There was a dark bag under my good eye. Last night's escapade and this morning's early track practice before school were to blame. The dark discoloration of my black eye had slightly lessened, and the swelling was completely gone, though the skin was still tender.

"So just like that, we're done with Taylor? After all that investment?"

Emma had talked to Madison over the weekend, and now she was giving the girl a more comprehensive telling of the Taylor issue. We were standing by the front entrance to Winslow. Students liked to congregate at the patio there before the first bell.

"Something's changed. She got pushed too far, and now we need you on board with this," Emma was saying.

Madison looked at me for further approval, but I refrained from participating in the conversation. I was looking away and across the street where students were being let out of parents' cars and a public transport bus. Of course, none of us knew what had happened to Taylor after she ditched on Friday. I had no way of knowing what her condition was, if she was capable of making it to school today. I had figured there was a very small chance that Taylor might snitch, but that wasn't an issue because Emma and Madison would vouch for whatever I said happened. If Taylor was coming, she would be stepping off that public bus right about now.

"So we're her friends now, is that it? BFFs with the sticky bitch?" Madison asked cynically.

"No," I said and fixed her with a look, "she just isn't a priority anymore. No more going out of the way to set her up. It's like cliché high school movie BS. It's childish."

"You must have done a lot of growing up over the weekend," said Madison with a jab of sarcasm and accusation.

"She's probably nuts now," I said and then lowered my voice, "I wouldn't be surprised if she came back to school and tried to stab us." I poked her in the stomach for emphasis.

Madison's eyes got big and she pushed my hand away, "She wouldn't do that! Y-you're the one who beat her up!"

Emma tried to settle the issue, "No, Taylor wouldn't do that."

You think, I wanted to say, but then Emma nodded towards street.

"There she is."

Taylor had stepped off the bus when I looked away. She had on a different pair of glasses and her big ugly hoodie was gone. Now she wore a zip jacket and a… scarf. It had me wondering how bad the bite mark looked. I hoped it was worse than my face.

"Sophia!" Emma grabbed me by the arm and quietly yelled, "She's covering her neck with a scarf! How fucking bad did you strangle her?"

Madison had a worried voice and said slowly, "I would totally stab a bitch if they strangled me and left bruises on my neck."

Taylor didn't start up the path to the front doors, instead turning right and taking the sidewalk that way. There was no telling if she had seen us or not. I shrugged off Emma's hold.

"She usually enters the school through the old entrance," I started.

"Yeah, by the staff parking lot," Madison agreed.

"Good. Time to find out if Friday was just a onetime thing. I know exactly what you can do."

Winslow High had undergone renovations and additions over previous decades. The 'old entrance' and the 'old hall' were part of the original school plan and were marked by distinctly different and outdated architecture. The old entrance was around the side towards the back, what had originally been the 'front' a long time ago. Taylor would have to walk along the paved paths on the school grounds to get there. Emma, Madison, and I cut through the school halls for a faster route to the old entrance.

The old entrance was left unlocked for staff to enter through in the mornings, though students could freely use it as well. A custodian would lock it after the first bell. Emma and I waited just inside door, looking out the door window, while a nervous Madison was sent out to wait for Taylor. There was a set of six steps that went up from the staff parking lot to the old entrance doors. The concrete stairs were split down the middle by a metal rail and framed on either side by brick trimming.

Taylor arrived right on cue and started up one side of the stairs. If the look Madison gave us over her shoulder was anything to go by, she was worried over the 'stab' comment, but she still stood at the top and blocked the way. Taylor stopped on the last step below Madison. The taller and shorter girls were about the same height where they stood on different steps. They spoke, Madison no doubt taunting Taylor, though Emma and I couldn't hear on the other side of the door some ten feet away.

Taylor turned away, like she would retreat back down the steps. Maybe she would have chosen to walk up the grassy incline next to the stairs to avoid Madison, but I did not find out. Presumably emboldened by their exchange, and by Taylor now presenting her back, Madison pushed the girl down the stairs.

Taylor nearly toppled but kept herself upright by seizing fast to the railing. Then she whipped around and shoved back. Madison took several backwards steps off balance before falling on her butt. It looked like Taylor might lash out at her downed offender, but then a teacher showed up. Emma rushed out. I followed.

"That's enough! You can't shove people out of your way, Taylor." It was Mr. Gladly. He had run up from the parking lot and pulled Taylor away from Madison. Surely, he must have also seen Madison initiate the physical contact.

Emma interceded with her patented suck-up voice, "It was just a little messing around, Mr. G."

I had not planned to go to bat for Taylor, but for the sake of preserving our always unified front, I followed Emma's lead. From where she had fallen, it looked like Madison was going to start spouting complaints and pointing blame, but I came up behind her and hoisted her to her feet quickly that I heard her teeth click shut.

"And Madison is okay," Emma continued, "No harm done. Right, Maddie?"

She had a pouty look, but Madison acquiesced, "I'm fine, Mr. G. It was just a little picking and I tripped."

After a moment of contemplation, looking each of us girls over, Gladly said, "Alright. But no more rough horseplay. I don't want to see anyone get hurt." Then he went into the school.

Gladly was one of those young teachers that had a hard time being the adult around a bunch of kids who were less than ten years younger than himself. He tried too hard to be 'cool'. There was a rumor that he was dating, or had dated, one of the senior cheerleaders. Creep.

Taylor didn't seem grateful to us for sparing her a lecture or disciplinary mark, and she didn't linger with us before following after the teacher.

"Stop," I called after her.

She stopped halfway through the door but didn't turn around.

"If you're not a coward, you'll use the front entrance from now on."

She half turned her head to look at me out of the corner of her eye. "Nice face," and then she was gone.

I briefly regretted not giving Taylor something more visible and difficult to hide.

Madison was dusting off her butt. She groused, "Great, we're letting her off the hook for knocking me down. I liked it better when she didn't fight back."

"I recognize that scarf she's wearing," Emma started, ignoring Madison's gripes, "it was her mom's."

I scoffed, "It would be a shame if she lost it."

"No!" Emma and Madison both said.

We reaffirmed our neutral stance towards Taylor. Madison wasn't happy, but I doubted she wanted to continue now that physical retaliations were likely. We made for the entrance door.

Shit! I smacked my leg, down at the calf. Something had stung me.

Emma and I sat at our usual table in the cafeteria. Madison and several of our usual lunchmates were late. Finally Madison came in, walking briskly. She had our attention, and it looked like she was mouthing 'holy shit' as she approached.

She plopped into a seat and leaned in toward us and blurted, "Taylor flipped out on a bunch of girls and beat them up!" That proclamation made several heads turn our way.

"Whoa! What happened? Who?" Emma asked.

"It was Julia, Alison, Taylor Friedman, and umm…"

Emma spoke over her, "From the top, Maddie. Did it just now happen?"

Madison shared Gladly's World Issues class with Taylor. There was group work, and Julia had arrived late and been made to partner with Taylor and some other losers. Julia had stolen Taylor's work and passed it off to Madison. Here, Madison asserted that she had returned the assignment and offered no further provocation.

"After class, Julia grabbed a group of girls and crowded Taylor into the corner just outside Gladly's door. Gladly saw them cornering her, before the fists started flying, and he didn't even do anything, just walked away."

Typical Gladly.

Madison continued, "Taylor tried forcing her way past, but they sort of made a human wall and kept pushing her back. She yelled at them to move then she started swinging. I had perfect view of Julia getting smashed in the face. Like actually punched, not slapped. The other classes were letting out, and people came and formed a ring around the fight like in the movies. I couldn't see over the heads and shoulders after that."

More students were trickling into the cafeteria now, those who had been sidetracked by the fight. Loud and excited conversations were starting up all over the cafeteria. A girl from our outer circle of friends had sat next to Madison and added conspiratorially, "Taylor Hebert was like a demon. I think she had her eyes squeezed shut for half of it, just swinging and hitting the girls wherever she could reach."

It seemed Madison didn't like sharing the narration. She placed her hand on the girl's arm to silence her, "It was in the histories hallway, so Beaver and Conway heard the noise and came out of their classrooms to shut it down. Mr. Beaver held Taylor in some kind of arm hold and dragged her to the principal. And Conway pulled Julia and the rest in too."

I didn't realize I was smiling until Madison called me out for it. "It isn't funny, Sophia. You fucked her up, and now she's a menace."

"That's blowing it out of proportion," I countered. "Sounds like it was self-defense. You're just not used to her standing up for herself."

Emma agreed with me, "It does kind of sound like self-defense if they were pushing her into a corner."

"Right," I continued, "and it probably looked worse than it really was, because I'm guessing they didn't put up any resistance when Taylor started swinging."

"No, they mostly just covered their faces," Madison confirmed, shaking her head.

"Then they deserve the bumps they got."

A picture of a hero caught my attention then.

There were two televisions in the cafeteria, each hanging from a corner of the room and always playing a live news channel. The volume was always muted, but I could read the enabled subtitles from where I sat. A suspected PRT staff leak had claimed that Armsmaster, captain of Brockton Bay's Protectorate, was under investigation for alleged misconduct. What followed was a lot of ridiculous speculation.

What the hell happened to Armsmaster?

"It's Lung," Miss Militia told me that afternoon, "he almost died and had to be resuscitated several times."

Armsmaster had dumped Lung in a maximum containment cell then proceeded to file a very self flattering report detailing the villain's apprehension. Medics went to do a physical examination of Lung and found him in a state of cardiac arrest. Various poisons in doses far beyond lethal were found in Lung's system. A double dose of tranquilizer upon capture, and then a third upon arrival at the PRT facility, had only served to put even greater stress on his already strained heart.

If the embarrassment of having his glory grab exposed wasn't bad enough, Armsmaster was being put before a PRT board of review. His leadership over this region's Protectorate division might be in jeopardy. This, in my opinion, was utter bullshit. I said as much to Militia, and that caused her to dip into a sermon about accountability and professional conduct.

Armsmaster could have buried me, could have said the first two tranquilizer doses were dispensed by Shadow Stalker. Yes, they were administered on his order, but that would have brought my unapproved patrol into the spotlight. However, he didn't. And I knew he wouldn't. Armsmaster wasn't the type to drag others down with him, especially comrades. Speaking about her comrade now, Hannah seemed somber. The two of them were friends. In fact, she might have been his only friend. She was about the only person who responded well to his terse and candid attitude.

During a lull in our bickering, Clockblocker had once tried to get me to do some sneaky surveillance on the two heroes. He was trying to get an inter-Ward gambling pool going on whether or not they were secretly dating. Clockblocker had already tried and failed to get Gallant on board, whose passive emotion sensing power would have already informed him of Militia's and Armsmaster's feelings for each other. But Gallant kept such things to himself and maintained everyone's privacy.

In that moment with Hannah being melancholy I didn't know what to say, so I blurted, "Are you together?"

"With Colin?" She asked then smiled, "No, we never had that sort of relationship."

And then she told me about when she first met Colin, how she had not liked him. And a few small tales of the two of them working a job or some such crisis and bonding. It wasn't very interesting, but I paid close attention because I had never known Hannah to talk so much. The stories weren't overly personal, but considering who they came from, I might as well have been peering into her diary.

I didn't tell Clockblocker.

On Tuesday the rumor mill was spreading the word on the 'Monday Massacre', as it was being jokingly called. Most all the offending girls had received a lump or two, Julia the drama queen was wearing a nose guard, and Taylor was said to have had a bald spot where her hair was ripped out. I could believe a couple fistfuls of hair getting pulled, but a whole ass bald spot?

Two videos of the fight were circulating. I watched them with Emma on her smartphone. They were both trash; the camera holder was getting bumped around and wasn't even standing at the inner edge of the crowd. A few brief glimpses of the action weren't sufficient to figure out what was happening.

Taylor had her word challenged by that of six girls. But authority tended to be lenient with the minority in the case of a one-on-six fight. Even if the one had been thrashing the six. Despite being the only uninvolved party to see the beginning of the conflict, Madison had not been called in to give her account, neither did she volunteer it. Parents had been called, and punishments had been doled out.

Julia and her posse each received two days of in-school suspension. Taylor had been given the rest of the week, four days, of out-of-school suspension and was sent home early with her dad on Monday. It wasn't fair or just, but most physical fights tended to resolve that way. The student body wasn't dumb. Everyone could figure that Taylor had not started the issue, and a lot of students were offhandedly calling the unequal punishments bullshit.

My two friends and I were briefly concerned that the involvement of the principal and parents might bring some attention backwards onto us and our history of harassing Taylor. But Tuesday, and then Wednesday, came and went with no sign of trouble.

Wednesday evening I was piddling around at PHQ with Vista. Reserve duty. We had received a call for backup earlier, and then halfway across the hardlight bridge we got notified that it was a false alarm and turned back. Slow day.

Vista was seated at a table in full costume doing homework and occasionally asking me questions about pirates that I didn't know the answer to.

"Didn't you have to learn this stuff?" she whined.

"When I was in your grade we learned about the Holocaust for the first time, not pirates. Why is it so important for twelve year olds to know the name of Blackbeard's boat?" What the heck were they teaching kids these days?

"I don't know-w-w," she whined some more.

I was leaning back in a chair, feet up on Vista's table, and trying to throw a pencil into the ceiling tile and have it stick there by its pointy end. It finally stuck. My phone buzzed. It wasn't my Ward phone. My flip phone had a text from a nameless sender.

My office

I put my feet down and consciously looked around the room. It had to be from Armsmaster, but I really hoped these unsigned text messages didn't become a regular thing. And wasn't he tied up with the PRT investigation? Was he here at the base now?

Vista didn't look up from her homework as I stood and left the room. The Protectorate captain's office was on the top floor at the end of a hallway. I knocked on the door, not entirely sure that I would get an answer.

There came a muffled, "Enter."

Armsmaster's office doubled as his private Tinker workshop. There was little in the way of personalization if you didn't count all the tools and in-progress gadgets covering every surface and parts of the floor. I startled when I saw a man that was briefly unfamiliar seated at a desk. It was rare enough to see him without his helmet, and I had only seen him once or twice without his armor. Armsmaster was wearing a dress shirt and tie, and I could see a formal jacket draped over the back of his chair. His hair was perfectly combed and his beard was neatly trimmed. He was tinkering with something small that looked like a USB flash drive.

"This damn investigation is taking much longer than it should. I managed to get away for couple hours, but I'm expected back soon."

"How is it looking?" I ventured to ask.

He didn't answer, which probably meant that he didn't have his fingers crossed for favorable results.

"I received a message," he began, "and I am indisposed. After your reserve duty ends, you will follow up with the contact on my behalf."

"Is this something that needs to be kept quiet?"

He looked up at me from where he worked on the small device, "Until I say otherwise."

The Boardwalk ferry station was no longer in use. I could not remember having seen the bay ferry service operational in my lifetime. Being so close to Brockton Bay's hotspot that was the Boardwalk, the station was always kept up in good repair to not spoil the tourist experience.

I had been here a few times, always in costume to run vagrants off the premises. There were signs warning that the station was 'temporarily out of service' and recommending alternate city attractions and methods of transport. It was technically open to the public, and it wasn't uncommon to find young people and kids meeting here for a private spot to talk and smoke.

There was a large second floor balcony accessible from the ground outside. I ascended the stairs to the balcony where I could hear laughing voices and stopped just before the threshold. There were four teenagers sitting at a picnic table and playing with handheld game systems. There was talk of 'trading' and 'battling'. Nerds.

They were engrossed in their games, and I was quiet. All the furniture on the balcony was heavy cast-iron and either bolted to the floor or lanyarded to something secure by braided steel cable. I grabbed a stool that was cabled to a round table.

My power of intangibility had a limited degree of transferability. I used it on the stool and freed it from the table, then carried it toward my unwanted company in shadow form. My power also made the heavy cast-iron nearly weightless. I tossed the stool. Within a second of leaving my grasp, the stool lost the temporary powers granted it and crashed noisily on the teenagers' table.

Their discussion of 'R-thirty-four' and something called 'Lucario' came to a halt. As when I always spoke as Shadow Stalker, I spoke in a lower pitch. Combined with the slight muffling from my mask, it made my 'tough guy' voice.

"Beat it!"

For just a second, they stared slack jawed, and the only noise was clashing game music from four separate sources. Then their brains caught up and they scrambled away and down the stairs. The chubby one at the back tripped on the way.

I checked inside and around the station for anyone else. Then I sat backwards on a bench and leaned back with my elbows on the table behind. The sun was just going down, and the view of PHQ from the station balcony was excellent.

Not five minutes passed before I heard light footsteps coming up the stairs. I stealthed and moved to a place out of view. The new arrival reached the balcony. It was her.

I stepped into the waning light so she could see me. Her costume's details were more visible this time. The base layer was a near-black dark gray with a fibrous texture. There were armored sections of a different texture throughout that looked detachable. With the yellow eyes and some thin segments of armor along the jawline, the mask might have been intended to resemble a bug's face.

"Shadow Stalker." She sounded a little surprised.

"Pest," I greeted in return.

"Why Pest?" she asked with some distaste.

"Because…" I waved off her question and then subtly pressed the only button on Armsmaster's little flash drive device. A Tinker quality audio recorder. It was in a small pocket hidden in the lining of my cloak.

"Some boys crossed my path running. They said there was a crazy cape at the ferry station." Her voice was feminine, but not overly so, and it sounded like she was making an effort to speak confidently.

"And they weren't freaked out by you?" I said and loosely pointed at her.

"I wasn't in costume yet," she replied.

"Then it was stupid of you to mention those kids. I could track them down and make them describe the person they bumped into."

She looked away.

"It's just a tip, newbie. Keep that sort of thing in mind when you talk to other capes."

She nodded her head, "Okay, I will," and then looked around. "Did you come with Armsmaster?"

"No," I answered, "I was sent to respond to your call."

"I guess that's okay," she started, "I need to call in a favor."

She obviously couldn't see my surprised look under my mask, and she took my silence as an indication to continue.

"Remember how the Undersiders were there for Lung the other night? They contacted me and sort of invited me to join them. And I did."

I was incredulous, "You what?"

She waved her hands in front of her, "But I'm not with them. I'm a good guy like you. When I was talking to Armsmaster that night, he mentioned that you guys were having trouble pinning them down. Or even gaining any useful information on their abilities. I know all that stuff now! I know names and faces and where they're living."

This was the dummy that had nearly got cooked by Lung a couple days ago. On her very first cape expedition. And she had managed a solo infiltration of a very elusive group of villains. It was hard to believe. But that last bit about faces and where they lived sounded really good.

"Alright then, tell me." If I sounded eager, it is because I was eager. "Start with Grue."

There was a bit of trepidation in her voice, "I can't tell you right now."

I crossed the distance between us and grabbed her by the arm, "You can and you will!"

"Back off!" She jerked free and pushed me away.

My heart rate jumped, likely at the prospect of getting my hands on Grue and then being denied. His darkness power had proven to be an effective counter to my own. It put him at the top of my shitlist. Pest was suddenly close to finding herself right there with him.

I was itching to shoot her with a tranquilizer. My crossbow was loaded where it hung from my belt. Quickdraws were something I had practiced. With my power, I could deploy, point, and hipfire my crossbow in less than a second. At this range I wouldn't miss. Within a half hour she could be unconscious in a cell. Or I might drag her somewhere for an interrogation of my own. She would be made to talk.

"What if I told you there was a spy in the PHQ?"

An actual spy was farfetched, but I thought of the leak that had let out that Armsmaster was under investigation. Such leaks happened occasionally, and almost always by accidental negligence. They were usually tracked down easily and the source given a talking to, but, to my knowledge, who or what had revealed Armsmaster's predicament to the public had not yet been identified. I suddenly found myself more amenable to Pest's unwillingness to cooperate.

"And this theoretical spy," I paused and considered a cape with a potent Stranger or Thinker power, or perhaps both, "the spy could be immediately tipped off if your incomplete intel passes through the Protectorate or PRT?"

"Exactly, but worse. I think even discussing the issue out loud might sound an alarm."

That was a paranoia inducing thought. Of the Undersiders, we had a fair understanding of Grue's and Hellhound's powers, and of Regent's to a lesser extent. Tattletale was an unknown. She was present when the Undersiders went to work, but she never had much physical participation from what anyone could tell. A high level Thinker power would explain a lot.

Pest spoke, "I need more time before any of my intel can safely be shared or acted on. There's something more to discover that would make the whole thing more than doubly worth the trouble. All I need is time."

I relaxed and nodded, "I don't like it. Armsmaster definitely won't like it. But if what you say is true, then I understand. You mentioned a favor?"

She perked up at that. "I know I can't give you anything right now, but I promise I will as soon as possible. In the mean time I need to know that I'll be covered if I get busted for committing a crime."

If that wasn't an admission of intent, I didn't know what was. "Are you going to commit a crime?"

She gave no confirmation or denial.

"I'm just a Ward," I said, "I can't cover you, and Armsmaster definitely won't stick his neck out for you on this."

"But Armsmaster owes me. I let him take full credit for Lung."

This bitch. Wow.

Armsmaster had given me more details when he gave me the task of attending this meeting. I decided to set some things straight.

"Right now, a favor from Armsmaster wouldn't do you any good. And that's if he even felt like he owed you, which I can assure you that he does not. When he took custody of Lung, and buried your involvement, he also took on responsibility for Lung's well being. Thanks to all your bug bites, Lung technically died three times, as in his heart completely shut down and needed a defibrillator. Within hours, his skin started rotting and falling off all over his body. The only reason Lung is alive right now is thanks to his regenerative powers and the best medical care that the PRT can provide. You know, I don't care if that dick dies, but Armsmaster took all the heat for it."

Pest spoke quietly like she was reading to herself from a handbook, "Heroes are supposed to use restraint and nonlethal means to subdue criminals." Then she seemed thoughtful for a moment, "Is that why you're here? Because Armsmaster is in trouble?"

"I won't shame him by giving you the details, but yes. Guess you don't watch the news huh?"

"But I told him that I used poisonous bugs! If you ask me, his condition was intensified by the sedative you gave him. I saw you inject him with something from where I stood on the roof."

I didn't bother telling her that Lung had received two more doses of sedative that night. "From our perspective, there was no reason not to assume it was Hellhound's three giant dogs that were responsible for knocking out Lung. You should have specified to Armsmaster just how many lethal doses worth of venoms were used."

I took a deep breath. Is this how Hannah feels when she lectures me? But I figured I would try to nail the point home.

I pointed to the temples of my head with each of my index fingers, "Think, Pest! You have no experience, no training, no success. You don't even have a name! But you believe you know better and can do better than the Protectorate and take down a notorious group of villains alone. Not to even mention that you're asking for consent to commit criminal acts. It's insulting that you would even ask. You're just a child playing superhero."

I felt myself getting worked up, like I had endured some physical stress. My breath and heart reflected that, and it got worse when Pest took a step forward.

"You're wrong."

"What?" I couldn't believe it.

"I said you're fucking wrong!" She swept an arm out to the side in her own dramatic flair. "You can't see the situation because it isn't right in front of you!"

I huffed and turned away toward the bay. Pest was breathing noisily through her nose, seemingly as riled up as I was.

After a moment I said, "This crime the Undersiders are planning, it's happening soon and it's going to be big, otherwise you wouldn't have arranged this spontaneous meeting and asked for future leniency. You should get out of it right now while you can. I can arrange for you get a ride straight to PHQ from here, and you can spill the beans. That's what anyone in the Protectorate would recommend. But if you want my honest advice…" I trailed off.

When she indicated that she was listening, I continued, "The PRT wouldn't condone it, but Shadow Stalker would fully commit to that crime until the most pivotal moment. Then she'd stab the Undersiders in the back and burn them to the ground. That extra piece of info you're waiting to collect isn't worth losing the opportunity to nab the whole group."

Then I looked directly at Pest, "It would also prove to everyone that you're completely serious about this cape business. You can dig your own grave or you can bury the bad guys."

She didn't speak, but she was definitely thinking. Come what may, she would make her own decision.

I activated Armsmaster's device to end its recording. As I made to leave, I had an idea.

"You busy? I was just on my way to make a solo bust."

She was shaken from her thoughts, "I thought Wards always worked with a partner."

I poked her in the shoulder and stressed the word, "Partner. What do you say?" Then I challenged, "Give me a preview before I have to come down on you for stealing an old lady's purse."

I moved to the stairs landing and said back, "Wouldn't you like to have at least one successful outing before your big criminal move?"

By the time I had descended the stairs and walked several feet away from the station, I heard her start down the stairs after me. She quickly caught up to my side.

Pest asked, "What are we doing?"

I smiled behind my mask.