Sophia Hess was Shadow Stalker.
This changed things. What I'd found online disgusted me. There were reports of excessive force, people pinned to walls, even dropped off buildings, if you believed the wilder tales. I didn't; Sophia was strong, but I doubt she was strong enough to hold someone off the edge of a roof. Worse, people were
cheering her for it, just because her victims were allegedly criminals. "Acceptable targets."
Most people agreed they deserved it, but I wasn't so sure. After all, she considered me an "acceptable target," just because Emma thought it'd be fun. How many of those gangbangers might have actually been innocent victims of her sadism?
Through that lens, it painted an unpleasant picture. She was a psychopath who enjoyed hurting people.
If they kept to what they had been doing, I could endure it, like I always had, but Sophia -- Shadow Stalker -- might escalate. And I might not survive it if she did.
I needed a way to head that off.
Half the summer flew by as I tried unsuccessfully to come up with something. It all boiled down to those two words Principal Blackwell repeated every time I tried to complain: "No evidence."
Fortunately, I still had a few weeks before summer break ended to figure out how to get some, and I had all these
ideas. A little cloaked surveillance drone should do the trick...
* * *
They made her a Ward.
They made Sophia fucking Hess a fucking Ward.
I had powers. I was what's called a Tinker. When I realized that, I'd actually considered joining the Wards, but no. Not happening. If they let people like
her in... not a fucking chance in hell.
For the longest time, I thought the Winslow faculty was just incompetent and apathetic. Then I thought, hey, popular girl, track star, etc. vs. the freaky loner girl. Now, though, if she did something to me, they might
actually cover it up.
I was going to need more evidence than I'd thought. Incontrovertible evidence. I also needed a
contingency, something they couldn't cover up if they tried. A nuclear option.
* * *
It was with a bounce in my step that I approached Winslow. I had all the evidence gathered and stored, my contingency set up. Video and audio recordings of several months' worth of bullying: verbal abuse, physical assault, theft, all of it, along with recordings of when I'd asked for help and been denied, and all of it was tied to a holoprojector set to broadcast it, along with their identities, over the city if I didn't reset it every three days. It was even tied to the cloaked surveillance drone that I still had following me around, so if I
was murdered, there'd be footage of it broadcast across the city as well, just in case.
Ultimately, though, I just wanted it all to
stop, so I'd give them a chance to back down.
I slowed as I approached my locker. What was that smell?
Dread welled up inside me as I opened it, confirming my suspicions.
I didn't see who pushed me in, but the drone had caught it.
They locked me in.
Something in me broke in the hours that followed. All that planning, all those gadgets, and
it wasn't enough.
I was insensate for a week.