It was the immortal zeitgeist of Winslow High: Turkey Pie Day. The school cafeteria served turkey pie on the second Thursday of each month, to be noted in the previous day's afternoon announcements as well as the incumbent's morning announcements. I didn't understand the significance of keeping that schedule, but I always kept the day marked on my calendar.

The pie serving itself was a rectangular chunk cut from a larger whole that made a nasty noise when plopped onto a tray. The top crust was flakey and overdone. The bottom crust was gooey and underdone. The filling was a gray gelatinous goop with chunks of what was allegedly turkey.

It was delicious.

The pie was served with a bread roll. The cafeteria bread usually sucked, but on Turkey Pie Day the bread was heavenly, perfectly fluffy to sop up the pie goop. The same could be said of the mashed potatoes; for some reason they were just better on Turkey Pie Day.

I always ate two servings. Many students ate three. Yea, though she was wont to pack her lunch, even Emma partook of the pie. The jocks, the nerds, the gangbanger wannabes, everyone was a bit friendlier on those Thursdays.

I was in bliss, halfway through my first pie, when Emma nudged me and motioned to the cafeteria television. I choked.

A big news banner on the screen read 'LIVE: BANK ROBBERY IN PROGRESS'. A sub text read 'Undersiders Attack Brockton Bay Central Bank, Take Hostages'.

The video showed an elevated view of the street in front of the bank's façade. Barricades would have been erected around the area. Presumably a newsperson had managed to get through and enter a building across the street and film from a second floor window. The road was cleared except for a colorful collection of heroes arranged in a wide net formation facing the bank entrance. They were my teammates, the fully assembled Wards… sans Shadow Stalker.

I stood from my table and ran out of the cafeteria. Some voices commented on my abrupt exit, and the last I heard was Emma saying, "She gets worse periods than anyone I've ever known."

A couple boys laughed at that. It was a good cover, but having the biggest bitch in school cover for you was both a gift and a curse. In a vacant hallway I dialed the number for my PRT advocate on my cell. She didn't pick up until the very last ring.

"This is Cheryl Hoosier. Who is speaking?"

She knew it was me. What she was really asking was 'is this Sophia Hess or Shadow Stalker'.

I plowed over the question, "A bank is being robbed! Why am I still at school?"

There was a second of silence and then, "I don't know."

I was incredulous, "Seriously?!"

Cheryl said, "I'll have you picked up. Standard PRT transport. Your principal will be notified."

That was that. I ran to the school's front entrance and flung open the door into the rain outside. My ride would come from either PHQ or the PRT base. Both were in the same general direction, and my ride would be using the major arterial road from downtown to get here. Waiting was killing time. With luck, I could intercept my pickup sooner than if I waited at the school. I started to jog southward on the sidewalk at a sedate pace to not attract too much attention, though it was admittedly unusual to be exercising at lunchtime in the rain. Some looks were directed my way, but most pedestrians were more focused on staying dry under their umbrellas.

That damn bug freak. Pest knew last night that she'd be hitting a bank with the Undersiders, and she hadn't said anything. No warning. No subtle hint. To hell with the Thinker 'spy' shit, she should've given me a tip.

I remembered the advice I had suggested to Pest: to wait and backstab the Undersiders during a pivotal moment of whatever job they were pulling. Would she do it? It might be happening right now. An all-out skirmish with the Wards presented an excellent opportunity for a double-cross. Pest would reap loads of glory and citywide attention, and the Protectorate would beg her to join up.

Or she might have disregarded my advice. In that case she would continue playing the long game with the Undersiders, meaning she would commit tooth and nail to this cape fight against the Wards. I doubted Armsmaster had already distributed my intel on the bug Master. It had not even been a day, and he might not have even listened to it yet, what with his ongoing investigation and being out of town today. If Pest fought like she did last night, then my teammates were in for a nasty surprise.

She had to go down today. I would do my best to vouch for her afterwards, to keep her out of prison, but a crime this big and flagrant in the middle of the day couldn't slide. Shadow Stalker is a Ward; the Wards' success is Shadow Stalker's success. The association wasn't totally consensual, but their failures are mine too. I take great pride in my cape career.

If Pest was going to be taken down, I wanted to be the one do it. In a weird way, I felt that it was sort of my responsibility. And that begged the question: why wasn't I called in? Mostly soaked now, I ran a little faster.

I dodged around some sidewalk travelers and heard a siren in the distance. The rain was letting up but still dampened ambient noise, meaning the siren was closer than it sounded. I strained to look over the tops of traffic cars. There. Vehicles in both lanes of the road turned outward to allow a white SUV, with tinted windows and interior flashing light bar, to pass.

I ran into the street and held my arms out. The SUV hit its brakes and stopped just a few feet shy of my body. I moved to the door behind the driver. The first pull on the door handle didn't work. Then I heard the electronic lock thump and got the door open on the second pull. It must have been a dramatic public spectacle, but rubberneckers tended to pay attention to the scene as a whole and less so to the individual teenage girl that caused the scene.

Even as I was stepping into the vehicle, and before I had fully shut the door, I hollered, "Punch it!" to the driver, a man in standard PRT camos. A gym bag with cartoon depictions of the Triumvirate heroes lay in the backseat waiting for me. In it were a bodysuit, cloak, boots, gloves, and belt from my PHQ dorm room. There was also my backup crossbow.

The confines of the backseat made changing difficult. Being thoroughly wet from my run through the rain made pulling on my bodysuit nearly impossible. There were no arm bracers or shin guards packed; my only set was in my closet at home with my white mask.

The mask that was packed in the bag for me was an unfinished duplicate of my primary mask. This one had the beige color of the unpainted slightly lustrous polymer it was crafted from. It also lacked the electricity detecting lens. I really needed to get a fully functional backup mask, as well as backup bracers and shin guards, for situations like this.

Getting changed took some time. Getting to the bank took some more time. The driver stopped our SUV in a parallel parking spot across from the bank. I jumped out ready for action. I swiveled my head and took stock of the situation. The rain had let up. Apparently so had the action.

The bank's front wall was completely wrecked, glass scattered everywhere. Nearly all the stone statues that decorated the bank's entrance were rubble. Several spots in the ground had been torn up or cratered. A neighboring building had a hole torn through it.

City police walked to and fro, in and out of the bank. One person was cordoning the area off with yellow crime scene tape. Some paramedics were looking over a group of civilians seated on the bank steps. I couldn't see any apparent injuries among them. At least one PRT combat squad was present; two soldiers stood by the bank doors, probably more inside, and one watched over the civs. They maintained a relaxed guard. There was no bank robbery here. It was already over. I idly noticed my driver next to me and surveying the damage too.

A cop approached us, a lieutenant. "Shadow Stalker, ma'am," he greeted and then pointed at two armored PRT vans turning around the block at the end of the road, "Those are the Wards pulling away now."

I didn't swear out loud. I definitely didn't stomp my foot and growl. I calmly got back into my transport, and I didn't punch the back of the passenger seat headrest five times.

After I had been fuming for a bit, my chauffeur opened the driver door but didn't get in. He draped one arm over the roof of the vehicle and craned his head to look in at me. "Thought you would want to know," he announced with dismay, "I talked to a couple people. The Wards lost, and the baddies got away with a bunch of cash."

"All of them got away?" I asked for clarification, wanting to know about Pest. Had she even been here?

"I didn't hear anything contradicting that." He changed topic, "Your team will be headed to base for debrief. I'll take you there."

"No," I said not petulantly at all, "I wasn't invited. Just take me back to school."

All senior Protectorate members were out of the city today. That type of thing was public knowledge, but wasn't announced until literally the day it happened to prevent villains from planning around it. The Undersiders' Thinker deserved a point for scheduling their heist today.

In the senior heroes' absence, the Ward captain would be in charge of all Protectorate operations, answering only to the PRT director. Aegis. That fucking asshole.

This was a betrayal. His first executive decision had been to screw me. Did Aegis think little of me? Was I the least valuable member of the Wards? Was it an issue of trust? It felt bad. I wanted to be a hero. It was important to me. I hadn't wanted anything else since the day I got my powers.

The issue was that I got caught doing things my own way. My not-so-legal way. The call to pursue justice was deafening. It was something that I could feel in my blood. But my justice and the Protectorate's justice were not the same. Mine is hard. Theirs is soft. Now I was beholden to their rules and regulations. My only path to heroism was on the PRT's leash. I didn't like it. There were many days when I absolutely despised it. But ultimately it was just another thing that I had to work around, at least until I aged out of my probational contract. I was resigned to making it work that long. But making it work is hard to do when my leader doesn't trust me.

I took a deep breath and let it out through my nose. Sitting in the backseat, I crossed my arms and turned my attention to the PRT driver, who was still looking in at me.

I huffed, "I left in the middle of lunch for this bullshit."

He surprised me with, "Does Winslow still do Turkey Pie Day?"

The turn of topic was sufficiently distracting. I answered, "Yeah."

"Is it still good?"

"I live for it," I told him and then studied the man. He was familiar. "You're the coffee guy that drove me last weekend."

"Folgers. I handle almost all of your escorts, you know."

"Oh." I hoped he didn't expect an apology for not noticing.

A cop stepped out of a cruiser parked in front of us. He shouted at another cop walking the bank perimeter. I only paid attention when I heard 'kidnap'.

I rolled down my window and called at the cop to get his attention, "Hey you, what was that about a kidnapping?"

The man appraised me in my costume then said, "Just got orders from Dispatch to escort a VIP to the site of a kidnapping."

"Where at? What VIP?" I asked.

"I won't get any more info until I make contact with the VIP. Call Dispatch and maybe they can tell you."

I gave the man a nod and activated my Breaker form to quickly move to the front passenger seat. There was a communication radio mounted on the dash like in all law enforcement vehicles. I spun the tuning dial to the frequency that I knew the Brockton Bay Police Department dispatchers used.

I grabbed the mic and spoke into it, "I need the location of that kidnapping." Waited a moment and requested again, "Confirm location, Dispatch."

There was a crunch over the speaker followed by, "Dispatch to unmarked unit, identify yourself."

Umm… this is Shadow Stalker?

Folgers took the mic from me and spoke, "Unit zero-four-four-Papa to Dispatch, request location of recent kidnapping." He then held up a finger on the hand that held the mic as if to say 'wait'.

About half a minute passed and the speaker came to life again, "Dispatch to Unit zero-four-four-Papa, confirmed kidnapping at thirty-two Pleasant Street."

Folgers acknowledged, "Ten-four," and set the mic down.

"Can you take me there?" I asked Folgers.

He turned the ignition and said, "Sure, my only order was to give you an escort. Destination is up to you."

There were equal amounts of predatory anticipation and awkward anxiety battling in my stomach over the thought of confronting my team that had abandoned me. I still haven't received any communication from them! Putting off that inevitable confrontation was preferable for now. And anything was better than returning to school and ruminating over the turkey pie I had missed out on.

32 Pleasant St.

The house was small but attractive. There was a cozy porch and a decent bit of yard. The whole lot was well kept. A sedan was parked in the driveway. Two police vehicles were crammed in behind it.

We pulled up and parked behind another series of police cruisers parked along the curb. Five separate units responding to a kidnapping seemed a little much. A law enforcement officer was keeping a single news reporter from stepping onto the property. As Folgers shut our vehicle down, the officer hurried over to us. Folgers stepped out first and was immediately accosted for identification. I stepped out just as my driver handed over his PRT badge.

The officer took one look at me and gave back Folger's badge without even inspecting it, "You two can head right in. The investigation is underway." He spoke into the little radio clipped at his shoulder, "Ten-fourteen-Hotel onsite, ten-fourteen-Hotel onsite."

The reporter had crossed the distance and shoved an archaic handheld voice recorder at my face, "Shadow Stalker, any comments on the abduction?"

The police officer grabbed the reporter and started hauling him away from me, but not before the reporter shouted, "Can you confirm the victim is an adolescent girl?"

Adolescent girl? A large number of 'abducted' children ended up being petty disputes between two parents feuding over custody. Hopefully that was the case here, but the exorbitant police response suggested otherwise.

The house front door stood wide open. A cop with latex gloves was down on a knee taking fingerprints from the door handle. I doubted any prints would be found. The splintered frame meant that the door had been knocked in, likely with a sledge or a ram since it looked too robust to simply kick in.

The forensic cop looked up when I approached, Folgers behind me, and stuck a thumb over his shoulder, "The chief's inside, ma'am."

We passed into the house. I had been to the sites of several kidnappings, all of them somewhere in public and usually outside. My first home abduction experience failed to meet expectations. Movies and TV shows had me expecting to see shattered glass, upturned furniture, shredded curtains, drawers emptied out onto the floor, maybe even mud tracked over the carpet from the intruder's shoes. Except for the normal signs and clutter of being lived in, the house was in perfect condition.

I stood at the precipice of the main living space, and then heard new arrivals behind me. I turned around to see Brockton Bay's mayor step through the threshold, flanked by the cop that I had talked to at the bank. Mayor Christner met my eyes, and we were both surprised to see each other.

The mayor recovered first. "Shadow Stalker," he said with hurried voice, "thank you so much for coming, even after that mess at the bank." He reached out for my hand and shook it without my offering it to him. "Excuse me, please."

Mayor Christner slid past and went to the living room where a female cop was trying to console an upset woman on a sofa. The woman rose and embraced the mayor. She was crying and mumbling, the only part I understood was that her husband was stuck in traffic somewhere.

Police Chief Hepburn, sporting a cliché police chief's mustache, approached me then, "Good to see you, Shadow Stalker."

We shook hands. I said, "Fair warning, Chief, there isn't much I can do here."

"Ah, I know you're more of an ass kicking cape than an evidence gathering cape, but seeing a hero present is good for morale. Feel free to stick around."

"Is Mayor Christner the VIP I heard about?" I asked him.

"Yes, his transport was kept under wraps. His niece is the victim and we can't dismiss the possibility that the mayor himself may additionally be targeted."

That explained the huge police response.

The Chief put hands on hips and looked between me and Folgers. He said conspiratorially, "Victim is Dinah Alcott. Her abduction wasn't random or spontaneous. They smashed the door, hit the mother over the head, and took the girl right out of bed. We figure they were in and out in sixty seconds."

I had a look around the house and talked with more of the police, one of which was taking evidence photos with a big flashing camera, even though there wasn't any evidence to be found. Maybe the lack of was evidence in and of itself. More than one cop asked me about the bank. I tried to tell them in a way that didn't sound bitter that I was unable to divulge any details. They all assumed that I had been there.

The twelve year old kid, Dinah Alcott, had been sick for a few days and was staying home from school. Her mother, the mayor's sister, had taken vacation from work to be with her. Plain masked and uniformed men, at least two but probably more, forcefully entered and incapacitated the mother. They went straight to the girl's bedroom where she was resting in bed. Nothing was stolen or disturbed. A neighbor's home surveillance camera had low frame rate footage of a plain white cargo van that passed one way up the street, and then the other way a few minutes later. There must have been a thousand identical vehicles throughout Brockton Bay.

The mayor came over and held his cell phone out to me, "It's my son."

"Your son?"

He elaborated, "It's Rory."

My eyes were visible through my mask. He must have seen my blank look because he leaned closer and whispered quieter, "Triumph."

Mayor Christner… Rory Christner… oh… how did I not know that?

I took the phone before I made a bigger fool of myself. "Hello?"

"Soph-," Triumph stopped and cleared his throat, "I'm glad you're there, Stalker. I thought you would have your hands full with the bank."

"Yes, you would think so."

Triumph didn't seem to notice what I said. He continued, "This political event took all of us out of town… Do you think they went after my cousin to get leverage over my dad?"

"Maybe. I'm not a detective," I told him, "but since you mention that, it could also be possible they were going after…" I lowered my voice, "Triumph's relative."

"Sheesh," Triumph exasperated, "I don't think I have a nemesis. And I'm as careful with my identity as anyone. That would make it easier to get Dinah back though. Just wait for the ransom demands."

"I'm sorry, but I honestly don't think there will be any ransom demands." I paused to let him put my meaning together. He didn't talk again, so I said, "There's really nothing I'm able to do here."

Triumph said, "There's something you could do for me actually…"

"What is it?"

"Could you stay there with my family until I arrive, please? I'm tearing down the road as fast as possible so it shouldn't be too long. It would mean a lot to me."

"Sure, I'll be here."

I heard him exhale over the phone, "Thank you."

It would beat going back to school. It definitely beat reporting in to PRT ops and seeing Aegis's stupid face. I figured the next time he and I ran combat drills, Aegis would accidentally get one of his eyes gouged out. Not like it wouldn't grow back.

I gave back the mayor's phone and stepped deeper into the house. On the hallway wall was a family photograph of the Alcotts in their nice clothes, the type that would be sent out in holiday cards. Dinah was how anyone would expect a young girl to look: ordinary but pretty, with long and straight brown hair and a big smile. She resembled her mother. Next to it was a collage picture frame featuring Dinah at several different ages: she posed on the Boardwalk with an ice cream cone, she wore reindeer pajamas and sat on the floor in front of a Christmas tree opening a gift, she held a small tooth up to the camera and smiled a gap-tooth grin.

I continued down the hallway, past a bathroom, and stopped at the first open door. Dinah's room. The walls were popcorn yellow, the bedding and decorations were green. Assembled dinosaur puzzle models were arranged on her dresser and on a shelf over her bed. A big horse plush sat in a corner. On a small personal desk was a large illustrated book about ancient Egypt. The covers on her bed were still half dragged onto the floor.

There were numerous Triumph posters on the walls, all of them autographed with a personal message. One of them read 'To Dinah, the little lady with BIG dreams, you're gonna be great someday!'

I hadn't cried in years. I wasn't about to start now. A few deep shaky breathes and I had myself back in order. This wasn't a simple case of 'see a little girl at the park and nab her'. This was premeditated and professionally executed. I already had the mystery solved. The girl was gone. And she would not be found. Case closed.

There are creeps that prowl around and take photos of children. Good looking children that might be desired. A picture showcase is made of a child, which is then shown to potential buyers. A purchase is made, and then the kidnappers are dispatched to collect and deliver the product. Dinah Alcott was in a van probably headed for the Mexico border right now. They would probably stop and switch vehicles several times. They might even hop in a boat at some point. Maybe she'll be kept as somebody's pet. Or maybe she'd be drugged and whored at a brothel, literally raped to death.

This world is a shithole.

At the last Behemoth attack, my first Endbringer experience, Legend had given a little speech to the last survivors standing after the monster had retreated. I could remember him telling us to stay hopeful and leaving us with the quote 'You must choose whether the world you live in is inherently friendly or inherently hostile. Your choice will shape the reality you live in'.

What was Dinah's choice? Did she choose this reality for herself?

'Be the change that you want to see in the world'. That was an iconic quote that was stamped on a lot of Legend merchandise. I had already tried that, and I was enslaved to the PRT for my trouble, hands tied and teeth muzzled.

Fuck Legend. If the world changed to suit my vision, then there would be no more kidnapped girls. There wouldn't be a single scumbag left on Earth and brave enough to even fantasize of taking a child from her home.

I returned to the crowded front room. The husband had arrived. He had been crying and holding his wife, but then he broke away and approached me. He reached out with his hands but stopped before actually touching me. Tears streaked his face, and desperation showed in his eyes.

"Please," he begged, "please bring my girl back."

It made me uncomfortable.

"We'll do our best," I told him and forced myself to not look away in shame.

I walked outside and sat down on the porch steps. Folgers followed me out and offered a stick of gum. It wasn't long before Rory, in his civilian clothes, was dropped off by a PRT vehicle. He thanked me for waiting with his family, and then I left.

Time to face the music. Or rather, time to make the music. Aegis was a fool if he thought I wouldn't raise hell over the bank.

The blue light was turned off over the PRT base entrance. Off meant that the building was closed to civilian visitors. There was no hustle inside. The excitement from the bank had already calmed down. I parted ways with my driver and went to the front reception desk.

"Are there any messages for me?"

The receptionist shook her head.

Had anyone even noticed I wasn't around?

I trudged into the elevator and it zoomed down to the underground cape refuge. It was an alternate base for Protectorate capes when they needed to be closer to the center of the city or the central location of the PRT's resources.

I dropped my hood and removed my mask for a retinal scanner that opened up to a high ceiling domed room. A conversation immediately died when I entered. Gallant and Vista were at the monitor station with a math problem blown up on the big display. Clockblocker and Kid Win sat at the small space that served as a comfort area. All of them looking very domestic.

Clockblocker had to be the first to speak, "You're a few hours late, Shadow Stalker. Tsk tsk."

Faster than I thought possible, my hard mask flew from my hand. Clockblocker yelped and raised his arms to deflect the missile away from his head.

"Tell me about the bank!" I challenged, looking at each of them in turn. "Tell me about how you didn't need my help to save the day!"

"Uh," Vista looked hesitant to say, "We lost, Sophia."

Dean said to her, "She knows."

"You lost?!" I mocked. "To a ragtag group of nobodies that you outnumbered?"

Chris piped in, "They had three really big dogs."

I talked over him, "I'm a fucking Ward like all of you! Why wasn't I there? Piggy wouldn't screw me like that. Where is Aegis? He's a worthless team captain!"

Clockblocker jumped to his feet, "Aegis thought having you there with Grue in a situation with hostages was a bad idea. I agreed with him." He looked at Chris for support, "Right?"

Chris stuttered over his first word but finished with more conviction, "I thought his concerns were reasonable."

Vista took a step forward like she was next in line to throw her two cents in my face.

Dean grabbed her by the shoulder, "Missy, no." He addressed the whole room, "I know you guys are trying to go to bat for Aegis, but from Sophia's perspective you're actually telling her that you don't trust her. If Aegis were here right now you know that he'd own up to making a bad decision, and you know he would refuse to share any blame."

Then Dean spoke directly to me, "Sophia, Carlos didn't consult with anyone about leaving you out. I promise you that. And we really needed you at the bank."

"Well spoken, Dean." Miss Militia appeared over my shoulder and caused me to jerk around. "What's done is done," she said, "I expect all of you to move past this."

Not likely.

She said quieter, "Walk with me, Shadow Stalker. Mask on."

I picked my thrown mask from the ground and hurried to catch up to Miss Militia. We took the elevator back to the lobby. Then we got in another elevator, Hannah pressed the button for the top floor.

When the elevator doors shut, she started, "You are not in charge of dispensing punishment, nor are you permitted to lecture your peers in abusive fashion. You will not take any hostile action towards Aegis. Do you understand?"

I let the question hang until she got mad.

"Sophia!"

"I understand," I said.

"Director Piggot has already handled Aegis. He left for home to recover his gruesome wounds in private. It was a mistake not making use of you at the bank. Your inclusion might have tipped the scales. Aegis made plenty more tactical errors besides."

I doubted she would have cared about my exclusion if the battle at the bank had ended in victory for the good guys.

"Armsmaster and I debriefed with everyone. You should look over the reports. We have new information about the Undersiders, good information, including their newest member, Skitter."

Skitter?

Disregarding that for now, I asked, "And what about the investigation? Is Armsmaster back in charge yet?"

"Yes, for now."

"For now?" I parroted. "What does that mean?"

"Don't concern yourself with it."

We got off the elevator, and I was led up the last stairwell to the roof access and outside. There was a little wind this high up. It felt good. I kept my mask in place and lowered my hood so my hair could blow. I followed my companion's lead, and we stepped over to the side and looked out over the bay. School was over, and there was still plenty of daylight left. I thought I'd go meet Emma and regale her with tales of how shitty my day was. Today was supposed to have been my day off, after all.

"Listen," Hannah ordered.

Oh boy, what is this lecture gonna be that it couldn't be delivered inside?

She asked directly, "Have you been going out on your own at night?"

"No," I answered easily.

"Late last night an illegal salvage operation was uncovered by the police. They were tipped off anonymously. Upon arrival, the operation had already been thwarted and the criminals brutally disabled."

Without emotion I asked her, "Do you think I did that?"

"I read that police report this morning. It caught my attention because two of the criminals claimed to have been attacked by a swarm of insects."

"Wow," I snobbed, "that sounds just like me."

"I thought it was an indication of an unfamiliar or new cape. The bank heist confirmed my assumption."

"Uh-huh. So it was the Undersiders that hit the salvage operation," I concluded for her.

"Three of the four apprehended criminals were in notably bad condition. They had blood taken as part of dispensed medical aid. One of those three had no signs of being attacked by insects, and his blood sample showed something unusual. Chemical traces of something that resembled a sedative."

Hannah took a pause. I gave nothing away.

She continued, "The forensics equipment used by the police was unable to identify the possible sedative. I pulled some strings to have that blood sample delivered here and tested by the more sophisticated PRT equipment. The sedative is the same one you use."

"It's a Tinker-made chemical formula that leaked online a long time ago," I explained, "anybody with money and lab equipment like my PRT-approved vendor could make it."

"Were you at that chop shop last night?" Hannah asked.

Besides the issue of keeping my illegal vigilantism a secret, Armsmaster had told me to keep quiet about my rendezvous with Pest. I mostly trusted Hannah, but the fewer people that knew about it the better. Pest's cover and the Undersiders' downfall were at stake. I wouldn't tell Hannah anything unless Armsmaster decided to bring her into the loop.

I looked her dead in the eye, "Do you really think I'm running around with this new villain and attacking people?"

"No," she said and met my eyes unflinchingly, "but I do think you've been going out at night and taking action as a vigilante."

I couldn't help it. I broke our eye contact involuntarily.

Militia pressed her advantage, "I read most police reports. Every now and then I'll see one where a few people, all of them convicted or suspected criminals, are violently beaten or even maimed. Now, that isn't so uncommon in Brockton Bay with all of the gang activity, but every now and then a blood sample from one of the victims will turn up something that resembles the traces of an unidentifiable sedative. The police forensics can't do anymore than that."

I was looking away at the south horizon.

"Look at me, Sophia."

Eventually I did.

"All of those obscure forensics results from months ago could be rerun through our equipment here and enhanced." She paused while my heart thumped. "Sophia, would those enhanced results match the sedative that Shadow Stalker uses?"

She waited. I felt sweat form on my forehead. Was she bluffing? The police testing had found sedative in blood samples. Blood didn't keep forever, and the police department wouldn't keep blood samples very long before disposing of them. How could new results be acquired from blood that didn't exist anymore? Did the PRT have a Tinker machine that could extrapolate new information from preexisting data that came from a more primitive device? That didn't make sense. But Tinker shit commonly had nothing to do with 'sense'.

Miss Militia still waited for an answer. I couldn't give one. 'Yes' was out of the question. And there wasn't any possible way to say 'no' without damning myself in one way or another.

She moved closer and put her hands on my shoulders, "No more."

She never took her eyes off mine. They were a brilliant green and reminded me of the girl from the really famous National Geographic cover. Those pretty eyes were uncompromising as they punctured my resolve. I wasn't breathing.

"No more," she said again.

Her hands slid from my shoulders. Then she turned and left me alone on the roof. Air found my lungs. I walked to the edge of the roof and let the toes of my boots hang over. Fear of heights was inconsequential with a power like mine.

No more.

I couldn't stop. There was an insatiable hunger for the hunt, to smash heads beneath my feet, to feel bones and joints suddenly give way to my applied force. It was as real as thirst.

I won't stop. The hunt can't be taken out of the predator. Extra care would have to be taken. No more tranquilizer bolts after dark. In fact, it might be a good idea to leave my crossbow behind entirely. I was pretty decent with fighting knives now. Maybe I could incorporate a club or baton if I wanted to go bloodless.

These were thoughts for later. It was high time that I find out what the hell happened at Brockton Bay Central Bank at noon today.

I read the reports filed by each Ward member, in addition to that of Glory Girl, as well as several witness statements from the hostages. There was copious footage from numerous interior and exterior security cameras.

I watched Pest give the 'don't be a hero' speech to the hostages, like she was the one in charge of the operation, and then threaten them with black widow spiders. She was a good liar. After last night's adventure with the new girl, I slacked off during my first period Business Marketing class to look up poisonous bugs on the internet. Calling a black widow a killer was a stretch. Its bite never killed anyone older than an infant child, though perhaps several bites from several spiders could be fatal.

Much of the outside fighting footage was blocked by Grue's magic darkness, but the reports painted a sorry story for the Wards. On paper, it was a great idea for Aegis and Clockblocker to trade places, allowing for Hellhound and her beasts to be baited into Clockblocker's touch. But Tattletale's Thinker power was too good. Clockblocker himself was mercilessly eliminated from the fight via insect suffocation, and Aegis spent the entire encounter being ragdolled around the field of battle. Kid Win with his flashy new cannon broke as many rules as he did walls and windows. Gallant and Browbeat contributed nothing. Vista was the only one without any screw ups, but she needed support to be effective. With how poorly the Wards had coordinated, Pest alone might have been capable of incapacitating all of them except Aegis. Much of the Undersiders' stratagem had even come from Pest improvising on the spot.

I barked a laugh when I saw Panacea brain Pest with an extinguisher. The camera had picked up the comical dong sound from the impact. Glory Girl swooped in with too much flourish and not enough punching. Pest really sold herself well as a villain when she took Panacea captive at knife point. Lots of dialogue with Tattletale followed, though the audio was removed from the video. Glory Girl's report stated that secrets and sensitive info were concerned, thus it made sense that the PRT would sensor it.

Glory Girl's notes claimed that Tattletale could read minds. So far there was a good deal of evidence to support that claim. The only thing refuting it was that she had not yet busted Pest for being a spy.

My jaw dropped, and I watched it several times over when Pest bludgeoned Panacea over the back of the head with a metal baton. Panacea fell down, and the undercover would-be-hero followed her down and struck her again over the head. That explained why there currently was not a report from Panacea.

How fucking stupid is that girl? The target was already removed from combat. And the target wasn't just anyone. Did Pest not understand how valuable Panacea is?

Tattletale figured out a way around Glory Girl's invulnerability, and together she and Pest took down the Brute. The Undersiders made a perfect getaway laden with cash.

Three things could be taken away from the bank heist. First, Tattletale is a force to be reckoned with. Second, Pest, Skitter?, is playing her undercover role way too well. Lastly, the Wards need to be better. It was currently embarrassing to call myself a Ward.

I think I was glad that Pest had not been taken down. But I would be fine with it if all the Undersiders went down too, Grue in particular. If I had been there… everything had gone the villains' way, so maybe I'd have been trounced too. But I wouldn't hold back on Pest if she stood between me and victory.

Playing for the losing team doesn't feel good.

NOTE

Turkey Pie Day was real. I partook of the pie many a time. It looked like crap and tasted like Heaven. Michelle Obama took our fries, our burgers, and our pizza. She tried and failed to take our turkey pie.

END NOTE