards and even Armsmaster himself hadn't considered the sudden abandonment of her duties beyond the realm of possibility.

Director Piggot was, understandably, livid. She expected little more than for the Wards to follow through with the responsibilities given to them. For a Ward already on probation to blatantly ignore them was, for her, a slap in the face. The Director was well prepared to issue a warrant for her arrest within the hour.

However, when Shadow Stalker's PRT issued cell phone and tinker tech crossbows were tracked to dumpsters in the middle of ABB territory there was suddenly cause for concern.

Missing capes are tricky. Starting a public search for a Ward and a Ward-aged teen at the same time did as much as release their identity to the public. More resources at work, yes, but making a hero's name public knowledge is an irreversible step. Everyone remembered what happened to Fleur of New Wave. Murdered in her own home. The Empire was involved then as well, Armsmaster recalled. Kaiser, the leader of Empire Eighty-Eight, had as much as crucified the man responsible to avoid repercussion.

This time, it wasn't New Wave it was one of his. And as leader of the local Protectorate, it was Armsmaster who made the call and he decided to keep it quiet. The Protectorate and the Wards went out tracking down dead leads in all the wrong places. They shook down ABB thugs and lowlives for a day and a night and found themselves getting nowhere.

As time ticked on Armsmaster found himself wondering if he'd made the right decision. Early on he had been confident his team would find her and resolve matters. No, not confident. Arrogant. Unable to relinquish any control, too concerned with a possible black mark on his career, too certain in his own abilities even.

In the end, it wasn't the ABB who were responsible. It was the Empire throwing them all off. And he'd fallen for it.

Lately, Brockton Bay had seen an increase in Empire Eighty-Eight activity. Most in the form of violence toward 'acceptable targets'. All coming on the heels of the sexual assault of the daughter of a prominent Empire leader. The assailants were members of the Merchants gang.

Outrage rippled through Empire ranks. Kaiser hadn't stopped it, of course; in fact, he reveled in it. Using the crime as a rallying cry to radicalize any who were sympathetic and consolidate loyalty to him and the Empire's cause.

It didn't matter that all four assailants had been caught and convicted, nor did it matter that the Merchants were effectively run to ground by the Empire. Violence escalated. The four rapists were murdered in their cells. More and more fighting with the ABB. And now…

Armsmaster looked at Shadow Stalker her swelling and wounds slowly fading under Panacea's touch.

Twenty-five hours. From the time she didn't report for her patrol to the time the 911 call came in. For twenty-five hours, at least, a Ward, his Ward, one to whom he promised safety and protection, was beaten and tortured when she was meant to be under his watch. Unacceptable doesn't even begin to describe it.

Armsmaster left the room as Panacea was still finishing. He found the father and daughter from earlier. The Heberts. The young woman was sitting on a bed with a curtain half open while her father sat in a nearby chair. She held her arms out as a doctor treated and redressed them. She'd been burned during their rescue. Aside from the occasional grimace of pain, she seemed largely unruffled.

Leaning on a wall a few feet away were two men sipping coffee from paper cups, both in suits with badges clipped onto their belts. Detectives. They approached Armsmaster.

"Armsmaster." The older one said. "I'm Detective Richard Blake and this is Detective Don Alvarez."

"Detectives," Armsmaster said greeting them both.

"Wish we were meetin' under prettier circumstances but then again we ain't really in the business of pretty circumstances. Ain't that right?" Detective Alvarez spoke in a slow tired drawl.

Armsmaster didn't respond.

Blake moved on to business producing a notebook from his back pocket handing it to Armsmaster.

"We took statements tried to work out a description of the perp that made a break for it." He said as the hero flipped through his notes.

"The girl didn't get a good look at him. Had a gun trained on her." Alvarez said. "Thin, white male between the ages of thirty and thirty-five. That's about all we got to go on. Don't exactly narrow things down."

"The Ward, Shadow Stalker, might give us a bit more," Blake said before stopping to clear his throat. "When she's able, God willing."

"The plates on the car came up registered to one of the bastards getting stitched up in the ICU. But we got patrols on the lookout in case our guy is still driving it. As for the phone call, well, someone'll be getting back to us about phone records real soon but if I were a betting man I'd put a years salary on the word 'burner'."

Armsmaster finished reading. The doctor had finished treating the young woman some time ago. Armsmaster flipped the notebook closed and handed it back to Detective Blake.

"Thank you, detectives." He said shortly before turning to toward the Heberts. He heard Alvarez huff.

"Fuckin' capes."



"Mr. Hebert. Ms. Hebert." Armsmaster said as greeting upon his approach. "The Protectorate and the PRT owes you both a great debt of gratitude. I, personally, owe you a debt of gratitude." Armsmaster held out his hand.

Snapping out of his star-struck stupor the father, stood up and grabbed Armsmaster's hand in a firm handshake. He was a slight man. Thin and gangly and he appeared to be very tired. All of which surprised Armsmaster considering what he'd apparently done to the Empire gang member found on the scene.

"Well, it was… We had to do something." Mr. Hebert said. "And please call me Danny. This is Taylor."

Armsmaster moved to shake Taylor's hand, who was still gaping at him until he saw the gauze around her hands and wrists and closed his fist. He made a note to himself to have Panacea treat her as well.

"Is she going to be okay?" Taylor finally asked. "Shadow Stalker?"

Her injuries aside after things like what Shadow Stalker had been put through, coming out the other side is hardly an easy feat. In time, maybe.

He did not tell that to the girl; instead what he said was, "Panacea is with her now. She will be fine, thanks to you."

Armsmaster saw Taylor release a long-held breath.

"I understand that you've already given your statements, however, I'd like to hear your accounts first-hand. Could you tell me exactly what happened?"

They both breathed heavy sighs. Danny spoke up first sinking back into his seat.

"Well, I had been working late and… we were getting ready to leave, that's when we saw-Taylor saw- a car parked across the street. It was pretty unusual all things considered and we could see people sitting inside."

"Unusual?" Armsmaster interrupted.

"Like I said I was working late. No one else should have been there. And they were sitting outside of a warehouse that hasn't been used for years. I didn't recognize the car either and frankly, it was a lot nicer than what most of the guys at the docks drive."

A burgundy Cadillac, newer model, Armsmaster recalled.

"I don't know what they were waiting for but after a moment they all got out. There were three of them. And then they… they pulled her out of the trunk. We didn't know who it was at the time but we saw what they were about to do to her. And she wasn't moving. I called 911 on my work phone but… like I said we could see what they were going to do. So I…"

"We hit them with our car." Taylor cut in. Danny seemed taken aback by his daughter's frankness.

"Uhh… yeah." Her father said rubbing his neck. "After that, I don't know it all happened so fast. Taylor grabbed an old sleeping bag from the back to smother the fire. I fought one of the guys. Had an old tire iron under the seat. Guess it's a pretty good thing the car is always full of junk."

That last remark was probably an attempt at levity. The man Danny had apparently fought was found beaten unconscious while Danny himself seemed to receive no injuries.

"One of them got away though," Taylor said her voice nearly a growl. "The one I hit with my pepper spray after he pulled a gun." Danny's head popped up and looked at Taylor aghast.

"He had a gun?" Danny's voice was barely below a shout.

"Yeah, but I knocked it away and, like I said, pepper spray." Danny's head fell into his hands. "He got away. I saw him get up and run to their car. He was hurt though, I think."

"Yes, I read the description you gave to the detectives," Armsmaster said.

"You're going to get him, right?" Taylor asked.

"I believe it is likely." Armsmaster told her honestly.

The hero bid them farewell and left the room soon after that.

As he walked Armsmaster readied himself for his next conversation. Away from the medical wing and inside the PRT proper, he entered a room. A simple meeting room. There were no windows and the walls were bare. Furnished with a single large table surrounded by chairs.

Director Piggot, Aegis and Miss Militia were already there seated across from a woman and her son, who was perhaps in his early twenties. Her youngest was likely being watched in the daycare. Too young for this discussion.

The woman's eyes were angry and red becoming angrier as the director spoke. She looked toward Armsmaster as he entered the room and her gaze didn't leave him as he crossed it. He saw the tears streaming down her cheeks and let the full sense of his failure wash over him as he took his seat next to the director.

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Christmas Eve in the Wards quarters at the PRT was a somber evening. There were a few sparse decorations, easy enough to throw up in five minutes and take down in two, a tiny fake tree sitting on the coffee table, and even a cake which no one had sliced into.

Hardly the time for Christmas cheer, Missy thought.

The Wards quarters was divided between the front, which contained the entrance, the briefing room and console stations and the back which was the living area; kitchen, bedrooms, locker rooms etc.

Missy sat leaning on the living room sofa's armrest in costume, aside from her visor, prepared for the evening's patrol. It'd be a simple no pressure route that'd take her through the shops and the Boardwalk. She'd weave through crowd's of people doing their last-minute shopping, put on a friendly face and maybe stop for a few pictures with fans and she'd be doing all of this alone with Dean. Then, she'd go home, and take a few much needed days off. There'd even be presents waiting for her. Although she didn't care much about that, her parents always bought her kid's stuff anyway, but it was one of the few times in the year she could count on both of them putting forth the effort to be pleasant to be around.

Normally all of this would have her feeling excited. At least a little.

Joining her in the Wards quarters were Dennis and Chris both dressed down in their civilian clothes. They sat on the sofa as Chris flipped through channels on the television. None of them spoke a word to each other. A fantastic social loophole found that no one could talk about the elephant in the room if no one talked.

Gallant, or Dean rather, walked in from the back with the helmet of his power armor tucked under his arm. Dean's power allowed him to 'see' emotions and as anxious as they all were Dean looked ten times worse for it. He was still as handsome as ever, of course, but his mouth was as close to curling into a frown as Missy had seen it and his eyes were tense with his brow furrowing just slightly.

Dean nodded at Missy who nodded back. Technically they didn't have to start their patrol for another half-hour but they were both eager for the distraction. Dennis finally spoke up.

"You guys sure you don't want any cake before you go?" He asked. Missy shrugged.

"Not in the mood." She replied as Dennis leaned forward cutting a large slice onto a small paper plate.

"Yeah, I get not being in the mood," Dennis said. "But leaving a bunch of free sweets lying around isn't gonna help any." Dennis helped himself to the big slice of chocolate cake. Judging by the face he made as he ate it might as well have tasted like air.

Lying on the coffee table next to the newly sliced cake was a mistletoe. Dennis had been keeping it handy for the past week and, as he had explained to Missy when she happened across it, had planned to hold it up between himself and Sophia at which point he just might catch a lucky break but far more likely he'd catch a punch in the teeth. He said it would have been worth a laugh, and Missy agreed.

Missy had been on console duty the previous night. In fact, she'd been taken off of her scheduled patrol when Sophia turned up missing. She was a little ashamed to admit it but Missy had been angry at the time. Console duty was the PRT's version of being seated at the kid's table and she was assigned console duty the most despite having been a Ward longer than anyone else on the team because despite being the most experienced Ward she was also the youngest. Always the team mascot, the kid, the baby. Missy hated it.

She had even assumed Sophia was simply up to something, and that the consequences had been brought down on someone else. Namely Missy herself. But then the call came in.

The message was routed through to the PRT from a 911-emergency dispatcher after the caller apparently mentioned an unidentified cape in danger. Missy immediately directed Aegis and Gallant to the location given in the call. And then she listened.

There was a man speaking to the dispatcher. He sounded like he was getting angry. There was another voice from the person next to him. A girl.

"Oh my God. Dad we -" The girl said breathlessly.

"We need someone here right now!" The man shouted.

"I understand sir. We have police and Protectorate en route. Please stay where you are." Missy admired the emergency dispatcher's level professional tone of voice.

"Dad, we have to do something now." Missy admired, even more, the calm conviction in the girl's voice as she said this.

"Sir, please stay where you are. Help is coming."

There was silence on the other end. Missy drummed her fingers nervously with one hand and idly fingered her headset with the other. For a moment she'd had thought the call was dropped but barely distinct thumping sounds were still coming from the other end.

"Sir, please stay on the line." The dispatcher said futilely.

The next sounds cutting through were a series of low roars that sounded like an engine, a few muffled shouts and finally a blood-curdling scream. Missy went still and felt a chill rise up as the blood drained from her face.

Missy didn't like Sophia if she were being honest. If they were being honest she was certain that none of the Wards liked Sophia. The chief reason for this being the fact that Sophia was a massive bitch. But even in the occasional fantasies where Sophia hurt herself or Missy out bitched her, or where Missy hurt Sophia, a scream like the one she'd heard never came into mind.

Neither Piggot nor any of the Protectorate would go into detail about what had happened. All the Wards were told was that Sophia was safe and recovering. Even Carlos wouldn't say much. Now that was worrying. As their leader, he always made a point to have their backs and keep them in the loop. If even he was being tight-lipped then things were indeed serious. But they all knew that much already. It was what they didn't know that worried the Wards. Too many questions. Too many possibilities.

Chris and Dennis had known the least of all. Missy heard the call and Dean had been on the scene himself. Missy wondered if Chris and Dennis' imaginations leaped to worst-case scenarios like hers had.

It was only because of the fact that Piggott hadn't handed down any official gag order and that PRT personnel are full of gossips that the Wards heard anything at all by the following morning and Missy learned, to her dismay, that her worst case scenarios weren't too far off the mark.

Carlos wasn't in the Wards quarters with the rest of the team. Instead, he was in a big meeting with the Protectorate and PRT brass. Whatever was being discussed in there Missy sincerely hoped it had something to do with how we'd send the Empire packing once and for all.

Missy and Dean headed towards the door, Missy donning her visor as Dean prepared to lift his helmet over his head. There was a low chime in the Wards quarters signaling that someone had just entered and the two heroes froze mid step. The Wards on the sofa immediately turned their heads and stared at the entryway to the living area. Dennis was frozen right in the middle of shoveling a piece of cake into his mouth. Not a breath was drawn between the four of them.

The double doors opened and there stood Sophia, hands pocketed into the jacket of a PRT tracksuit. Instead of the typical domino mask Wards normally wore around the PRT building if their regular masks were too inconvenient, she had on a pair of dark sunglasses. Her hair was different; usually styled in a medium length high-ponytail it was now cut short into a messy bob. Overall, though, she appeared to be no worse for wear.

As she stepped in Sophia lifted her sunglasses tentatively, grimaced, and lowered them again. Missy wondered whether she was concussed and the lights were bothering her or if she became annoyed at seeing the slack-jawed faces of the gathered Wards staring at her.

Both?

Sophia continued inside heading to her room without a single word to anyone. Miss Militia walked in behind her.

Dean turned from where Sophia had gone toward Miss Militia. His face was in a stunned expression as if asking a question he couldn't quite put the words to.

Miss Militia faced him. "Panacea took care of Shadow Stalker's injuries. She's had a little rest and decided she wants to go home. We'll be having her take time off from her Wards duties for the time being."

Dean's mouth shut.

When Sophia returned a few moments later she had a book bag slung over one shoulder.

"Let's go." She said to Miss Militia.

For a brief moment Miss Militia's eyes darted quickly between Sophia and the other Wards, then she nodded. Even though her trademark American flag bandana covered the majority of her face it wasn't difficult to understand her expression. Her eyes were tight and worried. Missy thought she could see signs of stress that weren't there before like she'd aged a few years within the last day or so.

Miss Militia turned on her heel and moved toward the door with Sophia in tow before Dean finally spoke.

"Sophia, wait." He said. Sophia's head half turned looking at Dean. "I just- I just want to let you know that we're all glad you're safe." Dean gestured shortly to himself and the rest of the Wards. Sophia frowned. "And if you ever want to talk… about anything, we're all here-."

"Don't even bother." Sophia became angry, her voice barely short of a growl as she spat out the words. "There's nothing to talk about. I'm fine so just fucking drop it." With that, she walked out of the door with more of a stomp than when she came in. Miss Militia sighed and followed.

"Yeah, I guess I'm not in the mood for cake either." Dennis said throwing down his plate.

Chris turned off the television and rose to his feet. "I'll be in my workshop." Was all he said before walking off with his head down.

Missy glanced up at Dean. Now, he was frowning; his face was the very picture of unease. Sophia was not fine. The only bright side was the fact that Dean's helmet covered his face completely so at least he wouldn't have to put on a phony smile for their entire patrol.

Missy absent-mindedly began to stroke the scar on her chest just below her collarbone. It had been a wound she received from Hook Knight, of all people, as he was escaping a fight. It reminded her of how she felt at the time. How she hated the idea of being pitied or coddled over an insignificant flesh wound. So she said nothing and let it bleed into her costume until she was in the shower and clumsily stitched it together herself. She was not, at all, well practiced at sowing. The results did not come fast or very pretty and slowly transformed into an ugly scar. Had anyone asked she would have told them she was just fine.

Watching Sophia, seeing it all happening from the outside brought the inkling she had about that series of decisions into full focus. They were foolish, stubborn and painful and she'd probably do it all again.

Missy's very first insight into what made her mean, angry, bitch of a teammate tick was the realization that they shared the same unfortunate sense of pride. It was a sobering thought.

Wearing a practiced smile Vista nudged Gallant with her elbow. A brave front wouldn't fool him of course but for once Vista tried her damn best not to let it bother her.

"Ready?" She asked.

"Ready." He said.

 

[Joko]

IV
-----------------------------Fear-----------------------------​

Shadow Stalker's shadowy figment floated through the window of a particular room at Brockton Bay General Hospital. Late on Christmas Eve's night, the facility was run by a skeleton crew of nurses, doctors and, as Shadow Stalker knew, an armed police officer standing sentry just outside the room she was in.

Maneuvering in her shadow state was more difficult than it used to be. She wasn't as light as she should have been and moving through objects offered more resistance. She noticed it immediately upon waking up in the PRT. Before she was aware of her surroundings, even, she knew one thing: her powers had changed.

The most apparent change being the fact that she could no longer turn her shadow state off. Instead, she condensed it. She could always feel it, no matter how small, an umbra floating around somewhere inside of her. Some part of her always light and wispy while the rest of her body operated as normal but she hadn't given it much thought with the sheer number of things vying for her attention.

Shadow Stalker wasn't stupid. Taking parahuman studies courses were a required part of belonging to the Wards. She knew what second trigger events were. All the more reason to put exploring the new scope of her abilities near the bottom of her list of things to do.

She landed in a crouch in her solid form, the umbra of her shadow state compressed to the size of a golfball in her belly. The pungent aroma of chemicals and antiseptic hit her. The room was dimly lit by streetlights filtering in through the window curtains and deathly quiet save for the occasional beeps and hums of various machines and monitors.

Drawing herself up Shadow Stalker looked at the room's only patient and was hit with a flood of anger that nearly made her sick to her stomach.

James Mathis was his name. He got knocked hard in the head and apparently the doctors decided to put him into an induced coma. A coma he would never wake up from if she had anything to say about it.

He was just some nobody Empire Eighty-Eight goon who thinks he can hurt people and get away with it.

Thinks he can hurt me and get away with it.

"You motherfucker." Shadow Stalker said in a hushed snarl.

She drew her crossbow from its holster strapped to her hip and its two limbs flicked outward. Her tinker made crossbows were with Armsmaster. They would need a few repairs. Her costume, on the other hand, would need to be completely replaced.

So instead of her high-end weaponry Shadow Stalker was equipped with the standard repeating crossbow she liked to keep as a backup, smuggled out of the PRT headquarters hours earlier.

It was already loaded. Lethal bolts this time.

In place of her costume, she wore a leather jacket, dark cargo pants, and a long thin cloak that offered little in the ways of warmth or protection. On her face was an old hockey mask spray painted black. None of the armor plates, protective linings, or high technology that came from joining the Wards. She didn't have much else before the Wards as a solo vigilante but it had been enough.

The crossbow didn't move from her side. Her hand was shaking and her heart started racing. She gripped her weapon tighter.

She would kill him. She'd kill the fat fucker. Then, she'd hunt down the other one and kill him too. And no one would care to stop her. Hell, she could go after the rest of the Empire while she's at it. They'd pin a fucking medal on her for that.

And then… and then it'd really be over. When she was still here and they weren't. When they'd done everything they could to make her break and failed. It'd be proof that she was strong, that she survived the worst day of her life, that she wasn't…

She raised the crossbow aiming it at the soon-to-be-dead man's head.

I won't be a victim.

Her hand was trembling even more now; her aim unsteady. She gripped her wrist tight with her free hand but the shaking didn't stop. She was afraid. She was afraid of a man in a coma.

Ever since setting eyes on the thug a familiar feeling of dread started to creep into every inch of her. Dread she couldn't fight or flee from. The dreaded certainty that death was coming for her and there was nothing she could do to stop it.

In the dim light of the hospital room, Shadow Stalker watched as the sterile white walls and tile floors became tarnished and gritty concrete. The mixture of hospital odors began to smell like stale water and the neutral expression of the sleeping thug's face slowly twisted into a hateful smirk.

She froze. Body and mind grinding to a complete and sudden halt.

Sophia watched the room through someone else eyes unable to move or think or look away. All she could do was wait to be caught by whatever it was that she was so certain would be coming for her.

She stood like that for a long moment that stretched on.

A vibration and a loud low-fidelity ring tone snapped her out of her tense stupor grounding her in the present. With her body under her control once again she moved with excruciating stiffness and she pulled out her cell phone pressing the mute button. The door was opening. She glanced toward the face of the comatose thug once more gritting her teeth then she ran.

With a dash and a leap toward the window she stretched the umbra of her shadow state across her body and sailed outside just as light from the hall spilled into the room.

Her jump fell well short of the rooftop across the street which she was aiming for. Instead, she floated down into the middle of the road and where she ducked into a nearby alleyway.

Pressing herself against a building, hidden within the shadows cast by nearby streetlights Shadow Stalker caught her breath. It was much harder than it should have been.

The room she just leaped from lit up in stark contrast to the dark windows surrounding it. She watched shadows move about in the window and waited.

She'd get her chance again.

Minutes passed. Snow drifted down slowly around her but she was too focused to feel the cold weather's chill. She was still breathing heavily; hyperventilating, she realized. Had she not been breathing at all before?

The light in the window finally blinked out again. The time had come for her to go back in and finish things.

She stepped out of the mouth of the alleyway and stopped. Muscles all over her body tensed at the very thought of making the jump back inside. Once again, she found herself unable to will herself to move. Soon she was trembling, this time from head to toe. Tears welled in her eyes as she stared up at the now darkened window.

What if it's another trick?

What if they catch me again?

Whatever rational part of her mind that told her she didn't need be afraid of a lame in a coma was drowned out by every other part of her that screamed a singular message:

I can't go back in there.

There was another tone from her pocket. Short this time. Sophia lifted her mask and checked phone just as the message appeared on its cracked face.

Emma: MERRY CHRISTMAS!!!! : )

Sophia scowled.

"You bitch!" She shouted at the phone gripped tight in both hands. "You fucking bitch." The message faded. It was, in fact, December 25th 12:05 AM.

"Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you…" Sophia shouted until she was out of breath.

Huffing for air, she leaned back on the wall and sank down until she sat on a pile of dirty slush lowering her head onto her arms.

"Goddammit."


It was past one o'clock in the morning by the time Sophia's meandering path brought her home. She walked the whole way only making use of her powers to enter through the wall of her bedroom. Her family wouldn't know she ever left.

Her fingers and toes were numb from her long walk in the cold. Making it inside, unfortunately, didn't offer as much of relief as she might've liked. It was an old house and her room, in particular, had always been a bit drafty. Normally it hardly bothered her, she could handle a little bit of discomfort, but now all she wanted to do was rest.

Her bed was stacked with piles of extra blankets for the winter. She stripped down, stowed her crossbow and makeshift costume in the back of her closet and flopped into bed curling her entire body up underneath the warm heavy covers. It wasn't long before her exhaustion took her to sleep.

And then she started dreaming.

Her dreams were a horrifying pastiche of jumbled memories. She was in a dark room with the only light coming from beneath her feet. There was no escape as she was tied down and surrounded by shadowy figures. The light at her feet grew brighter as fire nipped at her ankles then her shins slowly climbing its way upward. As the figures inched closer a rope curled around her neck and tied itself into a noose that slowly drew itself tighter. She knew pain was about to come from all directions and she had no way to ready herself for it. Soon the figures were upon her.

Sophia woke up drenched in sweat.

The blankets she had cocooned herself in were strewn about the floor by the thrashing she did in her sleep.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Memories of the nightmare were already fading but left with her an unshakable residue of fear that would keep her up for many of the coming days and nights. It had only been three hours since she laid down.

Unable to go back to sleep, uncertain whether she even wanted to, Sophia climbed out of bed. She opened her door slowly and crept into the hallway with quiet footsteps. It wasn't likely that anyone would be awake so early in the morning. Still, she couldn't stand to see her family. Couldn't stand to face their pitying words and stares or to stammer through conversations that tip-toed around her in feigned warmth and comfort.

Even under her light-footed steps, the floorboards of the old house creaked. Sophia entered the bathroom. She rested her head on the shower wall and let scolding hot water slide off her back for twenty minutes until it was freezing cold. Bathing did little to refresh her spirits.

Back in her room she toweled herself off, sat down in front of her vanity mirror and started doing her makeup. She hid the dark circles that were beginning to show under her eyes beneath layers of foundation and concealer. When her hair was sufficiently dry she started brushing the kinks out. She didn't particularly like her new haircut. More specifically, she didn't like how she'd gotten it.



Sophia had been lying awake in her bed sometime after she was brought into the PRT medical bay and healed by Panacea. She didn't move or make a sound as she tried to process her thoughts. Looking back on the last day or so she found huge chunks of her memory missing but every so often she was flooded with sudden recollection. Images flashing in front of her eyes with no feeling attached but leaving her mind in an exhausted haze.

None of it felt real.

Her mom and brother had been sitting by her bedside saying nothing much for a long while. She asked them not to, in fact, and they obliged. Terry was sunken back in his seat, hands deep in the pockets of his hoodie, with a sullen look on his face. Her mom had her head in her hands. Sophia figured her mother would go off and start shouting at her at any moment and then, of course, Sophia would have to shout back. But she never did. None of them cracked once. So they all remained silent.

Eventually, Sophia's bodily needs took precedent so she swung her legs over the side of the bed, stood up, and headed for the restroom. It was then that she caught sight of herself in the mirror. She screamed a little too loudly for a half second too long before she could choke it down.

It was such a small thing, really. Sophia liked the way she looked, of course. What's not to like? Fit and thin but with subtle curves, dark even complexion on healthy skin, and a pretty face with a pleasing combination of sharp and round features. She liked to look nice. She took care of herself, her hair included, even though perms and hairdressers were a pain in the ass, but all the same, she could have gotten a haircut one day on a whim and never looked back on it. But after waking up in such a dreamy state, finding her body seemingly unchanged for all it had been put through only to find her hair gone by half, it shook something loose and instantly brutal realization struck her: it was all real.

Staring wide-eyed at the mirror Sophia deftly stroked singed tips of her formerly shoulder length hair. She barely noticed the door swing open a flat second after her scream. In her peripheral, she saw her mom pause in the doorway before quickly leaving it only to return a few moments later with a pair of scissors.

She stood stock still in front of the bathroom mirror as her mother stood behind her giving her an impromptu haircut evening out the length into a bob that barely reached passed her ears. She focused on the tiny tickles on her feet as strands of hair fell to the floor, the tightness of her fist that dug fingers into palms, her headache exasperated by the bathroom's humming fluorescent lights. Anything to keep a straight face. No one would see her beaten.



Sophia finished brushing her hair and looked at herself in the mirror. New haircut aside she looked the same as ever.

Tucked into the mirror's frame were a collection of photographs she kept. One of the few family photos she knew existed was in the bottom corner. It featured her younger self, Terry, and her mom still pregnant with Abigail. There had been a man in the corner who's hand rested on her mother's shoulder. Sophia cropped him out but the jagged edge was nonetheless a reminder that he had been there which always pissed her off.

All of the other photos were of herself, Emma and Madison most of which were taken over last summer. Emma made a summer 'bucket list' which generates involved the three of them shopping, going on trips, and a million little things to do like eating ice cream on the boardwalk. They managed to get through most of it even with Sophia's Wards duties and patrols. It was corny, she thought at first, but they had fun. Sophia even considered helping Emma with next summer's list.

On her desk next to her computer were two small meticulously wrapped presents each addressed to one of her two friends. Sophia's cellphone had been filled with unanswered calls and missed messages from both of them in the last couple of days. She'd gotten angry earlier when Emma interrupted her in the hospital but she would call her back eventually. She wasn't really pissed at her anyway. It's just that the thought of speaking to either of them worried her for reasons she couldn't quite place.

Emma was Sophia's best friend. Emma was the only one who could understand things the way she did; the only one who could understand her, really. But with the way she was feeling, too anxious, too tired, too shaken up about everything she couldn't let Emma see her that way. She just needed to get her mind settled. Just a few days to get back to normal. Just a few days.



Sophia spent the next few hours at her computer where she browsed websites and forums looking for news. When she searched for anything about Shadow Stalker all she found were a few scattered references which were days, or weeks, old but nothing about the recent incident. That was good. If it were up to her no one would ever know what had happened. What those Empire goons did to her was humiliating enough without the whole country reading about it.

When Sophia had spoken with Director Piggot she'd been honest about her solo patrols. It was much easier than coming up with a lie would've been at the time. Still, she'd broken the rules. Then and there, Piggy could have stripped her of her probationary Wards status and had her shipped off to juvie. She didn't, of course. Instead, Piggot had said she'd intended to keep the story as quiet as possible for the time being. No doubt more to make her job easier than out any sort of sympathy. That, at least, Sophia could appreciate.

But it would be news eventually.

What Sophia could find plenty of online was info about Empire Eighty-Eight. Fights, shootings, and skirmishes with the ABB. Just yesterday there had been a decently sized battle involving Viktor, an Empire cape, and Oni Lee, of the ABB. The articles and postings made her feel increasingly anxious and oddly exposed yet compelled her to read more.

She already knew about the uptick in Empire activity, of course. It's what inspired her personal campaign of attacks on their dealers and part of the excuse she used when Piggy grilled her about her solo patrols. A black hero going after white supremacists just for the sake of it was believable enough so there was no asking about how often she actually went out solo.

It paid for anyone living in Brockton Bay to keep an eye on the changing winds of gang activity. She and her family had been doing it for as long as she could remember.

There was no wondering why, when her mom changed her work schedule around a month or so back so she could avoid coming home too late or when Terry stopped leaving the house after sundown even just to go to the corner store. That sort of thing was nothing new.

Sophia recalled how her mother would drive the long way around to avoid going through Empire territory downtown, being threatened at a restaurant where they liked to eat and never going back, and switching elementary schools after getting into a fight with a kid who called her a nigger on the first day of first grade. At least she never had to worry quite as much about being turned out like all of the Asian girls.

The city ran on fear. It controlled lives, made decisions, enforced rules. Gangsters tempered it with drugs, group mentality, and sheer numbers. The well-off could hide away in gated communities and behind expensive security systems. The rest made due as best as they could watching for gang tangs, avoiding the wrong colors and the wrong people.

All of this just to keep the ever-present miasma of fear at bay so they could go about their lives with falsified peace of mind. Stopgap solutions in the end. Gang members cowed to their bosses, kept to their territories and darted their eyes around watching for signs of their enemies. No different from all those faceless people who, at times, walked the streets a bit too far from home a bit too late at night when oppressive alleyway shadows started asking hypotheticals like, "Will you make home safely, tonight?" Or "What's in the bag?"

Emma came to know that type of fear when a couple of ABB shitheads dragged her and her father out of their car and threatened to carve up her face. Emma's family was rich unlike Sophia's. She probably never caught sight of the world's true colors before then.

And when all of those lines of defense failed, when the cruel bitch of a world decided it was time to shake down those pillars of sand, the only real answer was to be tough enough to withstand the harsh reality or else crumble to pieces too. It was the lesson Sophia had learned for herself and taught it to Emma when she'd proven she could handle it.

Fear had no hold over Shadow Stalker. She invaded territories paying no mind to who ruled them, never worried whether her enemies were about. She searched them out, in fact. Hunted them. There was no need to be afraid when she knew she could take whatever the world threw at her and even give some back. At least, she thought could.


"Sophia, are you awake?" Her mom asked tapping gently on her door. Her family was out of bed, apparently. "We're about to open presents."

Sophia groaned softly. She still hated the idea of being around her family pretending everything was okay but then again its what they always did. And, as it happened, she needed an excuse to tear herself away from internet articles anyway. They were started to make her palms sweaty.

"Alright." She said as she got up.

"Chrissmas!" Abigail cried. Sophia heard the patter of the girl's footsteps as she ran past her door.

Sophia stepped out of her room just as Terry was exiting his. He looked at her with eyes barely half open.

"…Merry Christmas." He said after a beat.

"Yeah," Sophia replied.

She and Terry had never been talkers, certainly not with each other, but there was a time when Sophia held implicit confidence in him as younger sisters do with their older brothers. But that confidence had waned years ago and without it, they seemed more like strangers who lived in the same house. He hadn't even known she was a cape two nights ago. Their mother forbade Sophia from telling him. And now that he does know all he can muster is pathetic small talk.

Their mother was standing by the stairs wearing a comfortable looking robe.

"Merry Christmas." She said somberly to the both of them as they stepped out of their rooms.

"Merry Christmas," Terry repeated.

Sophia grunted in confirmation that it was indeed Christmas.

They all watched Abigail who was already halfway down the stairs. The toddler gripped the rail with one tiny hand taking measured steps down. When she got to the last step she released the rail and took one final leap landing on all fours a short distance away. She then stood and sprinted around the corner making a beeline for new toys. Sophia, Terry and their mother followed her down.

Abigail was in the living room pulling wrapped boxes from underneath the tree. She seemed to have them ordered.

"This one?" She asked excitedly gesturing to a present at her feet.

"Yes honey, go ahead." Their mom said as she sat on the sofa.

Abigail sat on the floor and picked at the tape before tearing off the wrapping paper in strips to eventually reveal a set of colorful horses with brush-able hair. Abigail squealed.

Sophia could vaguely remember being delighted the same way by stupid toys when she was younger. Three of the presents under the tree were meant for her, she knew, but Sophia didn't know or care what was in them. For the past three years, she had made no list for Christmas or birthdays or anything else. She had not asked her family for a single thing. Still, her mother kept on pretending. So did Sophia for that matter. With her allowance from the Wards she bought a gift for each of them but the only thought she put into the matter was waiting for her mother to tell her exactly what to get.

Terry walked in from the kitchen holding two cups of coffee. He sat down next to their mom handing her one of them and they watched the little girl happily opening more of her gifts. Sophia stood back leaning on the wall at the entryway her idle thoughts leading her around the room taking in the cozy domestic scene. A family gathered around on Christmas, sipping warm drinks, snow falling outside. It all seemed so foreign to her; so distant.

Her eyes eventually landed on a small spot on the wall near the kitchen. Slightly off color plaster about a centimeter in diameter. It held her attention for a long time and she started to feel anxious as though the tiny hole was staring back at her. It was an accusing stare that made her feel even more as though she didn't belong. She'd have to get out of its line of sight very soon.

"Sophia?" Her mother said. Sophia's head darted up. Both her mom and Terry were looking at her. "Come on and open yours." Her mom smiled weakly.

Sophia sighed and pushed herself off the wall, rounded the sofa and kneeled in front of the tree. Colorful pieces of torn paper were already all over the floor from where Abigail had unwrapped her presents. Sophia's young sister had already moved aside to open her toys and begin playing with them.

Sophia dragged a gift toward her. It was just a simple decorative box with no wrapping. 'To: Sophia; From: Terry' read the sticker. She opened it; a sweater, knitted and dark blue. It looked warm. She opened the other gifts both from her mother. Jeans and a new pair of running shoes. She laid her new possessions out in front of her. They were all nice, she supposed. Fit her tastes, all things she might have bought for herself out shopping with Emma and Madison. They were all the correct sizes, even. Still, her anxiety wasn't drowned out just from receiving a few new clothes and they didn't make her feel at home any more than the hole in the wall.

"Thanks," Sophia said flatly. She stood up leaving the gifts where they were. "I'm going back to bed."

She didn't glance a look at her family as she trailed out of the room. More importantly, she didn't catch sight of the filled in bullet hole as she left.

"Alright. Get some rest." Her mom said.

"G'night, Sophia," Abigail said glumly. Even she was feeling the mood it seemed.

Back in her room Sophia closed the door and locked it before throwing herself into bed. Ever since waking up at the PRT her mind had been in a near constant buzz. Memories she still couldn't quite grasp, the pain and fear, just trying to make sense of everything. It was all so worrying, and sickening and so unbelievably exhausting and none of it stopped long enough for her to get more than a few of hours of restless sleep.

Her cell phone vibrated with a brief low buzz. It sounded somehow ominous quaking against the wooden desk it was lying on. A text message. She ignored it staying still in bed, pretending to sleep like she had for much of her time in the hospital room. Another text came in a while later. And then another. And another. Finally, Sophia sat up and grabbed her phone.

Madison: Merry Christmas! And Happy Kwanza! Lol
Madison: Get anything good? Get ME anything good???

Emma: What's up?
Emma: Pick up the phone already or I'm keeping your present for myself~

Sophia turned off her phone.


The next few days passed in a hazy blur. Sleep was always a crapshoot; never knowing if a nightmare would come or not. Most of the time just the possibility of having one was enough to keep her up.

She stayed in her room only leaving for occasional trips to the bathroom and kitchen carefully timed to avoid Terry and her mom. Whenever she passed the tiny plastered over hole in the wall she couldn't help but glare at it. Before she'd come to think of it as part of the scenery; when she'd beaten the sway it had over her. And then stopped thinking of it all together. Recently, though, it was as if someone circled it in bright red ink and splashed a spotlight on it. Eventually, she stopped going to the kitchen.

New Years was the day Sophia decided she couldn't take it anymore. It was midnight. From outside there were pops and bangs of the occasional firework and celebratory gunshots ringing out. That or a new gang war decided to erupt that very night. One could never be sure when it came to Brockton Bay. Maybe, not knowing for sure is what made it so bad. She flinched a little any time one of the bangs sounded a little too close.

She'd taken to keeping her head on a swivel at all times using the situational awareness cultivated during her patrols right in her own home. There was nothing new going on with her bedroom walls whenever she glanced sideways or looked over her shoulder but she kept checking anyway.

Sophia was vaguely aware that 'home' for most people was a place where they could let their guard down, relax, and feel comforted. Her home was certainly never something as lovely as that but more than ever she felt as though the walls were closing in on her and horrible, familiar dread crept in at every angle.

As things were she hadn't eaten since she stopped being able to will herself into the kitchen. Asking her mom or Terry to bring her food was, of course, out of the question. She'd lose face if they thought she couldn't take care of herself. But with the way things were going, Sophia wondered if she'd stop leaving her room for the bathroom too. Not eating was one thing but it could not come to that.

So she packed a duffel bag full of clothes and other necessities, including her crossbow, then called the PRT for a pickup. She grabbed Emma and Madison's gifts as well to hand over whenever she saw them next. She also grabbed a photo of herself, Emma, and Madison huddled together from last summer; Emma had been holding the camera. They were all smiling. After a moment's thought, she also grabbed the portrait of her family. Only her mother was smiling in that one.

Downstairs, Terry and their mother's eyes darted toward Sophia as she rounded the corner into the living room. They had been watching the New Year's celebration in Times Square with a bottle of cheap champagne. There were shots of celebrities smiling, crowds of people jubilant and drunk, and even Legend floating overhead smiling and waving with lasers shooting around him creating an impressive light show.

Her family's eyes leveled on the stuffed duffel bag Sophia had slung across one shoulder. Terry's mouth hung open at a loss for words.

"I'm going to stay at the PRT," Sophia said.

After a pause, Terry finally asked, "Why? Did something happen or something?"

"No, I just-" Sophia's gaze drifted again to the poorly plastered over bullet hole. Her fist tightened. She started to feel angry. Now that was something she knew how to handle. Sophia readied herself for her mom to argue but when she looked back at her mother she was hanging her head and silent.

"Are you sure?" Her mom asked in a murmur.

There was a loud bang of yet another firecracker, or explosion or gunshot. Sophia stiffened at the sound. She wanted to yell but without the expected outlet for her anger Sophia took a second to calm herself before replying with a half growled, "Yeah."

"Just like that?" Terry asked.

Silence stretched on between the three of them until her pocket buzzed. Her PRT issued Wards phone.

"They're here," Sophia said looking at the screen.

Terry and her mom stood up from the sofa and approached her. Terry gave her a very quick, very stiff one-armed hug that Sophia didn't reciprocate. The contact seemed to surprise both of them, in fact.

"Take care of yourself." He said standing back against the wall.

Her mom pulled Sophia in for a much closer, much longer hug. Her chin rested on her mom's shoulder. Sophia's own shoulder was occupied by her mother's face buried in it. The embrace went on for long seconds. Her mother seemed entirely unbothered by the intimacy or the fact that Sophia hadn't raised her arms.

"Call me when you're there." Her mother said finally pulling away still gripping her by both shoulders.

"Okay."

"And answer your phone."

"Okay."

"Don't- Don't do anything stupid."

"…Okay."

There was a knock at the door. Sophia crossed the room and swung it open to reveal Carlos standing behind it. He was dressed in a suit that looked to be on the expensive side. Maybe he just left a party. Sophia shouldered past him and closed the door behind her blocking his view of her family whose eyes bored into the back of her head. She could feel a wet spot on her shoulder where her mother had laid on it. It felt cold in the winter air.

She climbed into the passenger seat of a still running black car parked in her driveway.

"Your car?" She asked her team leader as he got into the driver's seat.

"The PRT's actually. Protectorate's busy tonight and they thought it'd be easiest for me to come pick you up, all things considered."

Sophia leaned back in her seat and stared out of the window as they passed by her neighborhood. It was dark and treacherous with no streetlights; populated by old houses, overgrown yards, and broken down cars.

"Is everything okay? At home, I mean." Carlos spared a glance off the road to look at Sophia.

"None of your fucking business."

Carlos sighed. "But it is my business. Like it or not, Sophia, I'm going to look out for you. I know you don't like me but I don't care, I'm not leaving you out to dry."

Sophia's only response was an annoyed grumble.

"Listen, if you ever need anything at any time I expect you to call me. In fact, consider that an order. Got it?"

"Yeah, got it," Sophia said hoping he'd finally shut up.

When they arrived at the PRT Sophia took the opportunity to separate from Carlos by rushing inside but he followed behind her apparently not getting the hint. They passed by the reception desk both having already donned domino masks concealing their identity and headed for the elevator.

"How long are you planning on following me around?" She said on the way down.

"Not for too long," Carlos replied. Sophia would have argued that 'too long' had already come and gone. He followed her inside of the Wards quarters into the living area. "Sorry but there's not a lot of food since no one else stays overnight very often but I've already asked them to stock up. If there's anything you need in particular I left a number on the fridge. Just text them your list and the PRT will get it for you. Try not to go overboard though." Carlos smiled in a way Sophia was sure he thought was charming. "Do you need help with anything?"

"No." Sophia's voice was icy. Carlos nodded.

"Then I'll leave you alone." He nodded at her turned toward the door then stopped mid-step turned to look at her again. "And remember: call me… about anything. Okay?"

She didn't say anything. Carlos turned again and departed.

Sophia didn't mention it to Carlos but she had been very hungry and the kitchen did leave much to be desired. The only food of substance available was a cake with a single slice cut from it. She took a slice of her own and ate it while leaning on the countertop. Only the frosting was left over when she was finished. She never did like sweets much.

She sent a short list of groceries to the number Carlos had left and then gone to her room.

Her room at the Wards quarters was more spartan than her room at home but it was plenty enough. Narrow with a twin bed, a desk, and a wardrobe/dresser.

She dropped her duffel bag and started pulling things out. Clothes were placed neatly in drawers and hung in the wardrobe, her crossbow, limbs fold, she laid under her bed, and the two photos she brought, with no place to hang them, were tossed haphazardly onto her desk.

Eventually, she found her civilian cellphone; powered down since several days ago. School would start again soon and she hadn't spoken with either of her friends. She promised herself a few days to get back to normal but she felt more or less the same as she had then maybe even worse and she was almost out of time.

Sophia moved to place the phone on her desk and caught sight of the photo of herself with Emma and Madison. She looked so happy. She had been happy. Being Shadow Stalker used to be her one joy in life but it was a solitary existence. Outside of going on patrol, simply being Sophia Hess, there never seemed to be much worth smiling about. But meeting Emma changed that.

She turned on the phone. It vibrated to life and the screen lit up. She sat down on her bed, flipped it open and scrolled down to Emma's name in the list of contacts. It wasn't a long list. She put the phone to her ear, it rang and she waited. She'd forgotten how late it was, past one in the morning. Maybe Emma was already asleep. Maybe she wouldn't even want to talk after being shut out for so long. Maybe-

The ringing stopped.

"Hello?" Emma said wearily.

"Hey, Ems," Sophia said equally weary.

"Sophia? What the fuck, I've been calling you for, like, two weeks."

"Yeah, I-" I fucked up. Sophia sank further back into her bed pulling her knees close. "I've been busy."

"Busy with what?" Emma asked not bothering to hide her incredulity. "You couldn't even text me back? And why'd you turn off your phone?" There was a long pause. Sophia felt her chest tighten. "Sophia? Did I piss you off or something?"

Sophia spoke with deliberation to keep her voice steady. I couldn't face talking to you. "I just didn't get a chance to charge it. Like I said, been busy. Wards stuff."

"Really? I hadn't heard anything." Emma sounded concerned now. "Is everything okay?"

Sophia took a deep breath. Her voice obviously hadn't been steady enough. I'm scared, Emma. I'm so fucking scared all the time. "Yeah, just tired. I just wanted to talk to you a bit, that's all. Its… its been a long week." She was blinking away tears now.

"Yeah, sure. Really, though, is everything alright?"

…No. "Yeah, fine."

"Cool. So, see you at school Monday?"

"…Yeah. See you Monday." Probably. Maybe. "G'night, Emma."

"Goodnight, Sophia."

Sophia hung up and laid back on her bed staring up at the featureless ceiling.

Fake it til you make it, huh?


In the morning Sophia found that the kitchen had been stocked with everything she asked for and more. She choked down a decent breakfast and then entered the Wards training room, hopped on the treadmill and ran. Keeping a blistering pace she focused on the burning in her lungs, the tenseness in her muscles, and the timing of each step. Anything to keep herself distracted.

When her legs could no longer carry on running Sophia headed to the gun range, typically used by PRT troopers, with her crossbow. Even without the aid of her tinker tech weapons' assisted aiming she was good enough to consistently hit the bullseye at sixty yards. She spent several hours there practicing switching hands occasionally. When she decided she had enough of the range she returned to the treadmill for a series of sprints. Then she hit the heavy bag, did sets of squats and lunges, before, once again returning to the treadmill.

By the time Sophia showered and returned to her room it was late in the evening. She laid down and for the first time in days, she could rest.

On Monday morning Sophia didn't wake up in time for school. Her phone buzzed. A text.

Emma: Hebert's headed for her locker. Where are you???

 

[Joko]

V
-----------------------------Old Friends-----------------------------​

"Help! Save me!" Emma cried out with glee not suitable for her role as the damsel in distress. Taylor rounded the corner and posed heroically with her fists on her hips at the top of the stairs. A baby blue bed sheet was tied around her neck and behind her glasses was a crude domino mask made out of construction paper with eye holes that were just a little too small and a little too far apart. She looked down at the citizen in need. Emma was perched on a chair from the kitchen table entirely unable to contain her giggling.

"Fear not, Mega-Taylor is here!" She shouted bombastically before flying down the steps careful not to trip over her cape as she did. Upon reaching the fifth step she leaped to the bottom landing in an impressive three-point stance. After fixing her glasses, which had fallen crooked at some point in her fight, she looked up coming face-to-face with her greatest foe. "Cheshire." She said with theatrical menace.

The old cat could have probably been less interested in what the two girls were playing at with a little training but in that his only interest was pawing at the kitty toy dangling between the legs of the chair the handle of which Emma sat on in order to preserve the illusion of Cheshire's villainous intentions.

"Hurry," Emma said to the hero. "Don't let him get me."

"Your reign of terror is over, Cheshire," Mega-Taylor said diving for the cat who easily evaded the attack by ducking beneath Emma's seat. He meowed. Mega-Taylor circled around hands outstretched to grab the felonious feline. Cheshire batted her hands and ran the opposite way before hopping onto the seat surprising Emma who fell backward into Mega-Taylor's chest. Both girls landed on their bottoms.

"You did it," Emma said hugging Mega-Taylor dramatically. "You saved me!"

Cheshire meowed. Mega-Taylor stood again feeling it was time to defeat the villain but fresh out of cheesy lines to say.

"Laser eyes!" She retrieved a laser light from her pocket, situated it behind one of the lenses of her glasses and pointed it at Cheshire's feet. The cat pawed at it. Mega-Taylor moved the beam to the floor and Cheshire lunged.

"Let me, let me," Emma said holding her hand out all pretense of being in distress gone. Taylor handed her they laser light and they giggled watching the cat chase the red dot around the foyer. Emma flicked the light toward the kitchen and Cheshire darted away on the hunt. "Now," Emma said stretching herself out. "You have to fly me away." Taylor nodded.

Carrying Emma princess style had been surprisingly easy; carrying Emma princess style up the steps, less so. Regardless, Taylor, Mega-Taylor, stepped up each stair dutifully, if unsteadily, making her way to her secret base otherwise known as her bedroom where they'd start their games anew. Then, she heard the door creak open. As she turned to glance a look at who had entered she stepped on her baby blue cape, lost her footing and fell backward bringing her burden along on the way down. They didn't fall far, however. Instead of colliding with tile floor they fell into the waiting lap of Taylor's mother who knelt at the bottom of the staircase.

She was a tall woman, might as well have been a giant to the two girls she held. Her hair was dark, long and draped elegantly over her shoulders ending in pretty curls that tickled the noses of the two girls she was staring down at.

"Hi, Auntie Annette." Emma was still giggling. Taylor was smiling ear to ear.

"Hi, mom." She readjusted her glasses.

"Taylor, Emma," Taylor's mother said sternly. "What have I told you two about playing on the steps?"

"Don't?" Emma said at the same time Taylor said, "I'm gonna get myself sent to the hospital."

"Ah, so you were listening. Then all you did was ignore me." Emma and Taylor both covered their mouths unable to make themselves serious. Her mom smirked. Then, she hefted the pair up cradling them under one arm each. "I bet if I dropped you two from up high you'd learn your lesson."

"Noooo." Taylor cried no longer hiding her laughter.

"Mega-Taylor use your laser vision," Emma screamed through smiling teeth.

"Hmmm? Mega-Taylor?" Her mom said amused with a warm smile.

"That's right, I'm a hero. I have powers and I save people. I just saved Emma from Cheshire and that's why I had to fly away with her."

"Well, I happen to know," Her mom said taking the girls and placing them on their feet at the bottom of the staircase. "You don't need powers to save people. Case in point." She ruffled their hair. "Now, where's your father?"

"Backyard," Taylor said.

Her mom nodded still smiling. "Alright. You girls can go back to playing. Stay off the steps."

"Okay," Emma said before darting up the stairs. Taylor flashed a toothy smile to her mother before following after her friend.



Sunday evening in the Hebert household was a quiet one. Deceptively so, with both residents as stressed as the taut cables of a ship ready for an onslaught of wind and rain. Taylor weathered the calm before the storm by lounging in bed rereading Typhoon, trying to do anything but think about the school day waiting for her in the morning.

She sat on her bed, back against the wall, book in her lap, and a warm cup of tea on the nightstand nearby. It was a comfy arrangement. There were certainly worse ways of handling anxiety. Her father, on the other hand, was somewhere about dealing with his own problems in his own ways.

Taylor didn't know, exactly, what had been bothering her dad but she knew well enough how he dealt with stress: by pouring himself into work which he returned to hardly a day after Christmas. Maybe it had to do with what happened with Shadow Stalker on top of the usual problems he faced with the Dockworkers Association; not enough help from the city, not enough money to go around, not enough of anything, really. Whatever it was Taylor didn't want to bother her dad by piling her bullying problem on top.

At the very least she got to spend New Year's Eve with him. He even let her have a bit of champagne. Normally, he'd have invited Kurt and Lacey over or gone to hang out with them and a few of his other friends from the Dockworker's Association for at least part of the night but this year it was just the two of them. Father and daughter. Even if walls hadn't exactly come crumbling down it was a nice evening. They could pretend everything was okay for a short time.

Winter break had been a surreal one for the Heberts. Two days before Christmas she and her father saved the life of a hero, a Ward, who was about to be murdered. They had received personal thank yous from Armsmaster, Miss Militia, and Aegis. Taylor was even healed by Panacea. And most importantly, she had saved someone's life. That other stuff, meeting and shaking hands with heroes she idolized, was all dressing.

Although she still kicked herself for how long they sat in their car hoping the police or the Protectorate would make it in time, those precious seconds had cost Shadow Stalker no small amount of pain, Taylor took a bit of pride in the fact that she'd been able to throw herself into danger for the sake of someone in trouble. Even if her arms had never been healed by Panacea she would have worn those scars proudly. It was the sort of thing most people knew as 'the right thing to do' but Taylor knew as well what a coward looked like. Let it never be said that the Heberts were cowards.

And if someone ever does we'll hit them with our car. Ha ha.

Taylor didn't have superpowers, though she always imagine having them. Who didn't? Any kid who said they never thought of what it'd be like having powers was either a plain liar or a Ward doing a poor job hiding their secret identity. But even without powers the knowledge that she really could be a hero, that she had been a hero, a hero's hero, made her feel strong. A sort of strength she hadn't felt in a long time. Strength that had been worn down a little at a time by a year and a half of near daily abuse.

Taylor tried to hang on to that strength. Because she knew she'd need it come tomorrow.



In the morning Taylor woke up before her dad and prepared breakfast for the two of them. Eggs scrambled with vegetables, sausage, and toast.

Her father descended the stairs looping a tie around his neck. The same way her mom had been her dad was tall, lanky, bespectacled and dark haired. With that combination of genes, Taylor was left with very few options from the start.

"Smells good." He said patting her head.

She served him a plate as he sat. They ate together in silence; an unspoken pact that kept them both from getting caught up in each other's struggles.

"Have a good day at school, kiddo," Taylor's dad said as he was leaving.

"I will. Have a good day at work," Taylor replied with a weak smile. It was a practiced maneuver, a facial expression to put on whenever her dad asked about school, or Emma, or anything else. Her dad put on a smile too, same as hers.


Winter was supposed to be a magical time of year. Snow was a rather rare occurrence in Brockton Bay but that year the season brought pure white powder that hung on branches and blanketed the ground reflecting the natural beauty of nature against the backdrop of city life like a fine oil painting. But Winslow High managed to ruin even that. With graffitied walls, students who milled around smoking near the entrance, and a patch of yellow right next to the sidewalk, the only thing the snow reflected was the fact that the place was a seedy shithole.

As Taylor rushed inside she felt a familiar kind of dread creep into her. Dread she'd come to know well as it was there to greet her every day at the entrance like an old friend.

Before she could reach the double doors Taylor found herself being pelted by an onslaught of snowballs followed by the mad cackling of the bitches who threw them. The snowballs had knocked off her glasses but she could recognize the blurry features of Emma and Madison, one by her striking red hair the other by her diminutive childlike stature. They were a few feet away doubled over in laughter as if they'd just seen the funniest thing in the world.

Old friends indeed, Taylor thought.

Maybe if she got to know dread a little better it would betray her too.

When Taylor bent over to pick up her glasses she felt another snowball hit her square in the backside realizing too late that she really shouldn't have set them up for that one. Commendable aim though. Taylor could only hope they hadn't used any of the yellow snow and immediately decided to give that line of thinking no further attention.

Rushing inside Taylor belatedly noticed that one of the lenses in her glasses had been knocked out of the frame. She tried them on anyway and found that blurry vision in both eyes was far more comfortable than the huge disparity created by only having one good eye. The missing lens was surely somewhere near the entrance outside waiting to be stepped on but Emma and Madison were still out there and who knows if Sophia had shown up yet.

Those three were the worst of her bullies. The Trio. It all started when Emma met Sophia, although Taylor had no idea how that happened or what Sophia did to her former best friend but ever since they've been on a campaign to tear her down at every turn.

Taylor decided against searching for her missing lens supposing she could make it through her classes without getting too bad of a headache by keeping one eye shut whenever she needed to see the board. So she put the broken glasses away for the moment and proceeded to her locker where she'd place her winter coat and the books she wouldn't need for first period.

Her locker was easily identifiable by the graffiti that was scratched, written or spray-painted on the tarnished metal door. There was enough that she could make it out from a distance even while half blind. All of the lockers at Winslow had graffiti on them. Gang tags, malicious messages, and sometimes even the odd friendly note from classmates. Taylor's locker, in particular, happened to be more… populated than most. And the messages for her certainly weren't of the friendly variety.

Being called a 'bitch','whore' or 'kike' (Huh?) by anonymous assholes didn't bother her much at all but the fact that the entire school seemed to come together and decided that it was ok for her to be picked on, that she was less than them, that she and she alone didn't deserve justice, consideration, or dignity hurt more than any generic barb.

It certainly didn't inspire much confidence in people. If so many in one place could be so malicious, willfully ignorant, or plain cowardly then what hope could there be?

Taylor knew her mother would have chastised her for that sort of thinking so she tried her best not to do it too often. Her mother would have told her that there's more good in the world than bad, that there was far more out there than just Winslow High, that she could be the one to make a difference, and so on and so forth. Those were all nice thoughts. Taylor wanted to believe them but it was getting harder by the day. Then again, it was all thanks to her mom's memory that Taylor was making it through the days at all. Three years she'd been gone and her mother was still a source of strength for her. Maybe the last one she had.

Taylor approached her locker, slid her book bag off her back, and began dialing the combination. Then, she sniffed and smelled something foul. She sniffed the air a few more times and kept smelling it. Students walking past didn't seem to notice and there was no one standing nearby. Besides that, the chances that an odor like the one she was smelling had come from a person were nil. With the relatively optimistic possibility ruled out she was left with horrid certainty. The smell was coming from inside her locker.

What have they done now?

Taylor's mind swam through possibilities of what horrible thing could have been left inside waiting for her to find.

Garbage? A dead rat? Both?

Teachers and the principal all ignored her claims of being bullied. They played dumb or pretended to care up until it came to actually doing anything. But now she had something. Something they couldn't deny or turn a blind eye to. The ruined books left inside over break were a small price to pay if she finally got something on the Trio.

She finished dialing the combination. Whatever they put in her locker Taylor would need to see for herself. When she went to Principal Blackwell there could be no stupid questions, no excuses, no more bullshit.

Taylor opened the locker.

A pungent odor assaulted her the very moment the door swung open. Before she could even catch sight of the source of the smell Taylor hunched over clutching her stomach with one hand, holding her nose with the other and started retching, gagging on bile as it bubbled up in her throat. All of the kids surrounding her took more than a few steps back as well with all eyes on the source of the putrid stench that was filling the hallway. Taylor managed to choke down the vomit threatening to spill itself from her mouth to the floor, at least for the moment, and finally looked up. Her locker was stuffed with tissues, tampons and pads, all used to varying degrees, and presumably left to fester.

She felt vomit rising in her stomach again when she heard footsteps from behind her each with a loud irritating squeak made by snow wettened soles on tile floor. There were a lot of them.

Hands grabbed her shoulders, wrists, and hair pushing her forward straight toward the disgusting confines of her locker. Taylor tried to fight but they held firm. If she had counted them correctly there were three pairs of hands and she had a very good idea of whose they were.

"No!" Taylor shouted. "Let me go!"

They pushed her face in first. She tried to step her leg out to keep herself from going forward any further but her knees were kicked out from under her.

"Someone help. Stop it!" Her pleas were ignored. Of course.

Her attackers forced her into the narrow, filth-smeared, space. In one last-ditch effort, she stuck her hand out of the opening to keep the door from closing on her just in time for it to slam hard into her fingers. The door was press onto them until the pain became too much and reflex took ever. Taylor pulled her hand inside and then the door swung open slightly once more just far enough for Taylor to see a few blurry strands of red hair.

The door slammed and Taylor's world went dark.

She hit the locker, again and again, unable to form words to yell or properly draw breath confined in the putrid space. She threw up. Hardly being able to lean forward it spilled over her shirt, then her pants and landed on her shoes already ankle deep in foulness.

The tiny slits on the door allowed in an absolutely paltry amount of light and were even worse for fresh air. What it was good for, however, was allowing Taylor to hear the pleased laughs of her attackers. Even the gawkers who stood around watching the whole thing seemed entertained. Not a single person lifted a finger to help her, grab a teacher, or even so much as deliver a harsh word to the perpetrators.

"The fucking smell…"

"I think she just hurled…"

"That's so gross…"

When the bell rang Taylor was still spitting up vomit and hitting the door.

"Hey," She finally managed to yell. "Let me out."

The only reply she received was the quieting of the hallway as people entered classrooms and went about the rest of their day. No one fucking cared.

Taylor could feel herself about to throw up again.


The next few minutes were spent dry heaving and fiddling with the locking mechanism all while trying to keep two fingers pinching her nose and her mouth against the door's narrow slits for shallow breaths of unpolluted air. Taylor quickly realized that the locker wasn't made to be opened from the inside. An outrageous design flaw considering her situation.

There wasn't enough clean oxygen to go around and it was starting to make her lightheaded. There were still around forty minutes until first period ended. Taylor started to settle into her grim reality, certain that it would be a long stay.

Squeaking came from down the hall, footsteps. Someone just in from the snow. They were running and coming straight her way.

Taylor began shouting and hitting her locker again. It would be in vain, she figured. No one else cared. Whoever it was they would probably rather make it to class without being reprimanded than come to her aid.

To her genuine surprise, the footsteps stopped right in front of her.

"Hel-" Taylor's words were interrupted by an explosive bout of heaving and coughing.

"Fuck." Shouted the person on the other side of the door. A girl. "Fuck fuck fucking fuck!" Taylor recognized that voice.

No.

There was a bang on the locker. This time from the outside. The door bowed inward a little. A new sliver of light started shining through where the dial was. But it didn't open. There was another bang. The door bowed some more. Taylor inched herself back to the extent that she could. There was another bang. And then another. And another. Finally, the lock broke. The door was bowed badly enough that the it was jammed into the interior. The girl outside reached her hand in and tore it open.

Taylor surged forward to take a huge gulp of air but lost her footing, slipping on something unspeakable. She fell forward only to be caught by the shoulders landing in the arms of Sophia Hess.

Taylor was wrenched upward and practically dragged around the corner toward a trashcan into which she promptly vomited once again. It burned coming up. Taylor could hear the other girl gagging as well after her short experience with the locker.

When Taylor finished spitting in the trashcan, trying to get the taste of bile out of her mouth, she looked up to see her savior sitting with her back against the wall and her head resting on her arms. Taylor was in disbelief. Her vision without her glasses left much to be desired and she was certain she had been fooled by her poor eyesight. She retrieved her glasses from the coat pocket where she stowed them and looked up keeping one eye closed. The other girl was looking back at her. It really was Sophia.

She looked ragged. Her hair, newly cropped short Taylor noticed, was unkempt, her eyes had obvious bags, and she'd been sweating.

Sophia averted her gaze first looking back toward the floor. Taylor's face contorted in unconcealed worry and suspicion. Sophia Hess, one of the worst of her tormentors, perhaps even the source of it all, had just saved her.

Is this some kind of trick?

"I-" Sophia finally spoke. "I keep some extra clothes in the locker room. You can have them if want."

Taylor took a long pause. This is some kind of trick. "What is this? What are you doing?"

Sophia didn't look up at her. "Nothing. If you want some more clothes. You can have mine. That's all."

Taylor hazarded taking her eyes off of Sophia to look down at herself. A trail of vomit led from her collar right down to her filth-encrusted shoes. She recognized bits of the breakfast she made, her coat would probably need to be dry cleaned, and she smelled horrible. She wasn't exactly in a position to refuse the offer.

Then again, all of it could have been part of some ruse to humiliate her further. Were the other two lying in wait somewhere? Would they trick her into stripping out of her clothes before pushing her out into the snow? What else could it be?

They waited in silence for a long while. Sophia glanced up, Taylor's eyes narrowed and Sophia quickly averted her gaze again. Shame was the last thing Taylor would have expected out of any one of the Trio but it was plain to see there as one might recognize their own mother.

The girl looked bedraggled and tired and she'd come to school wearing old sweatpants and an oversized hoodie. Not that Taylor particularly cared what clothes anyone wore but it was the sort of thing Emma would have given her hell over. If this was all some kind of trick they were certainly committed.

Then came a nearly imperceptible sound from Sophia's direction. It was so bizarre that Taylor thought she might have imagined it at first.

It sounded like someone saying, "I'm sorry."


"…What?"



Taylor followed Sophia to the locker room keeping a steady distance ready to bolt at the first sign of trouble. When they turned corners she glanced around looking out for Emma or Madison or some other asshole they might've conscripted to help with whatever heinous thing they'd come up with. Instead what she saw were vacant halls and the back of Sophia's head. She looked out behind her expecting someone to sneak up on her at any possible moment. Nothing.

Entering the locker room Taylor looked both ways with one foot still out the door but again, there was no one but herself and Sophia. Not that Taylor, skinny, lanky and unathletic as could be, particularly thought she could take on the school track star one-on-one if it came down to it but the odds were better than three-on-one at the very least.

The girl's locker room featured two narrow rows of lockers with a little room to spare for the old wooden benches bolted down in the middle of the aisles. The end other end featured a few bathroom stalls, a gang shower that no one cared to make much use of, and another door leading to the hall.

Sophia had found her locker and was dialing the combination. Taylor kept her mind on exit points. If one door opened up she would be able to flee to the other. If both doors opened… well, the lockers there were half the size of the ones in the hallway so she wouldn't be getting stuffed in one of them anytime soon.

…Probably.

Sophia's locker turned out to be stuffed with exactly what she said it was. She pulled out shorts and sweatpants giving them each a sniff as she did. Whatever didn't pass would surely be better than what Taylor had on.

Taylor stood a distance of several lockers away eyeing the girl carefully. The last thing Sophia pulled out was a pair of running shoes. They were probably not very old but they were pretty well worn from heavy use.

When Sophia was finished she piled the clothes on top of one another and approached Taylor holding them out at arm's length.

"Here," She said.

Taylor took a small step back. Sophia, getting the message, placed the pile onto the bench next to Taylor and stepped back several feet sitting down on another bench. She was staring down at the floor again. As a matter of fact, at no time had Sophia managed to keep her gaze level with Taylor's.

At the top of the pile was a towel that at least looked clean enough. Taylor lifted it tentatively.

"You… might want to take a shower." Aha. Maybe they really were going to throw her out into the cold naked and freezing.

Taylor shot a glare at Sophia in response to her input. Sophia looked away again.

On the other hand, something like that wasn't her modus operandi. Sophia was a bully in the classic sense. She never bothered with psychological attacks when she could assert herself physically over others, all with an air of pitiless arrogance. Taylor could always expect to be pushed, slapped, or punched by Sophia but she could never see her putting on a show, pretending to be meek, to get at her, even at Emma's behest. So if the 'dog that's been kicked' act really wasn't an act then had Sophia actually changed?

Taylor checked over the rest of the clothes, lifting them, digging in pockets, turning them over looking for… something.

"And the shoes?" Taylor asked still incredulous.

"Take 'em. I got new ones anyway." Sophia still wasn't looking up. Taylor looked down at Sophia's feet and spotted the pair of sporty new running shoes still somewhat soggy from the snow. Not exactly a polygraph test but she was, at least, telling the truth about that.

Taylor grabbed the pile and rushed past the girl heading for the showers. She placed her new and old clothes in a corner where they wouldn't get wet and started the water. She rinsed herself off in a matter of minutes and then looked over her body searching for cuts. If she had any they might've gotten infected just from being in the general vicinity of the biohazardous mess that was made of her locker. Luckily enough the layers she wore for the cold seem to manage to protect her from the old rusty locker's jagged edges.

She thought idly that she might have gone to Principal Blackwell covered in filth to hammer the point home but, no, the locker should speak for itself. There was no reason to go around like that for any longer than necessary.

Taylor toweled herself off and got dressed in Sophia's old gym wear. Both girls were above average in height so it all fit her pretty well. She found a clear plastic garbage bag in the bathroom into which she carefully placed her soiled clothing and returned to the area of the lockers where Sophia was still sitting on the bench with her head cradled in her hands. Taylor found herself unsure whether or not this seemingly unprovoked act of human decency warranted a 'thank you', so she stood there silently, waiting for the answer to come.

A long moment passed.

"I'm sorry," Sophia finally said repeating the words from earlier. "I'm sorry about everything."

"Yeah. I heard you the first time." There was not the least bit of warmth in Taylor's voice.

Sophia stood. She didn't turn to face Taylor or even lift up her head.

"I won't- I promise I won't bother you anymore. I'll tell the others too."

"Is that all?" Anger seethed from Taylor's voice. Sophia actually flinched. "A promise to leave me alone? To live and let live? That doesn't magically wipe away everything you've done to me, Sophia. Hell, it's the way things should have been in the first place." Taylor held the garbage bag full of her ruined clothes out at arm's length. "You had something to do with this didn't you?"

Her silence was answer enough.

"Of course you did. Your little apologies don't mean anything. If you're really sorry how about you go to Blackwell? Own up to everything? Do something decent for once in your fucking life?"

Sophia said nothing.

"Yeah, I didn't think so."

Sophia had changed. The overly confident girl, who stood tall and acted as though she owned the world was nowhere to be found. Instead, she was hunched over shrinking into herself, looking as though a light breeze might make her crumble to pieces.

Taylor could have gone on. She had lots to say which she kept bottled up for a long time. She could have torn Sophia down as low as she could go and then tear her down some more just like they'd done to her. It was tempting, it might have made for a cathartic experience even, but Taylor wouldn't be like them, like the people she'd come to loathe. She wouldn't allow herself to find joy tormenting others in their weakest moments. Not even if 'the weak' included Sophia Hess.

Besides, Taylor thought, mom would be so disappointed.

Taylor walked past Sophia with no further comment. As she opened the door she turned and said, "Oh yeah, thanks for the clothes." Then, left.

The bell rang marking the end of first period.

By the time she made it to her locker a crowd was gathering around in a semicircle keeping a safe distance from the putrid waste spilling from it. Taylor shouldered her way through to the front finding teachers holding their arms up to keep the riffraff at bay.

Principal Blackwell made her way through to the scene inspecting the damage. She turned around, glancing over the gathered students, letting her gaze fall on Taylor with accusing eyes as though she discerned the guilty party in that very instant. Blackwell lifted a finger beckoning her to follow. Taylor bellowed a deep sigh.

Just another day at Winslow.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------​

"Hold still Hebert. I want to try something." Sophia gripped the girl by her shoulder and spun her around until they faced one another. Taylor's eyes darted between Sophia and Emma, who was standing not far away. Taylor looked afraid. For good reason as it turned out when Sophia struck her with a swift uppercut to the solar plexus. Taylor crumpled over to the ground coughing and gasping for breath.

Sophia was unimpressed.

"Ha!" Emma said. "I win."

Sophia turned to her friend and said, "I know I've done it before. Just give me til Friday, double or nothing."

"Fine. Double or nothing."

The two girls stepped over Taylor who was still lying on the floor clutching her stomach.

For the next three days, Sophia hit Taylor in the gut as often as she could manage. She caught the girl when tried to run, and ambushed her when she tried to hide. On Friday Sophia kept at it until Taylor's face was streaming with tears. Sophia thought for a moment that the geek would finally try to fight back. It would have been respectable for her to try, at least, but instead, Hebert went home early; before Sophia could win the bet.

"Pay up," Emma said.

"Yeah, yeah," Sophia begrudgingly reached into her pocket pulling out a crumpled one dollar bill.

Emma snatched it gleefully.

"I did make a mugger throw up like that once. I looked it up. You just have to hit them right."

"Maybe Hebert's just a freak who doesn't throw up," Emma said as she folded the dollar into her purse.

Sophia laughed. "Yeah… Maybe."


Principal Blackwell's office wasn't a particularly nice one; not very big, no better looking than the rest of the school and none too welcoming either with its barren walls that peeled slightly and ugly beige furnishings.

Sophia sat sunken low in her seat in front of the principal's desk. Blackwell asked all of the predictable questions and Sophia gave her the predictable answers: lies.

"I overslept and got here late." "I heard her knocking from the inside." "No, I don't know how she got in there." "No, I didn't see anything." "No, I don't know anything."

Blackwell didn't look satisfied but when did she ever? Sophia would walk free out of that office just like all the other times.

Blackwell gave her a hard look then said, "Ms. Hebert seems to suspect that Emma Barnes and Madison Clements were two of the people involved in orchestrating this… prank."

Sophia tried not to react.

"So?"

"You're friends with the both of them correct? Do you believe they would have informed you if they had something like this planned?"

Sophia went silent.

Taylor's words had struck a cord. Coming clean would have been the decent thing to do. She owed Taylor at least that much.

Sophia remembered the sheer hopelessness she felt tied up in that basement wondering whether she was to get her skull bashed in by a crowbar, or have her brain drilled into, or if that damned orange noose would be lowered around her neck and then lifted until her toes no longer touched the ground. It was only a matter of which. And a matter of time. As the hours ticked on her strength was worn away and with it any thoughts that she'd make it out alive.

While she was there alone in the depths of agony and helplessness the only hope that remained was for a hero. Maybe the Protectorate, or the Wards, or Alexandria would burst in, slay her captors, and rescue her. It was her mind's pathetic attempt to comfort itself. Childish old ideas.

Sophia didn't really believe in heroes as a concept. She hadn't for a long time. She learned the hard way that no heroes would come and scoop her up whenever there was trouble. It was like that for most people. They usually arrived too late, done too little, or did nothing at all. In truth, at the end of the day, people were all out for themselves. No one fucking cared.

Or so she thought.

How had she forgotten? The wave of relief when she was pulled from the fire. Still in pain, yes, but someone had come for her. A hero.

The faces of the men who tormented her for one long day leaped to mind but she hadn't even thought about Taylor until she saw Emma's text. She had been too caught up with herself, too busy avoiding and running away from every little thing she feared to remember the girl who saved her life or stupid little prank she helped plan on her.

If she did come clean, what then? Would she just get detention? Suspension? Would they ship her off to juvie? Would Emma ever speak to her again? Her home, her freedom, her friends, she could lose everything.

I'm sorry Taylor.

Sophia took a deep breath, looked Principal Blackwell dead in the eye and said, "I. Don't. Know. Anything."

Madison and Emma were seated outside when Sophia left the principal's office. They were both playing on their phones and looked positively bored. Blackwell stood in the doorway as Sophia exited.

"Ms. Clements." She said sternly.

Madison put on her cutesiest smile and hopped up.

"Coming~" she replied.

"So, how'd it go?" Emma said looking up from her phone. Sophia was scowling. "Shit, that bad? What did she even have on you? You weren't even here?"

"Why didn't you answer your phone?" Sophia was barely suppressing her anger.

"I was in class. What? Was it important or something?"

Sophia approached her friend, who was starting to look concerned and slammed her hands down on the chair's armrests. She closed the distance between them until Emma was shrinking back with her head pressed against the wall.

"It's over," Sophia said through gritted teeth.

"W-what?"

"This thing with, Hebert. It's over. No more pranks, no more fucking with her, no more. We're done, Emma. Got it? It's over."

"W-What?"

"I know you fucking heard-" Sophia started to shout but stifled it quickly and hoped Blackwell hadn't heard. She backed away and took a deep breath.

"What the fuck, Sophia?" Emma's voice was hushed but it seethed with outrage. "What are you getting mad at me for? Have you fucking lost your mind?"

Sophia ran a hand through her hair, with some difficulty, finding it matted and tangled. "I- I'm tired. Sorry."

Emma relaxed a little. They both went silent for a moment.

"I'm serious about Hebert, though," Sophia said a little more calmly. "We're done messing with her, alright? Find someone else or something, I don't care, but back off of Hebert. You and everyone else."

"Okay… fine." Emma sounded more than a little hesitant. "But why- all of the sudden? What happened?"

"Nothing. Nothing happened. She's just… not worth our time that's all."

Emma stared at Sophia with blatant suspicion. Sophia looked back with a hard look of her own.

Blackwell's door opened. "Ms. Barnes," The principal said as Madison sauntered out.

"Coming," Emma said calmly as she stood up without ever taking her eyes off Sophia.

Madison stopped in between the two, eyes flicking back and forth from friend to friend until the door shut again and at least half the tension dissipated.

"So…" Madison started. "Blackwell tells me you were the one who let Hebert out. What's up with that?"

Sophia's head shot toward Madison, who recoiled from the sheer force of the gaze, before turning toward the door leaving without another word.

She found her way to the restroom where she doused her face in cold water. The mirror looked like it needed a good polish when Sophia took a long look at herself and started to feel sick.



"Stop it!" Hebert screamed as she struggled to free herself from Sophia's headlock.

With one arm Sophia kept a tight hold around Taylor's neck and with the other she held a brown paper bag containing the struggling girl's lunch out over the toilet bowl.

"Come on Hebert, all you have to do is choose. Something's gotta go in. Your face or the bag. You choose or I choose for you." Hebert tried to talk. Sophia squeezed her neck harder choking off the words. The struggling stopped. "What was that?" Sophia pulled the bag away and moved Hebert's face closer to the toilet.

"The bag. The bag." She said hastily almost shouting.

Sophia loosened her hold and Hebert pulled herself free nearly falling as she backed up. Sophia casually tossed the bagged lunch into the toilet and then shouldered her way out of the stall, nearly pushing Hebert over, who did nothing but stare angrily at her ruined meal. There was flushing from the next stall over as someone else finished their business.



The door opened and Sophia wheeled her head around to see who had come in. A mousy brown haired girl. Sophia recognized her as one of the flunkies were occasionally floating around Emma. Julie or something.

"Oh, hey… Sophia." She said nervously under the pressure of Sophia's glare. "I didn't think you came to school today."

"Get out."

"Wha-"

"Get the fuck out!" Sophia was ready to reel on her and beat the shit out of the stupid lackey but Julie, or whatever her name was, spun around first and ran back into the hall.

Sophia left the restroom a short time later with only one goal in mind: getting the fuck out of Winslow.

As she walked she glanced into classrooms filled with inattentive students and teachers who could barely give a damn. Mrs. Knott sat at her desk while her students played computer games, Mr. Willis lectured in a dreary monotone while kids slept, and Mr. Gladly tried to act cool while everyone humored him so they wouldn't get any homework.



When Sophia got Madison's text she decided to ask for a bathroom break as a pretense for skipping class. Gladly hadn't shown up for whatever reason and apparently, none of the school staff had realized so a substitute was never called.

Madison waved as Sophia entered. The room was in disarray. Kids were practically shouting, playing on phones and desks were moved and rearranged in whatever way they saw fit. Hebert was sitting apart with a book in her face glancing around looking nervous. There already were piles of paper balls on the floor surrounding her. When she saw Sophia enter she looked like she was about to have a panic attack. Hebert quickly grabbed her backpack, putting her book away, and stood up.

Sophia decided to say 'hi' and stepped in front of the girl's path as she made for the door. Hebert was tall for a girl. About Sophia's height, taller even, but with the way she always hunched over and kept her head down Sophia towered over her with a confident posture and raised chin.

"Hey, where you going, Hebert?"

"Bathroom." She replied not looking up.

"Oh, yeah? So am I."

Hebert's face paled. She returned to her desk and pulled out her book again. Sophia continued over to where Madison was sitting and spent the next half-hour or so shooting the shit, letting the dorky girl stew. All the while distinctly aware of how much Hebert darted her eyes in her direction and the fact that she never turned a page in her book.

When the bell rang Hebert had her bag ready and nearly sprinted out the door.

But Sophia was faster.

She grabbed Hebert, wrapping her arms around her waist, hoisted her up and slammed her onto her back on the hard linoleum. Hebert coughed and sputtered lying there for a while trying to recover. Sophia and the rest of the class laughed as they filed out leaving her there on the floor.



Sophia skulked the halls passing by rows of lockers; each one appearing no more different than the next for all of their individual dents and markings. Then she passed by Taylor's locker. The janitor, wearing a painter's mask and rubber gloves was vigorously scrubbing away at the interior.



Sophia twisted Hebert's arm behind her back pressing her face against the cold metal door.

"You mind repeating that?" Sophia hissed into her ear. Hebert growled but didn't say anything. "Didn't think so." Holding her by the palm Sophia wrenched Hebert's arm further into an even more painful angle. A locker next to them was opened and closed as someone retrieved their belongings and rushed off to class somewhere. "You know I could dislocate your shoulder like this. Or break your wrist. Or snap your thumb. Do you think you could stop me?" Hebert groaned. "Do you?"

"…No." She replied weakly.

Sophia smiled and pulled Hebert's arm harder. There was a pop and Hebert let out a small yelp. Sophia let her go and walked away making herself another one of many who did just the same. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the bespectacled girl nursing her pained wrist; a movement she'd be doing for the next two weeks or so.


Sophia quickened her pace as the exit came into view.

Why did it have to be Hebert? She thought. But no, that was wrong. Who else would it have been? A better question was, why Taylor would have lifted a finger for anyone in the first place when no one had done a thing for her?

Why had I done those things? What the fuck was my problem? It was a stupid question. She knew why. She'd run through the logic time and time again. It drew a line. It was a matter of being one thing or the other. It had made so much sense to her then but now it was all foggy and she had no idea what she should be anymore.

Why didn't she just fight back? She should have attacked me, thrown a punch, something. But that wasn't right either. It wasn't her fault. The simple fact is that Sophia had been wrong about Taylor Hebert. She wasn't so gutless. She went up against three Empire Eighty-Eight thugs; she could have stood up to a few fifteen-year-old high school girls.

Sophia stopped in front of the double doors realizing the comparison she just made.

School went on as normal. Teachers taught, students gossiped, classes continued as if they were so ignorant about everything. But they were all accomplices too.

Sophia pushed the doors open and cool air rushed past her as she strode outside. She felt something crack as she stepped. Looking down she saw a single circular glass lens broken cleanly in two beneath her foot. Her finally rage boiled over.

She screamed in incoherent anger as she threw a punch full tilt into the wall beside her. Her fist turned black and heavy as it landed with a crack against the brickwork. She threw another. And then another. And then another. Every upsetting thought and feeling translated into an uncontrollable need to hit something. The principal. The teachers. Madison… Emma.

'She's not worth our time', she had said to Emma. She walked through fire to save my fucking life and she's 'not worth my time'?

Dust from the brick Sophia had been hitting started to crumble into the snow at her feet. She wanted to hit herself most of all. Pay herself back for shitty thing she'd ever done to Taylor and then some. That's the sort of thing she did… to villains.


Sophia attended school for the next couple of days if only to watch out for Taylor. Emma kept her word and never bothered her. Neither had anyone else. Sophia knew Blackwell told Emma that she was the one who busted Taylor out of her locker but Emma never brought it up. And no one got into any trouble for the locker thing either, of course. Taylor was moved to a different locker and things went on as normal. More or less.

After school, Sophia went straight to the PRT headquarters whereas Emma and Madison made plans to go shopping or hang out. They'd stopped calling her too. Between the three of them Sophia had never been the one to contribute the most conversationally but the change was noticeable enough that Sophia herself saw it. Madison would often try to prompt her to talk but Sophia was too absent-minded to even know what they had been talking about. Eventually, they stopped trying.

Sophia did, at least, manage to pass along her Christmas gifts. Just a couple of pieces of jewelry. A different bracelet and necklace for each of them. Emma didn't even wear hers. They'd promised to remember to bring their own gifts for Sophia. They didn't.

On Thursday Sophia had gone all morning without seeing her friends. At lunch she walked into the cafeteria to find Julia- her name was Julia- sitting in her usual seat next to Emma. There was more space to sit down but the message was plenty clear: they were bored of her.

Sophia placed her tray, full of food, next to the trash and walked out.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------​

Sophia was putting coins in the school vending machine when she heard someone approach. Emma. She looked annoyed.

"What?" Sophia asked.

"Did you break into her locker?"

"Yeah."

"Stole a flute?"

"Yeah."

Emma paused for a moment. Emma had come far in the short time since Sophia had met her. She wasn't scared and shivering little damsel anymore. Hebert was the only thing left to hold her back. It had been different during summer when she didn't have to see the four-eyed geek but now that school was on and they ran into each other in the halls every day, Sophia wondered if her new friend was having second thoughts. That is until Emma finally spoke.

"Fuck with it. Do something disgusting to it, make sure to wreck it so she can't use it ever again."

Attagirl.

Sophia smiled.

She did as Emma asked and destroyed the stupid little flute. Broke off as many pieces as she could manage, bent it where she could, and left it in an unflushed toilet. She then told Hebert in no uncertain terms exactly where she shoved it. Sophia wished she could go watch her fish the thing out, it would have been worth a laugh, but she had class so… whatever.

"It was her old dead mom's." Emma had told her later while staring into the bathroom mirror doing her make-up.

Sophia didn't care for the bit of trivia.

"Serves her right," Emma continued. "She's always been like that. Clinging to useless junk like it'll make her feel better but all it does is make her so… dull."

"Right," Sophia was a few feet away leaning against the ledge beneath the window. "It's like a… what's the word? Those things they tie on boats?"

"Anchors?"

"Yeah, an anchor; shit that holds you down; pulls you under. You had yours too, like the alley…" Emma stiffened a little. Sophia pretended not to notice. "But you… what's the word? Confronted yours. Cut it loose, I guess. I did it too. That's what makes people like us stronger. Other people, well, they just like to drown." Emma was smiling in the mirror. Sophia smiled too. "We probably did the whiny little bitch a favor."

"Yeah. Flutes are stupid instruments anyway." Emma spun around to face Sophia. "How do I look?"

"Like a million, Ems."

 

[Joko]

VI
-----------------------------Sanctuary-----------------------------​

"Emma Barnes, Madison Clements, and… Sophia Hess." Taylor sat in Principal Blackwell's office with her hands folded neatly in her lap. They were rested there with conscious effort to avoid revealing her fast burgeoning irritation.

"These are the people whom you believe to be responsible for this incident?" Principal Blackwell replied.

"I know they are."

"And Sophia was the one who opened the locker while you were trapped. Is that correct? Why do you believe that she would plot against you only to turn around and rescue you?"

"…. I don't know. Why don't you interrogate her instead of me?"

Blackwell inhaled sharply through her nose.

"Ms. Hebert I know you're upset but I'm just trying to get a full scope of the situation. Gather all the evidence. It would be helpful to tell me if you know of anyone who could corroborate your story."

"I don't know. And no one will come forward. They never do. You need evidence? My locker is filled with used tampons and garbage."

"Yes, I understand, but before we act brashly we need to correctly identify the individuals responsible. I can't simply punish these three girls without proof."

"Then punish everyone." Taylor's voice was hush but seeped anger.

Blackwell gave her a hard look.

"I'm sorry?"

"Punish everyone," She repeated gripping her knees tight. "People saw. They watched and laughed and did nothing. So punish everyone until someone comes forward."

Blackwell sighed.

"Ms. Hebert, believe me, I want to find those guilty for this as much as you but-"

Taylor stood. The sound of her hands slapping the desk gave Blackwell a start.

"If that were true you'd have done something when I first came to you a year ago. You want proof? How about you go find it? How about you do your fucking job for once?"

Principal Blackwell's eyes were wide. If Taylor had had the presence of mind for it she might have been surprised at herself. She knew getting short with the principal wasn't going to do her any favors but, then again, neither had anything else. The so-called 'Hebert temper' was made famous by her father among the dockworkers and apparently the apple didn't fall too far.

"That is enough. If you can't keep calm then-"

"Then what? What can you do to me that hasn't already been done?"

Taylor's question hung in the air as she stared indignantly into her principal's eyes. Blackwell leaned forward matching her glare. The door opened. They both turned away from their stare-down to see the janitor holding a dingy black book bag. Taylor's. He stopped in the doorway pausing for a moment.

"I, uh, found this in one of the trash cans." He said holding up the bag in one hand.

Taylor moved away from the desk and took it from him. It felt lighter. Whatever was missing didn't really matter at the moment, however.

"Thanks," she said trying in vain to keep the venom from her voice. He nodded and backed out of the office shutting the door as he did. Taylor turned toward Principal Blackwell with a glare somewhat less intense than the one she had been wearing.

"Well, Ms. Hebert," Blackwell stood from her seat. "Before anything else, I'll need to call your father so that we can discuss what to do next."

Fuck.

Getting her dad involved was the last thing Taylor wanted. She'd hidden it all from him, all of the bullying, all of the frustration, anxiety, and resentment boiling beneath the surface every day threatening to spill over. She stood frozen at the door, seething, unable form words from the raging calamity of her mind. After hardly talking to her dad for more than a year, never telling him about all that she was going through, how could she face him now?

Easy. She couldn't.

Taylor turned with a stomp and left the office slamming the door shut behind her ignoring the principal's protests. Half-running she stormed out of the school. Hugging her body and keeping the eye behind the missing lens in her glasses half-shut she made her way home. The ratty old sweatshirt she wore did little good against the cold but her blazing ire kept her warm enough. The ruined clothes which she had been wearing earlier that morning she left in a sagging garbage bag beside to Blackwell's desk. She hoped it leaked.

Entering her neighborhood a police car passed her by. Ever since the incident with Shadow Stalker, there were more patrol cars than usual in the area. Taylor's trust in authorities was certainly shaken in dealing with uncaring school administrators but there was still the nagging fear that the Empire would try something, to retaliate. It seemed just a bit far-fetched but the feeling of extra protection was welcome even if a bit flimsy.

Taylor wondered for an idle moment if the police car might stop and question her about her obvious truancy. Now that might have been serendipitous. She'd explain her reasons before taking a ride back to school where she'd go marching her way down to Blackwell's office flanked by a pair of cops. They'd jump down her throat in a way she never could by herself. They would talk about filing charges, making arrests, and on and on. It was a childish fantasy.

The school would probably just clean everything up and convince the police that'd she'd been mildly inconvenienced rather than horribly assaulted. The police might even give her the same runaround. Not to mention the fact that there's no way her dad could afford a lawyer aside from Emma's father working at a deep discount. In the end, the police car passed right by her without even slowing. In Brockton Bay cops had bigger things to worry about than high school kids skipping class.

Soon she was home. Finally. Taylor ran up to the front door with a long stride. It was only ten o'clock in the morning, just two hours after school started, yet she already felt as though she needed a week's worth of rest. She wished she could have been more surprised about the course her day had taken but when it came to school she had become adept at fearing the worst. All that morning had taught her was another low point to base her expectations on.

Home at least was a sanctuary. A place she could step inside and separate the 'here' from the 'there'. It wasn't the nicest house, it was a squat little place with a small yard and flimsy second step that would swallow a foot whole if allowed, but it was hers. Hers and her dad's. And mom's too once.

There were no blind careless principals, no bullying, no Trio. Emma didn't come around anymore. The others wouldn't even know where she lived.

…Unless Emma told them.

Taylor stomped her way upstairs. Of course, her anger didn't dissipate simply by walking through the front door. She needed something to vent her frustration but looking around her room she only found her usual pastime. Shelves full of books. Reading was too benign, too placid for the state she was in. She could go for another shower maybe. Looking down at what she was wearing Taylor immediately felt the heat of irritation in her chest. Wearing Sophia's clothes felt almost as though she'd brought the bully home with her but it did, at least, give her an idea.

When the weather turned cold Taylor had taken to going on brisk walks in the evening to clear her mind. Soon she was thinking about turning the walks into jogs. She didn't really like the idea of keeping someone else's things for herself. Her family wasn't so poor that her dad couldn't have gotten her a pair of running shoes at some point, but Sophia's fit nice, and they were in decent enough condition. Plus, there was a soiled pair of her own shoes in a garbage bag somewhere which she would never be wearing again- and whose fault was that?- so from a practical standpoint, it made sense to keep using Sophia's for a while. Of course, Taylor would never be caught dead wearing her hand-me-downs at school but for jogging she had to admit that they were more comfortable than any pair she owned.

Besides she did say I could have them.

Taylor set out running at what she considered a decent clip taking a few laps in a meandering path around her neighborhood. She found herself winded faster than she would've hoped but willed herself to keep moving without slowing. The cold air nipped at her but with her body constantly in motion she kept warm. Too warm even, with all the sweat that brought chills whenever the cool wind hit. Still, she kept at it running to the very brink of exhaustion before even turning for home. At the end of her improvised route and with her house in sight she finished by sprinting like mad until she found herself on her front porch leaning on the door for support.

In the middle of her living room floor next to the coffee table, drenched in cooling sweat, and still winded, gasping for breath, she collapsed. For a moment that stretched on Taylor focused only on the present. Her dead tired legs with muscles that would surely be aching hours later, her long breaths flowing in through her nose deep into her lungs and out again, and tickles of carpet fibers where she rested her hands. She laid there a while. It wasn't happiness or contentment but it was a sort of peace. Fleeting, as it turned out.

She heard a car pull into the driveway. A long stride up the steps. A key jiggling in the lock. She sat up.

"Taylor?" her dad called out.

Inching her way out of the living room clinging to the wall Taylor saw her father still frozen mid-step in the doorway. He looked about ten years older than he had that morning. Neither of them knew where to begin, so for a while they just stared at each other in silence.




Taylor showered until the water ran cold, took longer than needed to pick out fresh clothes, and crept down the stairs with exhaustive slowness. None of it was enough in delaying the inevitable. Her dad sat at the kitchen table, head cradled in his hands, when she rounded the corner. The smell of tea that he had made reached out to brush her nose from the mug resting in front of him. She sat down at the table. He looked up slowly and slid the mug towards her.

"Thanks," she said lifting the cup and taking a sip. It was lukewarm.

Silence lingered once again. Her dad was staring at her as if they hadn't seen each other in a long time.

"I- uh…" Taylor had little idea what she even intended to say.

It took a moment longer but he finally spoke. "Taylor… how long has this been going on?"

"…since I started high school." She tensed in anticipation of the next question.

"Why- why didn't you tell me?"

There it was. Taylor always found some excuse not to talk about it. At the very beginning, it had been the fact that her dad was still reeling from the death of her mother. He never quite got back the life in his eyes that he had before. Neither had Taylor, for that matter.

"I-I wanted to deal with it on my own." She said.

Then it was all of the work that was piling up on him. Work that never seemed to end.

"You could've talked to me about it."

"I didn't talk about it with anyone."

"Not even Emma?"

And then, there was always the thought that the Trio would just get bored 'any day now' and it would all be over. At one point there had even been an absurd hope that Emma would come back to her and they could go back to the way things were. 'You two are just like sisters' they all used to say.

"Emma and I aren't… we aren't friends anymore."

Her dad lowered his head and ran both hands through his hair, thin though it was. None of those excuses justified keeping quite anymore. Maybe they never had. Even so, even with them sitting across from each other with the perfect opportunity to hash things out, all she wanted was to bottle it all up again and go back to their routine of convenient ignorance, white lies, and distance.

"How…?" He asked. "How did this happen? How could you keep this from me?"

"How could I?" Taylor repeated the question back rolling it over in her mind. How could I?

When her mother died they both mourned. Together at first. Taylor cried herself to sleep for days and her dad would come into her room to comfort her. Eventually, he stopped coming for her and Taylor cried alone. There was a week where he had shut down completely. He couldn't take care of himself let alone his daughter so Taylor had gone to stay with the Barnes' muffling sobs into a sleeping bag on Emma's bedroom floor. When Taylor went back home it was a different place. Mementos of her mother were strategically hidden away. The music of her mom's flute playing never again whistled through the halls. And her dad... worked. He went on autopilot working late nights in the office every night mourning all the while. Taylor learned to fend for herself. Discovered the ins and outs of the kitchen and cooked with no one to teach her, lounged in the living room where she found herself the only resident, and when Emma decided to go from being best friend to worst enemy she coped curling up inside her bedroom. Alone.

Was it really her fault if she could never bring up the bullying, bring up Emma?

How could I keep this from you?

"How could I not?" Taylor finally said. Her dad looked up at her questioningly. "You…" Her voice faltered. "You hardly even come home for dinner anymore. I see you in the morning and then you're just gone sometimes." Tears were streaming down her cheeks. The day had taken its toll. She'd been trapped in so many ways. Pushed into a corner again and again without any way to gain purchase, get out, or fight back. "Sorry." She said wiping her cheek. "I-I shouldn't have kept it from you but… We can barely even talk about the weather how could I talk to you about… this?"

Her father looked like he wanted to speak but no words came. He hung his head. Taylor choked down her sobs and the room went quiet.

Silence.

Before the it remained too long her dad stood up, crossed the kitchen and leaned down pulling Taylor into a tight hug. She buried her face in his chest.

"God… Taylor," He said. "I'm sorry. You're right. I've been working too much. I-" He sighed. "I've been a pretty shitty father to you haven't I?"

"Don't say that." She shook her head, face still in the folds of his shirt.

"I'll do better I promise. Just let me try." He pulled her in closer. "I promise I'll do better."

Taylor cried softly into her dad's chest for long minutes wetting his shirt just slightly with tears. Even when her sobs quieted he kept her close. The embrace was long over due.

"I- I had a talk with your principal-" He began to say. Taylor stifled a laugh imagining for a split second how that meeting had probably gone. Father and daughter must have looked so similar in Blackwell's eyes. He hummed. "No, she didn't seem to be the most helpful." There was the faintest growl of anger in his voice. Taylor pulled her face away wiping her eyes. "She wouldn't tell me much. Can you at least tell me who's been doing this to you?"

After having their first real conversation in perhaps years Taylor hated the idea of sullying it by keeping anything more from him but her dad and Alan, Emma's dad, were old friends; just saying her name would open up a whole can of worms and she'd already had a hell of a day. For her own health, she reasoned, she could keep quiet a bit longer.

"I- I want to, I do, but…it's complicated." Her dad's face was downcast.

"Taylor…"

They'd just taken a step forward and she was already about to go back to old habits.

"A week." She blurted out. "Just… give me a week to-to figure out how and we can talk about it. I promise. Really it's just... been a long day."

She looked her father in the eyes; they were tired, sad and beaten down. He sighed and gently placed a hand on her head mussing her still somewhat damp hair.

"Alright. A week it is. But no more, okay?"

She nodded. They went silent once more. A silence not so pregnant with tension and words unspoken.

Taylor's father stayed home with her. That night they cooked and ate dinner together.

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The thought of going to school the next day was distressing. Taylor had been nervous on the first day back and for good reason, as it turned out, but with the looming shadow of the second day blanketing her she almost wished it were Sunday night again. She tried to tell herself that she'd been through the worst of it, that they wouldn't be able to go through with something like the locker two days in a row but the growing ache in her stomach was having none of it. She had thoughts of skipping, maybe for the rest of the week. Her dad would be more than understanding. If nothing else it would keep her sane enough for the talk she promised to have with him.

In the end, however, the same stubbornness that kept her going, that convinced her that she couldn't let the trio beat her, and even played a part in keeping her father at arm's length, got her out of bed in the morning. Then, a long jog to calm her nerves got her mentally prepared. Finally, a hot shower soothed her sore muscles enough to drag her carcass out of the house once more.

"Go straight to the office and give me a call if anything happens, okay?" Her dad said as she left to catch the bus. A complete turn around from the usual 'have a good day' but somehow a more comforting message.

Anxiety told her that upon walking through the doors of Winslow all eyes would be laid on her, menacing, ready to pounce on any weakness. They weren't. Taylor passed by clusters of students who ignored her about as much as usual as she briskly walked straight to first period.

In the middle of Mrs. Knott's computer class, she was called down to Principal Blackwell's office. She dreaded another meeting with the woman but obediently went along anyway. Unsurprisingly, she wasn't called to be told suspensions or expulsions were being handed out to any of her bullies. What Blackwell did do was hand her a slip of paper with a series of numbers on it. Her new locker and its combination. Taylor resisted the urge to immediately ball it up and toss it in the garbage.

The locker incident seemed to past without much in the way of fanfare for her. Throughout the day she overheard a few bits of people gossiping -most mentioned the smell- and maybe two or three not-so-subtle taunts at her expense. In fact, no one bothered calling it the 'locker incident' but Taylor herself. It even seemed to be a point of contention whether she'd been shoved inside or not.

"Hey, is it true that you were stuck in there?" One girl had asked Taylor in the hallway. The girl's friends stood a few paces back looking amused.

Taylor would have preferred not to feed the rumor mill one way or the other. She'd been the target of enough vicious lies started by Emma to know how truths could so easily be twisted in tangled webs of misinformation. Then again, with no friends, she had very few chances to feed the mill in any fashion and if she had the opportunity to avoid being called 'locker-girl' or something more irritating and just as uncreative then it'd be best not to squander it.

Besides, lying wasn't so hard. She had lied to her dad every time she said school was fine and these weren't even people she cared about.

"No," Taylor replied.

"Ha. I knew it." The girl said immediately ignoring Taylor and turning back to her friends. "If I had been stuck inside that shit I would have fucking lost it."

Her second class of the day was Mr. Gladly's world issues. Gladly was a man approaching middle age who continually evaded the memo about no longer being in his early twenties. To stay young he tried everything he could to appear cool to the high schoolers he was supposed to be in charge of. Those things included assigning homework and then canceling it a few minutes before the bell, insisting on being called 'Mr. G', and turning any number of blind eyes toward transgressions happening right in front of his face. It was as though he got his idea of what constituted a 'cool teacher' from a made-for-TV movie and built a persona out of it. If it weren't for the fact that Taylor shared her class with Madison she might have found him tolerable.

"Gross. Something smells." Madison said loudly enough for the room to hear as Taylor walked into the room. One girl, Julia, who was sitting near her laughed. A few others just sniffed the air. A vague enough barb for Gladly to ignore it, as he always did, but that childish little quip was all she got from Madison that day. Her desk and chair wasn't booby-trapped with a thumbtack or glue or anything else. Madison's group proceeded to ignore her for the rest of class. At some point in Taylor's life getting through two classes without being horribly harassed had gone from being called 'a normal day' to 'getting off easy' and it was starting to make her nervous.

As soon as the bell rang Madison trotted past Taylor on her way to the door. Taylor caught herself flinching a little. She hesitated a moment as she gathered her own things uncertain of what would be waiting for her when she left the room. Glancing around both corners as stepped out of the doorway she spotted them standing in a cluster a short way down the hall. The trio. Madison was prattling on about something with Julia, while Emma nodded along. Sophia, on the other hand, leaned against the wall staring off into space not even looking in the others direction.

Taylor kept her head down trying to blend in with the crowd but keeping a discreet eye on them in case they made a move. Emma was glaring at her. Taylor met her eyes preparing herself for what might come next. Sophia looked her way for a moment as well but turned almost immediately instead giving Emma a hard stare. Madison kept talking. Emma made an exaggerated motion of turning her chin up at Taylor and then turned back to the conversation. Sophia stared at her feet. Taylor went on about her day unmolested.

This trend continued for the rest of the week. Taylor still ate her lunch in a stall in the bathroom, which she'd taken to in order to avoid being caught by her bullies outside of class, but the fact that she made it through her meal without being bothered seemed a miracle. A miracle she couldn't help but feel uneasy about.

She recalled Sophia's wholly uncharacteristic apology.

She obviously hadn't come clean about the locker or anything else. With no witnesses coming forward Principal Blackwell was simply unable to punish anyone for the assault. Her hands were tied. But Emma and the others were laying off for the first time since Taylor started high school. No caring teacher, no person in charge, no system had come through for her. All she had to rely on was one of her abusers having a mysterious about-face. There wasn't any justice in it, it didn't make sense but that's what she got.

"How was school?" Her dad asked her at home. He started coming home at five o'clock every day. They washed vegetables in the kitchen in preparation for dinner.

"It's fine." She said. He looked at her incredulously. "I mean… really. Everything's been going… fine. No ones pushed me around, or called me names, or put me in a locker." She smirked a little. "Its been a little weird. I don't know if I should relax or not."

"You'll tell me if anything happens, right?" He asked looking a more than little sad.

She knew her dad wanted to help but he had no idea how. Not the least of the reasons why that is, is because she never gave him the chance.

"Of course." She said. "Being able to talk with you helps." She glanced up at him, he had a small smile



It was first thing Thursday morning when Sophia's voice rang out through the halls.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" She shouted.

Taylor was the first to turn her head, feeling a fear so familiar to her until she saw where Sophia's attention was. A girl with bleached blond hair that was a little brown at the roots was shrinking back against a row of lockers looking up at Sophia's looming form. Sophia looked beyond angry; her face twisted into a mad caricature of rage. Madison was trying to get a grip on her shoulders to hold her back but the tiny girl just wasn't up to it. Emma stood aside, arms crossed, observing unsuitably relaxed. Taylor recognized the other girl from her English class. Charlotte. She had a tendency to play on her phone rather than read along.

"Let me go you-" Charlotte protested as Sophia grabbed her by the collar and slammed her back against the lockers.

"Jesus, Sophia, chill out," Madison said.

Sophia ignored her and closed in on her victim a little more. Her next words were drowned out by the sounds of teenagers egging them on in anticipation of a beat down.

Taylor also remembered that Charlotte had been witness to many of the times when she found herself in similar such situations. She saw, she watched, she laughed but never did a thing to help. Just like the crowd of her peers that was beginning to form around her.

You should have paid more attention to The Lottery, Taylor thought as she began to turn away.

She wanted to leave them all to it. Let the wolves and jackals eat each other. That's about all they deserved. A befitting manner of punishment. That was a sort of justice, wasn't it?

Did it make her a coward to want her peace of mind? They'd stolen it from her. They allowed it to be stolen from her. Did it make her weak? She suffered her time. Another could suffer theirs. Did it make her any different than them?

Damn it. Damn me. Damn all of you.

Taylor turned back toward the scene taking a few quick strides forward aggressively pushing her way past people who were forming a loose half-circle and placed herself in between Sophia and Charlotte. Madison was still trying and failing, to get her friend's attention.

"Back off!" Taylor said pushing her away. She didn't have it in her to say much more with the knot forming in her gut. Whatever détente they had she feared she might have just broken it. If that was the case she wouldn't fare much better than the girl on the verge of tears cowering behind her.

Sophia's eyes slowly widened upon recognizing Taylor. She took a few slow paces back and scanned her surroundings as though she'd just woken up in that spot half a second ago. Her eyes landed back on Taylor at which point she lowered her head, shutting her eyes tight, and stormed off through the crowd.

Taylor was left with a dozen or so disappointed students all slowly drifting away and Sophia's two very confused friends. Emma stared with her mouth hanging open in the direction Sophia had left and then slowly turned her head until she locked eyes with Taylor. She said nothing. Likewise, Taylor said nothing as she strode away from the scene trying to pretend her heart wasn't beating its way out of her chest. So much for peace of mind.

"Hey." A voice said.

Taylor looked over her shoulder to see Charlotte coming toward her. Taylor didn't stop or slow down. She'd honestly forgotten about her. Too busy thinking about the fact that she most likely reignited whatever vendetta Emma was keeping. It had been a nice vacation, at least.

"Thanks for that," Charlotte said matching Taylor's pace.

"It, uh, you're welcome."

"That was fucking nuts."

"Yeah."

"I mean, all I did was step on her shoes a little. They aren't even that nice. Who does that nigger bitch think she is?"

Taylor stopped cold in the middle of the hallway; Charlotte stopped with her. Taylor craned her neck to look at Charlotte with the most disbelieving expression she could muster.

"What?" Charlotte asked. Taylor groaned.

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On Sunday morning the Hebert household received a phone call from the Brockton Bay Police department. Taylor and her father were asked to visit the downtown precinct in order to help identify a suspect. They left the house at around noon and settled into a tense drive.

"Nervous?" Taylor's dad asked.

"Sort of," She replied. "I'm just worried I didn't get a good enough look at the guy."

"Ah." Her father's hands gripped the steering wheel tight.

Taylor really was nervous but what she hadn't mentioned was her quiet burning excitement. She had been waiting to find out that the man she allowed to escape had been caught and if she could help pin the guy it would be all the better. Her dad, though. The whole situation really racked at his nerves. He had gotten an even worse look at the criminal than she had, not to mention the pure and simple danger that came with crossing the Empire. As much as Taylor liked feeling like a hero she hoped it would all be over soon, for his sake.

They parked on the street a short distance from the station. As they walked a PRT van passed them going in the opposite direction. Taylor was a little disappointed that they might have just missed Shadow Stalker but tried not to let it show.

Standing outside of the precinct's entrance with a lit cigarette hanging from his mouth was one of the detectives that were present on the night they saved Shadow Stalker. Taylor had spoken to him then while her father talked to his partner. He looked much the same as he had that night. Probably in his early thirties, the tan skin on his face looked even darker with the five o'clock shadow framing his jawline and dark hair pulled back into a messy high ponytail with a couple stray strands draped in front of his face. Handsome in a rough around the edges sort of way.

The Detective saw them approach and immediately flicked the still long cigarette into a mound of snow.

"Glad you could make it down," he said with his easy drawl shaking both Taylor's and her father's hand. "Name's detective Don Alvarez in case you don't recall. You just follow me we'll have you two in and outta here nice and quick."

They followed Detective Alvarez inside the station and into an elevator. They all stood in the car listening to the motors hum to life for a few seconds. The detective stood in front of them just behind the doors in a stiff pose that Taylor might have described as 'mock professionalism' with hands clasped in front of him, legs just a bit too far apart and head tilted high watching the display above the door count upwards.

"How've you folks been doin' past couple a' weeks?" He asked after the silence stretched for a bit too long without ever taking his eyes off of the display to look at them.

"We've been, uh, doing alright." Her dad replied.

"Good good," Alvarez said lowly almost to himself.

When the doors finally opened Alvarez stepped out and the Heberts followed. His partner, Detective Richard Blake, was sitting behind his desk atop of which were piles of papers and a cooling mug of coffee. It reminded Taylor of her dad working in his office. Detective Blake was an older man with a large belly and thin gray hair. Alvarez whistled loudly to get his attention. He looked up and stood as they approached.

"Mr. Hebert. Ms. Hebert." He shook both their hands. "Glad you could make it down."

"I already said that," Alvarez said.

Detective Blake cleared his throat and continued. "We've got a few guys prepped for our lineup. We're going to have you two take a look at them each of them one at a time and let us know if you recognize our suspect. I'll explain a little more when we get down there but I'm afraid we can't have you two go in together. So who would like to be first?"

Taylor and her dad looked at each other. He was clearly uneasy even as he stepped forward and said, "I'll go."

Detective Blake nodded.

"Ms. Hebert if you'd wait out here with Don, we'll be finished in just a few minutes." With that, Blake led Taylor's dad away.

Alvarez sat down behind his own desk opposite to where Detective Blake had been, leaning almost too far backward with his hands resting idly on his stomach.

"Have a seat." He said. Taylor moved to sit in a wooden chair situated next to the pair of desks. "Nah, nah, not that one." Alvarez pointed to Detective Blake's chair. "Dick's got the good seat. Orthopedic, lumbar support, the whole nine."

Taylor corrected herself. It was indeed a comfortable chair. She couldn't help but spin herself around and take in the room. The station was busy. Other detectives sat at their desks with varying degrees of exasperation expressed on their faces, phones rang off the hooks, and uniformed police officers barely managed to avoid bumping into one another rushing to and fro. When she'd spun full circle she found Detective Alvarez staring at her. Her cheeks reddened.

"How ya feelin', kid?" Alvarez asked. It took Taylor a moment to register his question.

"Oh. Fine." She said. " I just… don't want to mess up. I don't know if I got a good look at the guy."

"Don't worry about it. S'fine." He replied.

"It is?"

"Let me be honest with ya; bringing you in is just a… formality. The guy turned himself in last night. We got a written confession. The Ward you helped, Shadow Stalker, she already came in, saw right through the guy. No two ways about it, he's getting put away; him and his friends. Quite frankly I wouldn't have made you good folks come down and waste your time but the D.A. wants an airtight case so," He spread his hands. "Here we are."

"Ah," Taylor said blankly. "That's good."

"Listen, as far as I'm concerned you and your old man already done more than your fair share. Above and beyond and all that. If I could I'd pin a couple medals on each of ya and send you on a long trip someplace sunny. Ya did good. A real hero in my book."

Taylor's lips involuntarily curled into a smile. She took another slow spin in her chair trying to hide her face.

"So," She said coming back around. "He turned himself in?"

Alvarez sighed, "Yeah, that's right."

"You don't sound too happy about it."

"Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to have this guy off the streets sooner rather than later but…" he sighed. "It's not like we've been sitting on our collective bums here. Bustin' down doors, puttin' boots to asses, we picked up a few other guys but it wasn't enough 'til the Protectorate started coming through. Suddenly, our man is tripping over his feet to get into a pair of cuffs." Taylor tilted her head.

"Isn't that a good thing?"

Alvarez took a long pause.

"Shadow Stalker wasn't the first, ya know?" Taylor's eyebrows shot up. "What I mean is, these bastards hurt a lot of people. She might've got it a lot worse than most, yeah, but, well… we got drawers full of open cases. Hits, beatings, murders with no rhyme or reason. They ain't never gonna be closed either." Alvarez put his hands behind his head looking wistfully toward the ceiling. His voice never faltered from its even pitch. "Wanna know the last time I worked with a Protectorate cape on anything? A photo op for the Mayor two years ago. S'all well and good they're helpin' out now but we coulda used it a long time ago. Instead, most of the time they're playin' their little game of cops and robbers with the villains."

"I don't understand," Taylor said surprised. "Are you saying the Protectorate isn't helping?"

"Hard t'say. Maybe they do keep the, you know, villainous capes from going too far but all the bad guys they put away, just end up getting sprung and put back on the streets again just as dangerous as before. They take off their masks and go back to whatever lives they got and then put 'em back on again and go back to hurtin'. And when its regular people that get hurt the capes could hardly give damn. Business as usual. But when somebody decides to break their little rules, suddenly the Protectorate come out in force. Can't help it if I feel a little insulted."

"Rules?"

"Yeah, code of honor or whatever you want to call it. Ones you ain't gonna find in law books. Among other things, you don't mess with secret identities, try not to murder too much, that sort of thing." After a pause, he added, "Don't go after the Wards." He smirked ruefully. "Villains who follow that don't get so much trouble laid at their doorsteps. That's how the Empire's survived for so long no matter how many drugs they pedal on kids, or how many people they hurt and run out of their homes for being the wrong sort in the wrong neighborhood.

"So when all that stuff lands on my desk, when a mother's crying to me cause her son's face got cut up, well, I certainly can't bank on having Armsmaster shaking guys down 'til someone walks through our front door. And if it turns out it was a cape what's done it to him then its 'Sorry lady nothin' we can do but maybe one of these days Hookwolf will really go away for good. Come back next time you get carjacked.'"

Taylor sat back in her seat soaking in Alvarez's explanation. It was odd to think that even people with authority might feel powerless sometimes. That there were things too powerful for them to stand up against. The crime situation in Brockton Bay certainly wasn't news to Taylor but it had never quite occurred to her just how many out there might be frustrated that it never seemed to be getting any better. The Protectorate had been in the city as long as she'd been alive but the villains were just as much of a mainstay. How much of her admiration of the heroes had been nothing more than romanticism?

"Sorry, kid, I didn't mean to lay all that on you."

"No, it's fine. I appreciate the honesty." Taylor looked down sullenly. "I guess I never really thought about it that way before. It kinda feels like I just got told Santa Clause isn't real."

Alvarez laughed.

"Well, now I really feel bad."

She smirked. There were worse ways to learn all this at least. Taylor's mind keyed in on one particular statement the detective had made and her mood soured again.

"If they aren't supposed to hurt the Wards then why…" she faltered for a moment. "Why her? Why Shadow Stalker?"

"Hell," Alvarez shrugged. "Easy target. Thought they could get away with it. Black. The way our soon-to-be-convicts tell it, none of the Empire capes knew they even had her."

"Do you believe that?"

"Well… it certainly ain't Kaiser's style. He's a shrewd S.O.B; not the type to go looking for trouble this sort of thing brings. What we know for sure is someone thought it would be a bright idea to try and frame the ABB for murder. Coulda been Kaiser, or maybe one of the goons we got locked up." Alvarez glanced around before leaning forward putting his elbows on the desk in front of him and said in a hushed voice, "Now don't go spreadin' this around," Taylor leaned forward mimicking him and nodded conspiratorially. "Rumor has it all this trouble from the last couple weeks is all part of a power struggle between him and his second in command, Iron Rain. The way it goes is she's riling folks up and pushing him to take more… extreme approaches." He leaned back again and started speaking at his normal volume. "But like I said, rumors."

Taylor sat back in her chair resting her hands on her stomach. Alvarez began lazily shuffling through papers strewn about his desk.

"So," She said. "Shadow Stalker was here. How was she?"

Alvarez didn't look up from the form he held in front of his face but shook his head. Taylor frowned.

"Can't say what she might've been like before all this but to me she seemed a bit…" He trailed off.

"Shaken up?"

"Shell-shocked, I was gonna say."

Taylor's frown deepened.

"Don't dwell on it too much. It's only been a couple weeks. And she's with the Wards and, you know, the PRT, they take care of theirs. I'm sure she'll bounce back in no time."

Taylor tried to take solace in that thought. Shadow Stalker, presumably, had a family and barring that there were the other Wards. Maybe there was more comradery and less teenage angst and drama among them. Shadow Stalker wouldn't be alone and she wouldn't need Taylor. Besides, there wasn't much she would be able to do for her, she was just someone who happened to be in the right place at the right time.

"You've done enough, kid," Alvarez said. "Lemme tell you something. Ninety percent of those open cases I talked about got half a dozen witnesses to 'em each but no one wants to come forward. What you and or old man did took real ball-er, uh, guts. Not everyone would do all that for someone they didn't know. Hell, I know some guys who wouldn't lift a finger to help their own mother, ya know?"

"Yeah," Taylor replied bitterly. "I know."

Detective Alvarez looked across his desk eyeing Taylor seriously. Then, he reached into a drawer pulling out a business card. With a pen he wet on the tip of his tongue he scribbled on the back and handed it to her.

"Listen, you ever need some help or a favor or whatever, you or your dad, give me a call. You'd be amazed at all the free stuff people give away to a guy with a badge and a gun. Drugs, places their friends are hiding, free donut here or there. It's a good deal."

"Wow, um," she was frozen for a moment in genuine surprise. Someone sticking their neck out for her was such a rare novelty. "Thank you." She said taking the card flipping it over in her hand. He'd written his personal info on the back with his business line on the front.

"No thanks needed." He said. "Hardly get the chance to pay back a hero for their good work."

Taylor tried not to smile too widely. Her cheeks might have been a little warm. It faded quickly as she caught sight of her dad returning with Detective Blake. He wasn't looking quite as chipper.

"Alright, Ms. Hebert," Blake said. "Are you ready?"

Detective Alvarez stood to meet them. "I got one this Dick." He said clapping his partner on the shoulder. "Why don't you go take a bathroom break or something? I know how much coffee you drink." He turned to Taylor. "Come on, kid. We got bad guys to put away."

Taylor hopped up and walked with Detective Alvarez.



Detective Blake and Detective Alvarez walked the Heberts out of the station. Blake was chatting with Taylor's dad about football. Her dad was looking much more relaxed than when they had come in.

"They haven't lost since October, Dustin Houston is back next game, the Giant's defense is tied for first in the league for the fewest points allowed. Greenbay is getting knocked out of the playoffs, end of story." Her dad said. Taylor could hardly remember the last time he had spoken with so much enthusiasm. She might want to try talking football shop with him sometime; the nuances of the game were completely lost on her, however.

"Let me tell you how its gonna go down," Detective Blake said with a slight grin.

Alvarez interrupted him with yawn so loud and long that it must have broken a record for the sheer amount of sarcasm in a single gesture.

"Sorry 'bout that." He said. "You know how these long nights get to ya." Taylor caught herself giggling a little. The detective had quickly endeared himself to her. He was charming and cool in the way Mr. Gladly tried so hard to be all without trying at all.

As they approached the doors which led to the street Alvarez's ever at-ease expression suddenly tensed. He rushed forward to confront a man smoking a cigarette near the entrance. The man was wearing a thin old coat over a blazer that didn't quite match his slacks and a dress shirt that hadn't been ironed. Around his neck was a camera with a large professional looking lens. About the only thing professional about him.

"I thought I told you to leave," Alvarez said in an uncharacteristically authoritarian tone. The man put on a wide smile. The sort of smile that came unprompted and screamed 'do not trust this person'.

"This is a public sidewalk officer," The man said. "It can't be illegal just for me to stand out here." Alvarez snatched the cigarette out of his hand.

"Yes, actually, it can." He said holding up the still smoking butt up as evidence. "When it's within twenty feet of the entrance."

"Come on." Detective Blake said ushering Taylor and her father out the out the door as all of this was going on. Taylor looked back inadvertently locking eyes with the man.

"Alright you got me-" He stopped upon catching sight of her. "Hello," he said in a loud voice that projected even among the noisy downtown traffic. "Stan Vickery, associate contributor to the Brockton Bay Enquirer." He spoke while stepping around Alvarez. He shrugged off the Alvarez's hand as it tried to grip him by the shoulder and continued forward toward Blake who stopped him with an outstretched arm. "Danny and Taylor Hebert, yes? I was wondering if you'd like to provide a statement about the Ward kidnapping incident." He half shouted looking at Taylor and her dad from over Blake's shoulder.

"Same deal as earlier, buddy. No comment." Detective Blake said.

"I'd just like to give a couple of Brockton Bay's resident heroes a fair shake, is all," Stan said more to Taylor and her dad than to the man standing in front of him.

Alvarez caught up and spun Stan around. Blake, meanwhile, turned and continued hustling the Heberts to their car.

"Listen here you piece of…" Taylor heard Alvarez saying as she left earshot.

A ways down the street they found their car where it was parked on the curb. Taylor and her dad climbed into their seats. Detective Blake tapped the window and leaned in as her dad rolled it down.

"I'm really very sorry about all that back there." He said. "Don't you worry about any of that, we'll take care of it. I promise you. If there's anything else you have our numbers. Do not hesitate to give us a call, alright?" Taylor's dad nodded slowly. "Alright. You folks have a great rest of your evening." Detective Blake put on a wide friendly smile.

"Yes, thank you, detective." Taylor's dad said stiffly.

When he turned away looking out into the street Taylor saw his disturbed face. He didn't say anything and neither did she. They couldn't bear to bring up what just occurred. That reporter knew who they were, he knew their names, and he knew where to find them. They settled into a tense drive home.



Taylor flipped through TV channels until she flipped past a local news station. She went back and waited. There was an empty podium with several microphones standing in front of it and indistinct murmurs coming from the unseen crowd. Taylor fidgeted on the sofa waiting with bated breath. She never before imagined that watching a press conference could be so stressful. Her father didn't sit with her. She could hear the whispers of his phone conversation carrying into the living room from the kitchen. Work again, she figured.

After a few moments, a line of well dressed people walked behind the podium. There was a police officer in his formal uniform, a couple of other men and women in suits and Armsmaster himself fully decked out in his cobalt power armor. They all stood in a row with hands clasped in front of themselves or, in Armsmaster's case, behind his back standing at ease.

The first person to step up to the podium was a woman Taylor vaguely recognized. She was an older woman, overweight bordering on obese; her face was stony and stern with creases around her mouth which suggested that she was used to frowning quite heavily and her skin was a sickly pale color. One might think she could keel over at any moment if it weren't for the utter confidence in her stride. She carried herself like a military officer looking out over the gathered reporters beyond the camera's vision as if they were soldiers waiting to receive their orders and her voice was certainly one to deliver them.

"Good evening and thank all you for joining us today. I am Emily Piggot Director of the PRT east-north-east. Today we will be discussing the press release that went out earlier this afternoon. As you all know, this concerns the seven arrests stemming from the kidnapping and assault of one of our Wards which took place on December 22nd. In addition to myself, you will hear from Armsmaster commander of the Protectorate east-north-east, Brockton Bay Chief of Police Bruce Stewart who will communicate the particulars of the police investigation into this matter, as well as District Attorney Sarah Blanche who will discuss the next phases as this case is brought to court."

The phone conversation from the kitchen suddenly grew more intense.

"You really could've screwed all of us over, you know that?" Her father yelled.

"I'd like to begin by saying that the PRT and the Protectorate are committed to providing the tools a young hero needs to foster through our Wards program. To that end the PRT has always prioritized safety through training and protocols meant to allow our Wards to grow into the next generation of heroes. But make no mistake, being a hero is dangerous and when these protocols and safety nets fall through it is a tragedy, a fact that everyone involved in this case knows all too well. With the conclusion of our investigation our first concern is to use what we've learned to ensure such a grievous crime against one of our Wards never happens again. After all, they are not only our city's heroes they are our children."

"You should have talked to the other managers, dammit. You should have talked to me. You're making more problems then you're solving." Taylor increased the volume of the television marginally.

"This crime represents the latest in an outrageous increase in violent acts perpetrated by the street gang Empire Eighty-Eight in recent months. I am here to announce that the PRT is prepared to bring the full weight of the Protectorate down on their operations. Reinforcements will be arriving within the week to bolster the numbers of our local Protectorate team. We will remind all gangs of this city that it is not they who rule here, that we will not cow in the face of brutality, they will understand that they are not above the law."

On that note the Director stepped away from the podium.

"No, Kurt, I don't. Why don't you help me understand?"

Armsmaster stepped up.

"Thank you, Director. First I would like to extend my gratitude toward the Brockton Bay Police department for their aid in this matter. This investigation was a collaborative effort; the communication between our organizations helped lead to getting several dangerous men off the streets." Taylor curled up on the sofa hugging her knees. "On the evening of December 22nd at 7 o'clock, the Ward Shadow Stalker failed to report for duty. Cursory search efforts lead to the discovery several articles of her PRT issued equipment damaged and apparently abandoned. At this point patrolling officers were ordered to be on the lookout for the missing Ward with PRT and Protectorate personnel leading the search. Due to the serious possibility of a breach in Shadow Stalker's civilian identity search efforts remained internal for the duration. On December 23rd at 8:33 PM Brockton Bay Police dispatch received a call from two good Samaritans who identified a situation involving a, then, unidentified cape in imminent danger."

Taylor held her breath. Her dad's voice suddenly crescendoed in a burst of anger.

"Well, what do you expect me to do now, huh? Tell me. What the fuck am I supposed to do?"

"The Samaritans intervened prior to the arrival of police and Protectorate forces saving Shadow Stalker from further grievous injury. Two of the assailants, James Mathis, and, Edward Brentwood, were arrested on the scene."

Armsmaster went on for a while longer before the district attorney stepped up to the podium. The hero hadn't mentioned the names of the pair of good Samaritans. Taylor never really expected any different. It wasn't a matter of getting credit, she didn't care at all about fame or glory, it was about the fog of fear hanging over her and her father ever since the left the police station and their encounter with that sleazy reporter. It followed them during their drive and into their home. If he had known who they were and where they'd be others might as well. That was the sort of fog that didn't lift so easily.

Taylor didn't pay much attention to the D.A. Her speech was less substantial than Armsaster's; filled with rhetoric about the quest for justice, affirming faith in the judicial system, and fairness and impartiality. It would be nice to believe all that. If the world were much more simple Taylor might find herself able to. If the world was just two binary options to choose from where the good guys, who could do no wrong, would always catch the bad guys, who'd they'd get what they deserved. The bad guys would be put away and then, somehow, things were just marginally better for everyone. But the world just wasn't so kind.

The conversation in the kitchen seemed to have ended sometime before Armsmaster left the television screen, having been replaced by several minutes of uneasy silence. Next was the heavy scrape of a chair's wooden legs against tile floors and the soft patter of her father's bare feet as he walked to the entryway of the living room. Taylor turned the volume of the television down.

"Something up?" She asked feeling a little nervous. Her dad didn't get angry often but when he did it was always some kind of serious.

"Just… the usual. Nothing for you to worry about." Taylor wasn't satisfied with that particular answer but didn't press. They were creatures of habit, it seemed. Going back to the old ways was easier in times of stress. "Sorry, I got a little loud in there. I hope I didn't bother you too much." Taylor shook her head. Her dad's eyes drifted to the press conference on the TV screen. He frowned, faint lines turning to deep creases. "Listen, Taylor. How would you feel about me taking you to and from school from now on?" Taylor's eyebrows rose.

"Yeah, that sounds… good." She said. He smiled a little but it faded with a small sigh.

He spoke in a serious tone. "And don't think I've forgotten. Tomorrow is one week. You promised."

"I didn't forget." She said stoically.

He took a few steps toward the sofa where she sat, leaned down and gave her a peck on the forehead while ruffling her hair a bit. A simple gesture but it had gotten a smile out of both of them.

"I'm turning in." He said starting his way up the stairs. "Don't stay up too late, alright."

"Alright. Goodnight dad."

"Night, kiddo."

Taylor turned her attention back to the press conference where a moderator was fielding questions but she didn't have the presence of mind to really listen with so much swarming in her head.

After a few minutes of absently staring at the television, she gave up and headed upstairs to her room. Her dad's door at the end of the hall was cracked slightly with pale yellow light slipping past the frame. She heard faint metal on metal clicking sounds from inside. Her heart suddenly began racing. Slowly, she took a few steps toward the door. Her father's hunched figure sitting on the edge of his bed came into view. He was staring into his lap. Taylor peered into the doorway a bit more as her dad lifted the thing in his lap and tucked it into a drawer at his bedside with a sigh. A gun. A little black snubnosed revolver.

Taylor lifted her head and took a few measured steps back. Her father really and truly hated guns yet there he was sleeping with one next to him. Where had he gotten that? When? How had she been so unaware? The fog she was only newly aware of had seeped into her home while she slept long ago. In through the front door, kitchen window, the tiny cracks in the floorboards. She retired to her own room and tried to sleep with the knowledge that her sanctuary had been thoroughly breached.

 

[Joko]

VII
-----------------------------Torn Open-----------------------------​

Sophia stared at the costume in front of her. Someone had left an entirely new set of gear in her locker. The cloak was same as the old, thick with a heavy lining. The utilitarian footwear matched the last in fundamental design, except they would ride higher up her calves. A pair of black kneepads were attached to the baggy trousers that would latch onto the boots. And the breastplate's interlocking armor panels created a pattern reminiscent of a ribcage on the chest. On the whole, it was certainly Shadow Stalker's style, no one would ever mistake her for another hero in town because of a few cosmetic changes.

But then there was the mask.

First, Sophia felt faintly ill. Then, she was intensely angry.

She snatched the offending thing from its place on her locker's top shelf and then slammed the door shut with a loud reverberating clang. Stepping out of the locker room and turning toward the Ward's common area she heard people.

"Is this some kind of a fucking joke?" She shouted to no one in particular. Or, alternatively, to everyone present and not.

When she rounded the corner, Dean was already standing. He was in full costume save for his helmet. Missy was sitting on the sofa nearby. Missy spent nearly as much time at the PRT Headquarters as Sophia did, whether she was on duty or not. Chris too, actually. Missy, fortunately, had the good sense not to go bothering her, and Chris mostly confined himself to his workshop doing whatever, so on a normal day, Sophia hardly gave a damn if they were around or not.

"Sophia. Is there something the matter?" Dean's words came out as composed and compassionate as ever. It only pissed her off more.

"Is what a joke?" Missy added.

"This," Sophia shouted as she held up the mask.

Dean's eye's darted between it and Sophia's enraged face for a moment. He hesitated to speak.

Missy's expression soured immediately before she said, "Yeah, that's pretty fucking tasteless."

"You're goddamn right it's tasteless."

The doors to the common room opened and it was Miss Militia who took a single step inside. Her power was in the form of a handgun holstered at her hip.

"Shadow Stalker-" was all she got out before Sophia took several large steps toward her.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" She was nearly in the woman's face.

"Please tell me, what's the problem?" Miss Militia said calmly.

"Whose fucking bright idea was this?" Sophia said holding up the mask once more.

"Ah. Your new costume. Is there something wrong with it?"

"You tell me." There was a distinct growl in her voice.

Miss Militia eyed the mask a second time. It was glossy and jet black with vaguely feminine contours. It would cover the entire face and cranium allowing hair to flow out of the back of the dome. More helmet than mask, really. The only adornments were faint streaks of polish which reflected light when they caught it just right. The streaks traced an intricate pattern that painted a picture wherever they caught the light. A skull.

"The designs have to go through PR don't they?" Missy chimed in.

"What's their fucking angle with this, huh?" Sophia lowered the mask but still glared into Miss Militia's eyes. "Do they think I'm-- I'm--"

"Do they think you're what?" Miss Militia asked.

"I'm not dead! I didn't die! I survived!" She shook with anger. Closing her eyes tight didn't help her get control of herself. She felt Miss Militia place a hand on her shoulder.

"I understand. You don't have to wear it if you don't want to. We can figure something else out for now." Miss Militia gripped her shoulder a little more firmly. "And believe me when I say that I will be having words with a few people in PR."

Sophia looked up. Miss Militia's eyes were angry, mirroring her own. Sophia spun back around, pulling her shoulder out of the heroine's grip, and returned to the locker room. She stood frozen just beyond the doorway after shutting it behind her. She glanced down at the mask in her hand and then threw it at her locker, where it bounced off with a loud clang. Still shaking, she slumped down until she was sitting on the floor, cradling her head between her knees.

It took minutes to calm down, and minutes more for her to gather enough of herself to get dressed.

In the end, she put on the new cloak along with a pair of track pants and a black top. It wasn't an impressive ensemble by any degree and it certainly wasn't intimidating in any way. She finished by tying what she could of her hair back into a depressingly tiny ponytail.

When she exited the locker room, Missy was leaning on the wall near the door. She pushed herself up and stepped in as Sophia stepped out.

"What're you doing?" Sophia asked. Missy looked back over her shoulder.

"Dean had something come up. He wanted me to go with you guys instead." Missy said. Sophia's eyes narrowed. "Is that a problem?"

"Do whatever you want," Sophia said turning away.

Departing the common room for the Wards meeting area, Sophia found Miss Militia standing by. The weapon in her hand glowed green, shifting forms from bowie knife to butterfly knife to ice pick as if the thing itself was unable to get comfortable. She turned as Sophia approached looking a little caught off guard. Then, she reached into her pocket.

"Here. I found something for you," she said, holding out a black bandana. Sophia stared blankly for a moment. Miss Militia used her opposite hand to pull down her own bandana, revealing a small and obviously forced grin. "A little cooler than a domino mask, I think."

Sophia took the bandana, covered her mouth and nose, and tied the ends behind her head. The tying gave her a small bit of trouble.

"Here, let me." Miss Militia said stepping behind her. "I tie a knot that I can guarantee won't come loose. I'll teach it to you some time." Vista joined them in full costume just as Miss Militia had finished. Sophia flipped the hood of her cloak up and turned to face them.

"It's a good look for you," Miss Militia said with a bit of pride. The only response she received to that was a small sigh.

"Let's get this over with," said Shadow Stalker.



Sweat bead through the pores on Shadow Stalker's face. Her heart raced. Muscles tensed. She stood in front of a window beyond which stood a man holding a sheet of paper with a large number printed on it. He turned left, then right, then straight ahead expression neutral all the while. He was rail thin standing at about six foot even with greasy looking hair parted down the middle.

Chin's too rigid. Ears too big.

"Not him," she said to herself, relaxing just slightly only to tense again immediately. There were still more to go.

"Thank you, number two," the police officer in the room beyond the glass said. Shadow Stalker shifted on her feet slightly as the actor exited. She never hated lineups so much before. It put her in mind of being dangled above of pool full of sharks.

"Number three step inside." Her posture stiffened. The cop gave the man the same instructions as the last. He turned left, then right, then straight ahead. Number three had very many of the same features as number two but it still wasn't him.

Neck's too long. Eyes too blue.

"No." She said in an angered whisper.

"Number three, you may go. Number four step inside."

Shadow Stalker sucked in a breath. She recognized the bastard's face immediately. It had been burned into her memory over the course of the longest hours of her life. She remembered his brow, his eyes, his cheekbones. She remembered his smile. There was no mistake. He was standing there, not six-feet away, with nothing between them but a one-way mirror.

"Turn to face me." The officer said. He did.

Her hands balled into fists so tight they ached.

"Now, face the door."

He was so close. Shadow stalker could reach through the glass and grip him by the neck, only letting go long after the struggling stopped.

"Face the mirror."

He was staring at her. He didn't look like anything. Expressionless, indifferent. As if the girl he tortured weren't standing right across from him.

Her mind swam through a flood of memories. Metal tools digging into her. The intense agonizing pressure in her chest as her heart tried beating its way out. It hurt just to remember. He had talked about psychology. That was it. Pain causing more pain causing more pain. He tore into her so that it was all she could feel. When it stopped and she could think again she agonized over the idea that a heart attack might kill her before anything else. When she was rescued, when it was all supposed to be over, she still had memories. Sometimes pictures and moments, other times just a lingering feeling. Pain.

"Thank you, number four." He began to step toward the door. Her voice caught for a moment; between wanting him gone and knowing she couldn't allow him to leave.

"That's him." Shadow Stalker said quietly. "Number four, that's him."

There was another officer in the same room standing somewhere behind her.

"Number four?" He repeated. "How certain are you?"

"Fu- Positive." She said without turning away from the window.

"Alright." The cop said. "Please, continue."

Shadow Stalker turned to face him.

"What? That was him. I know it was him."

The officer looked slightly taken aback.

"I understand." He said calmly. "But we need to finish the process to-" Shadow Stalker glared at him. The officer drew in a breath. "I've seen enough messy court cases just because of some bad paperwork. We need to finish. I'm afraid that's just how it's done."

She wanted to argue the point although rationally she knew it was pointless. The problem with being overcome with emotion was how it could override everything else. For Sophia, it could happen remarkably quickly if she let it. Most times she didn't even have a say. So, while she still had the presence of mind to make decent decisions, she decided to save her energy.

It helped that she had been able to mentally prepare beforehand, insomuch that that was possible. Reluctantly, she turned back toward the glass. Number five was standing on the other side. She quickly wiped her eyes.

After the last two actors walked in and out Shadow Stalker was escorted away by a detective who had been waiting outside. The older of the two she had met.

As they passed through a hallway she caught a glimpse through a door left slightly ajar of a cop shoving number four's growling face against the wall, pushing his wrists far up his back and closing a pair cuffs uncomfortably tight. She glanced sideways at the detective she was with. His serious professional demeanor didn't change but he held a single finger up to his lips.

Knowing the bastard was getting a hard time wasn't anything quite as good as being comforting but it had improved her opinion of the BBPD after the lineup had pissed her off so much.

On their way out they met with Miss Militia and Vista who were sitting in the uncomfortable looking wooden chairs. Precinct staff and officers spared a few glances for the heroes but otherwise went about their business. They stood seeing her and the detective approach and Shadow Stalker placed herself next to them.

"I really appreciate your help." The detective said to Shadow Stalker. "I know, this has been an ordeal but I want you to know that we're doing all we can to bring it to a close and what you've done today is as good and brave as taking down bad guys on the streets." He held out his hand. Shadow Stalker shook it without comment.

"And thank you for all of your efforts, detective." Miss Militia said also shaking his hand.

Thank yous, Shadow Stalker thought. Right.

"The Heberts." Shadow Stalker said before clearing her throat. "You said you called them?"

"Ah." The detective checked his watch. "Shouldn't be too long, I think. Around noon they said."

Vista looked over at Shadow Stalker.

"Do you want to wait for them?" She asked.

It was the fitting thing to do. Shadow Stalker hadn't had the chance to thank them. It certainly wasn't something that could be done as Sophia. But her stomach was doing flips for the third time since that morning. More likely, it had simply never stopped. It was hard enough to face Taylor at school even from a distance. She somehow doubted a thin bandana between them would help matters.

After she was silent for a while Vista spoke up again.

"Actually I just remembered, I have a project due for school tomorrow. I should really get to work on that. It'll probably take all day."

Shadow Stalker felt relieved… and spineless.

"I could pass on a message if you'd like." The detective said. A decent solution but she couldn't fool herself into thinking they deserved only the bare minimum from her.

"No." She said quickly. "I need to say it myself. Just… not today."

"Well, alright, then." The detective said. "Let me see you folks out."

As a group, they followed him to the exit.

"Have you thought about sending them a gift basket or something?" Vista said to Shadow Stalker as they walked. Shadow Stalker looked at her with a scowl hoping to get the message across with only her eyes. "Yeah, you're right. A little corny."

They exited into the parking lot next to the building. The lot was filled with police cruisers and trucks as well as the PRT van they had arrived in with a pair of troopers waiting nearby. Just as soon as she felt the chill of wintry air Shadow Stalker heard the faint clicks of a camera shutter. Heads turned. A few feet from them just beyond the chain link fence surrounding the lot was a sleazy looking man aiming his lens through the gaps.

"Oh what the hell." The detective's brow furrowed in disbelief and outrage.

"Get to the van." Miss Militia ordered as she and the detective started walking toward him.

Shadow Stalker stared. The cameraman was still clicking away. The detective reached him first. He stood gripping his belt, sticking his finger into the man's face. His words didn't quite carry but his very cop-like tone did. The cameraman simply smiled and said something in reply. He looked like a real smart-ass. He turned toward Miss Militia. Whatever it was she said to him it forced his smile to fade. He dropped the camera around his neck holding his hands up in a pose that professed innocence. Miss Militia was speaking again and in the next moment her power transformed into the shape of a minigun which landed with a thud on the concrete next to her feet. The cameraman's face was completely pale. The heroine held out a hand. The man fumbled with his camera removed the memory card and placed it in her palm retracting his hand quickly to avoid having his fingers crushed when Miss Militia closed her grip.

Shadow Stalker and Vista entered the truck as Miss Militia was turning back around. Shadow Stalker sat dipping her head low and Vista took a seat next to Shadow Stalker's immediate left. Miss Militia was talking into her radio as she stepped inside.

"-have a problem. I'll need to talk with Piggot as soon as we get back to the HQ."

Miss Militia stopped speaking as she stiffly took a seat on Shadow Stalker's right. The van started moving.



Sophia didn't sleep. She'd known the day would come. The press conference, the reporters, the news articles. But no matter what she told herself about how inescapable it all was she couldn't prepare herself for the story of her wounds to be put on public display and be the topic of conversation for every gossip in the city.

Naturally, she hadn't actually attended the press conference and she didn't watch it on TV either. Instead, she confined herself in the gym lifting weights, punching the heavy bag, sprinting on the treadmill. She returned again later that night when it seemed she hadn't done enough to fool her exhausted body into sleeping. Then she returned once again close to morning hoping to somehow get a few desperate hours rest before the sun rose.

Sometime after she looked up at the clock with blurry vision through sweat-drenched eyelids and was just able to make out that it was already time for school. Her legs barely supported her weight anymore so she propped herself on equipment as she made her way out. She took a long pause in the hallway leaning against the wall and breathing heavily. Chris passed through dressed for his own day at school. He stopped and looked at her with obvious concern.

"Sophia, you don't look- are you okay?" He asked.

Sophia forced her breathing to slow and pushed herself off the wall.

"Fine. Leave me alone."

"Well, uh, you headed to school? Cause just for the record, I think maybe-"

"I didn't ask what you think. Fuck off."

Taking measured steps forward she went into the locker room refusing to look at Chris as she passed. Once inside she collapsed onto a bench lying on her back. She'd still need to get through school.

First period had already started when Sophia arrived. She flopped into an open seat in Ms. Walker's class not bothering to retrieve any notebooks or pencils from her bag and stared up at the ceiling for who knows how long while Ms. Walker went on about poly-somethings. Sophia had absolutely no idea where they were. The last couple of weeks of lessons had gone in one ear and out the other. She hadn't turned in a single assignment either. Her grades were surely tanking but she wasn't able to find it in her to give a damn.

Goodbye spring track.

Sophia's phone rang. Her heart skipped. It wasn't the phone in her pocket, her personal cell phone, it was the generic ringtone of her PRT issued phone. No one from the PRT would be calling in the middle of school unless it was important.

The whole class was staring at her with smiles on their faces while Ms. Walker tried to recapture their attention. Sophia sneered. She didn't like having eyes on her; like they all knew something they shouldn't.

Without a word, Sophia snatched up her bag, pulled out the still ringing phone and left the classroom. In the hall walking quickly with no particular destination in mind, she put the phone to her ear.

"Hello."

"Hey. How's the weather in your part of town?" It was Carlos' voice. The seemingly inane question was one in a list of phrases meant to help Wards and Protectorate members avoid blowing their cover in public. It was a few seconds before Sophia's sluggish mind could make out what he was actually asking. 'Are you alone/can you speak freely?'

She took a couple of glances over each shoulder. The hallways were empty.

"Fine. Weather's fine." She said irritated. "What is it?"

"I'm sorry. I've got bad news." He said. "Right now I need you to stay calm and listen. Okay?" In complete disregard of what he had just asked Sophia immediately became ready to fly off the handle at any prompting. "There's been a security breach. A leak."

"Leak?" Sophia just wished he would come out with it already.

"Do you remember the ambulance? When you were being taken back to the PRT?"

"No." Her voice was a meek whisper.

"The EMTs, they had to take off your mask, to keep you breathing." He took a deep breath. "There's a video, shot from inside the ambulance. Some sort of spy camera. They're still looking into it, but… the video was made public. Posted online."

Sophia could hardly believe what she was hearing. Just one fucking thing after another.

"Are you saying-" She could hardly manage to finish her sentence. Carlos understood, however.

"Right now, no, and we're praying it stays that way. Certain PRT specialists have told me that the, ah, quality of the footage is too bad to make out any identifying features. They're saying the best thing for you to do right now is continue with your day as normally as possible."

"Normal? Fucking easy for you to say." Sophia's anger presented itself quickly. Compared to all the fear and dread and sadness it was the most familiar.

"It's a suggestion. No one would blame you for ignoring it. Say the word and I'll come by myself to get you."

Sophia considered that for a moment. 'Normal' was all she wanted. And if there wasn't normal there was always routine. So even when sleepless and exhausted she dragged herself to school. Based on that she wouldn't take Carlos up on his offer. On the other hand, there might have been nothing she would have liked to do more than curl into a ball and hide herself away somewhere.

"I'll pass." She said with a low growl.

"I…I understand. Call me if you change your mind. Or for anything else."

"And why the fuck should I do that?"

"Sophia…" The way he said her name almost sounded mournful.

Outside of school and confining herself at headquarters there wasn't any place else for her to go. She couldn't go home, not to Emma's like she used to when home got unbearable. Even if she felt like going shopping or something like that—much less had someone to go with—she would be too anxious to be out in public long. She was anxious everywhere, really. And to top it all off her only refuge had apparently been compromised.

"I'm fucked aren't I?" A statement more than a question. One she was asking through tears, she realized.

"You aren't," Carlos said almost pleading. He paused for half a second taking a breath. "I can tell you this much: you can trust your team. The Wards, the Protectorate, we're all on your side. We're looking out for you."

"And what a great fucking job you're doing so far."

The line went silent for a moment.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry about all of this." Carlos finally said. Sophia wanted to rebut but was too busy choking down tears. She didn't want him to hear her voice crack. "My offer stands. You can always call on me. Any of us. We'll do anything to make this right."

"Yeah," Sophia finally said when she was certain her voice would be steady. "Whatever." And then she hung up.

Sophia stood in the middle of the hallway, her mind pulling her in so many different directions even her body was caught in between them all. She wanted to hit something until it broke. She wanted to run full tilt outside into the cold and never stop. She wanted to drop to her knees and give up.

The bell rang.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------​

"See you this afternoon?" Taylor asked as she opened the door of her dad's truck.

"This afternoon." He confirmed. "Ah," he said reaching a hand into the glove box pulling out a small vaguely threatening black and red canister. He dropped it into Taylor's hand. "Pepper spray. Just in case." He said. "I thought you could use a new one after... after all that's happened."

"Yeah," Taylor said rolling the spray can between her fingers. He'd given her her first can of pepper spray for self-defense months ago. The first and only time she'd used it was while rescuing Shadow Stalker. She replied sliding the pepper spray into her pocket.

Her dad's serious face melted into a softer one.

"Have a good day, kiddo."

"You too, dad," Taylor said hopping out of the truck.

They waved goodbye as she turned away to stroll inside. She was certain her father would be watching all the way up until she disappeared behind the doors. She'd been lucky enough to manage a short jog before he had awakened that morning. It may not have been the smartest thing to do as far as personal safety is concerned but it was good for her sanity.

She had arrived at school a little while earlier than usual, which was fine by her. Hardly any other students showed up this early and the halls were more or less deserted. Certainly no chance of running into the Trio either. She went straight to her first class of the day keeping all of her books and belongings with her in a nearly unbearably heavy backpack. It wasn't ideal but she could hardly place her faith in lockers anymore.

Mrs. Knott's classroom had rows of computers all of them free with no students in yet to fill the seats. Taylor chose a place in the back, as usual, and began browsing the Internet. She typed 'Brockton Bay Enquirer' into the search bar.

The Brockton Bay Enquirer was, just as suggested by the sleazy reporter, a sensationalist rag. Headlines included 'Governor's Kinks Revealed!: Dominatrix Tells All', 'Assault & Battery: Late Night Rendezvous?', and 'Coming out!: Armsmaster Gay!?'.

The very story she was looking for was also among the most prominent. 'Shadow Stalker: Beaten and Abused!'. The utter tactlessness of the title made Taylor seethe a little. The article itself was information she'd already known, pulled out of context, and condensed into two brief paragraphs. No mention of Danny or Taylor Hebert. She relaxed a fraction thankful she could finally click the 'x' on that window. Unfortunately, it wasn't as easy to free her mind from the subject of the Shadow Stalker's case.

Taylor's attention turned toward the message boards on Parahumans Online, the forum for capegeeks to talk about the news and capes were always big news. Her experience with PHO was limited but it at least seemed to be a bit more thoughtful than the Enquirer. Although, she didn't find the concept of versus threads to be in very good taste.


■

♦ Topic: Shadow Stalker Kidnapping

In: Boards ► News ► Events ► America ► Brockton Bay

SpikeBagel (Original Poster)

Posted on January 9th, 2011:



If you want to get up to speed you can read the PRTs press release about the indictment

Spoiler: here

______________________________________________________________
FOR IMMEDIATE RELEASE
Sunday, January 8, 2011

Seven Indicted in Kidnapping of Ward
Brockton Bay Police, in conjunction with the PRT and the Protectorate, have arrested four members of the Empire Eighty-Eight criminal street gang on charges related to the kidnapping and attempted murder of a Wards member stemming from an indictment returned by a grand jury earlier this month which was unsealed yesterday. A total of seven gang members were indicted. District Attorney Sarah Blanche, Parahuman Response Team Director Emily Piggot, Armsmaster Commander of the Protectorate East-North-East, and Chief Bruce Stewart of the Brockton Bay Police Department made the announcement.
The indictment charges Herman White, 29; Avery Kilroy, 26; James Mathis, 33; Doug Dunhart, 30; Edward Brentwood, 48; Daniel Zachary, 38; and Bradley Marshall, 30; with felony kidnapping and aggravated assault. Additionally, James Mathis, Edward Brentwood, and Daniel Zachary, are each charged with attempted murder.
The charges contained in the indictment are merely accusations. The defendants are presumed innocent unless and until proven guilty in a court of law.
Protectorate and the Brockton Bay Police Department investigated the case.
Assistant District Attorneys Denise King and Charlie Lemmon are prosecuting the case.
______________________________________________________________
Press Release Number:
15-119

and watch the full video of the press conference here.

To summarize:

● December 22nd: Shadow Stalker goes missing before scheduled patrol. Her equipment is found dumped near the north trainyard. PRT and Protectorate start a manhunt.

● December 23rd: Good Samaritans spot three Empire Eighty-Eight gang members with a tied up cape. They intervene and call 911. Two of the three E88 members are arrested at the scene. Shadow Stalker is found injured but alive.

● January 2nd: Uniformed officers make an arrest after a short low speed chase. The guy is eventually charged for the kidnapping in addition to marijuana possession and evading arrest he was brought in on.

● January 5th: Several apartment raids by cops. Six more E88 members are arrested three of the which are eventually charged in relation to the kidnapping.

● January 7th: Final arrest is made. Suspect turns himself in.


Besides that there've been a bunch of skirmishes between Empire Capes, the Protectorate and the Azn Bad Boys. The ABB are involved because they're who the Empire tried to frame when they tried to kill Shadow Stalker.

Short version from the cape fights thread:

● December 24th: Viktor vs Oni Lee and ABB foot soldiers

○ Viktor retreats​

● December 30th: Protectorate (Armsmaster, Miss Militia, Assault and Battery) vs Empire Eighty-Eight (Crusader, Night and Fog)

○ Empire capes escape​

● January 1st: Assault and Battery vs Night and Fog

○ Night and Fog retreat​

● January 2nd: Miss Militia and Velocity vs Rune and Cricket

○ Rune is arrested.​

● January 3rd: Armsmaster and Miss Militia vs Crusader and Alabaster

○ Alabaster is arrested.​

● January 5th: Protectorate (Armsmaster, Miss Militia, Dauntless and Velocity) vs Empire Eighty-Eight (Kaiser, Fenja, Menja, Night, Fog and Crusader)

○ Empire Eighty-Eight retreats​

Edit:

● January 8th: Zweihander (Iron Rain, Hook Knight and Purity) vs Lung and Oni Lee

○ Lung retreats​

More or less everything we know so far. Looks like everyone's getting dragged into this mess.

What's the word guys?


(Showing page 33 of 33)

► Norrin Radical

Replied on January 9th, 2011:

The Empire isn't going to go away just like that. Not to pat the racists on the back too much but they're strong and their leaders ain't dummies.


► XxVoid_CowboyxX

Replied on January 9th, 2011:

Maybe it'll be more doable when they pull a few capes from other branches and call on New Wave like back during the Boston Games.


► Bagrat (Veteran Member)

Replied on January 9th, 2011:

@Ekul: Not hearing anything about sexual assault, it would have been listed in the charges anyway. That aside, from what I gather it was still about as bad as it gets. They didn't mention it anywhere but apparently Panacea had to be called in.


► Norrin Radical

Replied on January 9th, 2011:

@Void_Cowboy: I'm not holding my breath. Kaiser knows how to handle himself. Iron Rain's group alone is demonstrably a tier or two above most Protectorate branches. I just don't see the heroes making any headway unless they plan on calling on Legend himself for every fight. Best case scenario has the Empire crawling back into their holes for a little while and then back to business as usual after the next Endbringer attack or whenever eyes are on something that isn't them.


► SharkIRL

Replied on January 9th, 2011:

How does this even happen? Is the Empire targeting Wards now? Scary shit.


► SpikeBagel (Original Poster)

Replied on January 89th, 2011:

There's no telling at this point. If they went after her specifically that'd be a serious problem.


► XxVoid_CowboyxX

Replied on January 9th, 2011:

*puts on tinfoil hat* Kaiser and Iron Rain are never seen in the same place and the same time because… they're the same person.


► Bone_Head (Veteran Poster)

Replied on January 9th, 2011:

Heard that one before. Old joke is old. And not even true.


End of Page. 1 …29, 30, 31, 32, 33

■

Periodically, Taylor would click the refresh button to see if a new post might show up. Whenever one did it was about the same as all the rest. It all seemed so… trivial.

She considered creating an account so she could pass on a few of her own thoughts on the matter; a call for action, for blood, Empire blood, then again she'd rather not give in to her ugly vindictive side. Aside from that she doubted she could come up with anything witty or on point enough to stir the pot anyway and then she'd just end up venting to a bunch of strangers.

Taylor's eyes shot up when she heard the door open. Mrs. Knott entered with her handbag and a small stack of paper.

"Oh. Hello Taylor." Mrs. Knott said upon realized she was there. "Got an early start this morning?"

"Yeah, I-" a yawn rudely interrupt her as she spoke.

Mrs. Knott didn't wait for her to finishing yawning to walk over to her and place a sheet of paper where Taylor sat.

"Well if you'd like to get a head start on the assignment for today you might be able to use the extra time to catch up on some sleep." She said smiling sweetly.

"Yeah, I think I'll do that." Taylor replied sliding the assignment sheet to her. She opened a spreadsheet on her computer and began following the instructions laid out for her.

Mrs. Knott's class was easily her favorite. Not for the fact that the work was easy but more because there were never any group assignments and best of all everyone left her alone without Emma, Madison, or Sophia around to egg them on.

By the time the first bell rang and other students filtered inside, the words and numbers she'd been staring at had begun to blur together. She pinched the bridge of her nose pushing her glasses up just slightly and slumped into her seat. Her head tilted back until she was staring up at the ceiling. It wasn't a pretty sight, she noticed, with so many of the panels cracked and discolored.

Closing her eyes she felt sleep threatening to overtake her. Typically she'd be too vigilant to allow herself to doze off for even a moment. At most, it usually meant she could avoid being caught by surprise by whatever her bullies had planned. Unfortunately, she had spent all night worrying. As her home was feeling less and less like a safe haven, she became constantly aware of all the things that could go wrong instead of just doing it at school. It was exhausting.

Taylor leaned forward propping her head up on her hand. As the bell rang again signaling the official start of class and Mrs. Knott began speaking to the class Taylor's eyes finally closed and sleep took her.

The bell rang again two seconds later at the end of class shocking Taylor out of her woefully inadequate nap. Her head darted side to side as she took stock of her surroundings. Her bag was where she had left it, her assignment was only half finished, and there was a spot of drool on her sleeve. She wiped her mouth quickly.

Shaking herself awake she gathered her things. On the computer she closed her open windows beginning with the unfinished spreadsheet, she could probably afford to miss one assignment; Mrs. Knott's class was one of the few that the Trio wasn't causing her to completely tank. Next, she prepared to close the web browser still on the PHO thread but out of lingering curiosity, she clicked the refresh button instead.

Sometime within the last fifty minutes, the thread had exploded.


■

(Showing page 34 of 44)

► J_Zed

Replied on January 9th, 2011:

How many new heroes are we talkin like 50? BB needs about 50.


► Cpgk3242

Replied on January 9th, 2011:

USER WAS BANNED FOR THIS POST.


► Hawkguy

Replied on January 9th, 2011:

OH SHIT WHAT!


► Bouncing_Fish

Replied on January 9th, 2011:

Is this real?


► Noctis

Replied on January 9th, 2011:

Woah. Well now this is something.


► Ekul

Replied on January 9th, 2011:

This is fucked up on so many levels. Have fun when the police drop by.


► Lolki

Replied on January 9th, 2011:

Saving for posterity.

USER WAS BANNED FOR THIS POST. -Very bad idea. Admin.


► XxVoid_CowboyxX

Replied on January 9th, 2011:

USER WAS BANNED FOR THIS POST. Speculating on the identity of capes is against TOS.


► SpikeBagel (Original Poster)

Replied on January 89th, 2011:

Moderators have been notified. I'd like to ask everyone to refrain from clicking or sharing @Cpgk's links. This is far far from okay.


► Ekul

Replied on January 9th, 2011:

It got posted in multiple threads. Boy is this fucked.


End of Page. 1 … 32, 33, 34, 35, 36 … 44

■

(Showing page 44 of 44)

► TrashPanda

Replied on January 9th, 2011:

Fuck Empire Eighty-Eight!!! They put my uncle in the hospital just last month.

I hope Armsmaster shoves a halberd far up Kaiser's ass!


► Thunderstrike

Replied on January 9th, 2011:

I'm here for the shitstorm.


► Bagrat (Veteran Member)

Replied on January 9th, 2011:

@TrashPanda: Sorry about your uncle. I think it's safe to say that we all want to see a few things shoved up Empire asses.


► Adamska (Admin)

Replied on January 9th, 2011:

The authorities have been notified about the video. To be very clear anyone spreading this video, any screenshots or information on how to find it will be banned immediately. Real people's lives could be in danger. Think about your actions.


► Rolling Stoney

Replied on January 9th, 2011:

Why is the PRT dropping the ball like this? If the Youth Guard weren't on their ass before they sure as hell are now. This whole thing is fucked.


► Reave (Verified PRT Agent)

Replied on January 9th, 2011:

Believe me when I say that there hasn't been a moment when the PRT wasn't treating this situation with the utmost concern. These leaks grievous breach in security and will be investigated thoroughly. In case anyone needs a reminder knowingly distributing material or information revealing the identity of a Protectorate or Ward member is a felony.


► Paperwall

Replied on January 9th, 2011:

It's not like anyone could tell who she was. Her face looked like pudding.

@TrashPanda: Did your uncle start it?


► Moonstar

Replied on January 9th, 2011:

Do everyone a big favor and get hit by a truck.


End of Page. 1 …40, 41, 42, 43, 44

■


A video. Why? How? Taylor couldn't breathe, her heart sank in her chest. This was bad news. Should she do something? Could she do something?

"Taylor?" Mrs. Knott said from across the room. Taylor's head darted up.

"Um… sorry." Taylor finished logging out of her computer and grabbed her bag.

Thoughts about Shadow Stalker nagged at her as she walked through the hallway. She'd been proud of her actions on the day she'd saved Shadow Stalker's life like few other things in her life before. She'd thought idly a few nights ago that it may have indeed been the best day of her life and immediately chastised herself for having the inkling. It had undeniably been a high point of a sort all the same. But the feeling of pride waned eventually to other things leaving her with just those things and unshakable restless wanting to help someone, to do some good, do something. That restlessness became all the worse upon learning of the dire straits Shadow Stalker was surely in at that very moment.

It was never fun being powerless.

There was whatever was going on with her dad at work. Having that talk she promised which, if she were being honest, she was still agonizing over. Not to mention being in fear for their lives for saving someone else's. To top it all off Shadow Stalker had been pulled from the fire and landed in the frying pan. All worries and not a single damn thing she could do about any of them.

Maybe she would make that PHO account after all.

Her running mind was stopped all at once when something smacked her in the cheek. She looked down as it fell to the floor. A sanitary pad, unused and wrapped in plastic, thankfully. When Taylor looked up Emma was approaching with Madison and Julia in tow. They closed in around her as Taylor backed up against the rows of lockers. Dangling on Emma's wrist was a plastic grocery bag.

When it rains it pours.

"I'm so sorry about that Taylor." She said cooing, her voice loud enough that everyone in the vicinity could hear. "It's just that I heard about the little problem you had last week and I thought I could help."

Emma opened the bag and poured its contents out at Taylor's feet. Pads, tampons, wipes. A plethora of women's products were dumped before her. None of them bothered stifling their laughter. Bitches.

Madison continued Emma's sarcastic commentary, "It's nothing to be embarrassed about. You don't have to hide your messes in your locker anymore."

"I think I can still smell it," Julia said making a face.

"You know," Emma said with a quieter voice. "Your mom really should have taught you how to keep it clean but I really can't blame her if she'd rather be dead than to deal with that."

Emma had used Taylor's mother to dig at her before. It was disgusting. Unforgivable. Taylor's mom had been good to Emma, treated her like a daughter. When she died, Emma had cried into Taylor's shoulder just as Taylor cried into hers. Yet somehow Emma turned the memory of Taylor's mother into just another weapon to be wielded.

Taylor tried to choke her sadness back down. There was no reason she couldn't handle a little more piled on top. No reason for her to start getting teary-eyed. For a little while, she had actually thought all of the bullying was over. She felt so stupid. Stupid for getting her hopes up.

"What's the matter, Taylor?" Emma said. "You look upset."

"Oh my God she's gonna cry…" Julia said grinning.

"Are you?" Emma kept at it. "Going to cry yourself to sleep for a-"

"What the fuck!"

All heads turned. Sophia was bounding toward them in a half-jog. And she was pissed.

"Wha-" Emma's words were literally choked off when Sophia slammed into her without slowing, wrapped a hand around her neck, and shoved her holding her up against a locker. Emma's legs kicked impotently for a moment before she gave up and her heels clacked against the metal, toes inches off the ground.

"I fucking told you to leave Taylor alone, didn't I? Didn't I?" Sophia was shouting right into Emma's face.

"Hey, let her go." Julia tried to wedge herself in the middle and pry Emma out of Sophia's grip. Sophia spared a moment to hit Julia hard with a back-fist to the face sending the girl spiraling down to her knees a couple of feet away. The sound of knuckle on cheek had been audible.

Taylor could now be certain that it would have been a very bad idea to try and fight Sophia Hess. She'd been aware that Sophia was fit, what with her being a track star, but holy shit. There were various oooh's from the crowd that had suddenly formed, apparently mirroring that notion. Or, failing that, entertained by dramatics that weren't their problem.

Sophia turned her attention back to Emma whose throat was still clasped tight in her grip.

"Let me make this clear. You fuck with Taylor and you fuck with me, got it? And I don't fucking play games. You know I fucking don't. If I catch so much as breathing wrong in Taylor's direction I will hurt you. I swear to god, Emma, I will fuck you up. Do you understand? Nod if you understand!"

Emma agreed hastily her head bobbing up and down such that it could while she was being held up by the neck. Sophia let go and Emma dropped to her feet sagging back against the locker sucking in wind. Her legs wobbled slightly and her face was about as red as her hair. She massaged her neck where Sophia's grip had left a clear handprint that might settle into a light bruise given time.

Emma looked up at her former best friend with an indignant glare. Sophia stared her down not backing away an inch. Eventually, Emma had to relent and meekly inched herself from against the row of lockers, slinking away through the crowd, head low, and utterly defeated. Julia, rubbing her surely stinging cheek, stood unsteadily and followed. Sophia watched them go before she turned, slowly scanning the crowd before stopping to look at Madison, who was staring back wide-eyed nervously fiddling with her bracelet. Sophia gave her a quick nod in the direction the other two went and Madison trotted along after them.

Taylor gaped at Sophia. Sophia looked back at Taylor but her eyes immediately dipped low.

"Alright, break it up," Mr. Gladly working his way through the bodies. "Okay, so what's up here?" He looked at the two of them. "Taylor? Sophia?"

Sophia muttered something still not looking up from her feet.

"Hmm? Didn't catch that." Mr. Gladly said.

Sophia turned to face him meeting his eyes and repeated her words through gritted teeth.

"I said go fuck yourself."

Taylor couldn't help but let out a small snort of laughter. Gladly looked deeply offended. Sophia spun around and marched off.

"Sophia. Sophia get back here." He yelled striding away after her. He almost resembled something like a teacher for a moment.

Taylor was left alone among a dispersing crowd and at a loss for words. She lazily kicked away the toiletries still lying at her feet.

Madison and Julia were late to class. They both shrank into their seats not saying a word. Julia seemed to be trying to hide her still reddened cheek. Neither of them dared to glance in Taylor's direction.

Mr. Gladly arrived a short time after they had. He, seeming to be in a bit of a mood himself, got right to the lesson and then assigned actual homework at the end of it.

Quite a morning.


------------------------------------------------------------------------------


Principal Blackwell's office hadn't changed in any noticeable way since Sophia last sat in it.

"I told him to go fuck himself," Sophia stated plainly.

Mr. Gladly folded his arms. Blackwell's face didn't change from its already stern expression.

"I didn't need you to repeat it," Blackwell said.

Sophia shrugged.

"Needed to be said. He tries to act like he's everyone's friend. It's pathetic. He doesn't even know that we all laugh at him behind his back."

Gladly was fuming.

Blackwell turned to him and said, "Thank you, John. I'll handle this."

Gladly nodded and obediently left the office.

"Well, I suppose now is as good a time as any for us to have a discussion," Blackwell said after a few seconds. "Barring occasional mouthing off you've always stayed out of trouble but lately—arguing with teachers, picking fights with your classmates, disruptive outbursts. Frankly, Ms. Hess, this anger of yours has gotten way out of hand."

Sophia forced herself not to respond lest she prove her point.

"I do read the news you know?" That made Sophia wince. "I can only imagine what you must be going through. I do try to be considerate of your… extracurricular activities but that doesn't mean I can allow troublemaking here. If you're struggling with your temper right now, well, to that I might suggest you take some time away, get settled, not have to worry about class or schoolwork. That's certainly something that can be arranged considering the circumstances."

"I'll pass."

Blackwell closed her eyes taking a breath.

"If that's what you want we can shelve that idea for now but if you continue to act out then I will have to start making calls, are we clear?"

Blackwell was right, though. Sophia was angry.

Where the fuck does she get off pretending to give a shit? Just trying to make her job easier. That's all they ever do. Well, fuck her. And fuck Gladly. Fuck this place.

Sophia stood slowly from her seat. In a quick and sudden motion, she slammed her fist down on Blackwell's desk. The loud thud as much as the abruptness of the maneuver made Blackwell jump in her seat. The principal pressed herself firmly against the back of her chair eyes wide and fearful, mouth hanging open. Sophia removed her fist. It had left a definite impression on the hardwood.

"We're clear." She said in a caricature of calmness before turning and leaving the office with a slam of the door.

In class, Sophia paid close attention but the extra awareness of her surroundings had nothing to do with the day's lesson. Winslow high had a good deal of teenage gang members. Everyone knew that much. Sophia, of course, always knew more than most. They weren't hard to pick out. Asians wearing any amount of red and green. White guys with shaved heads or certain patches in their jackets. Some were a little more subtle than that though. Mostly it was about who talked with who.

Sophia watched her classmates from the back of the room. There was a worksheet she was meant to be doing but she'd slid it off her desk and onto the floor, instead opting to make note of every sideways glance in her general direction and every murmur of conversation that could have remotely been about her.

Are they looking at me? she thought about a group of laughing Asian boys. Despite what Carlos had said her face was out there. More importantly, someone had put it out there.

"-Shadow Stalker-" Her head darted in the direction she heard the voice.

"What'd you say?" She said standing up and marching her way over to a group of nerdy looking boys. She wanted to be wary of giving herself away but at the moment and in her state of mind it was impossible to come up with a different tactic to handle this situation other than direct confrontation.

"What?" One of the boys said turning around.

Sophia wanted to hit the dork immediately. First strike and all. Or she just needed something to hit. Whichever.

"You mentioned Shadow Stalker. What about her?"

The boy cocked his head.

"Just talking about how the Empire got her. You hear about it?"

She clenched her fist. There were definitely people looking at her. She didn't have any more words for the boy and turned around back to her seat and settled in for a long day.

At lunch, Sophia sat alone. She passed the table occupied by her ex-friends at a distance trying and failing, to ignore Emma's glare. She chose a seat at the end of a long table in one corner of the lunchroom. It was a good vantage point. Back to the wall, nothing she couldn't see coming. ABB kids occupied the exact opposite corner from her. Not far in front of her, though, was a table of Nazi scumbags including that bitch with the bad dye job who had stepped on her new shoes. Sophia might have let that one go if she had just said "sorry."

…maybe.

And then, of course, Taylor showed up.

The lunch in front of her wasn't very appealing. A sandwich made with under-seasoned chicken and some soggy vegetables from a can. Resting her elbows on the table she lifted the sandwich to her mouth and ate it slowly one small bite at a time. It was barely nibbled into when her lack of appetite made eating more work than pleasure and put it back down on her tray.

She scanned the room as she'd been doing in class. Too many people, too many conversations. She couldn't keep up.

Her head bobbed forward. Her vision faded around her peripheral slowly enveloping her in a cone of blackness. She was drifting.

Cold liquid splashed across her shoulders. It smelled. Gasoline.

Sophia's eyes went wide and she immediately threw herself backward onto the floor, the back of her head hitting the wall behind her.

"No. Fuck! No!" She screamed out before she realized where she was. An empty orange juice carton, wide open at the top, landed on the floor in front of her. The entire lunchroom was looking at her. A lot of people were laughing. Teachers were marching their way over. Emma stared.

Sophia pulled herself up as quickly as possible and ran.

In the furthest stall down in the furthest possible restroom she locked herself in, sank down on the seat and bent forward putting her face in her hands. Her shoulders were cold and damp and her hair dripped sticky yellow liquid onto the floor.

Catching her breath was difficult. One of the many spots in school where the janitors clearly couldn't give half a shit wasn't the best place to start hyperventilating either. And she felt ill; her stomach flipped over itself. If she'd actually eaten anything she'd probably be heaving it back up all over her shoes.

"Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck." She said to herself wiping away tears streaming down her face. Sophia hated crying. It made her feel so pathetic, so useless, so weak. One of the few useful things her mother ever taught her was how to stop herself from crying. But there was nothing else for her to do.

She was tired. Tired of looking over her shoulder, tired of her emotions running on high, and just tired of having no place to rest. She felt like she'd been torn open, her guts spilling out in front of the world and it was getting harder and harder to stuff them back inside.

A knock at the stall door made her jump.

"Um, is everything alright? Do you need me to get someone?" A girl's voice asked.

"Fuck off and mind your own fucking business!"

"…Sophia?"

"…Taylor?" Shit. "Sorry, I-I didn't-" She sniffled and coughed trying to get her words out. In the meantime, she heard Taylor's footsteps and the door swinging open and closed as she left the restroom.

Sophia screamed in bitter frustration hitting the walls of the stall surrounding her leaving them bowed and dented. When she was finally too exhausted to hit things she slumped down again, hung her head and wept.

 

[Joko]

VIII
-----------------The Curious Case of Sophia Hess-----------------​

It was strange enough that Sophia had come to Taylor's defense against Emma. It would be a grievous lie to say Taylor hadn't taken a small bit of joy in seeing Emma and her flunky getting manhandled. Finding Sophia weeping in the restroom, on the other hand, was disconcerting to say the least. If nothing else it should teach Taylor to mind her own fucking business next time.

She'd felt a little foolish afterward about trying to stick her neck out for someone who would have been proud to have put her in the very same position not long ago. In Taylor's defense, it's a little hard to ignore someone who sounds like they're having a serious panic attack five feet away.

Given that she was much more than five feet away and still quickening her pace, Taylor tried to push it all out of her mind. There were more important things to think about. Shadow Stalker, for one. She wondered if she might hazard a trip to the library after school and get on the Internet. Of course, she'd need to have a difficult discussion with her dad about her bullies, first. Which would then probably lead to more difficult discussions with Emma's mom and dad and Principal Blackwell not long after. That whole can of worms had trouble written on the tin.

Walking through the halls Taylor looked in all directions still keeping watch for the Trio. Or rather, the Duo featuring Julia. The Neo-Trio? Although Sophia seemed to do a pretty definitive job at scaring them off, Taylor, over the course of her high school career, learned the meaning of 'hope for the best; expect the worst'. The same mindset made her choose to eat her lunch in the restroom to hide from Emma's potential reprisal. That hadn't worked quite as she'd hoped.



Her final class of the day was Mr. Byron for English. Usually, the man liked to talk. Somebody would ask some marginally relevant questions knowing he'd go off on incredibly long tangents for most of the class. Taylor didn't see the point of fooling him that way. He would still be talking just not about anything very useful.

Instead of the usual, however, they were watching Romeo & Juliet. Taylor had always wanted to see the entire play being performed as it was meant to be but, for now, she would have to settle for a poorly adapted off-Hollywood movie production. Her mind went adrift instead and she struggled to steer it away from more troubling thoughts.

Last night she laid in her bed wondering what might happen if someone broke into her home. What would she do? What would her dad do? Would he shoot them? Would they be shot themselves? Could they hide? Escape outside? It turned from a particularly vivid form of anxiety to a sort of mental exercise. Working the scenarios out, thinking of the things she could do to avoid the worst had become therapeutic in a strange way once she'd reached that point.

For example: what if an intruder entered the school? Taylor mapped the building's layout in her mind. Exits/entrances, windows, and routes. She noted what to barricade the door with, where to hide. Maybe it was a little absurd bit thinking that way grounded her when most of her life seemed to want to throw curveballs at every possible opportunity.

What if a dangerous intruder came into the classroom right now?

The door opened. It was Charlotte who quietly stepped inside closing the door softly behind her. Mr. Byron waved her off with little mind; late slips are more of a first semester thing, after all. She then headed to the back of the classroom taking a seat in the empty desk next to Taylor. She smelled faintly of cigarette smoke.

They hadn't spoken to each other since Taylor had stepped in between her and Sophia and Taylor hadn't made any plans to change that. She might be friendless and alone but if Taylor didn't already have hard enough feelings about neo-Nazis recent events most certainly set them in stone. Charlotte, apparently, didn't feel the same on more than one count.

"What's up?" she whispered leaning over. Taylor ignored her but Charlotte continued on. "Doesn't he know we all saw this in, like, middle school?"

Taylor rubbed her forehead. She decided it would be best to just cut the cord. For once she could make things easy on herself.

"Listen. I don't really-"

"Oh shit, did you hear about the juice?" Charlotte said suddenly.

"Jews? What Jews? What are you talking about?" Taylor was little worried she was about to get the new recruit spiel.

"No, no. I got that bitch Sophia back for us."

"What?"

"You should have been there," Charlotte said leaning on Taylor's desk. "My friend hit her right in the face with some orange juice and she freaked the fuck out."

And then she ran away to hide in the restroom.

Taylor put her face in her hands.

"I think she might've started crying. It was amazing."

"Charlotte." Taylor said without looking at her.

"Hmm?"

"Shut up."

Thankfully, she did.




After school Taylor stood by the entrance waiting for her dad to pull up. She stepped aside as other students exited to make their own ways home. She stiffened when she spotted Emma. Emma stiffened when she spotted Taylor, then her eyes flicked around briefly; she looked angry but wasted no time in skittering away.

She released a breath. There was a certain simplicity in being able to know what to expect. The day had found Taylor, through no particular action on her part, in unknown territory. Taylor herself went about the day relatively unabused unlike Emma, who was on the back foot and Sophia whose feet seem to be all over the place.

Taylor had wondered for a while if Sophia might wander by too.

It hardly took a few minutes for Taylor to be left alone on school grounds. Last to leave were the slow walking stragglers and a handful of people waiting for the next bus at the stop a few yards down the street.

After dusting a bit of snow off the top step Taylor sat down. The lack of movement was starting to cause a chill. It was such times that made her wish she had a cell phone. Her mind wanted to jump to the worst case scenarios for why her dad would be late even as some rational piece of herself said it was probably just work getting in the way again. That didn't stop her from worrying anyway.

After a half-hour of waiting Taylor figured it was time to go. She walked instead of waiting for the bus wagering she'd be home by the time it came. She enjoyed her walks in the cold anyway.

Keeping due caution Taylor made note of everything she passed watching for potential danger. As far as she understood most of the city was under the control of Empire Eighty-Eight. The ABB were the second biggest gang in town and they kept to a sliver of the Docks where most of the Asian community lived. Taylor's home just so happened to be somewhere within the all too fuzzy border in between. The occasional bits of red and green graffiti tags dropped off the closer she got to home.

The streets were just beginning to bustle. Her route took her past a grocery store parking lot filling with people about to do their shopping as well as a few fast food places with lines forming in the drive-thrus. Loitering outside of a corner store were a few high schoolers, judging from the backpacks thrown at their feet. One of them waved at Taylor as she passed. He was standing between two other guys and they were all looking her way though Taylor was certain she didn't know any of them. She looked away and increased her pace.

"Hey, wait up a second."

Taylor took a glance over her shoulder. They were following her. She faced forward and kept walking taking a moment to feel for the pepper spray canister in her pocket.

"Hey heeb, he said wait up."

She stopped and half turned to face them. If they were more people who had gotten the wrong idea she'd tell them so. If they wanted something else she'd mace them and run.

The boy that had been waving at her had punched one of the others, who was clearly amused with himself, in the shoulder. He was, by a decent margin, the tallest of the three. Probably a senior if he wasn't indeed already old enough to rent a car, and he well-built in a way a football player might have been. His face had a chiseled jaw beneath dark scraggly beard. The somewhat intimidating affect his appearance might have had was offset a little by a pair of thick-rimmed glasses.

"What do you want? And it's Hebert." Taylor said sternly.

"Yeah, I know, sorry." He said. "Ignore him. He's kind of a wannabe. You know the type, tries way too hard." He said the last part a bit louder for his friends who were standing back. The one he had punched rolled his eyes still looking amused with himself.

"And what's that make you?" Taylor asked.

"Er, uh…" He rubbed the back of his neck. "My name's Forrest, actually." He said holding out his hand. Taylor cocked her head. He retracted it quickly. "Char told me about how you helped her out. I just thought I'd thank you."

Charlotte. Taylor narrowed her eyes.

"I didn't help her just because she's white or anything."

"No, I didn't think- Look, I know how you've been getting a hard time at school. If you need somebody to have your back just let me know."

"A little quid pro quo, is that it?"

"Something like that."

"No thanks. I'm a little fed up with Nazis to be perfectly honest."

Forrest sighed.

"I know what you must think but I'm not like that. Char isn't either. She's nice. Really. She's just…trying a bit hard herself, I think."

"Really? What about them?" Taylor said gesturing to Forrest's buddies who were busy sparking up a couple of cigarettes. "Are they nice deep down too?"

"They're more like… strength in numbers." He shrugged.

"Is that how it starts?"

He grimaced. He opened his mouth to protest but was interrupted by the shout of, "Get away from her!"

Taylor peeked over Forrest's shoulder as he turned. Past where his two friends stood was Sophia Hess coming down the sidewalk.

"What is she doing?" Taylor said to herself.

One of Forrest's friends turned to face her flipping her off as he did. For his trouble, he received a swift kick to the nether regions. Breath escaped him as the cigarette flew from his mouth. He started to crumple forward when Sophia knocked him to the side with a hard punch to the jaw.

The next guy on the chopping block was amused no longer. He lunged at her with a wide punch. Sophia landed two before he finished swinging. His head bobbed backward on each impact and his fist swung around limply hitting nothing more than thin air. Not sparing a moment Sophia placed her hands on the back of his head and brought it straight down on her rising knee before tossing him aside. His legs looked like noodles as he continued walking a few paces before face planting in a pile of slush.

There go strength in numbers.

Next, she brazenly set her eyes on Forrest.

"Hey, I'm not looking for trouble." He said holding out his hands. Sophia ran her shoulders right into them. Forrest seemed to be able to hold her off for a moment keeping her at arm's length but Sophia ducked low rammed her shoulder into his gut while sweeping up his leg. He lost his balance and fell on his back. Taylor had to hop backward a little to keep him from toppling into her.

Sophia immediately went to work throwing a couple of punches into Forrest's side; his liver, Taylor guessed and if the sounds he made were anything to judge by, the strikes were painful. Sophia straddled him and started throwing a flurry of punches into Forrest's face. His guard did little good as Sophia weaved her fists around his forearms repeatedly knocking his head back into the concrete. He'd wind up with a concussion before long. She missed once when Forrest tried moving his head and her fist collided with the pavement. She seemed to pay no mind and went back to work.

"Stop. That's enough." Taylor yelled trying to push Sophia off of Forrest whose face was a bloodied mess. Sophia shrugged off Taylor's feeble attempt at a tackle and went back to slugging.

Taylor saw the look on her face. She looked much like she had when Taylor stood between her and Charlotte last week. Completely enraged, singularly focused on the thing that had pissed her off and this time it was too late to stop her. Almost.

Taylor reached into her pocket, pulled out the pepper spray, armed it, took aim and fired. The stream splashed broadly across Sophia's face; a bit landed on Forrest's too, and, standing downwind there was some blowback on Taylor as well.

Forrest screamed first, his open wounds suddenly speckled with burning liquid. He covered his eyes knocking the broken glasses the rest of the way off his face.

Sophia's reaction, on the other hand, started more mutely. She sat up, face plastered in orange, repeatedly opening her eyes wide and shutting them tight. After a few seconds, she screamed bloody murder and threw herself backward scooting on the ground before turning over to pack her face with snow. She crawled until her hands met the side of the nearby building then she slowly pushed herself up.

Taylor meanwhile was frozen in her pose, arm outstretched with the small canister of pepper spray aimed at Sophia, and only mildly irritated, if that's what one calls it when their face is leaking tears, mucus and saliva all at once. It was gross and it burned but it could obviously be worse.

Forrest's screams died down into continuous low groans. A few feet away Sophia was also groaning while doubled over with one hand on a wall and spitting into a snowbank at her feet.

"You fucking bitch." One of Forrest's friends yelled accosting Sophia from behind shoving her face against the building's brickwork. With one hand he held her hair and in the other a switchblade which he pressed against her neck.

Sophia immediately pushed herself off the wall, then reached up to her neck grabbing the knife blade before through a series of elbows into his gut. Taylor fired again this time aiming for Mr. Nazi-wannabe. He screamed and dropped to his knees. Sophia screamed too, her pain renewed. She swung out wildly turning her entire body only to miss the guy who was already on the ground suffering. She pushed herself back against the wall trying to wipe her face clear of the pepper spray.

"Gonna fu— kill you—" the wannabe sputtered.

And he made a valid point. As much as the fight had gone in her favor and despite Sophia being Sophia, Taylor isn't thoughtless enough to leave her half-blind among a trio of Empire Eighty-Eight flunkies.

Pocketing the pepper spray she stepped over and around Forrest and his buddy to grab Sophia wrist. She pulled back immediately and swiped at her.

"Let me go. Let me go." She screamed. Her voice went high.

"Sophia, it's me," Taylor said grabbing her wrist again. "We're leaving." Taylor yanked her arm and tugged her away.

They walked, nearly jogged, down the sidewalk. Sophia kept her eyes shut the entire way trusting in the generous guidance of Taylor's hand.

Taylor only stopped when she realized the direction she was heading in. She had mindlessly led Sophia Hess into her neighborhood only a stone's throw away from her home.

She took a few deep breaths. Her heart was still racing. She could even feel herself shaking a little bit. How was she going to explain to her dad that she had to use her pepper spray on day one?

Taylor looked over her shoulder. Sophia was breathing hard and trying to peek blearily out of one eye but finding that too difficult.

I could just leave her here, Taylor thought. She might be a little lost for a while but she'd be able to find her own way back to… wherever. It was tempting.

Instead, Taylor picked up a handful of snow. She glanced at the slush in her hand, then at Sophia.

"Sophia," Taylor said. She jolted a little at the sound of her own name. "Hold still." Taylor mushed the ball of snow into her face. Sophia was stiff as a board. Her body hardly moved in response to the sudden impact of slush. When the snow all fell away she could open her eyes more widely and her teeth were chattering a little. Taylor took another handful of snow and repeated the action.

When her eyes were as wide as they were going to get Sophia took in her surroundings. She looked completely lost and didn't look anymore found when her attention turned back to Taylor. She didn't divert her eyes which had become her habit as of late, either. Just as well, Taylor had a few questions for her.

"Why were you following me?"

Sophia's mouth opened and close once before she answered.

"I saw you waiting outside… at school. I thought… I dunno. You were by yourself and… I thought you might need help."

"And why, exactly, are you trying to help me? Why now?"

"I- I was wrong. I want to make things better."

"So you're going to go around attacking people for me? You think that'll make things right? Do you actually think you can just turn around and fix all the shit you did to me?"

"…I don't know what else to do." Sophia's eyes went low. "I- Emma was my fault. And those guys… I recognized them. From earlier. At lunch. I didn't know what they were going to try to do to you."

Taylor's heart sank. And for that, she wanted to kick herself. She didn't like thinking about Sophia crying. Like it or not, her anger faded, taking a back seat having become too unseemly for the moment.

"Show me your hands," Taylor said as gentle a voice she could manage.

Sophia complied bringing her hands up still balled into tight fists. In one hand her knuckles were scraped from hitting concrete. In the other blood was pouring from where she still gripped the knife blade as if she hadn't even remembered it was there. Slowly, she opened them. The knife fell into a blood-speckled patch of snow. Her palm had a long gash running across it and each of her fingers had cuts of their own. She slid her thumb across her wounds as though feeling them out but not otherwise reacting in the slightest.

"My house is nearby," Taylor said before she could stop herself. "We have a first-aid kit."

"…Okay." Sophia replied not looking up from her hands.

Taylor bent down and dug the knife out of the snow. There were kids in the neighborhood, after all, she couldn't risk letting one of them find it. Upon closer inspection of the weapon she thought she recognized the type. A butterfly knife if she remembered correctly. She deftly flipped it closed and stowed it in a free pocket.

"One more thing. Where did you learn to fight like that?" Taylor asked.

"…I do it a lot." Sophia said after a beat.

"Hmm. Alright, come on." Taylor gestured with her head. She continued down the sidewalk toward home. Sophia followed.

Taylor took a long stride up the steps. Sophia came up after her stumbling slightly when her foot dipped into the flimsy board of the second step but caught herself on the railing. Her hand left a small blood stain where she laid it.

The house was empty. Taylor was thankful her dad hadn't returned first. She hoped to have Sophia in and out leaving him none the wiser.

In the kitchen, there was a box of tissues resting on the counter. Taylor snatched a few and blew her nose. The combination of cold weather and pepper spray had done wonders for mucus production. Snot leaked down her face the entire way home. The urge to wipe her nose on her sleeve was a Faustian temptation she'd barely managed to resist. In consideration of future needs, she folded a few tissues and stuffed them into her jacket pocket.

Taylor turned to Sophia. She was still standing in the foyer quiet as she had been the whole way home. As much as Taylor didn't want to let the thought enter her mind seeing her there made it impossible to stop; she looked pitiful. Hair a frayed mess, eyes puffy, red and surrounded by deep dark circles and her face was, much more than Taylor's, dripping with snot.

Taylor offered her the box of tissues. Sophia took a handful and brought them to her face wiping herself clean. The tissue turned red in spots where blood-soaked in.

"You can wash your hands in the sink. You might want some cold water on your face too." Taylor said.

Sophia nodded stepping into the kitchen.

"Um. Be right back." Taylor slipped past Sophia, shrugged off her jacket and book bag tossing them on coat hooks and headed up the stairs where she immediately closed herself into the bathroom.

She washed her own hands then removed her glasses and splashed her face with cool water. Leaning on the sink with both hands she looked at herself in the mirror. Water trailed down her cheeks and dripped from her chin.

"What are you doing?" She asked the girl in the mirror.

After dabbing her hands and face with the hand towel hanging next to the sink she knelt down to look into the cabinet below. Cleaning supplies, and extra soap. Not what she was looking for. She left the bathroom and opened the linen closet to the immediate left and grabbed a clean cloth.

Back in the kitchen, Sophia was holding her head over the sink in a pose strikingly similar to the one Taylor had pulled as she looked at herself in the mirror. Sophia's hair was dripping wet. It looked as though she'd simply dunked her head in and ran the water straight over herself.

"Here," Taylor said handing her the washcloth. As Sophia reached out Taylor pressed it into her palm putting pressure on the cut. With the understanding that she'd keep it there, Taylor left again for the adjacent laundry room. After a brief search of the utility closet, she found the first-aid kit on the same shelf as the flashlights and extra batteries.

Near her foot was a basket of her dad's clothes. Taylor was the sort who would fold and put away her clean laundry immediately. The fact that her dad wasn't was something she just had learned to live with. She grabbed a bath towel from out of the basket. Her dad wasn't the sort who bothered much with separating his laundry in the wash either.

Taylor placed the first-aid kit on the kitchen table. Sophia was still hunched over the sink. Taylor paused for a moment as she stood behind Sophia holding the large towel in both hands. With a shrug, she draped it over Sophia's head and shoulders. Sophia hardly seemed surprised bringing her hand up to run the towel across her hair.

Taylor directed her to the kitchen table where they sat down.

"Let me see," Taylor said taking Sophia's injured hand in her own.

Taylor lifted the cloth a little. The bleeding seemed to have stopped. The cut across the palm was long but much shallower than Taylor had expected. Which was good. If stitches were needed it would have complicated matters immensely. As it was, Taylor would be able to bandage Sophia's hand and send her on her way as intended.

First, Taylor grabbed a tube of antibiotic ointment from the kit and spread it across the length of the wound. Then, she placed a few pads of gauze on top and with a rolled bandage she made a few passes around Sophia's hand. She finished by wrapping the bandage once around Sophia's thumb, tearing the roll away and placing a strip of tape down to hold it. Taylor then placed four small bandages on each of Sophia's fingers. She didn't bother asking when she reached for Sophia's other hand and placed a couple more bandages on her scraped knuckles.

"Alright. Done." Taylor said with a bit of relief.

When Sophia didn't respond Taylor looked up. Her head was slack, hanging forward and her mouth was hanging open. Taylor couldn't believe it. She had fallen asleep.

"Hey," She said. "Wake up."

Now, this was frustrating. As painfully uncomfortable, distressing and awkward as it was for Taylor to invite Sophia into her home she had the nerve to go and fall asleep in her kitchen.

"Wake. Up." Taylor shouted clapping into Sophia's ear.

Sophia jumped as she awoke. Her eyes opened a little and her head darted back and forth. She leaned forward resting her face in her bandaged hand. She looked like she was about to fall asleep again.

Obviously, any discomfort was only felt on Taylor's end. Par for the course when dealing with one of the Trio under normal circumstances but on that day she saw an impressive range of negative emotion from Sophia. Her rage when she had come to Taylor's defense against Emma, whatever misery drove her to sobbing in the restroom, and her panic when she jumped into a fight. But the girl sitting at Taylor's kitchen table just seemed vacant.

"Are you… feeling alright?" Taylor asked hesitantly.

"Fine. Just…tired." Sophia's voice was low and gravely. She stood as she finished speaking trying to keep herself steady by placing a palm on the table but failed and slumped back into her seat.

"Do you need me to call someone?" Taylor asked.

"No, m'fine I just… need a minute." Sophia said shaking her head.

She stood up again still unsteady. She was about to stumble when Taylor caught her. Taking Sophia's hand Taylor draped the girl's arm over her shoulder then wrapped her arm around Sophia's waist and lifted her up. Sophia was either a heavy teenage girl or Taylor was in dire need of some extra muscle strength.

Taylor supported her as they walked out of the kitchen, past the front door and into the living room. Taylor let go dropping Sophia into a seat on the sofa. She then took a couple of couch cushions and arranged them on the opposite end of the sofa near the armrest. Sophia looked up at Taylor with an expression of confusion.

"Take off your coat and backpack," Taylor said in a way that left no room to argue.

Sophia took off her coat and backpack and handed them to Taylor.

"Lie down," Taylor said.

Sophia laid down resting her head on her hand with the pillows beneath.

"Kick off your shoes."

Sophia kicked off her shoes. She pulled her feet onto the sofa drawing her knees up and tucking her other hand in between.

Taylor took another trip upstairs and into the linen closet. She picked out a blanket though not before putting her arm to her mouth and howling a muffled scream into the inside of her elbow.

When she returned downstairs Sophia seemed to have already fallen asleep again. Taylor carefully draped the blanket over her. As she turned away she heard Sophia murmur something. She let it go and let Sophia sleep.

In the kitchen Taylor found herself pacing. Everything was wrong. Sophia Hess had been a blight on Taylor's life since the day they met. A girl shaped boogeyman. Just days ago Taylor would have never imagined holding a conversation with her let alone inviting her home and tucking her in for a nap.

The dissonance in Taylor's mind was so loud she didn't even hear the front door unlock and open.

"Taylor?" her dad called out.

Breaking free from her spiraling thoughts she rushed into the foyer.

"Tay-" her dad was about to call her name again upon seeing the sleeping girl in the living room only to be interrupted when Taylor placed a finger to her lips with a, "Shhhhh."




Hours later and Sophia was still dead to the world. Taylor had grabbed a book and curled up on the floor near the sofa. If the snoozing elephant in the living room woke up she would need to be near the rug ready to sweep it under. Her dad sat in his recliner nearby watching a game of football with the volume lowered and a bottle of beer to unwind.

She had told him that Sophia was a friend from school who had a late night studying for a test. It was the most bald-faced of a lie as she had ever told. What's worse is that her dad actually happy to hear Taylor had a friend.

When it started getting late and Sophia showed no signs of stirring Taylor decided to get started on dinner. Taylor was caught between not wanting to leave her dad alone when Sophia might rouse at any moment and letting him enjoy his game after an apparently stressful day. He apologized profusely for not picking her up. Apparently, an important meeting had come out of nowhere and it ran long. Taylor accepted his explanation quickly; too much else to worry about for her to dwell on it.

In the end, she went into the kitchen with the intention of preparing dinner as quickly as possible. They'd have salad. Decently heavy with croutons and as much chicken on top as either of them liked; less for her and more for him. She preheated the oven and prepared the chicken to bake. She pulled out the vegetables and washed them. A head of lettuce, a cucumber, a carrot, a tomato, and an onion. Try as she might it wasn't easy to be both quick and thorough. On the cutting board, she started chopping.

The mechanical motions allowed her mind to wander back into the living room. She wasn't sure what she thought might happen and her mind ran through a few scenarios.

Sophia would wake up and immediately start bragging about all the times she hit Taylor, all of the bruises she left, all of the times she brought her to tears.

Taylor cut faster.

She'd talk about Emma; reveal the mystery of how she turned her best friend into a heinous bitch.

The sound of the knife hitting the chopping board grew louder.

She'd reveal that everything was just well-coordinated playacting and that Taylor was a complete fucking fool.

At this moment Taylor was kicking herself for always insisting on fresh vegetables. Precut vegetables and salad mix would have been fine; she never really cared. It was only because she was so desperate for distraction, to kill time because her life was a nightmare, because she had no friends all because of- ow!

Taylor dropped the knife and pulled her hand away sucking on her thumb. She washed her hands in the sink. Blood poured from the slit in her thumb and ran down the drain. She took a few deep breaths trying to slow her heartbeat after the way she worked herself up. When she'd done that as well as she was able she fished a bandage out of the first-aid kit.

Her dad entered the kitchen with an empty beer bottle which he tossed in the container reserved for recycling next to the garbage.

"Need help?" He asked.

Taylor nodded sticking her hand out and handing him the bandage. He was gentle as he wrapped it around her thumb. Taylor found herself able to calm herself down a bit more.

"How's dinner coming?" He asked.

"Chicken will be ready in…" She glanced at the clock. "Six minutes. I just need to finish cutting the vegetables."

"Let me handle that."

"You don't care about your game?"

"It's a blowout. Packers are winning." He said with a sigh. "Why don't you go ahead and wake your friend. She can eat with us."

Taylor managed a strenuous smile.

"…Yeah, sounds good." Aaaaaaaahhhhhhh

Her dad turned toward the sink rolling up his sleeves as Taylor left the kitchen.

Sophia had hardly moved her body since she laid down. Her face, on the other hand, was screwed up in a deeply pained expression. Taylor found herself having more sympathy for the devil. Losing sleep was one thing but having no refuge even while asleep has to be awful.

Unsure of how best to rouse her, Taylor started by lightly nudging her shoulder. No reaction. Taylor pushed a little harder rocking her back and forth. Nothing. Taylor stopped. Waking people at rest was pretty awful in its own way. Deciding to no longer be gentle Taylor stood over Sophia, turned her over grabbing both shoulders and shook.

"Sophia!"

"Ah!" She screamed shortly. Her legs kicked and her arms flew up knocking Taylor's hands loose. Mid-motion her eyes had shot open big and wide. She stood up quickly, looked at Taylor, and then looked around the room. "Oh shit." She said quietly.

Taylor agreed.

Taylor's dad poked his head into the living room. He was wiping his hands. Sophia's eyes widened further.

"Ah. Good to see you're back with us." He said. He extended a hand toward her. "Sophia, right? I'm Taylor's father, Danny. It's nice to officially meet."

Sophia lightly grasped his hand. Her mouth moved up and down but no words came out.

"You must be hungry." He continued. "We just finished making dinner. You're welcome to join us if you'd like."

Sophia turned her head to Taylor, her face still in a stunned expression then turned back to Taylor's dad.

"N-no. I should go." She said. "Sorry for, um, what's the word… intruding."

"No, no don't be. In fact, you're welcome to come back anytime." He said with a smile. "But if you really need to leave, then I'll give you a ride."

"No, that's alright. Really."

Taylor's dad was very serious when he said, "I don't feel comfortable letting you go on your own, especially with it being so dark out."

Sophia drew in a sharp breath.

"I can call someone. Um…" She looked around the floor as if she dropped something.

"You're stuff is on the hook." Taylor supplied pointing to the wall near the front door where her coat and backpack were hanging up.

Taylor's dad let her by. Sophia dug into the big pocket of her bag and pulled out a cell phone. It looked expensive.

"Well," Taylor's dad said. "Dinner's ready, kiddo."

Taylor nodded and headed to the kitchen. Her dad had gotten out plates and utensils. There were a few bottles of dressing on the table, the chicken was sliced into thin strips and the vegetables were arranged for something like a salad bar on the countertop.

While rubbing her hands together under the faucet Taylor was on the cusp of uttering a prayer. She just wanted the day to be over.

When Taylor turned away from the sink Sophia was once again standing in the foyer. She squeezed the phone in her hand.

"Um," She said. "I called someone to pick me up. They'll be here in about fifteen minutes."

Taylor's dad nodded seemingly satisfied.

"Well, in the meantime, there's no reason we can't set a place for you if you'd like." He said. Taylor stifled a groan cursing whatever part of her father made him such a gracious host. The alternatives were to leave her awkwardly hovering around the steps or have her wait out on the porch, neither of which would do. Not for him at least.

Sophia, unable to continue her polite refusal, quietly agreed coming into the kitchen sitting down in the very same spot she had when Taylor bandaged her hand. There was no use fighting it so Taylor grabbed a plate.

"Is there anything you don't like on your salad? Allergies?" Taylor asked. Sophia was staring down at the table.

"No. Anything is fine." She replied.

Taylor's own nature as a gracious host betrayed her as well. Tossing veggies onto her plate she threw together the most beautiful damn salad the Hebert house had ever seen and served it to her longtime foe. She and her father then made their own and sat down, Taylor in between Sophia and her dad.

They all stabbed at their plates and things went quiet for a pleasant moment before her dad said upon swallowing a mouthful of lettuce, "So, you go to school with Taylor? He long have you two known each other?"

Sophia swallowed hard and her mouth worked for a moment without uttering a reply. Taylor spoke up first.

"We've passed in the halls before but we just got to know each other recently."

He smiled.

"Well, I'm glad to hear it. I hope your English test went well by the way."

"Huh?" Sophia said furrowing her eyebrows. Taylor discreetly moved her foot over Sophia's toes and stamped on them. Thankfully, Sophia got the message. "It, uh, good. It went… good." Sophia proceeded to stab a huge portion of vegetables and chicken onto her fork and stuff it all into her mouth. Taylor decided to use the opportunity to take control of the conversation.

"Sophia's on the track team." She blurted out.

"Is that so?" Her dad said.

"Yeah. So athletic it's almost scary. You should see her. She could probably beat any of the boys at school."

"Wow. When does the season start, March? Maybe we could go to a few of your meets." Her dad said.

"She's kind of the reason I started jogging, actually."

"Well, it'd be great if you had a running partner."

"I doubt I could keep up. But I was thinking, maybe you and I could go running together."

"Then I'm the one who has to worry about keeping up." He laughed.

Sophia was still stuffing food into her mouth. Her plate would be empty soon and she'd be fair game for conversation again. As Taylor was racking her brain to think of some harmless topics the doorbell rang. She almost flew out of her seat to answer it but her dad was closer and beat her there. He looked out the peephole then opened the door. There stood a tall, dark-haired, olive skinned woman in a heavy coat patterned in gray urban camouflage. She looked a little surprised upon seeing Taylor and her father in the doorway then put on a warm friendly smile.

"Hello," She said. "I'm here to pick up Sophia."

"Yes, of course. Please come in." Taylor's dad said gesturing inside. As she stepped through the threshold he continued, "I'm Danny, this is Taylor. I don't know if you two have met before, actually."

"No, I'm afraid I haven't had the pleasure. Hannah. Hannah Abernathy." She shook their hands. "Danny, Taylor, it's very good to meet you both."

Hannah's eyes drifted over Taylor's shoulder. Her warm smile melted into sadness. Taylor turned around to see Sophia standing back under the entryway to the kitchen.

"Hi, Sophia," Hannah said in a gentle voice marred by sullenness that suddenly spread across her face.

Sophia didn't say anything as she inched by Taylor and her dad to stand near Hannah while she threw on her coat and put on her shoes.

"I'm sorry but, um," Taylor's dad started to say to Hannah. "Are you… her mother?"

"No, I'm not." She said sighing a little. "I'm something of a mentor, actually."

Sophia has a mentor? Taylor thought bitterly.

"I can give you her mother's number if you'd like," Hannah said. Her dad nodded and went to fetch a piece of paper and a pen.

For a moment Taylor considered whether it be a good time to pass along a few notes to Sophia's 'mentor'. She was fairly certain her dad hadn't forgotten about the conversation she'd promised and only Sophia's presence managed to delay it a while but with so many relevant parties present maybe delaying it further wasn't necessary. Hannah might be a reasonable distance from a parent not to immediately take her side. Her bullies would be outed. Just deserts would be had. It would be an entirely reasonable thing for Taylor to do and well deserved for Sophia.

Sophia finished readying herself to leave. Hannah had turned to her and spoke a few quiet words with a hand rested on her shoulder massaging it soothingly. Sophia didn't appear uncomfortable with the contact and nodded at whatever Hannah had said, though her ever-dejected expression didn't fade.

Taylor couldn't kid herself. If she was going to point a finger at Sophia she would have done it already. Hell, she'd never have brought her home and patched her up to begin with.

Her dad returned with a pen and notepad. Hannah scribbled down several phone numbers. Sophia's home phone, her mother's cell, and Hannah's own number.

"Are you ready?" Hannah asked Sophia. She nodded.

"Hold on a minute," Taylor said darting up the stairs. She went to her room and rooted around in the closet until she found the gym clothes she'd folded into a neat pile and left there a week prior. She returned downstairs with them in hand and stopped in front of Sophia. "Here. The clothes you lent me last week. I washed them and everything."

Looking mildly surprised Sophia took the clothes in her hands.

Taylor didn't let go but instead leaned in close and whispered in her ear, "I'm keeping the shoes for a while."

Sophia gave her a single nodded as Taylor stepped back relinquishing the old gym clothes into her possession. Sophia turned to leave with Hannah but paused in the doorway. She turned slightly looking back over her shoulder at Taylor and her dad.

"Thank you," Sophia said softly.

Taylor and her dad stood freezing in the doorway for a moment watching Sophia and Hannah drive off.

"Nice girl." He said. "A little shy though, isn't she?"

Taylor turned away so he couldn't see the face she was making.

They returned to the kitchen. Sophia had rinsed her plate and placed it in the sink.

"I'm glad to see you're making friends again." Her dad said. "Are things really getting better?"

Taylor put a hand through her hair.

"Yeah," she said before continuing quietly to herself, "good for me." She heard her dad sigh heavily. Taylor spoke again before he could say anything. "I'm tired. I think I'll go to bed early."

"Taylor-"

"I know." She cut him off. "I know. It's just- It's late, it's been a really long day and I really didn't plan on- on Sophia staying so long. I'm glad we can talk again, dad, I really am, but-" She paused and turned to her dad who looked ready to protest. "I'm tired." She said once more. Her dad's defiant air deflated and he agreed.

They cleaned up the kitchen in silence and Taylor headed off to bed. She thought about what she would say tomorrow, where to say it, and how to react. The problem with her hypotheticals was that people were much more complicated in real life. She went to sleep thoughts abuzz about what to do with her new Sophia problem.

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Lunch was burnt square-shaped cheese pizza with far too little, if any, sauce, more canned vegetables, and strawberry milk. Waiting in line to get it had been even more of a hassle when Sophia knew all she'd do was pick at it. It was good for her to go through the motions, though.

Of course, she realized she hadn't been eating much and that fact probably had something to do with the near constant state of fatigue she was in. Her appetite tended to wane after a couple of nibbles making chewing and swallowing nothing but a chore. She wondered how long it would be until her stomach shrank to nothing and she simply wasted away.

She sat in the corner of the lunchroom again. The table of neo-Nazi assholes had decided to sit a distance away. Two of the guys had scrapes and bruises on their faces and could hardly manage to mumble an insult at her passing.

Sophia herself still had her hand wrapped in bandages. All present reminders yesterday. Everything piled on top until she simply shut down like someone else had taken control of her body while she could only sit in it and watch. Then, she ended up following Taylor home like a lost puppy. At least she could be proud of how she handled those Empire flunkies.

Taking her eyes off of her tray to scan the room Sophia spied Taylor entering the cafeteria holding a brown paper bag. Taylor looked in her direction. Sophia dipped her head but kept watching out if the corner of her eye. Taylor started walking toward her, stopped, looked around, paced back a bit, and then continued forward taking a seat directly across from Sophia.

There was no choice but to look up and acknowledge her.

"Um, what are you doing?" She asked. It sounded a little more confrontational than she wanted.

"Eating my lunch," Taylor replied opening her bag and unwrapping a sandwich.

"I mean, why are you sitting here?"

"Do you mean why am I not hiding in the restrooms or why I don't have a usual spot of my own?"

Sophia shrank back at Taylor's rebuff but she could understand. She didn't deserve anything less. The way Taylor had been so nice to her, fixed her hand, going so far as to offer a place to sleep and dinner when she awoke. None of it was fair. She could take a bit of snark, though. That made sense.

Over Taylor's shoulder, she could see Emma sitting not far across the room looking at them with suspicion.

"I'll just go," Sophia said gathering her tray. Taylor held a hand up.

"No, don't. I did come to sit with you, okay."

Sophia hesitated a moment then resettled in her seat but she had definitely lost her appetite.

"Sorry I kind of… passed out on your couch yesterday." Sophia said. Taylor hummed and swallowed her food.

"Yeah, uh, it's fine. Actually, I kind of wanted to ask you about that-"

"Shit." Sophia cut her off upon seeing Emma rise from her seat and stroll towards them.

Taylor frst looked confused, then, she twisted in her seat following Sophia's gaze and went rigid.

"I can't believe what I'm seeing. Are you two hanging out now? That is hilarious." Emma looked genuinely amused as she leaned on the edge of the table where they sat. She'd left all of her cronies behind but was confident all the same. "I really hope that everyone that hangs around me don't end up becoming complete losers. It can't be me can it?"

"Careful," Sophia said through gritted teeth.

"Or what? You'll hit me? Well, do it then." Emma leaned down into Sophia's face. "But just know as soon as you do you're finished. I know things about you. Certain things you wouldn't want certain people finding out about or else you'll be up shits creek."

Sophia's eyes widened. Fuck me.

It was no stretch at all to say that Emma knew more about Sophia than anyone else. Of course, she did; Emma was her best friend and there was no stiff competition on that front. Emma knew Sophia was Shadow Stalker. Hell, Emma knew about her trigger event, what details Sophia would share that placed her in the best light, at least. Even if Emma didn't want to go down with the ship by fessing up to everything they had done with Taylor she had given Emma plenty more to hang over her head.

"Texts, emails, all those pictures you were so proud of. Really, I would have deleted them forever ago. I just never bothered to be perfectly honest."

The goddamn trophy pictures. Whenever Sophia went out solo she took pictures of all the thugs she beat down. Sometimes she'd hurt them worse than she needed just to make it look good. Some of them were bad enough to get her booted right out of the Wards and into prison. It was so stupid. Sophia knew that it was stupid even as she was taking them but she'd been so hellbent on making herself look badass and impressing her friend.

"Don't even think about trying to steal my phone either. You know I'm better than that." Emma stood straight reveling in her victory looking between Sophia and Taylor, who each glared at her with eyes of scorn. "Look at you both. Peas in a pod." Emma looked at Sophia. "I heard about what happened, obviously." Her voice was even and thoughtful. She casually grabbed Sophia's carton of strawberry milk wedging it open taking a few sips. "Ironic, how after all your talk of predator and prey you wind up being prey. Just like her." She gestured to Taylor with her head. "In the end, you're just another victim." At that, she held the milk out at arm's length pouring it over Sophia's head.

Consequences be damned. If Emma was going to take her down then Sophia would give her a goddamn good reason to do it.

Sophia rose up and snatched Emma by the collar of her shirt instantly wiping the smug self-satisfied look from her face. She'd be lucky to be able to make a face with what Sophia had in mind. She prepared to swing with her opposite hand but felt her arm turn heavy like it was loaded down with weights along with a distant cry of "No!"

With both hands clasped around her forearm was Taylor who had nearly dove over the table to grab Sophia's arm mid-windup. Taylor held on resolutely even as she angled her body around the table wedging herself between Emma and Sophia giving the former a rough shove.

Sophia scowled when the smirk returned to Emma's face but she didn't make another move for her as much as she would have liked to. Taylor, on the other hand, turned to face her old friend and without hesitating slapped her across the face with an open palm. Emma's head turned sharply and her red hair flipped around spectacularly. Without even waiting for a reaction Taylor turned grabbing Sophia's wrist and yanked her away.

They walked through the halls at a brisk pace with Taylor in the lead until they came to a distant restroom. Sophia followed her inside. Taylor stopped to lean on the basin of the sink. Sophia could see her face through the mirror. Her brow formed a 'v' above her eyes which were shut tight and her mouth was in a deep frown.

Grabbing a few paper towels from the dispenser Sophia gave Taylor her space moving to the window sill at the far end of the restroom and started to wipe the strawberry milk from her face. She hoped being doused with beverages wasn't becoming a daily thing.

"I'm a victim, is that it?" Taylor murmured. She hadn't looked away from the mirror.

"N-no," Sophia rubbed a hand across her face. "I can explain."

"Then explain." Taylor's voice was growing in anger.

Sophia paused for a moment then said, "Survivors and victims."

"What?" Taylor said with a growl finally turning her head to face Sophia.

"That's what I told, her. It's a sort of- what's the word- philosophy. There are two kinds of people. The ones who get stronger when they come through a crisis and those who get- get weaker. That's pretty much what I told her."

Everything had made so much sense. Doing all that they could to fuck with Taylor just because they knew she would never step up and stop them. Never mind the reasons it had been fun. But then she found herself in Taylor's debt having already run up an agonizing deficit. In that debt, the meaning of Sophia's derision of Taylor had disappeared. Moreover, she had gotten Taylor completely wrong because of the simple fact that she did step up, again and again. Against Emma, against Sophia herself.

Against the Empire.

There was too much to ever pay back. That may not have been the worst of it because Sophia hadn't gotten it all wrong.

Taylor's eyes widened for a moment as realization dawned then her eyebrows furrowed and set themselves low.

"So that's how you did it. That's the bullcrap you poisoned her with? So why me? What did I have to do with any of that?" Taylor stepped closer toward Sophia and her voice was rising as she spoke.

"…she said she wanted to be stronger."

"So you do that by turning her into a backstabbing snake? By trying to ruin my life? You think you somehow get tougher by making other people your victims? Dragging them into your bullshit!?"

"I-I-" Sophia's lip quivered and she blinked quickly trying to clear tears forming in her misty eyes.

"'Predators and prey.' You think of everyone as just a bunch of animals? Is that why you think you can treat people the way you do? You fucking bitch. Well, did it work Sophia? Are you strong? Are you strong enough now?"

Sophia's shoulders slumped and her head hung low. In contrast to Taylor's angered shouts her voice was barely a whisper but for once, she managed to look Taylor straight in the eye.

"…No."

Taylor stood up straight, rage still spread across her face. She gave Sophia a once-over, then without another word she spun around and stormed out of the restroom leaving Sophia alone.

There are two types of people in the world. The strong, the survivors, the winners, the ones who don't break, and the weak, the victims, the losers, the ones who got crushed. She hadn't been wrong about that. She was only mistaken about which side of the fence she sat on.

Every day she felt more of herself crumbling away. Losing her nerves, losing sleep meanwhile everything important about her life disappeared one way or another. Her friends were gone. She left her family behind, her home. She wondered if she'd even be able to go out in costume again. Taylor's departure was the final punctuation on her downward trend. It had come far too late, in her mind. She didn't deserve any of the kindness Taylor had shown, best save it for someone else.

Tears rolled down Sophia's cheeks. She wiped them away, tried to suck it up but couldn't help letting her sobs escape.

She heard the swing door open, someone step inside. She wiped her eyes quickly fearing to be caught crying in the bathroom for the second day in a row. When she looked up Taylor was standing before her reaching out with a hand full of tissue. Anger was still mixed up in her expression.

"What are you doing?" Sophia's question was accompanied by an unwanted sniffle.

Taylor simply gestured to the tissues holding them out further. Sophia took them and wiping her eyes and blowing her nose trying not to look as pathetic as she felt. Taylor leaned on the window sill next to Sophia, though, leaving a distinct amount of distance between them.

They went silent. With her occasional upward glances Sophia saw the anger fade from Taylor's face as she stared away at nothing. Sophia swallowed the knot in her throat and spoke.

"I'm sorry." She said softly. "I really am." There was so much to apologize for there was no was really no place to start other than her general existence.

Taylor closed her eyes tight, it looked like her anger was making a comeback, but she opened them again releasing a breath and it faded.

"Thank you." Was all she said and they were silent again.

The bell rang marking the end of lunch but neither of them moved. Girls coming in to do their business received a pair of intense glares for their trouble until they left as expediently as possible.

Taylor waited until after the bell rang once more to speak again.

"Sophia," Her voice was low and gentle. "I don't know anything about whatever it is you're going through but-" She sighed. "Do you have anyone you can talk to? That woman from yesterday, Hannah, she said she was, like, your mentor or something right?"

Sophia responded with a dismissive half laugh and said, "Truth be told I've hardly had a conversation with her."

"Family's out?" Taylor asked. Sophia's wince was answer enough. "Friends? Oh, hmm."

"You're killing me, Hebert," Sophia said. "I'm fine. I'll be fine. Quit trying to go all mother hen on me."

Taylor leaned back looking lost in thought for a moment.

"I'm sorry about Emma." She said. Sophia shook her head.

"Don't be. There's no reason for you to apologize."

"I know but I've been there. I shared all of my secrets with her only for her to turn around and use them against me." She turned to Sophia with a face of dead seriousness. "It fucking sucks."

"Well, who am I to complain? It's almost like, what's that called? In stories, when people get what's coming to them?"

"Poetic justice. And—I don't know— that doesn't make it any less shitty. Or her."

Sophia nodded in agreement.

"You should have let me hit her." She said.

"No," Taylor shook her head. "Mine was long overdue. Besides, maybe… maybe you should just try and keep out of trouble for now."

"I'll try," Sophia said.

They settled into silence again.

Only when the bell rang did Sophia realize they skipped over the whole class period. Taylor didn't seem anymore up going to her last class than Sophia did.

When the door opened again Sophia prepared her best bitch-face. It was the Empire groupie with the bleached hair who walked in. She was looking down at her phone as she stepped through the door only to look up and see the unfriendly pair of eyes looking at her.

"Eeep!" She squeaked and then spun back around out of the room nearly hitting her face on the door.

Taylor snorted trying to hold in her laugh. Sophia found herself smiling a little too. At least until Principal Blackwell showed up.




"I have to say, Ms. Hess, I'm disappointed to have to see you in my office, again, already."

Sophia didn't say anything in response once again slumped in the chair on the wrong side of Principal Blackwell's desk. It pleased her a little to see the dent she made in it the day before was still in pristine condition. Taylor sat next to her no more pleased to be in Blackwell's office but she spoke before Sophia did.

"Why are you getting on her? She hasn't done anything."

The irony of Taylor saying those words in her defense was not lost on Sophia. It felt a little gross, even.

Blackwell went on seeming to ignore her protest.

"And you, Ms. Hebert. I wish I could say skipping class was unusual for you but what's this I'm hearing about you striking another classmate at lunch?" Blackwell asked.

Sophia spoke up this time.

"Emma fucking started it."

"Mind your language, Ms. Hess."

"Its true," Taylor said. "Emma was trying to provoke her."

"And you had to intervene by hitting her?"

"It was that or wait for a teacher to notice and do something." Taylor's voice leak sarcasm.

Blackwell barreled onward.

"I've half a mind to throw the both of you in detention for the next couple of weeks."

Sophia sat up a little and leaned forward. Blackwell sat back looking a little jittery.

"Fine," Sophia said. "But just me. I'm the one who should be in trouble, not Taylor."

That answer made Blackwell pause a moment.

"No," Taylor started to say in the momentary lull. "I'm the one who hit Emma. Just give me detention."

"That's bullshit and you know it," Sophia said to Taylor.

"Yeah, it is," Taylor replied. "But I was just telling you to stay out of trouble, so do it."

"Fuck that-"

"Enough," Blackwell interjected. "I don't want to see or hear about either of you for the rest of this week and next. No disruptions, no fights, no missed classes or it'll be suspension are we clear?"

Sophia and Taylor looked at each other before saying in unison, "We're clear."

After her ultimatum was delivered Blackwell sent them away with orders to go to class.

Exiting the office Sophia immediately headed to her locker.

"Blackwell is such a useless bitch." She vented to Taylor who walked in step next to her. "How does she even get to keep her job?"

Taylor murmured something in agreement.

Sophia threw open her locker and pulled out her coat. She closed the locker door softly when her mood shifted from anger, at the now absent Principal Blackwell, to shame, extremely aware of Taylor leaning against the wall a few feet away. Sophia rested her forehead on the cool metal door.

"I should just come clean."

"Maybe," Taylor replied. "But what difference would it make?"

Without another word, Sophia threw her coat on.

"Leaving?" Taylor asked.

Sophia turned to look at her nodding silently. Taylor was shifting on her feet a little.

"Are you, I mean, you're not going to, uh… hurt yourself or anything, right?"

Sophia cocked her head for a moment then chuckled lightly at the fact that Taylor could still be so concerned.

"No," Sophia said. "Haven't. Won't." Taylor's eyes drifted down to Sophia's bandaged hand. "Ah—this—I was just being reckless."

"That isn't really different," Taylor said holding up her bandaged thumb.

"I'll be careful."

"Um…See you tomorrow?"

"…Yeah." Sophia turned away and set herself down the hall.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------​

Taylor didn't bother going to class either—there was only a half an hour or so left in the day anyway— so instead she wandered around the halls. She stopped in front of a locker with no door on the hinges. The interior was scrubbed so clean it almost gleamed in comparison to the tarnish of the lockers on either side.

Back when Sophia had pulled her out of the filth with an apology all but waiting Taylor hadn't accepted. Couldn't. The halfhearted acceptance she expressed upon Sophia's second apology was more out of pity than forgiveness. How could Taylor ever forgive her? After the way, Sophia hurt her? After how much?

The days after Sophia's appearance in her life were varying degrees of miserable with the high points, Saturdays and Sundays and Summer days, being, at best, melancholy. Taylor never wondered about better days, future happiness always seemed more unlikely as days passed, instead her thoughts tended toward survival, continuation, and nothing more. Sophia had stolen away any safe haven for Taylor to recover from her grief and damned her to cling to it. Her life might've been greatly enriched had she never known Sophia Hess.

Taylor wanted to tell Sophia all of this, now that she might understand just what her viciousness had done but held her tongue. Poetic Justice. It shouldn't feel so wrong to give a villain her due but Taylor wondered where the line between righteousness and simply spreading more misery was laid and decided not to cross into the latter even if it meant not stepping into the former. Taylor wondered more about the line between altruism and foolishness and what it said about her that she had given the villain aid, a place to sleep and a meal to send her on her way. On that crossing, she was excruciatingly aware that she had already decided to leap forward with both feet and was waiting to see where she landed.

The final bell rang.

All at once classroom doors swung open releasing the pressure built by students geared up to leave. They all flowed into the hallway and Taylor blended into the crowd her letting her thoughts get washed for the moment out by the loud mixture of dozens of simultaneous conversations.

This time Taylor's dad was parked in his truck waiting for her.

"Hey there, kiddo," He said as she climbed into the passenger seat. Her expression must have been more apparent than she realized as he immediately looked concerned himself. "Is something the matter? Did something happen?"

"Sort of," She replied. His brow furrowed. "Dad, did you ever stick your neck out for someone you know doesn't deserve it?" Confusion took over for his imminent outrage.

"What's this about?"

Taylor sighed and leaned over on the window.

"The bullying is over. Can we just… drop it?"

Her dad blanched.

"You can't expect me to say yes to that." He said. "Why are you saying this? Did someone threaten you?" Taylor shook her head.

"No. Apologized even."

"That couldn't possibly make it all okay."

"No, it doesn't. I agree."

"Then, why?" He said exasperatedly. Almost pleading.

"…I think she's in a bad place, dad. Really bad. No matter what she's done or how much she deserves being suspended or expelled or whatever piling it on right now just doesn't feel right. More than that, thinking about what could happen if I did the wrong thing or nothing, I don't think I could live with myself. Right now she needs help more than anything."

Her dad sank back in his seat pinching the bridge of his nose.

"But it doesn't have to be you." He said.

Taylor had thought the same as she left Sophia in the restroom after delivering to her a few choice words; though not all of them, not nearly all of them. There were others. Other people who would notice the girl nervous and afraid running herself more ragged by the day. Someone would see her alone and betrayed by who she thought was her best friend. They'd hear weeping hiding herself away in the bathroom stall. Someone would notice, surely.

And, of course, someone had.

Taylor sighed loud and heavy releasing the held breath of many long days.

"Yes. I think it does."

 

[magicdownunder]

Ooooo... its on SV now.

I loved this fic and I hope more people read it.

 

[Schielman]

I loved this story on SB, and now it's here. Also, that last chapter doesn't have a threadmark.

 

[nmWarden]

This is incredible. It is easy to say that I like a story. Recognizing that a story is well written is far less common. This clearly has a lot of care devoted to character development. I love that that care has not been wasted. It plays a critical part in an already great story which is defintively pushing forward in the timeline. We didn't get the exciting cape fights shoved into our faces, but it is clear one of the heroes or villains involved will make a splash soon. We already love and trust Miss Militia. Here we get to see that she is a good person, but that doesn't mean that she is handling Sophia right. It doesn't mean that she is developing a relationship with her Ward.

Now for Emma. Emma's incredibly blatant taunting and abuse towards Sophia are completely logical for anyone that knows her personality. But they also did not begin overnight. Sophia and Emma drifted apart for a good amount of time before this new dynamic began.

Superpowers. It looks like Sophia can increase or decrease her corporeality/density now. She "bashed lockers with a black fist." I can imagine her leaping upwards, decreasing her corporeality in as much of her body as possible to get a lot of airtime, and then making a hand super dense so she can make a solid handhold in the side of a building. We'll see if she can still turn other objects incorporeal like crossbow bolts or still hide weapons in walls. Now for Taylor. Taylor might be a parahuman. We have evidence in a tiny number of capes that someone's powers can definitively change without having a second trigger. If that happened to Sophia instead of a second trigger, then Taylor triggered and Sophia saw the feedback. There's a slim chance that Taylor triggered as a Trump and somehow changed Sophia's power while lashing out, but I'm going to assume that's not the case. I could definitely believe that Taylor is a parahuman but doesn't realize it. We'll see what the truth is.

Criticism: Taylor used pepper spray on one of the gang members that pulled out a gun. So why would her dad act so cautious when giving her a new one? I'm glad he did it for a couple reasons, but something about the dialogue makes it sound like Taylor's never had pepper spray before. Next is Blackwell. There are quite a few authority figures that should be active at this point in the story: the detectives, Armsmaster, Miss Militia, Piggot... Blackwell is on that list, but her role in the school dynamic has been lacking. I assume that the other characters in my list are going to make an impact sooner or later. Blackwell though seems like an empty threat. She hasn't shown that she will "get serious" by, say, punishing gang activity at the school.
I sort of feel like I'm waiting until she stops getting mentioned in the story? There are some fanfics where she is taken out or convicted for how she failed in her responsibilities, but I'm not seeing any foreshadowing on her fate. Sure she has just brought up the "one last chance" line for Taylor and Sophia, but I don't see her as an actor in the story. Maybe I'm just letting my old impressions of her affect my opinion. Let's see if a hero, villain, or news reporter approaches her about Shadow Stalker. I could see her lying to their faces.

Thanks again for the fantastic story! I'm looking forward to what comes next!

 

[Joko]

Thanks for the kind words and I liked reading your analysis.

We already love and trust Miss Militia. Here we get to see that she is a good person, but that doesn't mean that she is handling Sophia right. It doesn't mean that she is developing a relationship with her Ward.

Click to shrink...

Miss Militia is great but she's gotta rethink her approach.

Taylor used pepper spray on one of the gang members that pulled out a gun. So why would her dad act so cautious when giving her a new one?

Click to shrink...

Wow, thanks for pointing that out. Obviously, I need to read my own story.

Blackwell is more or less just a point of intersection for Sophia and Taylor. Essentially the face of the school setting the "action" has been taking place so far. But the drama can leave the high school at this point.

 

[MrTwistr]

So is this a No-Power Taylor fic or something? Its good so far but im just curious.

 

[Joko]

IX
-----------------------------200 Days-----------------------------​

Miss Militia opened the door she'd been directed toward. The interrogation room wasn't quite as dark and dungeon-esque as those seen on tv but it wasn't exactly comfy either. When the man lounging in his seat on the far side of the room saw who had entered his eyes nearly bulged out of his skull. The reporter, Miss Militia noticed, was wearing the same clothing he had on when she ran into him the day before.

"Miss Militia, my favorite hero. Always a pleasure." The detective, who was sitting at the table across from the reporter, said without getting up from his seat.

"What's she doing here?" the reporter asked him.

"Well, ya know, this whole thing has been a joint- yadda yadda yadda. Obviously, we gotta call the heroes in." The detective said coolly.

"What the hell am I? I haven't done anything. Why're you calling capes down on me?"

"Relax, I haven't. She's here to get info just like I am. Like I said, all we want is to ask a few questions. You're not a suspect or anything like that." The detective said.

"Not at this time, anyway." Miss Militia added.

The reporter swallowed hard. "Well, what do you wanna know?" he asked.

The detective glanced back at Miss Militia. She nodded at him to proceed.

"As you'll recall," The detective began. "Each of us had our own little run-ins with you yesterday afternoon trying to snag some photos."

"And, like I said yesterday, there's nothing illegal about that. Ever heard of freedom of the press?"

"Yeah, yeah, save it. We ain't interested. What we want to know is how you knew to be there? Showing up at our doorstep right when key witnesses are coming out. That's hardly a coinkydink. So, unless you're about to reveal yourself to be a clairvoyant or pre-cognitive or whatever, I'm going to need you to tell me who told you."

"Sorry, but I'm not at liberty to discuss my sources." The reporter replied. Miss Militia took a small step forward. The reporter's eyes shot up and landed on her unwavering gaze. He looked away. "What I mean to say is, I'm not at liberty to discuss my sources because I don't know them."

"How's that now?" The detective asked.

"I just got sent a couple of emails. From who? I don't know. Must have started about a week or so ago, I think. All about the whole kidnapping and all that. Yesterday I got one telling me to get down to the police station cause it would be my last chance."

The detective leaned forward. Miss Militia spoke before he could. "Last chance? Last chance for what?"

"You know, for an exclusive. The case was about to be closed shut. It wouldn't be much of a scoop without something to show for it."

"Right," The detective said with a sigh. "So tell me, if the emails started a couple of weeks ago why wait 'til it was too late to do a write-up about 'em?"

"Well, other than the thinly veiled threats of overwhelming legal force curtesy of our illustrious heroine here," the reporter cleared his throat before he continued, "As you might imagine, like any large influential institution, the Brockton Bay Inquirer gets its fair share of spam. So, the filters on our servers sometimes don't take too kindly to sketchy looking emails."

"Christ." The detective said hanging his head. "Did they never try to contact you any other way?"

"Well, I wouldn't know would I? Like I said, I only got mixed up in all this yesterday."

"We're going to need to see those emails." Miss Militia said.

"Yeah, fine. Are we done here?" the reporter asked.

"Not quite." Miss Militia said. "The video that got released this morning. Do you know anything about it? Any mention in the emails?"

The reporter tilted his head confused. "Video? What video?"

The detective, who was resting his head lazily on his hand, said, "Ya know, you're about the worst newsman I have ever met."


"So," The detective said after sending the reporter on his way. "We've had a leak for weeks but our mastermind's efforts were just sitting there among messages about Nigerian princes, enlargement pills, and superpower serums. I'd almost laugh if I had any sort of sense of humor. And that guy, geez, ticks all the boxes for ethicless rube. Lack of competence notwithstanding."

"Our people will look at those emails. They may find something that leads back to the sender." Miss Militia said. "We'll keep you updated if we can."

"Right. Sounds like a plan." The detective said. "I'll start on this end. If someone here is leaking info I'll make it my business to know who."

"Thank you, detective," she said reaching out to shake his hand.

"Please, call me Don." He replied. "Oh, and by the way, how's Shadow Stalker doing in all this?"

The question made Miss Militia pause for a moment mid-shake. "She- she's managing."

The detective nodded. "Good. That's good. Part of the reason I ask is cause I talked with the other kid yesterday, the one who rescued her, Taylor. Real nice girl. Seemed pretty worried, though. About your ward I mean. I was hoping, if I ever ran into her again, I could, ya know, give her some assurance."

"You can." The detective winced a little when Miss Militia gripped his hand tighter. "We're doing everything we can. Tell her Shadow Stalker is in good hands."




PRTHQ was on alert; a condition Assault referred to as 'FUBAR mode'. Miss Militia didn't bother spelling that one out. Her mood since that morning had already done enough to feed her once emaciated swear jar. Two dollars it was owed. She'd dutifully pay in full whatever debt she'd run up by the end of the day; happily, even, if only she could say she had answers when all was said and done. Answers about how everything went so wrong. Again.

She walked briskly through the lobby. A pair of troopers in full combat gear stood on either side of the elevator. They let her inside after confirming her identity. She stepped in and rode the elevator downward cursing whatever tinker decided it was a good idea to make an elevator that moved with such oppressive silence.

The bottom level of the PRT building was full of cells meant to hold villains prior to being transferred to prison. The cells in the more secure Protectorate headquarters out in the bay saw far more use, however. Besides Miss Militia the only other soul on the floor was Armsmaster who painstakingly checked each of the empty cells.

She stood by for a moment and watched. He was in the middle of one of the tiny rooms scanning every wall with a device built into his gauntlet. Finding nothing, he exited the cell. As he stepped out he retrieved something from a compartment on his belt, held out a hand and dropped it into Miss Militia's palm. A disc no bigger than a penny; wafer thin and roughly metallic in color and texture except for a glossy ring in the center.

"One of the cameras?" She asked. He nodded stepping into the next cell. "Tinkertech?"

"Not quite. My first camera system was smaller and more powerful than these." Miss Militia couldn't be certain whether he was bragging or just making a point. "Their construction is rudimentary. Easily reproduced with the right equipment. Their fundamental design, however, is more cutting edge than any conventional camera I've ever seen. The lenses in particular. I will try to integrate them into my own tech, as a matter of fact."

Miss Militia held the camera up to one eye and looked into the lens. She didn't know what Armsmaster was seeing but took him at his word. The tiny thing had watched Shadow Stalker in her most helpless moments and broadcast them for all the world to see. Miss Militia fought the urge to crush it between her fingers.

"Not tinkertech, but we can't rule out a tinker having a hand in its making either."

"This is Coil," Armsmaster said grimly.

That was all that needed to be said. The Coil organization was trouble wherever and whenever the snake reared its ugly head. Miami, Chicago; there were rumors he even had a hand in what happened in Boston a few years back. Cities exploded into chaos whenever he decided the demand for warfare was getting too low. Brockton Bay, it seems, had finally qualified.

Armsmaster continued to work as he spoke. "Some of our vehicles were compromised but I've swept the building and found nothing else. Whatever the reason, releasing that video was important enough to expose themselves."

"That reporter I ran into yesterday had files from the investigation sent to him from an unknown source. That's too big of a coincidence." Miss Militia said.

"We could very well be looking at multiple breaches. Dragon is running a system scan to look for trails and backdoors."

"But why would they be after Shadow Stalker? She's been targeted twice now. What happens if this continues?"

"Coil is known to operate at oblique angles. Their goals tend to be to disparage the PRT and Protectorate as a whole while riling up the criminal element. The rest is just collateral damage. All a means to an end."

"How do we keep her out of danger if she's somehow at the center of all this?"

"We need to pay attention to The Empire more closely. With all of their activity lately, and Iron Rain's team coming back to town with a major show of force, it's likely that they're mixed up in Coil's play here."

"Have you talked to her?"

"Talked to who?"

"Shadow Stalker."

"No. I wasn't aware that she wanted to speak with me."

Armsmaster went on with his work in the cells and Miss Militia left him to it.

Jackass.

The harsh thought was about her longtime colleague was a bit unfair. She knew how he thought and how he operated, his tone-deaf attitude should have come as no surprise but it shouldn't be so hard for Miss Militia to see Shadow Stalker herself. The oppressively silent elevator ride was spent kicking herself for thinking of business first.

Her identity was verified at the entrance of the Ward's room before the door opened. Vista, Kid Win, Clockblocker, and Aegis were all inside and geared up for their pending patrols. They each straightened their posture upon catching sight of her. Chins up, chests out, shoulders back, stomachs in. Not quite standing at attention but a solid effort for an action they had only learned reflexively.

"Miss Militia," Aegis said.

"Hi. Don't let me disrupt you all getting ready for patrol. I was just hoping to see Shadow Stalker for a moment." The Wards glanced at one another. Miss Militia hadn't noticed immediately with all of their faces hidden behind masks but the vibe among them was despondent. "Is she here?"

"No. She didn't come back after school." Aegis said.

"Maybe she finally made some friends," Clockblocker said failing, utterly, to pull off a casual delivery.

"Have you called her?" Miss Militia was starting to feel nervous.

"Yeah, just now," Aegis said. "No answer. I haven't talked to her since this morning."

Miss Militia immediately reached for her on phone, found Shadow Stalker's number and put it to her ear. The beating of her heart and the pace of her breath quickened with each ring. She remembered the night Shadow Stalker disappeared. How stupidly slow their response had been. All the while Shadow Stalker was being put through hell.

Not again. Damn it all, not again.

Finally, the ringing stopped.

"Please leave your message for-"

She didn't wait a moment longer. "Piggot," she said as she spun back around. In the elevator once again Miss Militia stared straight ahead. Aegis had followed and filed in next to her. His helmet covered most of his face but left his mouth visible. It was set in a deep frown. Neither of them said a word even in the crushing silence. That would be far too close to making their fears a reality.

When the doors opened on the desired floor they headed straight for the director's office. Director Piggot was standing behind her desk speaking to Deputy Director Renick when they burst in. Piggot stared daggers at the pair of intruding capes. Miss Militia didn't care.

"Director Piggot, I'm sorry to interrupt but Shadow Stalker isn't answering her phone," she said.

"No, kidding," Piggot replied as she casually sat down in her chair threading her hands together.

"I need your permission to track its location." Miss Militia continued.

"That won't be necessary."

Miss Militia blinked. "Then, you know where she is?"

"Of course," Piggot said sounding about as haughty as a hard-nosed woman like her could manage. "Trust me when I tell you I haven't taken my eyes off the girl. From what I gather, right now she's managed to squirm her way into someplace where I daresay even she wouldn't cause trouble."

She's safe. Miss Militia could feel her fears beginning to retreat. She closed her eyes for a precious moment letting relief wash over her.

"Wait a minute, director. When you say you haven't taken your eyes off her…?" Aegis asked.

Miss Militia's eyes shot open again. "You're having her watched?"

"Yes, I am. Shadow Stalker has proven a danger to herself and a risk for the PRT as a whole. A chaotic element. Frankly, it would be grossly irresponsible of me not to at this stage."

"Does she know, at least?" Aegis asked.

"No. And I'd rather she didn't given her tendency to rebel. We've already seen how well that turns out."

"Were you ever planning on telling us about this?" Miss Militia asked.

"I've told Armsmaster. I'm telling you now." Piggot replied.

"With all due respect director," Aegis said. "Shadow Stalker is still a member of my team. Having her surveilled without her knowledge is entirely out of line."

"Is that right? It was, after all, this particular member of your team who endangered her life by violating protocol for what, I believe I can say with confidence, was not the first time, and, as a result and despite our efforts, whose pulverized face has managed to make the rounds all over the Internet. Tell me now if any of that sounds 'out of line' to you. But, if after a sweeping internal investigation, we manage to dig out a few moles then I will know who to thank for the opportunity. "

Both of the heroes were speechless. Miss Militia's heart was racing with anger again and she knew the next words out of her mouth would be curses.

Deputy Director Renick spoke next. "Tell us something. What did you both think was happening as you rushed in here? Surely, keeping an eye on her comings and goings is a better alternative."

"Indeed it is," Piggot said. "In fact, I'll send you both the reports I've received thus far. They're really very edifying. Truthfully, I think it's high time I start taking greater steps with her. Curfews. House arrest. Maybe even a handler."

"Director, I know Shadow Stalker can be a handful but all of that can't really be necessary," Aegis said.

"A handful?" Piggot said looking at him evenly. "I'm afraid she's far more than just a handful. Your teammate is already lucky that she isn't in jail. She's very lucky to be alive. She's lucky that having another trained parahuman fighting with us is currently worth more than the headaches she causes. I've taken a soft approach with her thus far only because I'd rather trust my appointed leaders than to micro-manage every point of discipline but if you can't rein her in then I will. Before more disaster strikes. Before she does something she or some other unfortunate soul can't come back from."

"We will." Miss Militia said. "Just give us time to work with her."

"You've had time." Piggot shot back.

"We'll figure something out." Aegis said.

"That doesn't fill me with confidence." Piggot replied. "Whatever you do you'd best do it quickly." Piggot paused for a moment letting her words hang in the air. When no one else spoke she asked, "Will that be all?"

Miss Militia's teeth were grinding behind her mask. "Yes, Ma'am. That is all." She said before turning on her heel and leaving the office.

That bitter callous old- that bitch!

In the hall, she rested her back against the wall with a hand covering her downcast face. She felt Aegis' presence as he walked over to her.

He spoke after a while. "No matter how I look at it, I can't help but think we, well-"

"We fucked up." Miss Militia said.

"…Yeah." Aegis went silent again.

Aegis had been there. He saw what those bastards did to Shadow Stalker. Her gurney had only passed Miss Militia briefly. She watched EMTs open the doors and push her inside. From a distance what she was seeing was almost unbelievable. Her mind was, for a moment, unwilling to accept the horror of what was right in front of and barreling down toward her. She stepped aside to let them by and it was too late to look away. She was caked in blood and bruises, and her skin was peeling and red with horrible burns. Shadow Stalker had been brutalized. Miss Militia stood frozen in a moment of perfectly helpless grief and watched her go by.

In her storied career, Miss Militia had seen much of the worst. She sat at the bedsides of comrades as they'd done for her. Some made the attempt to laugh away their injuries. Many even took pride in their scars. Over the years she'd lost friends to wounds that would never heal and worse. Even Wards would lay down their lives when the need came. She grieved, she always grieved, but as unpleasant as it all was she had learned to accept it.

Many capes weren't religious by any measure. It was hard to see God in a world filled with so much cruelty and sorrow but believing that there was some hope, for everyone, at the end of it all comforted her in the worst of times. It solidified that hope, knowing that all of the friends and comrades she lost over the years had left this world at their best; making the ultimate sacrifice for a cause greater than themselves. As heroes. In all likelihood one day she'd be asked to make the same call and hoped she could stand to honor all those who went before her and perhaps inspire those after by leaving the world as her best self.

But a life wasn't something to simply be thrown away. It's such a sacrifice because it is something so precious. Far too few realized that, it was something Miss Militia had to remind even herself from time to time, and Shadow Stalker nearly threw hers away in a fit of foolish rebellion.

Piggot was right. Miss Militia was supposed to be the leader, second in command of the Protectorate under Armsmaster, but hadn't managed to cut it in one of the key components of her job. How could she argue with Piggot's methods when Shadow Stalker nearly died while the people who were supposed to be responsible for guiding her hadn't done a damn thing to stop it from happening?

"What're we going to do?" Aegis asked.

Miss Militia wished she had an answer for him but she could hardly wrap her head around the problem. So much so that rejoining Armsmaster to investigate Coil was more solid ground.

Down the hall, the elevator door opened up. Miss Militia saw from over Aegis' shoulder a woman stepping out with a box underneath one arm and a leather briefcase in her opposite hand. She turned the other way apparently not noticing the two capes.

Miss Militia stood up straight. "We'll do better." She said. "I've got someone I need to talk to. You've got patrol?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I'll get going." He said accepting the dismissal went on his way.

Miss Militia caught up with the woman as she was struggling to negotiate her way through a door with both hands too full to reach the knob.

"Let me get that for you."

The woman looked up slightly surprised. "Ah, Miss Militia. It's so good to see you."

"It's good to see you too, Jessica."

Jessica led the way into her office and set her things down on the barren desk. Miss Militia followed her inside closing the door behind her.

"I hope all of this hasn't been too much trouble. Moving around and everything." Miss Militia said.

"Not at all," Jessica said. "My rotation changes all of the time and I've learned to pack light." She tapped the box she'd brought in with her.

The next thing Miss Militia wanted to ask was for help but she stopped, reminding herself that Dr. Yamada wasn't there to be her doctor. "How have you been?" She asked instead.

Jessica smiled and leaned back on her desk. "I've been managing. I've taken on a few more clients than usual recently."

"You're not overworking yourself, I hope."

"No, I'm taking care of myself. Thankfully, I've been able to arranged things so that I can be here twice a week for the next few of weeks. It's rare that I get to do that but I thought it might be warranted." Jessica's smile faded. "And how have you been holding up?"

Miss Militia found a chair against the wall behind her and sank into it. "Managing. Been better." She stared down at her hands. "I am glad you're here. I can't think of better hands for Shadow Stalker to be in."

"I will do my very best," Jessica said. "How has she been coping? Sophia?"

Miss Militia sighed deeply trying to find the words for how much more exhausted and ill at ease Shadow Stalker- Sophia was becoming by the day. "Not well." She said. When Jessica didn't say anything after a beat she went on, "Kid Win- Chris tells me she might not be sleeping well. He hears her exercising some nights. Honestly, it's noticeable even without that knowledge."

"I see… If I may ask, how does she get along with her fellow teammates?"

"…Guarded at best. Outright antagonistic at worst. It… it's been a problem since she joined."

Jessica hummed. It wasn't a cheerful sound. "I see. And does she spend her nights here often?"

"Yes. She hasn't been home since New Years, I think." Miss Militia saw a subtle frown curl on the corners of Jessica's mouth. "You don't like what you're hearing I take it."

"Just considering. More barriers, more obstacles to overcome."

Miss Militia was among the first ever in the Wards program. As seriously as she took her job as a full-fledged Protectorate hero she considered role molding the next generation of heroes of similar importance. She believed in the Wards program that had brought her up so well and decided long ago that what she wanted to be was a role model. A paragon if she could ever become one. But in the end, that idea didn't amount to as much as she'd hoped.

"How can I help?"

Well…" Jessica thought for a moment. "There's no question that supportive relationships help lead to better outcomes after a traumatic event. What's worrying to me is that it sounds like Sophia has been disconnecting herself from the people around her. That's a hard road for anyone to travel and it seems she's been on it for a while already. It may sound a little cheesy but essentially what I'm saying is: be there for her."

Be there for her. Miss Militia turned the words over in her mind. They were such simple instructions and yet so utterly complicated. "Where do I even start?"

"Try starting small. Find common ground and go from there. Spend some time with her when you can. I know it isn't as easy as it sounds. She might remain guarded, as you said, at least initially. Sometimes she may not want to talk with you at all. She might even reject you or get angry. But don't pressure her into feeling any different. Right now, just make sure she knows you're available. Even if you feel like the two of you aren't interacting much simply being together with her doing something ordinary, like, watching a movie, will be good for her."

"Right," Miss Militia said. "I can do that much."

"I can imagine how difficult this must be for you," Jessica said.

"Well… I have been a bit frustrated with all this lately. All this time I think I knew I needed to do something I just didn't know what. Or maybe I did know but I've been too much of a coward to actually do it." Jessica tilted her head. Miss Militia spoke again before Jessica could say another word. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to come here and use you for therapy… but thank you."

"You're welcome," Jessica replied smiling again. "I'm glad we could have this conversation, actually. It was helpful for me to gain some insight before my session with her tomorrow."

Miss Militia nodded. "…I suppose I should be getting out of your way." She said standing to leave. "Let me know if you need anything at all. Maybe we could have coffee sometime."

"Yes, that sounds nice," Jessica said. Miss Militia reached for the door. "And Hannah," She stopped and looked back at Jessica. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

Hannah smiled beneath her mask. "Of course. And you do the same."



The quarters for Protectorate members at the PRT building were less spacious than the rooms on the rig. One of the reasons Hannah didn't stay there very often. Of course, given that she never needed to sleep, she might spend many days and nights away from any place that looked like home if she needed to. Being a noctis cape she felt blessed with the extra time that would otherwise be spent sleeping or drowsy but downtime was a curse that begged to be filled with activity.

Usually, she'd pull an extra patrol shift or see about handling some other important matter of hero business. Unlike her teammates, she could be ready at all hours of the day. So she was. Always armed thanks to her power and even if her full costume wasn't close by she kept a spare bandanna tucked away. Upon entering the room she removed the one she was wearing as the door shut behind her.

It was a comfy little apartment. A small living room with a tv, and a bedroom, with its own adjacent bathroom. Hannah showered quickly, brushed her teeth and left the bathroom in a robe while towel drying her hair.

There was another reason she didn't stay at the PRT building often. It lacked a sufficient amount of windows. Out on the Protectorate Headquarters, she was treated to a view of the entire Bay and the city beyond. In the mornings, with the sun shining in from the east, the picturesque scenery was beautifully distorted by the forcefield covering the rig. At the PRT she was merely treated by white walls and fluorescent lights. She hung a flag up above her bed and erected a bookshelf but those two things had about exhausted her abilities as an interior decorator.

About the only thing her cramped little corner of PRTHQ was any good for was getting a peaceful night's rest.

Laying back on the bed Hannah turned things over in her troubled mind once more. The same conclusion was reached. She had failed. She failed to protect Shadow- Sophia. She failed to give her the guidance she needed. Even at that moment, she was failing in the simple advice Jessica had given her. Frankly, she wasn't certain she'd be able to follow through at all.

Hannah closed her eyes and let herself drift off. It had been 200 days since she last slept. One of her longest spans of time without so much as a cat nap. Her body never demanded it but she could and she did on occasion because she recognized the good it did. It kept her grounded. It reminded her of what was important. But those reminders were harsh. And as time went on it became harder and harder to want to remember.

She didn't dream. She had before when she was a girl, but that was a lifetime ago. When she slept her memories played back on a movie reel in her mind's eye, clearer than the day she lived them. Her powers were a gift but oftentimes she took issue with the projectionist in her head. Snapshots and jump cuts that were far too often malicious pictures of her worst memories.

She was young again. She saw her parents, the ones who had birthed her. They had loved her dearly. Then, she was orphaned and taken hostage in short order. With pain and fear of certain death came her power and the strange vision of an incredible being falling to earth. With her new powers she'd been able to protect the few people left from her tiny village. And she had taken lives.

Her first Endbringer battle. Behemoth, burning the world around him with every step. Her power wasn't enough. No gun was big enough to meet the task as she watched comrades dying all around her.

Challenger's induction ceremony. Her heart swelled with so much pride she thought it would burst. Then, she watched him forced to kneel in the street, a sword was raised high above his head before it fell cleaving through his neck. Just grainy black and white security footage. She hadn't been there for him either.

The ringing of her phone on the nearby nightstand woke her. She was alert in nearly an instant as if she'd not been asleep at all and reached for it. It was Aegis.

"Hello." She said.

"Miss Militia. I'm sorry if I'm bothering you." He said.

"You aren't. Is something the matter?"

"Well, it's Sophia-" Hannah's heart was ready to shoot its way out of her chest. "She just gave me a call and she needs to be picked up. I'd go myself but I'm still on patrol."

Hannah patted her chest releasing a sigh of relief. "I understand. Where is she?"

"I can text you the address."

"Okay, thank you." Hannah almost hung up but stopped. "Carlos," she said and wondered in the brief delay if he had hung up first.

"Yeah?" he replied.

"I know being a leader is tough, believe me. I just want you to know that if you ever need to talk, I'm available."

"I- thank you. I may need to take you up on that."

"Good. We'll talk later, then."

Hannah hopped out of bed and dressed quickly. She was already on her way to leave by the time her phone chimed with Carlos' text.

Methodology aside, the visions gave her sort of clarity when she awoke to find herself back in the present. A reminder that everything wasn't just dust in the wind. She had spent her waking hours for the past day, weeks, or perhaps even longer than that caught in uncertainty. Unable to take the steps she knew she needed to. But she had a job to do. More importantly, if she could be so prepared to die at her best she could live at her best as well.



Hannah arrived in a quiet neighborhood uptown wondering whose home it was she had come to. Like most of the houses in the area, this one was looking a tad worse for wear. The roof looked in dire need of refinishing as did the paint and a flimsy step on her way up to the porch nearly gave way under her weight. Reaching the door without further incident she pressed the button feeling an odd hint of relief when she heard the corresponding ring on the other side.

A few seconds later the door swung open to a middle-aged man. Next to him was a dark-haired teenage girl. Both bespectacled and so very clearly father and daughter. Hannah recognized them at once—Armsmaster's reports were indeed thorough. Danny and Taylor Hebert.

Hannah dispelled the shock on her face quickly and the smile that replaced it was genuine.

"Hello. I'm here for Sophia."


Back in the still running car Hannah and Sophia seated themselves and took off on a silent drive. Sophia leaned her head on the window gazing at the passing streets outside. Hannah was groping her mind for something to say and grasped at the first thing she found.

"I didn't realize you were friends with her, Taylor."

Sophia's short dismissive laugh dispelled the idea just before she said, "I'm not."

"Oh? I just thought-" Hannah stopped herself and went back to square one. Silence. That could be a topic for later, maybe. Start small, she thought. "Are you hungry? We could stop somewhere."

"Just ate."

"Ah. Well, we could stop for some ice cream or something. My treat." That got no response at all. Sophia hadn't even looked at her the entire drive. I sound like a divorcee trying to gain favor with her kid. This is pathetic.

They stopped at a red light and Hannah leaned back in her seat and closed her eyes. Start small. Find common ground. Much more simple in conception than in practice. No, truthfully, the trouble was that Hannah didn't know much about Sophia's life outside of being a Ward. She didn't know anything about her school, she didn't know who her friends were or if she even had any at all, she didn't know what made her want to leave home so abruptly. She was an absolutely sorry excuse for a mentor.

It had been a long time since Hannah held felt so angry.

She thought back to when she was a Ward, back when the program began. She was just about fresh off the boat when she started her training. Hardly spoke a word of English but she was grateful for her new home. So grateful, in fact, that all of the little frustrations of being thrust into a seemingly unknowable new world never really got to her. She could roll with the punches of finding it hard to be understood or changing the way she dressed or leaving behind all that she knew in a collection of shallow graves. And in those moments when she couldn't there was always her power. Back then, there was one thing she did a lot of when she felt frustration building.

"When we get back," Hannah said. "I think I'll head to the shooting range. Do you want to join me?"

Sophia turned her head. Her eyes met Hannah's.




Overhead lights turned on as Hannah and Sophia entered. Besides them the place was empty but they each wore bandannas over their faces regardless. Solid black for Sophia and, of course, stars & stripes for Hannah. They put on hearing and eye protection, chose a couple of target sheets and placed one on a metal hanger sending the paper seven yards out, about the distance one might face an enemy combatant.

Hannah reached for her power. It moved to her hand glowing green for a moment before taking shape as a crossbow similar to the sort Sophia used as Shadow Stalker. She registered the look in Sophia eyes and the tilt in her head as disappointment. Hannah tried again. Her power shifted into the form of a Glock 23.

"Have you ever fired a gun before?" Hannah asked.

"Yeah," Sophia replied.

Hannah handed off the weapon and watched carefully as Sophia took it. She figured Sophia must have had the rules of gun handling, or rather crossbow handling, hammered into her skull at least as much as she had herself when she was a Ward. Still, Hannah had never accompanied Sophia to the range and there's always good old-fashioned bullheaded recklessness to get people hurt when they otherwise shouldn't. This time, though, she would be there to protect and guide her.

Hannah already had the golden rules of handling on the tip of the tongue but as it turned out Sophia proved herself not-so-bullheaded. She handled the gun with care pointing it down and away as she was looking it over and familiarizing herself with its ins and outs. She checked the safety and then released the magazine.

"It's empty," Sophia said flatly. Hannah reformed the pistol in her hand and handed it to her again. Sophia checked the magazine again—it was loaded this time—before shooting her a dirty look. Hannah made no apologies.

They turned their attention to the target twenty-one feet away. Sophia raised the gun, placed her finger on the trigger and fired.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

The shots landed to the left of the bullseye on the seven and eight rings. Sophia lowered the gun and brought it to her chest with a tut clearly dissatisfied with her performance.

"Not bad," Hannah said.

"I just gotta get used to the recoil that's all." She took aim again. She double tapped.

Bang. Bang.

Bang. Bang.

Bang. Bang.

The shots landed with a tighter grouping clustered on the eight ring. Sophia paused for a moment readying to fire again.

Bang. Bang. Bang. Click.

All three hit bullseye.

Hannah nodded approvingly. "Didn't take you long to make the adjustment." She said.

"Out." Sophia placed the gun down flat in front of her. "Your turn."

The weapon glowed green and flickered back to Hannah's hand.

The heroine's relationship with guns was complicated, to say the least. Hannah had seen people use guns to destroy others both intentionally and through simple carelessness. There was no subject she could possibly take more seriously than putting a firearm in someone else's hands, especially those of a child. Shadow Stalker was handy with a crossbow and, as far as Hannah knew, she always had been even during her time as a lone vigilante. Those skills don't just come from nowhere.

"Who taught you how to shoot?" Hannah asked. "Before you joined the Wards, I mean." She tried to make the question sound as innocuous as possible. The answer could offer her insight into where Sophia was coming from; a little bit of who she was. Things about her not found in files and reports.

Sophia crossed her arms and there was the tiniest twitch in her eye when she answered, "What's it matter?"

Figuring she had about exhausted Sophia's tolerance for small talk Hannah dropped the subject. She sent another target down the next lane and took aim. Sophia stepped aside and watched. Thirteen shots rang out in quick succession. All hitting center with a tight grouping. Every bullet in the same hole.

"Damn," Sophia said. Hannah couldn't help but smile a little.

Hannah traded off the gun and Sophia stepped up again.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.




They finished after shooting holes in a dozen or so target sheets each. Gunshots aside, they had spent most of their shooting session in silence but it was the most time Hannah had ever spent with Sophia, all the same. In fact, it was the first time in a long while she had spent any time with a Ward outside of a patrol shift or official meetings. She hoped she could call it a small step forward.

"This was fun," Hannah said to Sophia as she accompanied her to the Wards room. "We should do it again."

"Hmm. Maybe."

Not a no, at least.

"See ya," Sophia said as she entered the Wards quarters.

"Yeah," Hannah replied. She thought a moment about letting their time together end on that note. She could leave it at that. Avoid pushing hard just take her time and build a relationship slowly. Was that just her fear talking?

Over the years Hannah had learned not to take unnecessary risks. Conserve her strength. It came from knowing far too well how bad things could get. It was easier. Safer. Somewhere along the line that became her mindset across the board. Rules never to be broken, tough decisions she preferred not to make, and people who she reasoned she was better off not knowing too well. Heroes came and went. No matter how Hannah consoled herself the grief chipped away at her. Getting too close was a risk. It was easier to remain distant.

Challenger was one it would have been easier to have never known. He had been rough around the edges in a lot of ways, headstrong and often pugnacious, but he was no less a hero in the end. He lived up to his name by fighting the good fight unwaveringly until it finally took him. Maybe it was because Hannah couldn't understand why he did what he did, and she likely never would, or maybe it was because she loved him unlike the way she had anyone else, which she had regrettably realized far too late; whatever the reason it had been a bitter turning point.

It would have been far easier never knowing how someone so stubborn could be so principled. How someone who relished the very thought of a fight could relish fighting for a righteous cause even more. How someone with their mere presence could make the days less trying. Yes, it would have been easier never knowing any of that but it would have been such a horrible shame too.

"Sophia," Hannah said pulling down her bandanna to reveal her face. Sophia half turned to look at her. Hannah took a breath while trying to find the words. "I can imagine how hard today must have been for you—no—how hard these past weeks must have been." Sophia's eyes turned angry. Hannah pressed on. "I want you to know that if you need me I can always make time for you. I don't sleep so feel free to call me even if it's late at night. Or come up and see me if you'd like. I'll be staying here for a little while as well so I won't be far. I just want you to know that you don't have to be alone. I'll be here for you if you'll let me."

Sophia yanked off her bandanna and looked at Hannah with an expression of sheer scorn. Hannah figured she was working up to harshly dismissing the very idea of ever seeing each other again. Instead, Sophia turned away without a word and disappeared behind the doors of the Ward's quarters. That wasn't so bad. But whatever Sophia's reaction had been Hannah still would've tried. Sophia needed her best and she'd give it.

Hannah returned to her apartment and once again lied back on her bed; not intending to sleep, just to decompress a while and make a mental checklist for how she might spend the next few hours. She'd need to get few things from her office on the rig before she can set herself up at the PRTHQ. She would also see if Armsmaster had any updates about the Coil situation and those emails from that reporter-

She sat up coming to a startling realization. "That snake. He wouldn't." She grabbed her phone, opened the browser. She searched for the Brockton Bay Inquirer. The top headline read 'Daring Ward Rescue Turn Average Joes into Heroes.'

Hannah cursed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------​

She was only eleven when she first held a gun. It was big in her hands. Heavy. He had only wanted to take her brother, Terry, but she practically begged to tag along. She doesn't remember why.

"Squeeze don't pull he said." He said. Just about the most words he had ever said to her back then. It was weird. She hated that about him. She hated the way he dressed. And she hated his stupid fucking mustache.

Bang.

The sound of the tide lapping against sand was drowned out for just an instant. She missed.

When they all went home they were supposed to tell mom they'd been at the movies. He went back to his quiet hard-ass routine. He was always quiet unless he was pissed off or drunk. One usually meant the other. Then mom would yell, Abby would cry, Terry would retreat into his room, and she'd sit still not making a sound until it was all done.

"I keep telling you to keep your shoulder's square. Do you know what that means?"

She hated seeing his ugly yellowing teeth. She hated the dirt under his nails. She hated the smell of alcohol on his breath.

Bang.

The bottle exploded into a million tiny shards.

At home things started going missing. The tv, the radio, mom's money for the week. Food went missing too.

Mom worked more and Terry had to take care of Abby. When he showed up for another trip to the 'movies' Terry didn't want to go with him anymore. She didn't want to go either but she couldn't stop him from dragging her by the arm.

"They never gave a fuck about us. Everything I-I did for this goddamn piece of shit country… not a single fuck." She hated his fucking rambling. She hated his stupid stumbling walk as he tried to place his freshly empty bottle down next to the broken ones. He tripped and face planted in sand full of broken glass. He turned himself over face bleeding from cuts looking like he didn't even feel it. He clutched the bottle against his chest. "Are you fuckin- are you going to fucking shoot or not? Do it. Get it over with."

And why shouldn't she? She hated his face. She hated his body. She hated his voice. She hated him.

She raised the gun and stood there on that secluded beach for a stupidly long time listening to the sounds of the ocean made ugly by the snores of the passed out deadbeat. Some time after the sun had set she dropped the weapon in the sand and went for a long walk home.

She hated being hungry, she hated her horrible fucking mess of a life, and more than anything she hated being too weak to do anything about it.


The memory made tears form in Sophia's eyes. She rose from her bed having failed to make it to anything approaching sleep. On her desk, frameless and propped up against the wall was the family photo she brought from home. Mom, Terry, Abigail with her standing in the middle. And there was the man whose face she'd ripped out.

She stood up and took the photograph in her hand. She could never place her finger on it before but it always looked so… wrong. Not just the rip. There was something in that picture that couldn't be fixed. Maybe not ever.

With a hand on either side of the picture, she ripped it in half. The tear bisected her younger self. Then, she put the two halves together ripped them again. And again. And again, until all that was left of it were tiny scraps of confetti sprinkling into the trash.

Sophia lied back down in bed.

She'd been staying at the PRT for weeks. There was perspective in looking at it all from a distance. The photo showed it clearly. It was always the same. Even before him. Even after. They were never the family that smiled at each other around the dinner table. They were never anything like Taylor and her dad who cooked and conversed together. There was no point in trying to lie to herself anymore.

Home was broken. And it always would be.

 

[Radek]

This is not the Coil I remember -what changed? And what is he supposed to gain from this whole mess?
MM and SS bonding time. Strange, but maybe things will work out on that front.
Sophia remains broken, Taylor may just break soon and everything is going to hell in a handbasket. Life really sucks at times.

 

[noliar]

So, Piggot rips into Aegis and Miss Militia for not keeping a closer eye on Sophia, rants that she's done worse that they don't know about and doesn't actually tell them what. Typical Piggy.

That leaves Hannah trying to deal with her as purely the traumatised victim rather than the traumatised victim who is sick with guilt and who has split with her only friends because they we her accomplices. It goes poorly.

 

[Lokimotion]

If the Brockton Inquirer reveals the faces and maybe names of Taylor and Danny, then everyone at Winslow knows she saved SS, and a week later Sophia comes back a psychological mess who viciously attacks anybody who tries to mess with Taylor. There's no way that a significant number of students won't put two and two together. The only problem is that I can't think of anything that Coil might gain from this. The teenage girl who was tortured by neo-Nazis turning out to be a bully in high school is hardly the sort of thing to make public opinion do a 180. Outing a Ward won't do anything other than bring a shitstorm down on him if it ever gets traced back to him.


It's interesting how Sophia views the Hebert household as a happy home, not knowing that they're only cooking and speaking together because she's there. A nice bit of irony.

 

[WanderingAirhead]

Well, I enjoyed this much more than I anticipated. The start was a little clunky, and hard to get through, but the narration smoothed out in the end. I especially love the character interactions. You know they are great when you can tell which character is which just by the words they are speaking and the way they are behaving, and you definitely pull that off.

The introspections could use to be a bit shorter, as it is you could probably tell the same story with half the words without getting rid of any of the plot. But I still love it. Keep up the good work.

 

[Joko]

X
-----------------------------Fever Pitch-----------------------------​

The sounds of Sophia's assault on the heavy bag reverberated throughout the training room. The rattling of the chain, the pop of her padded fists against sand packed in leather and the hiss of her breath whistling through gritted teeth.

She needed this. Her day, every day was proving to be a gauntlet of misery, shame, and outrage. Though, to say she had been working out these frustrations with aggressive activity would be to miss the point entirely. She wasn't aiming blind anger at a target as she had during yesterday's brawl. She was in control. She was meditating.

It was a lot like running track. All she had to think about was her body in motion. Technique, breathing, willing herself to move her tired muscles. Anything else was a problem for another time.
Every gesture fell under meticulous scrutiny. When punches landed with anything less than perfect accuracy she struck at her intended target until she could hit it from any angle. When her footwork was a hair out of step she repeated the motion until it was burned into muscle memory. When her guard dropped low she slapped her face and forehead as she brought it back up; one part reminder, one part punishment. If she wasn't going to be her harshest critic some bastard with a knife would be more than happy to provide their two cents.

Even though her legs ached, the cuts on her hand were splitting open again and her lungs burned, she fought through. The alternative was worse than a bit of discomfort. The alternative was to be weak. She couldn't allow herself to be weak ever again.

Her workouts eventually brought her to a sweet spot of exhaustion, and equilibrium. When the intrusive thoughts and anxieties of the day couldn't find a foothold. If they did that just meant she hadn't done enough.

Sophia noticed the bag suddenly becoming unyielding under the force of her punches. She took a few steps back just as Dennis poked his head out from behind it.

"C'mon. Show me what ya got!" He said with an enthusiastic slap to the bag. Sophia's reply was the stink eye. Practically the only way she'd ever looked at him. "I'm not getting in your way am I? I just heard cries of distress and had to come investigate."

"Wha-?" She squared herself toward him. "The fuck are you talking about?"
Dennis shook the bag back and forth crying, "Ow! Ow! Help it hurts! Ow ow ow!" She rolled her eyes feeling silly for allowing Dennis, of all people, to put her on edge. The Wards' self-appointed comedy relief was never as funny as he thought he was. "Seriously though, it just happens to be time for my daily rounds of intense combat training. You can watch if you want. I might even learn you a thing or three."

"I fucking doubt it."

"Or better yet, how about we go a few rounds?" Dennis punctuated his declaration of challenge with a few wimpy jabs. "I could use a warm-up."

"Pass," Sophia said as she began removing her gloves. Dennis' sudden intrusion spoiled the lone wolf atmosphere she had so carefully cultivated and more importantly, he was already starting to get on her nerves. Lucky for him the workout helped her successfully choke down the bud irritation he had such a knack for making her chew on. But the boy really just really loved to skate on thin ice.

"Come on, you don't have to be scared," he continued. "I promise to go easy on you… cause you're a girl."



They met on the mat at the center of the training room floor. Dennis donned a pair of gloves of his own as well as padded headgear and a protective cup. Sophia only needed the gloves.
"Before we start, ground rules," He said holding up his hands. "Technically, since training is supposed to be practice for real fights I really only have to hit you once to win, technically. Cause of my power. Agreed?"

"Fine," Sophia said rolling her eyes. It wasn't likely to help. When it came right down to it she was the best fighter on the team and Dennis just wasn't ready for her.
The electronic timer rang and their match began. Dennis advanced cautiously; Sophia stopped him in his tracks with a firm jab to the nose. When his head bobbed forward again it met with her right hand. He stumbled backward.

Even with all the training he got as a Ward Dennis' lack of experience barely made him any better the average chump Sophia might have come across on the street. She sidestepped his clumsy headlong attempts to rush her, made him miss his mark with every one of his mile-wide punches and then punished him with counters each and every time. Dennis' eyes desperately swiveled toward the clock whenever he had the chance. The bell was the only thing that would save him.

It felt good. There's nothing quite like the little rush of confidence whenever an opponent's attack sails past her ear or whenever hers strike them squarely in the nose. There was no feeling quite like completely dominating someone, even if that someone was a complete scrub; he'd been asking for it anyway.

Sophia figured she'd cap the bout by knocking Dennis firmly on his ass to show him his place. But she misstepped. Her punch overextended and her foot dragged as one of Dennis' flailing fists managed to clip her chin just barely. Just barely enough to make her lose her balance right as the timer sounded signaling the end of the round.

"Oh, wow," He said looking down at her, wheezing for breath. "I did it." He threw his hands up taking the pose of a tired and bruised champion.

Sophia gave him a stare like death.

"Now-" He said taking several steps backward. "-before you maul me, just know that I promise that I'll never tell anyone." Sophia climbed to her feet. "Yeah, nobody ever has to know… that I totally kicked your ass just now."

Like her costume, Sophia's work wear was always black if she could help it. For one, it makes her harder to see in the dark. Two, it's stylish as fuck. And three, it didn't show blood.




Her workout finished Sophia hit the Wards' lounge with her sights set on a long shower and apparently walking in on a breakfast club meeting. Dean looked up as she entered. He sat on the sofa next to his girlfriend, Victoria Dallon, who was next to her sister, Amy. Otherwise known as the teen heroes of New Wave Glory Girl and Panacea.

Sophia would have preferred to pass through quietly but quickly realized that they were all staring at her.

"Um… hey," Victoria said.

"Need something?" Sophia replied.

"N-no. Just, uh, wanted to say what's up, ya know? What's up?" By the time Victoria finished stumbling through all that, she was looking over at her boyfriend with eyes pleading for help.

It was suspicious that Glory Girl had taken any interest in her. They weren't friends, they weren't teammates, they weren't really anything.

"…Right. Whatever," Sophia said trying to make an escape.

"Wait," Victoria said gliding in front of her. "We just wanted to see how you were doing after- I mean-"

"They were worried about you," Dean cut in.

Sophia looked over at Amy who was sitting on the sofa with her head resting sleepily in her palm.

"Yeah," Victoria said. "I mean, you're going through some shit I couldn't even imagine. I just wanted to know if there was anything we could do."

"Yeah. You can leave me alone." Sophia said.

Glory Girl had it in her to look disheartened for a moment but that blatant rejection wasn't enough for her to change course. With a big stupid grin, she said, "I got it," hovered over to her sister, tugged her by the hand off the sofa and then presented her to Sophia. "What if Ames gave you a little tune-up?"

"Tune up?" Sophia repeated.

"Yeah, it's great. You'll feel totally refreshed and relaxed. Like a whole spa day in just a minute or two."

"Vicky~" Amy sounded as if she was about to protest but couldn't quite muster the strength of will.
Victoria draped her arms over her sister's shoulders whining, "Please~" And just like that Amy's apprehension died.

"Well, okay but it's up to her," Amy said.

In all honesty, Sophia felt like shit. Aside from her hands which were still healing from their cuts and scrapes, she was tired and sore all over all of the time. She had nothing to lose in this deal and hopefully, they'd leave her be afterward.

"Fine," Sophia said.

Amy rested the tips of her fingers on Sophia's bicep. The aching in her body disappeared on contact. Amy kept her hand there for a few moments before finally retracting it.

The 'tune-up' hadn't been all it was hyped up to be. Aches and pains were gone but she still felt as heavy and exhausted as ever.

"Is that it?" Sophia asked.

Amy shrugged.

"You're not giving me much to work with. You should really eat something. And get some sleep too while you're at it."

"I could go for a snack myself," Victoria said beaming again at Sophia. "How about we head do to the cafeteria for a little second lunch?"

"I'll pass."

"Come on. It'll be my treat." Victoria grabbed Sophia by the arm linking the two of them together as if they were the best of friends. Blondie was getting a little too pushy now. Sophia tried tugging her arm away but Glory Girl's super strength held it firm.

"How about you-" Sophia wanted to bite the girl's ear off, maybe literally, but the anger she was feeling changed course as she spoke. How could she be mad at such a kind, pretty girl who was only trying to do something nice for her? It must be her own fault. There must be something wrong with her. "…alright. Fine. Let's go." Sophia deflated and allowed herself to be dragged away.

With the identity of New Wave capes being public knowledge only Sophia and Dean wore masks; Dean with a convenient one-size-fits-no-one-at-all domino mask the PRT provided for out of costume capes while Sophia donned the black bandanna she'd received from Miss Militia; an infinitely superior alternative.

Not even the sight of the food and snacks in the PRT cafeteria had managed to stoke Sophia's appetite. Instead of spending time laboring over the litany of choices that didn't excite her in the least she grabbed a random pre-made sandwich that must have been sitting out since lunchtime. Nothing like soggy bread and limp lettuce to wow the taste buds. While loitering around waiting for the others to make their choices she couldn't help but notice Amy glancing at her from the salad bar.

"What?" Sophia asked.

"Nothing," Amy replied. "But, maybe you should get some soup instead."

"What business is it of yours?"

"…Do whatever you want." Amy turned away with a grimace.

"Hey," Victoria said cozying up next to Sophia. "Do you like lobster bisque? I hope so because I got you a bowl."

"Um, okay. Thanks?" Sophia said. She had to wonder what it was with these chicks and soup.

After Victoria paid for their food, that is, after Dean covered for her because she forgot that she didn't have her wallet but promised to pay him back, they all sat at a round table near the corner of the cafeteria.

The sandwich was about as appetizing as Sophia had anticipated. The brothy soup was better tasting and went down quick. It was a decent recommendation, she had to admit.

Something was off but it was hard to tell exactly what or why.

Sophia sipped her paper bowl of soup. Amy poked at her little salad. Victoria and Dean chewed on their snacks. Aside from them and a woman with a mop and a bucket of filthy water the lunchroom was deserted. It was all normal except it wasn't.

What world was Sophia in that she was having a meal with Glory Girl and Panacea? She didn't even like them. Meanwhile, her only actual friend completely fucking hated her. And why did Dean keep giving her that look?

Uneasiness ate away at her. Always with her somewhere in the pit of her stomach threatening to consume her from the inside out. Each entrance and exit was a doorway to disaster. Hidden corners were dangers in disguise. Unknown faces were the masks of enemies. Even from where she sat surrounded by supposed allies each with their own superpowers she was enveloped in uncertainty.

"Is everything alright?" Dean finally asked.

No. Of course not. Nothing was alright. She didn't want to be there. So why couldn't she just leave?
She looked across the table. At Dean, then Amy, then Victoria. They were all looking at her. She hated it.

After a pregnant moment, Amy turned to her sister and said, "Vicky! Aura!"
Realization dawned. Glory Girl's goddamn emotional aura. One of her powers that made people feel what she wanted them to feel and she'd been using it on her the entire time.

As soon as she felt the aura's influence lift Sophia rose to her feet.

"You bitch! You fucking bitch!" She yelled before stomping off leaving the other teen capes wide-eyed and at a loss for words.


To Sophia's dismay, her unease didn't lift with the influence of Glory Girl's aura. It lingered. She just needed to reorient herself. She needed to feel normal again.

Back in the Wards quarters Carlos and Missy were there dressed to go out on patrol. Meanwhile, Dennis sat at the console station with his head tilted backward and bits of red tissue paper plugging each of his nostrils.

"Hey, I was hoping to run into you," Carlos said smiling.

"Lemme tell her." Missy was smiling too. It was weird.

"Tell me what?" Sophia asked.

"Some good news. Remember Flechette? She's coming here to be our new teammate. Isn't that cool?" Missy said. "It's about time we got another girl on the squad, right?"

Flechette. A Ward from New York. Sophia had met her during their joint training camp last summer. They'd wound up competing to see who was better with a crossbow. Although she would never say it to her face, even Sophia had to admit that Flechette was the superior sharp shooter. Regardless, the two of them managed to get pretty friendly. The prospect of her moving to Brockton Bay should have been at least a little pleasing to her and yet it wasn't.

"Right. I get it. Bringing in a replacement. Whatever. Not like I give a shit."

Both Missy and Carlos were taken aback.

"No, that's not what this is," Carlos said. "We don't want to replace you."

"Yeah," Missy said. "You said you thought Flechette was cool before. We thought it might cheer you up a bit."

"Who said I need cheering up?" Sophia said. "Why don't you all just mind your own goddamn business?"

Missy couldn't help but shrink back a little. Carlos placed a hand on her shoulder and started to speak but Missy straightened her back confidently and said, "I know you don't consider us friends but we're still your teammates and that's not going to change any time soon."

"Well, guess what?" Sophia said jabbing a finger in Vista's face. "I don't need you. I don't need any teammates. And I don't need the fucking Wards!"

Even with tears welling up in her eyes Missy defiantly stared Sophia down. But their contest was interrupted by a new challenger. Victoria and her posse returned from the cafeteria and she approached Sophia with a bashful expression.

"Hey. I-I wanted to apologize for earlier. I really wasn't thinking when I used my power."

Sophia immediately turned her disdain away from Missy and said, "I don't give a shit. From now on just stay the fuck away from me."
Dejected, Glory Girl floated back over toward her sister and her boyfriend. Sophia turned away as well intent on finally, being left alone. She was halfway to exiting the briefing room when someone else intruded.

Miss Militia briefly looked around the room.

"Shadow Stalker." She said upon identifying her.

"What?" Sophia asked as the heroine approached.

"I'd like to speak with you for a moment," Miss Militia said with a soft voice.

"Can't it wait?"

"I'd rather talk now if it's all the same." Her voice took on a more stern tone in her reply.

Sophia placed her hand on a nearby wall. Bitching out Miss Militia like she had the others wouldn't fly but she wasn't interested in talking to her either. She didn't want to talk to anyone. She didn't want to see anyone. She wanted it all to disappear.

Sophia balled her hand.

"Why can't everybody just leave me the fuck alone!" Sophia underscored her cry with a punch into the wall plunging her fist through the mortar as though it were paper mache.

The room sucked in a sharp breath and held it. When Sophia withdrew her fist from the hole she created it was black as ink and, as evidenced by the crumbling brick, harder than stone.

Carlos' mouth moved as if he was about to say something but no words came out. Missy was covering her mouth with both hands. Dennis's jaw had dropped along of one of his bloody nose tissues. Victoria, Dean, and even Amy managed to look aghast.
A trigger event is what gives a cape their powers. At some horrible moment in a person's life, they have a one in a million shot to wind up with superpowers for their trouble. Sophia had never before shared hers with the team. But this time she didn't have to tell them. They could put two and two together when she had written the numbers right on the wall with a display of her new power. She had a second trigger event. And now everyone knew.

Miss Militia was the only person who didn't remain frozen.

"Would you all give us the room, please?" She said.

Sophia was still shaking when Miss Militia placed a hand on her back while the rest of the teen heroes filed out with bowed heads and sullen faces. Miss Militia then led Sophia toward the console station and pulled out one of the chairs.

"Have a seat."

Sophia sat. Miss Militia sat opposite to her and pulled down the star-spangled bandana covering her face.

"Take a few deep breaths." Miss Militia said. Sophia took some deep breathes. "Keep going, don't focus on anything but your breathing."
Sophia followed Miss Militia's instructions. Eventually, she closed her eyes and everything but her breath. Her breathing slowly grew steadier and after a long moment, Miss Militia spoke again.

"You missed your appointment." She said.

"Yeah, well, no one even asked me if I wanted one in the first place," Sophia replied. Therapy wasn't something that appealed to Sophia on a conceptual level. She played her cards close to the vest around the people she knew much less some stranger.

Miss Militia sighed.

"No, I guess we didn't." She said. "I'm sorry about that. I should have talked to you about it more before now."

"And I'm sick of everyone treating me like some pathetic charity case."

"I think we're all just trying to find ways to help,"

"I don't need any of your help."

Miss Militia's expression was unflinching as she looked at Sophia who found she couldn't meet her gaze for very long.

"Show me your hand," Miss Militia said.

"What? Why?"

Miss Militia held out her own hand palm up. Sophia unfolded her arms and allowed Miss Militia to take her hand and look over her it. She unwrapped the frayed and peeling bandages to reveal the impressions in her palm made by Sophia's unclipped fingernails digging into them and the two-inch scar of her knife wound. Miss Militia traced it with her thumb.

"You worry me, Sophia."

Sophia yanked her hand back.

"You all think I'm some weak little girl now? I'm not."

"I know you aren't weak. I could never think that about you. But that doesn't mean I like seeing you get hurt."

"It's not like you ever gave a shit before."

For the first time since the start of their conversation, Miss Militia dropped her gaze.

"I do care about you, Sophia. That's why I'm here with you now. That's why I want to do my best to give you whatever it is you need. Accepting help doesn't make you weak, you know?"

This time it was Sophia's gaze which was transfixed on Miss Militia. The heroine who had always been so serious and hard-nosed, who over her lengthy career had achieved near legendary status, who was never without a weapon holstered at her hip actually looked vulnerable.

"I'm going to tell you something I know you've already realized by now: The life of a hero isn't easy. In fact, it can be downright brutal at times." Miss Militia was finally looking up again. As she went on she spoke with more confidence. "You'll spend your days fighting, you'll know what it's like to stare death in the face, you'll lose people. People you love. Some nights- some nights will be like hell. No one makes it through this life unscathed. One way or another we all have to learn to cope. And, take it from me, it's far better to learn from someone who's been there before than to struggle through it alone. You went through something horrible, Sophia. Thankfully, you survived, but it's the sort of thing that'll stick with you. It's something you'll have to carry but I know it's nothing you can't manage. Just give us a chance to show you how."

Miss Militia clearly wasn't one to mince words and Sophia couldn't find fault in them either. Being a hero wasn't pretty. Sophia knew that but until now she wasn't sure anybody else did. They pretended it was all just fun and games.

"I've managed so far." As soon as Sophia finished speaking she realized the obvious flaw in that line. Being on her own had nearly gotten her killed. "Look, I just- I don't need therapy."

"I understand how you feel. You like to be self-reliant. Am I wrong?" She wasn't wrong. Miss Militia leaned forward and continued. "I can't say I don't respect holding on to your independence. That said in such a situation if you want to act in your own best interest, isn't it better to use someone else's experience if you might gain from it yourself?"

"…Should a hero even be saying something like that?"

"I'm willing to say anything if it'll convince you to give the headshrinker a chance." Miss Militia said with a cool smirk.
Sophia's temper had cooled since the start of the conversation. She and Miss Militia never had much of a relationship before but she was as sharp as one would expect from a hero of her caliber. With as much insight as Miss Militia seemed to have into her, Sophia thought she might've gotten some insight into Miss Militia as well. A real by-the-book sort of character. A goody-two-shoes. And someone who's seen more than her fair share of tragedy.

"You have a choice here, Sophia, and it's not mine or anyone else's to make." Miss Militia went on speaking but lost the easy expression she wore just a bit earlier. "I can show you the steps, and lend a shoulder but you're the one and only person who can get up and walk. Just making a decision about what you need and getting it for yourself, even if it's help, it takes strength, a lot of strength." She took a long breath as she finished speaking. "Alright, I'm done with my bit for now. All I have left to say is: Dr. Yamada is waiting for you. The ball's in your court."

The upper levels of the PRT were nearly deserted. The workday had ended and only a few serious looking characters still roamed the halls. Among them was Miss Militia leading Shadow Stalker to a suite of offices. They approached a door that was open slightly. From inside came rapid taps of fingers hitting letters on a keyboard. Miss Militia knocked softly.

"Come in," came a woman's voice from inside.

The woman behind the door stopped typing as they entered, looked up and smiled.

"You must be Shadow Stalker." She said.



Sophia's chair was made of pins and needles; stabbing up and down her back no matter which why she leaned. Looking for the right position, she got up, rearranged her chair so that its back reclined against the wall while its front was flanked by the door and the office's only window. That was about as cozy as things were going to get. Without comment, Dr. Yamada rearranged her chair to face her patient.

"First thing's first. I want you to understand that everything we talk about here is strictly confidential. It is important that you feel safe and comfortable enough to speak about any number of sensitive subjects. Now, with that in mind, are you okay for us to continue?"

"…yeah."

"Good."

"How long is this going to be?" Sophia asked.

"About 55 minutes," Yamada replied.

"And I'm going to have to talk about my feelings or whatever?"

"Actually, compared to future sessions I'll be doing most of the talking. Since this is our first meeting I'm mostly going to be walking you through your treatment plan. But if there's anything you feel you need to tell me or if you have any questions, please, feel free to speak up at any time." When Sophia didn't comment or object Dr. Yamada continued. "I understand that you've gone through a traumatic event recently. As a rule, all parahumans experience trauma and many, unfortunately, are never give the tools to recover. That will be the ultimate goal of our time together. By the end of our sessions, it is my hope that I've helped you to develop the skills to essentially be your own therapist. To that end, our sessions are going to feel a little more structured than you might imagine and there will be a few things I will be asking you to do on your own."

"Homework?" Sophia asked.

"Yes," Yamada replied. "Homework."

The first bit of the session was nothing but questions. "How, would you describe your mood?" "How do you respond to changes in your mood?""What makes you feel anxious?" Sophia kept answers concise. her only interest was in moving things along. Dr. Yamada wrote in her little notepad seeming satisfied in any case.

Next more or less a lesson in vocabulary. Even though Sophia tried to make everything said about herself as brief as possible it seemed somehow that the woman sitting across from her had seen right through it all. Yamada explained, at length, symptoms from the mental trauma handbook like she was ticking them all off on a shopping list.

Intrusive memories; flashbacks and nightmares. Check.

Hyperarousal; constant vigilance, restlessness, and anxiety. Check.

Avoidance; withdrawing from friends, family, and uncomfortable situations. Check.

Negative emotions; aggression, sadness, fear, detachment, hopelessness. Fucking check.

Worst of all every symptom makes the next one worse. Flashbacks create anxiety. Anxiety leads to fear. Fear keeps your guard up. With your guard up you learn to avoid just about anything that worries you in the slightest.

Sophia rolled her head back and starred up at the blurry ceiling hoping her tears would keep pooling in her eyes instead of rolling down her cheeks. Dr. Yamada offered her a box of tissues.

"I'm fucked up," Sophia said reluctantly reaching for a tissue.

"You aren't. I promise, you aren't," Dr. Yamada said. "Emotional reactions to feeling threatened are natural. It's natural for us to feel afraid when facing danger, or to feel anger when someone has wronged us. Usually, these emotions will run their course and diminish. But, when these emotions linger, thoughts alone can be enough to begin manufacturing and recycling through them again and again."

"So, how do I stop?"

"Aftereffects of traumatic experiences largely depend on how one encodes it into their memory. That is to say, how you see the event in the context of the rest of your life. Traumas often violate prior beliefs about oneself, others, or the world at large. Beliefs, for instance, about safety, trust, control, and intimacy can be deeply affected. As such a person may unconsciously use unhealthy methods in order to incorporate the event into their memory laying the groundwork for the thoughts which, in turn, create an intense emotional feedback loop.

"In short, there is something, or a set of things, about the way you make sense of your trauma or of thinking about yourself, others, and the world, that's keeping you from recovering. One of the major goals of your therapy is to find out what those things are."

Dr. Yamada talked a bit more before the session was over. It was a lot to take in but at least things were starting to make sense. Eventually, Sophia was allowed to leave; albeit with a new notebook and her first assignment: start a diary.
She was already planning to skip out on the homework as she walked back to the Ward's quarters to finally be alone.
At the elevator, someone was already waiting outside of the doors; a young woman in a well-fitting suit.
"You are Shadow Stalker, correct?" The woman said her voice sharp and monotone.

With a wary step backward, and a self-conscious check to ensure her bandana was on, Sophia took a more serious look at the woman. She stood poised and confident with the heels of her polished shoes firmly clicked together and hands folded behind her back. The woman was even younger than she appeared at first glance. In fact, if not for the impeccably professional air she gave off one might think she was no older than one of the Wards.

"I apologize. That was rude of me." She turned toward Sophia with the set of a drill sergeant. "My name is Dinah Alcott. I am your Youth Guard representative." She offered her hand and continued, "It is a pleasure to finally meet." When Sophia didn't shake the woman retracted her hand with no apparent blow to her confidence.
The Youth Guard. Nosy pricks who stick their faces into cape business and the reason why Wards are hardly allowed to get any real work done.

"Yeah, well, I don't remember asking you guys for a representative," Sophia said.

"Regardless," Dinah replied. "We are here."

"Well, kindly fuck off."

"I cannot do that, I'm afraid. In fact, as we speak I am in the middle of a meeting with Director Piggot. You are, of course, our topic of discussion; broadly speaking."

"If you're supposed to be in a meeting what the hell are you doing here?"

"I excused myself to make her wait on me," she said. "It's a power move, I'm told. Frankly, I find these sorts of things tiresome but the Director can be difficult even under the best circumstances. More importantly, however, it gave me the opportunity to meet you here. I am certain the Director did all she could to keep us from speaking."

"Any particular reason Piggy wouldn't want us running into each other?" Sophia asked. She didn't like the Youth Guard but she did like doing things she wasn't supposed to do especially if it displeased Director Piggot.

"You should know that you have afforded us, that is, the Youth Guard, a favorable opportunity."

"The hell's that supposed to mean?" Sophia demanded.

"Scandals and tragedies hurt the PRT's public standing and provide clout to those of us demanding change," Dinah replied with no hesitation.

"So you're using me to get your way?"

"Correct."

The answer pissed her off but Sophia had to give the woman credit for being a straight shooter.

"So why were you out here waiting for me?"

"So I could ask you this question: do you want to keep being a hero?"

"Wh-what?"

"Do you want to-"

"I heard what you said." Sophia snapped. "But what do you mean? Are you asking if I want to quit being a Ward?"

"Not as such. I only mean that your current arrangement with the Wards program may no longer be ideal. If there are things you want to change you do have that choice."

"Change? Like what?"

"No more field work, for example. From this point onward you could, if you choose, completely retire as Shadow Stalker."

Sophia almost couldn't believe what she was hearing. Retire Shadow Stalker? She'd heard some crazy crap before but nothing quite as batshit as that.

"Screw that," Sophia said. "You people always have something to say. You think it's all so easy. Shows how much you know about us."

"I know more than you probably think," Dinah said. "Tell me, what do you see yourself doing in the future? Five years, perhaps?"

The question caught Sophia off guard. Of course, she'd thought about the future before, had vague thoughts about going to college or maybe just being a full-time hero. The possibilities had never concerned her that much. What concerned her now was how it seemed as if all of those possibilities seemed to have evaporated. Whatever the future held Sophia was no longer sure where she fit in.

While Sophia struggled to find an answer Dinah continued.

"There was a time when conscripting children to fight in the streets was unthinkable. What the PRT with the Wards program has managed to do over a handful of decades is rebrand the concept of a child soldier while touting as an absolute necessity to bring about law and order. I beg to differ." Dinah checked her watch. "I should be on my way. Allow me to leave you with my card." She reached into her breast pocket and produced a starch white business card. Sophia accepted the card looking it over though there wasn't much to look at on the markedly minimalistic piece of paper. Her name, number, and email address. "I don't expect any immediate decisions but there are a great many organizations across many industries specifically interested in employing parahumans. If that is of interest to you I can provide further information. So when you're ready, please give me a call. We can help give you resources and options that the PRT may be reluctant to provide on their own. Perhaps no one has told you this yet but not all of us have to be heroes."

"Us?" Sophia was ready to pounce on the woman's poor choice of word but the steady gaze she leveled back was enough to know that she hadn't misspoken.

The woman pressed the button to call on the elevator; the doors opened immediately to an empty cab. She then stepped aside with a short gesture to allow Sophia entrance and said, "It was a pleasure meeting you, Shadow Stalker." And with that Dinah Alcott about faced and set off down the hall.

One person. There was only one person Sophia could think of who had ever wanted her to quit being a hero. Her mother. To everyone else it was status. It kept her out of trouble at school, hell, it kept her out of juvie. An honor. Always one of the good guys no matter what she'd done. It was power. Grown men would flee at the sight of her; just saying the word was like flexing a muscle. It was an identity; without which she'd be less. Just another bystander. A statistic waiting to happen. Next to nothing like she was before. And yet, when all added up, she wasn't sure she could find a way to square herself with the status of hero anymore. Or if she even wanted to.
She rode downward the silent elevator carry trying to tug and pull the right answers out of her own head but they just weren't there. When she reached her floor the doors opened to an empty hallway. No one was there to bother her. No one trying to cheer her up, trying to give her help she didn't ask for. Finally. She was alone.
She decided to head to a different floor.

A passing PRT pencil pusher pointed the way. Surprisingly, considering who had commandeered it, the office was every bit as unassuming as those around it. Sophia knocked on the door.

"Enter."

Miss Militia's eyes gave away her surprise at Sophia's unannounced visit but she seemed pleased all the same.

"Hi there. Pull up a chair." She said. Sophia flopped down in one of the empty seats in the corner of the room. "So, what can I do for you?"
Sophia rubbed the back of her neck and said, "I just wanted to talk I guess."

"I can do that." Miss Militia replied. Her grin was practically audible. "About anything in particular?"

"Mmm... I'm not interrupting anything am I. I can come back later if you want."

"Not at all. Just double checking reports, finalizing patrol schedules, answering emails and so on and so forth. I sort of wound up becoming the paperwork horse what with Armsmaster holing himself up in his lab most days and one other, who shall remain nameless, making a few too many careless mistakes."

"That sucks."

"It's not so bad. I like to keep busy."

"God, you're such a girl scout."

"Yes, actually, I was."

Sophia let out a languid laughed. It had to be said, though, despite acting like a total goodie-goodie all the time Miss Militia was an actual badass. Sophia had seen it for herself on the gun range.

"About that video," Sophia said. "Have you heard anything?"

Miss Militia stopped everything she was doing, closed her eyes for a moment before looking up at Sophia with a steely set in her eyes.
"Yes. While the investigation is still ongoing we have managed to make some headway."

"Why are you talking like that?"

"…Like what?" Sophia's sudden question seemed to catch her a little off guard.

"Like you're in front of a news camera."

"Ah. Sorry. Reflex I guess." Miss Militia tone softened. "Anyway, we're pretty sure we know who placed the cameras. One of the fleet coordinators suddenly quit and disappeared a few days ago. We're still looking for him. The good news is that Armsmaster is confident that you weren't being targeted here. Not directly at least."

That bit of info didn't do much to reassure her.

"What if someone recognizes me?" Sophia asked.

"We've done our best to minimize the possibility of that happening. Apparently, Dragon's got some algorithm that'll flag the video if it shows up again. And Piggot's got her own ways of burying the lede and keeping things out of the press."

"Wait. Dragon?" Sophia said. "As in the world's greatest tinker, Dragon?"

"Armsmaster asked her for a favor is all." Miss Militia said.

Everyone was making such a big fuss about Sophia. It was irksome. Maybe all heroes were like that. Even Taylor had fussed over her.

Taylor.

Sophia physically tensed at the thought of her. All of the fond feelings she had for Taylor were always tempered by the reminder that the girl was her victim and not her schoolyard chum. The victim that had gone on to save her worthless goddamn life. The victim who was probably more cut out to be a hero than she ever was.

"Hey," Sophia said with a sullen expression. "What made you want to become a hero?"

"Well," Miss Militia stopped to think for a moment. "My power was going to be with me whether I wanted it or not. I had to learn to use it and I decided that I wanted to use it for something good. Something I truly believed in. And frankly, I was happy to be given the opportunity."
Somehow, Sophia managed to look even more downcast than she had before. It was about the answer she expected but it was so wildly different than anything she would have said. She had never cared before if her reasons for being a cape differed from others. Nevertheless, she had no choice now but to seriously wonder if they were good enough.

"Is it worth it?"

Miss Militia didn't look surprised by the question. Solemn, if anything.

"Yes. I chose this life and all woes and it's a choice I continue to make every day. For me, yes, it's worth it."

"What about me?" Sophia asked. Tears had begun rolling down her cheeks. She didn't even bother trying to stop them. "What if- what if it's time for Shadow Stalker to hang it up?"

Miss Militia stood from behind her desk, walked over to Sophia, knelt down, and pulled her into a hug. It was a tight warm hug; the kind Sophia remembered hating.

When it was over Miss Militia wiped her cheek and said, "No one can decide the answer to that but you. No matter what that answer turns out to be, just know that I'll be there for you. I promise."

Sophia rested her weary head on Miss Militia's shoulder as the heroine started to pat her back in a slow soothing tempo.

"Can we go shooting again?" Sophia asked, her voice muffled by the heroine's camo top.

"I'd love to," Miss Militia replied.

 

[Joko]

XI
-----------------------------Eyes and Ears-----------------------------​

She'd wanted to wait until they got home, their driveway at the very least, but against her will, her thoughts drifted back to Sophia and what she'd revealed.

"It's Emma," Taylor said. "Emma's been bullying me. Ever since we started high school. There are others but mainly, it's Emma." Her dad's first reaction was bewilderment.

"Emma? I don't understand. I thought- she's your best friend."

"Not anymore. She hates me. She makes fun of me every single day. She gets other people to make fun of me or attack me, or steal my stuff and ruin it. That thing with the locker. That was her. That was Emma." She wiped away tears as she chanced a look up at her father and saw his expression change from shock to slowly deepening anger. "Every day. Every day she's doing something to me. Or I'm constantly worried about what she's planning to do to me. It never stops."

The stories Taylor had heard about from her dad's friends weren't exactly otherworldly but they painted a picture very different from what she ever saw at home. When a major shipping company tried to replace his people with non-union workers she remembers hearing the words, "put the fear of God in them". Now, she could see a glimpse of how that might've gone down. Red in the face, eyes set into the distance, his hands gripped the steering wheel like he was trying to break it in two. He didn't say anything more after that or ask any questions. The look on his face was enough to tell her he got the picture.

When they got home her dad pulled over to the curb by their house. Taylor, confused, turned to him.

"Go ahead in," He said. "I'm going to go pay the Barnes a visit."

Taylor was sitting on the living room sofa, with her homework in her lap, when her dad came home about an hour and a half later appearing no less frustrated than when he left.

"How'd it go?" she asked.

He sighed quietly and said, "Ya know, I always thought Alan was kind of an ass."

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"If Emma says or does anything to you, you tell me about it okay?"

"Okay, dad."

As usual as any other day, Taylor's dad dropped her off in front of the school. And as usual, she went straight to class while other students were still trickling in and milling about. What was unusual was how her steps felt just a bit lighter, how she stood just a bit straighter and how her gut never twisted into a knot even as she left her first period into the hallway filling with students that she might've feared being accosted by. She was alert all the same. Her outlook may have changed but that didn't mean letting her guard down. Especially when Madison walked into view.

Taylor stopped for a moment to avoid their paths crossing and watched. Madison walked down the hall stopped. Turned around toward Taylor and stopped again before turning back around. She was like a girl shaped spinning top. She spun around once more this time making eye contact with Taylor, then gestured with her head toward something further down the hall.

Looking between the shapes of passing students to a row of lockers Taylor saw Emma and Sophia standing there. Chatting. For a split second, Taylor felt a surge of indignation at the thought of Sophia going back to Emma so quickly but she recognized the looks on their faces. Emma's smug grin shown even as she moved her lips to speak. And Sophia's was the face of burning frustration barely held at bay by a meager bit of self-control. She looked about two seconds away from throwing a punch and knowing Emma she was probably keenly aware of how much she could needle an ex-best friend and get away with it.

Madison approached Taylor. "Go do something," she said.

"What do you expect me to do?" Taylor replied. "They're your friends, you do something."

Madison glanced back toward her friends. "This is all your fault, ya know?"

"Excuse me!?"

"They weren't like this before you started getting all friendly with Sophia."

Taylor was about two seconds away from slapping someone herself but, in twisted sort of way, Madison was right, not that anything was in any way Taylor's fault but she had taken it upon herself, several times, actually, to keep Sophia out of trouble and she wasn't about to stop now. Apparently.

"Move," Taylor said shoving Madison away. Hardly a comeback but she rode the wave of daring anyway. Taylor shouldered her way past Emma and stood with Sophia to face down their former friend. "You need to back off."

Emma's eyes narrowed. "Or what? Are you gonna send your bald-headed psycho dad over my house again? Incredibly lame by the way."

Taylor was far from prepared to play the dozens with the queen bee but luckily she wouldn't have to because Sophia stepped forward and this time the look on her face wasn't one of tired, impotent frustration. Her glare was wide-eyed and laser focused. The only other time Taylor had seen that look was when Sophia had been beating up three guys at once in a street brawl. Emma had somehow stumbled upon the exact wrong button to push and she must've realized this because she wasted no time at all backing away. At this point, Madison sidled up, grabbed her by the arm and pulled her down the hall. Emma glowered at them over her shoulder for a short while but it was over. She lost this round.

The tension died away like a long exhale. But not for Sophia. She had turned around placing her forehead on the door of a locker, and, with her eyes shut tight took slow deep breaths.

"Don't let her get to you," Taylor said fully aware of the irony in that coming from her. "Two on two gives us decent odds I think."

Sophia threw a short punch into the locker, the loud clang drew attention from the students in the hall and gave Taylor a start. She took a few steps back realizing, that she like Emma had, might inadvertently say something to piss her off even more. Taylor relied on the vague goodwill coming in her direction so far but knew little about the reasons behind it and knew just as little about the girl it was coming from except for her being a very tangible threat. And, looking at the startling deep dent in the metal made by her fist, Taylor remembered, that Sophia wasn't usually the lost puppy she'd dragged home the other day. She was scary. And dangerous.

Sophia, for her part, at least looked mortified.

"S-sorry." She said.

"Uh, yeah. I gotta go. Class." Taylor said leaving down the hall. It was an abrupt way to leave things off but if there was a chance for Sophia to turn her anger back towards her it was best for Taylor not to wait around for it.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------​

Sophia groaned as Taylor left. Interacting with her was enough of a minefield without constantly losing her temper. Unfortunately, her mood showed few signs of rebounding any time soon.

Fortunately, there was gym class which she spent on the narrow indoor track that circled the basketball court. As for the rest of the class, about half, the gym teacher, Mr. Wells, included, played games of twenty-one while the other half were chatting while avoiding working up too much of a sweat. All in all, it was a decent place to zone out. No one bothered her and she didn't bother them. At least until a basketball came sailing into the back of her head. She turned to see a handful of girls barely even trying to keep themselves from laughing.

One of them managed to shake off her giggle fit enough to say, "Ay, my bad. Pass it back?"

She ignored them and went back to jogging.

"Bitch." Sophia heard the girl say. Luckily for her, Sophia ignored that too.

Forty-five minutes came and went. Sophia finished one last lap after Coach Wells blew the whistle before heading into the locker room. There were still a handful of girls inside. When Sophia entered they all glanced around at each other, looking amused, before gathering their things and hurrying out. She had to assume she just missed some joke or some piece of gossip at her expense. Sophia was well aware that there was no shortage of people who didn't like her very much. And with her falling out with Emma she was going to be a prime target. None of that was shocking but being a punchline would take some getting used to.

As she pulled her stuff out of her locker she heard the locker room door open and shut again and assumed it was either some girl who forgot something or another straggler. It was neither. Sophia glanced over her shoulder and saw a boy glaring at her. She turned to face him slowly as four more guys filled the narrow passage between the rows of lockers. Sophia kept her back to the wall.

"You lost?" she asked.

"Naw," The one out front said.

The gears in her mind had taken their time turning but Sophia realized she recognized him. Two of them actually. They were the guys she'd beaten up in front of Taylor the other day. They clearly hadn't taken it well.

"You ain't embarrassed you got to call your friends cause a girl beat your ass?" Sophia asked keeping her as the five of them spread out to surround her.

"Keep laughin' bitch!"

Sophia knew a thing or two about fighting, to say the least. For one thing, most of the time, nobody wanted to do it. Back in the day, she recalled that ninety percent of playground fights were ninety-nine percent posturing. One kid calls another something nasty the other kid responds by calling them something nasty back. One kid shoves and gets shoved back. Shit talking goes on to drag out the slowly escalating violence with both of kids hoping in the back of their minds that something stops them before they actually had to come to blows. Eventually, either one of them backed down, they found an equilibrium where neither of their reputations took a hit, or else someone actually gets hit.

As far as Sophia could tell that never really changed, it's just the way people are. Even as outnumbered as she was she could see it on the faces of the guys surrounding her. Hesitation. Nerves. The looks of losers who wanted the Empire rep without the backbone to go out and get it. She could probably wind them up for another couple of minutes before any of them actually took a swing. Then again, back when she was on the playground, if one kid called her something nasty, she'd punch them in the throat. She never really changed either.

With a kick off of the row of lockers at her back, Sophia threw her entire body into a punch aimed for the boy in front of her. The attack sent him stumbling back clutching at his neck. Others were already on her. One tried to put her in a headlock, she reached back and stuck her thumbs in his eyes. Just as she was being released from the chokehold a heavy fist slammed into her face that put her down on one knee. A kick to the shoulder knocked her on her side. And then they were on her raining down boots and fists.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------​

If there was one thing about school that Taylor hated nearly as much as the bullying or the apathetic teachers it was group projects. Unfortunately, since everyone else in class liked group projects Mr. Gladly, of course, loved group projects. Being a leftover after everyone paired up with all of their friends was fine, that's to be expected but having partners without a single modicum of focus between them was irritating.

With all of their desks pushed together, Taylor had Sparky, who looked, acted and frequently smelled the part of a spaced-out stoner, on one side and on the other Greg, who suffered a more severe textbook case of nerd than even her. He was a smart enough guy but his motor mouth ran on just about anything that popped into his head. To make matters worse right behind her sat Madison and her group, though, that wasn't as bad of a thing as it might've been a week ago. Aside from Julia aggressively shoving her way out on her way to the restroom, neither Madison or any of her friends even gave Taylor a sideways glance. It was almost surreal how different things felt when she could just get on with her school day without being harassed. At the very least she could put most of her attention toward herding the pair of cats that were her partners into getting a satisfactory grade when their presentations were due next week.

The presentations were to be on how parahumans have changed society. By the latter end of the class period, they had settled on their topic, "Organized Crime in Post-Parahuman Society". Taylor fought briefly for something less obvious but Greg was a cape-geek who had heroes on the brain. They split the difference and settled on villains, in the end.

"We could talk about, like, when Iron Rain had her duel with Marquis," Greg said. "You ever heard of Marquis? He was a real bad dude back in the day. They say he even routed the S9 years ago. In the end, he got birdcaged by New Wave, they were the Brockton Bay Brigade back then."

"Cool, but I don't think we can do a whole presentation on cape fights," Taylor said.

"Doesn't need to be the whole thing," Greg replied. "The fights are important, though. I mean, like, supposedly, Marquis was injured in his fight with Iron Rain which led to him not being in his best shape to fight off New Wave. And when he got caged it left a power vacuum big enough for Lung to step into. Then, because fighting between the Empire and the ABB got so bad Iron Rain started her own specialized group. See? All that happened cause of one fight. Plus they're super interesting."

"Wow," Taylor said. "I underestimated you."

"Umm.. thanks?"

Out of the corner of her eye, Taylor saw the classroom door creep open. Who would poke their head in but-

"Charlotte?" said Mr. Gladly. "Did you need something?"

"No- I mean, yeah, I need to talk to Madison," Charlotte said. "I need to get back a book she borrowed."

"Well, alright," Gladly said.

Taylor tried to ignore Charlotte as she came near. She hadn't been aware that Charlotte and Madison knew each other.

"You're friends with that Sophia chick right?" Charlotte asked Madison in a low conspiratorial voice.

"If this is about Sophia talk to Hebert. I'm done with that psycho," Madison said.

"And the pot sees the kettle," Taylor muttered.

"What was that?" Madison asked swiveling around in her seat.

"Tell me something, does Emma give you notes on being two-faced?" Taylor asked.

"Oh, I'm two-faced?" Madison said. "I'm not the one who goes around getting pissed off and getting in fights every two seconds."

"Maybe you should realize when your supposed friend is going through something."

"Okay, first of all, she's the one who never tells me anything. You think I haven't tried?"

"You don't want to know what I think of you."

"Jesus!" Charlotte interrupted before Madison could retort. "Can one of you just, like, text her or something? Tell her to watch her back?"

"What!?" Taylor and Madison asked at once.

"Not like that. Some guys I know were texting me and... I'm pretty sure your friend is about to get the shit kicked out of her."

Taylor's heart leaped into her throat.

"Forreal? Like, now?" Madison asked.

"I think?"

"Then tell a teacher."

"They'll all know I snitched," Charlotte answered. The pessimistic side of Taylor said that teachers would've ignored her anyway.

"What class is she in right now?" Taylor asked Madison.

"Uh, gym I think." With that Taylor stood from her desk."Mr. Gladly-" she started to say but declined to even finish her sentence before running out the door ignoring her teacher's questions and protestations. She hit the hallway nearly at a jog but was caught up to quickly by Charlotte and Madison.

"So, uh, what're we doing?" Charlotte asked.

"Good question," Taylor said. "I'm assuming these 'guys you know' are your friends from the other day. Forrest and whatever-their-names-were."

"Who?" Madison asked.

"Hold on, Forrest isn't even here today." Charlotte said."And he's nothing like these guys. I wouldn't even call them friends. They're a bunch of creeps."

"Well, they seemed like your type," Taylor said.

"They're not!"

"Who're you even talking about?" Madison asked again as they turned into the hallway just outside of the gymnasium where class loitered around waiting for the bell. Most of the class at least.

"She's not here," Taylor said quietly.

"Where's Sophia?" Madison asked some girl who stuck her thumb out pointing further down the hall to the girl's locker room. Who would it be but Julia leaning casually against the door staring down at her phone?

"Julia," Madison said. "What're you doing? Where's Sophia?"

"Dunno," Julia replied with a shrug.

"Could you move?" Taylor asked.

"Could you suck my dick?" Julia replied.

"Get out of the way," Madison demanded. "Why don't you go back to class before everybody thinks you've got the runs."

Julia rolled her eyes and stepped aside. Taylor opened the door. The other girls crowded in behind her. Taylor expected the worst as she turned the first corner. What she hadn't expected was nearly tripping on a boy's prone body.

"Ahh ffffu-" he groaned. He was laying on his back cupping the shoulder that Taylor had mistakenly brushed her foot against. The reason for his pain was clear given the way his arm flopped gruesomely at his side and skin stretched over protruding bones in his collar and shoulder blades. And he was far from the only one in dire straits. There was another lying on his back covering his face with his arms and an ankle that didn't look like it was screwed on straight. Another with blood pouring out of his face. Another crumpled against the wall clutching his stomach groaning and heaving. And the last one was slumped over not moving at all. And finally, at the center of the carnage, there was Sophia, resting on the bench, face bloodied and bruised.

"Holy shit." Taylor heard one of the other girls say.

Sophia noticed them for the first time and looked up. Her eyes once again in the wide and focused state of her fight or flight mode; though, all things considered, the "flight" option probably wasn't readily available.

She stood slowly to face them and said, "I'm going to kill you," in a tone that was terrifyingly casual. It was impossible to determine at the moment whether she was talking to one or all of them. Julia did the smart thing a booked it immediately. Madison and Charlotte, on the other hand, froze. Taylor watched Sophia step forward, saw her stumble and moved to support her before she fell over. She continued guiding Sophia around the prone bodies of her attackers motioning the other two to get out of their way as she led Sophia out of the locker room.

Taylor and Sophia sat down in the hall outside of the door. Madison leaned down giving Sophia a soothing back rub. Charlotte hung around for a moment in nervous uncertainty before making herself scarce. Probably for the best. The three who remained didn't exchange words and let things fall into their places. Teachers were called, then the principal, then the police. A few of the poor clowns who had made the mistake of crossing Sophia Hess had to be wheeled out by paramedics. Principal Blackwell was keen to dismiss Taylor and Madison back to class, an order they only abided by with Sophia's own insistence.



The rumor mill spun quickly that morning. By lunchtime, Sophia had single-handedly sent six skinheads to the hospital. Which is essentially what had happened. Given the facts of the matter there really wasn't much need for hyperbole. Given only the facts of the matter, Taylor wouldn't have believed half of it. Even having witnessed the aftermath it was hard to grasp because the facts of the matter led her to only one unlikely, senseless, completely unreasonable conclusion. A conclusion which she'd have, on some level, prefered to skirt, dance around and turn every blind eye to but sticking her head in a hole and waiting for trouble to pass was yesterday's Taylor.

She scanned the cafeteria for Emma's clique and decided for once that she wouldn't wait for them to come to her. Sitting around the table was Emma, Madison, Julia, and whoever else gravitated toward large egos. None of them noticed her approach, or else they were purposefully ignoring her. Either way, they finally acknowledged her when she dropped her bagged lunch on the table.

"Umm- Can I help you?" Emma said. There was no shortage of puzzled looks coming from around the table but it was Emma who was looking the most baffled.

"Yeah," Taylor said. "I need you to give me Sophia's number."

"Why should I? Aren't you two, like, dating now? Get it yourself."

"Madison?" Taylor said redirecting her gaze. Madison shrank lowering her eyes.

"For your information," Emma said before Madison could speak. "We all deleted her number when she decided to go full bitch on us."

"I never even had it," Julia added.

"Yeah, so why don't you find some corner to sit in and quit bothering me?"

"I don't even know where to begin with you," Taylor said. "But first of all, I know you're lying because it's not really too convenient to blackmail somebody if you don't even have their phone number. Is it?"

Madison perked up and turned to Emma with anger in her eyes. "What?" she said.

"She's lying," Emma replied. "She's fucking delusional."

"I wouldn't be surprised if she had something to do with getting Sophia attacked earlier," Taylor continued.

"Oh, please," Emma said rolling her eyes. "In case you haven't noticed Sophia is kind of a thug. Whatever happened she probably brought it on herself. You can't prove any of this anyway."

"Well, I know for a fact Julia was there," Taylor said.

"Bullshit I was!" Julia retorted.

"I fucking saw you!" Madison said.

"What, are you on their side now?" Julia asked.

"You know what?" Madison said standing up from the table. "No, I'm not on anybody's side. I'm done. You're all fucking crazy, out of your goddamn, fucking- I'm done." Madison stormed off. Emma was seething.
Taylor, with nothing more to say, turned to leave as well.

"Yeah, go. Eat up my scraps just like you always have you desperate, lonely ass bitch. And take your stupid disgusting lunch with you." Taylor's bagged lunch landed with a skid at her heels.



In the girl's restroom furthest away from the cafeteria Taylor peeked under stalls until she found one with tiny pink and white sneakers behind the door. She knocked.

"Occupied," said Madison.

"Um," Taylor was getting a distinct feeling of deja vu. "It's Taylor."

The door swung open. Madison looked around the restroom making sure the coast was clear before stepping out. She walked straight past Taylor and began fixing her makeup in the mirror. "What do you want?" She asked without looking at her.

"Sophia's number?" Taylor said.

"I deleted it, remember?"

"And you're just as much of a liar as Emma."

Madison stopped fixing her face then turned to Taylor with an outstretched hand.

"What?" Taylor asked dumbfounded.

"Gimme your phone," Madison said.

"I don't have a phone," Taylor said.

Madison was aghast.

Muttering the word "loser" Madison pressed a piece of scrap notebook paper against the mirror glancing between it and her phone screen displaying the number labeled "Bad Bitch Sophia >: )" in her contacts.

"Here," Madison said as extended her hand with the slip of paper but when Taylor reached for it Madison yanked it away.

"What's your problem?" Taylor asked.

"First, you have to tell me," Madison answered. "Since you two are so close now, what's wrong with Sophia? What, exactly, the fuck is going on?"

Taylor glared at her and thought for a while. "I don't know," she said unsuccessfully reaching for the piece of paper.

"Now you're the one lying," Madison said. "Hypocrite."

"I really don't know, but if I did it wouldn't be my place to tell you. If you're so curious you can ask her yourself."

Madison's glowering face was in stark contrast to her usual cutesy put on. Still not threatening enough though. When she was finally convinced that Taylor wouldn't budge she gave up and handed her Sophia's number.

Taylor quickly snatched it away and retreated.



Taylor hadn't lied when she said she didn't know what happened to Sophia. All she had was a hunch. A suspicion which she relegated to the very back of her mind where it clawed and grasped its way forward inch by inch. The slip of paper in her pocket containing the few numbers out of trillions that would lead her to the heart of it all made her otherwise empty pocket feel especially heavy. She anxiously checked on it throughout the last few classes of the day fiddling with it and folding it between her fingers keeping it safe from harm and injury.

The school day wound to a close with English as they finished the last of the awful movie adaptation of Romeo and Juliet. Charlotte once again chose a seat to Taylor's left. The girl may run around with neo-nazis but Taylor did have her to thank for learning about the danger Sophia was in.

Charlotte locked eyes with Taylor for a brief second before settling into her seat and watching the movie. As they exchanged scattered glances for the next couple of minutes Charlotte's face grew sour. If Taylor hadn't known any better she'd have thought there was something about Friar Laurence that was really putting her off.

"It wasn't my idea," Charlotte whispered eventually.

"What?" Taylor whispered back.

"I didn't tell them to try to beat her up or anything. I might've vented a little but that's all."

"Yeah, well, I've heard how you vent."

Charlotte frowned. "That was just talk. I would never actually hurt anybody. I'm not like those guys."

"It's sort of hard to tell."

"You don't know anything!"

"No talking back there." Mr. Byron said from his desk.

"You don't know anything," Charlotte repeated softly.



The final bell came. Taylor's dad was already waiting in the school parking lot.

"Police? Did something happen?" He asked after they'd greeted one another. There was indeed a police car and a pair of officers not far from where he'd been parked.

"A fight," Taylor answered unsure of whether she should elaborate.

"I hope you went easy on them," he said with a slight grin.

"Well, sorry, I didn't," Taylor replied.

Her dad laughed.

"The police showed up for a fight? Back in my day, they let us duke it out until someone called it quits and then sent us back to class."

"Did you really just say 'back in my day'?" Taylor asked grinning.

"I did didn't I?" He said with a grimace.

When they pulled up beside the curb outside their house, Taylor hopped out. Her dad had promised to be back home from work in 'just a couple of hours'. Which was just enough time for Taylor to pace around the house agonizing about having to make a phone call. Should she just come out with questions? What would they even say to each other? Would Sophia even pick up the phone?

Eventually, Taylor sat down at the kitchen table with the phone in one hand and Sophia's number in the other. She placed it to her ear and listen as it dialed, and rang and rang and rang.

"The person you are calling-" Taylor hung up.
Sophia didn't answer so that was that. Taylor sank into her chair.

For the rest of the afternoon, Taylor wiled away her time as she usually did, stuck in her room. She tried to concentrate on her homework. If she was right and the trio, who were now down to just the Emma, would really back off under the combined threat of herself and Sophia she might have a chance to bring her grades back up. Moreover, she may actually be able to pay attention in class and not having her assignments sabotaged. It was a thoroughly mundane fantasy but it was enough for her.

Dad returned home later with a bucket of chicken for dinner. They sat down at the kitchen table spooning sides onto their plates. Taylor had noticed earlier that afternoon but her dad seemed, well, not quite cheerful, but a fog had lifted.

"Yeah, well," he started when she commented on his not completely morose disposition. "There are going to be some changes soon at the union."

"Changes?" Taylor asked. Usually, 'change' was a codeword for 'downsizing' which was a euphemism for 'layoffs' which was a less ugly way of saying 'mass firings' but her father's mood wouldn't have been nearly so good if that were the case.

"Good changes," He said. "There's a developer who wants to set up in Brockton Bay. They're talking about moving a lot of businesses in town. Big ones. They even mentioned cleaning up the ship graveyard."

Taylor hadn't expected that. "Wow," she said with a genuine smile. "That's- amazing."

"I'm trying not to get my hopes up. It's way too early for that but... yeah. This could be a game changer. Still, I don't wanna jinx it by talking too much." Her dad's gaze lowered to his plate of food. "By the way, I'm planning on having a meeting with your principal."

Taylor blanched. "You don't have to do that."

"Of course I do, Taylor," He said. "Alan may be a jackass but even if he doesn't care I'll see to it that someone does."

Taylor let silence hang in the air choosing not to labor her dad over what his thoughts or plans were. She'd done enough of that to herself.

"By the way, how's your friend Sophia doing?"

Taylor stiffened. "Good question."

"Do you not see her around at school?"

"Well, yeah, I mean, I was planning to give her a call after we finished eating."

Her dad smiled. "Well, don't let me stop you. I know how you can get when you're on the phone."

A callback to days long passed when Taylor would sit up on the phone for hours at a time. Nowadays she didn't even know if she could muster up enough words to fill half that time. She didn't even know if she wanted to. After all, it had always been Emma on the other end.

"Yeah..."



After they finished dinner Taylor returned to her room and sat down at her desk with the house phone in one hand and the crumpled piece of paper with Madison's scrawled handwriting in the other. She found that she remembered the sequence of numbers without looking. The phone rang as she put it to her ear.

"The person you are calling is not available-" the voicemail said. Taylor had expected as much. She hung up, got up from her desk and sprawled out on her bed looking up at the ceiling. She still held the phone in her hand. She wondered if she ought to have put it down. She wondered if she ought to put it all down. Part of her wanted to because...

She was scared.

The thought of her long gone friendship with Emma didn't sting quite as much. Taylor had never before realized how much the subtle uncertainty of Emma's turn had kept her stuck in place for so long. She'd been paralyzed and it was Sophia, of all people, who had finally managed to suck the venom out. It was Sophia after all who finally revealed what Emma wanted out of it all. She wanted to be stronger. Nevermind how torturing Taylor was meant to accomplish that, the riddle was solved. Well enough anyway. Enough to shoo away that little bug that'd been biting her. It still hurt but perhaps the sort of hurt that could heal after she mourned the loss of her friend.

But by the same token everything Emma had done in the last two years, at the root of it all was Sophia. When she returned from summer camp to find her friend gone when she entered high school as a freshman and every day after that Sophia was there looking over the work she'd done smiling along all the while. And yet—

Taylor hit redial. The phone rang, and rang, and rang. Until—


"Yeah," came Sophia's bleary voice.

"Ah," Taylor said only just realizing she hadn't actually thought about what she would say. "Oh, uh, Sophia? It's me."

There was a momentary pause.

"Taylor? How did you— I mean hi, but—"

"I got your number from Madison," Taylor explained eagerly.

There was another pause.

"You didn't have to."

"After today, yeah, I kind of did. I mean, are you alright?"

"Yeah, fine. Those guys were pussies."

"I never thought you'd get attacked like that. It must've been horrible."

"It was worse for them."

Taylor chuckled surprised to find herself relaxing a little. "You didn't get in trouble did you?"

"I got... chewed out a little. I've been chewed out before, though. No big deal. But-"

"But?"

"But they're talking about pulling me out of school for a while. For safety or whatever."

"Who are 'they'?" Taylor asked.

"You know… 'the man'."

Taylor supposed she did know and declined to press further. Though, she did consider that if anyone had given her the option to stay away from school guilt free she'd have practically jumped for it. There were plenty enough absences and half-days on her record already from times when the bullying was especially hard to take. The flavor of irony of hearing that the bully that put her in such a desperate position was getting the sort of attention she would have killed for was, admittedly, bitter.

"I don't have to listen," Sophia said. "It's not like I can get in trouble for wanting to go to school."
Taylor bit her lip. "Maybe you shouldn't. You probably could use a break."

Neither of them said anything for a while. They were obviously thinking the same thing.

"Emma might come after you," Sophia finally said.

"It's fine. I can handle her," Taylor said not really knowing whether it was true or not. "I think I kind of broke her and Madison up at lunch today."

"How'd you do that?" Sophia asked seeming genuinely curious.

"I guess Madison didn't know Emma was trying to blackmail you." Sophia went silent again. "I didn't really do it on purpose," Taylor added.

Sophia sighed. It was a slow distinctly heavyhearted sort of sigh. "Yeah, well, it's probably a good thing all things considered."

That was probably true. The Trio hadn't exactly brought out the best in one another. The true shame of it all was in the fact that Sophia's friend group disintegrated on her when she clearly needed them.

"Well, I'm glad you're okay," relatively speaking. "I had to check or I wouldn't sit right. I'm a compulsive meddler, as it turns out."

Sophia laughed. "That's fine. I appreciate it."

"In fact, would you mind if a called you again tomorrow? I can't promise juicy gossip or anything, though. I was never into all that."

"Neither was I," Sophia said. "But- yeah. Let's talk tomorrow."


After an aggressively awkward sign-off, Taylor laid out in her bed ruminated on what she'd just done. The utter mundanity of it was one thing. A far cry from where this adventure had started. On a snow covered night. On a barren street. In a dilapidated old warehouse. With Shadow Stalker, with Sophia, cradled in her arms.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------​

Sophia laid sprawled on her bed staring up at the ceiling. A call from Taylor was the absolute last thing she expected to cap her evening off. And it left her in an odd limbo wondering what she should have been feeling. Feelings had never seemed so complicated before. They used to come to her in bright colors with neon signs pointing out where they should go. It was a good system. Lately, though, everything was all tangled. Too many things swimming around in her fishbowl of a brain and yet she could hardly manage to reel any of them in. So when that familiar old feeling came back to her in bright red Sophia latched on for dear life.

She took out her phone and started another call. A call that disconnected mid-ring.

"Bitch," She muttered. So then it was plan B. And Plan B started with a short simple text.

"Going out?" Carlos asked as Sophia left dressed in gym clothes with the addition of a thick hoodie. "It's getting kind of late."

"Going for a jog," Sophia said annoyed that she had to explain herself.

"How about I join you?"

"Going for a jog, alone," she amended.


She hadn't been lying. She jogged a few blocks away to a bus stop, rode it, and jogged a few more. It just so happens that the route she chose led her to the home none other than Emma Barnes. It was a nice neighborhood full of big houses. The sort of neighborhood that might see the police being called just for someone like her walking around too late at night let alone for jumping through a second story bedroom window from the Barnes' backyard.

Emma's room was about the same as it usually was. A mess. One of the days between Mrs. Barnes cleaning up for her. Sophia was used to it all. The clothes scattered around, of which Emma had a lot. The books whose permanent shelving space were stacks on the floor. And the faint smell of expensive cosmetics. On days she didn't have to be a Ward, or have track practice, Sophia was probably here after school. It was more comfortable than her own room. Bigger bed. Softer pillows. And the Barnes' had some decent food.

Sophia sat down on Emma's bed and waited. Emma's phone was nearby. Sophia picked it up and looked through it. It took no time at all to find where Emma had hidden the pictures and screenshots of their conversations. A detailed record of Shadow Stalker's dealings with the criminal element.
Sophia looked up when the door creaked open spilling in light from the hallway. The thin beam didn't quite reach where Sophia sat leaving her draped in shadow. It was Emma. She yelped.

"Emma?" Her mom yelled. "Everything okay hun?"

Sophia put a finger to her lips.

"Yeah," Emma said keeping both eyes on her friend and intruder; her tone of voice dripping with honey was in stark contrast to the growing rage plain on her face. "I thought I saw a spider." Emma closed the door softly. She didn't speak for a moment while she composed herself. She surely hadn't been expecting this confrontation but was trying to roll with it. "What are you doing here?"

"You didn't answer my text," Sophia said. That pissed Emma right off again. Emma looked at the phone in Sophia's hand.

"So that's what this is," Emma said almost sounding confident. "What? You think you can just steal my phone or break it or whatever and that'll be that? Do you think I'm retarded or something?"

"That's not what this is about. Keep your phone," Sophia threw it across the room where Emma managed a fumbling catch. "In fact, I want you to take a look at it right now."

Emma glanced at her phone screen.

"What? Your fucking pictures? I've already seen them."

"Look," Sophia said with a growl.

Emma took a longer look swiping the screen a few times. Sophia knew what Emma's precious blackmail material had in it. A bloody crossbow bolt here and there. A short video of her laughing while lining up a shot that went straight into a dope dealer's ass. And the face of some punk whose nose she had broken. To take the picture she stepped on his neck and made him look at the camera. He was scared. That one Sophia had particularly liked.

"Yeah? Like I said, I've seen it all. So what?"

"Here's what," Sophia said as she stood up from the bed. "I did that. I did all of that." She crept closer with every word like a predator sizing up her dinner. "I've been ducking bullets since before I was a cape. I've made grown ass men piss their pants and beg. I've done what those pathetic crooks threatened to do to your face and worse. I'm a killer." Sophia's approach forced Emma's back into the wall.
"And what're you?" Sophia continued sizing Emma up. "Some rich white girl who got a little taste of the ugly side of life and thought she'd seen it all. Who got too gassed up for her own good."

"I'm not afraid of you," Emma said still defiant but weak at the knees. Sophia grabbed Emma's wrist and squeezed it tight. Emma's face contorted with dawning horror as she watched the skin on Sophia's hand change. The change traced its way up her arm until Sophia's body was entirely an oppressive pitch black. Sophia's firm grip made Emma's hand involuntarily clench around her phone as Sophia held it up. The screen was still viewing the picture of the kid whose neck she'd been standing on. His expression looked remarkably similar to the one on Emma's face.

"I want you to keep your phone. Keep the pictures, keep whatever you think you have on me and look at it to remind you who the fuck you're dealing with."

"I'll scream."

With her free hand, Sophia grabbed Emma's face, pushed her up against the wall, and held her there by her cheeks. "And then what? Make them watch while I turn you ugly? Your poor daddy couldn't stop a couple of punks from doing that and I'm worse, Emma. I'm way worse. And you can't get away from me by hiding out in your room under the sheets like a goddamn five-year-old. So go ahead and scream." Sophia watched Emma struggle against her fruitlessly. Only when Emma gave up the fight did she release her grip. Emma sagged against the wall shaking with tears flooding her eyes. Her jaw hung open trying to find the right motions for making words and failing. For good measure Sophia then punched her in the stomach. It wasn't much but it sent Emma doubling over on the floor.

"We're through," Sophia said. "Whatever kind of complex or whatever the fuck your problem is, get over it and do it without pissing me off. I don't ever want to have to come back here. If I do I'll make it worth my time."

Sophia didn't wait for a reply and left the way she entered by stepping onto Emma's desk, phasing through the window and leaping out into the night.



The city had its own white noise. Engines, sirens, loud drunken yelling blended into pleasantly familiar cacophony. Maybe that's just what it feels like when one stays in their element for too long. Sophia was in hers. On the rooftop of a building overlooking a street as it was slowly quieting down for the night. She sat near enough the ledge to see what was around her. She knew that there would be few who would crane their necks up to see her. She'd seen enough of the mundane sights but didn't want to leave just yet.

She didn't know, exactly, what she was crying about. Some loss, some heartbreak, some pain near and distant. It was no use trying to stop herself. She tried. It would end on its own eventually.

Everything ends, eventually.

 

[serra2]

Nearly a year and a half, I think this may be one of the longer resurrections I have seen. Well done. Now to reread the trauma to remember what has happened...

 

[Schielman]

You forgot to threadmark the latest chapters.

 

[Thief of Words]

Nearly a year and a half, I think this may be one of the longer resurrections I have seen. Well done. Now to reread the trauma to remember what has happened...

Click to shrink...

There've been longer.

 

[WanderingAirhead]

Its interesting to see all the dynamics between characters in Winslow. It actually resembles something like a high school now. A very shitty one at least.