The sound of Colin's boots on laminate steps echoed down the stairwell as he marched to the lobby, followed closely by Miss Militia. To say he was pissed would be the understatement of the century—he was absolutely livid.

"Colin." Dragon's voice rang over comms; her voice was stern, but Colin could hear concern slipping into her speech despite herself.

"Not now, Dragon."

The faint echo of activity in the lobby that carried up the remainder of the stairwell revitalized Colin's rage. He'd taken the console from Miss Militia—he'd called it giving her a break—so he could monitor the robbery at Brockton Bank that his informant had informed him about. Suffice to say, it didn't go as well as he'd liked, and the after-action information that Dragon had fed him had pushed him beyond reason.

The lobby was almost as vacant as it could be at this time of day. PRT troopers flanked the revolving doors that led outside and the front desk, where a scrawny young woman in a white blouse kept her eyes glued to the monitor in front of her. The Wards and their chaperone blocked one of the doors, and Pigot, accompanied by two troopers, quietly lectured them with her back to Colin as he and Miss Militia closed the distance.

"Armsmaster. I've got—."

Colin ignored Pigot as his hand shot out and closed around Shadow Stalker's collar, dragging her out of the Wards' huddle and a vacant private waiting area joined to the lobby. He was sure Pigot would give him hell later, but, now, this piece of shit was his primary concern.

Miss Militia closed the door behind them, and Colin shoved Shadow Stalker into one of the couches flush with the rearward wall.

"What the hell?!" She protested, shooting up from the couch to meet Colin. He pushed her back into the couch and kept his hand on her shoulder to discourage another attempt. Shadow Stalker behaved more like a spoiled child than an adult—and a Cape, no less—and it only pissed him off more.

"I gave you an order over the console; I told you, 'Do not engage.'" Colin growled. Shadow Stalker's eyes flitted between him and Miss Militia.

"Comms were down." She lied. Colin almost admired the audacity with which Shadow Stalker had to lie to him of all people—and to his face at that. His heart pounded in his ears as he moved without warning or thought, driving his fist into Shadow Stalker's jaw.

"Colin!" Dragon called over comms, her voice thick with disapproval.

"You ignored my order! You threw the Wards into danger—and for what?!" Colin ignored Dragon, grabbing Shadow Stalker's collar with both hands and lifting her onto her feet. She stumbled, likely disoriented after he'd slugged her, but he didn't care. "What could've possibly been so important?!"

"Grue was right there! I could've had him if Pigot hadn't saddled me with babysitting duty!" She spit, glaring daggers at Colin's empty visor.

"That's it?!" Colin shook her as he shouted. "You wanted to satisfy your petty vendetta?! You pathetic—!"

Colin stopped when he felt a hand fall on his shoulder, shaking it lightly. He glanced over his shoulder at Miss Militia; her expression was stern but not entirely disapproving.

"I think you've made your point." She cautioned. He was already going to catch hell for this; if he did anything more, he'd be risking his position—his reputation in the PRT. Colin released Shadow Stalker with a shove and watched her stumble and fall back onto the couch.

He considered saying more but felt himself deflate at the thought; he'd exhausted his anger, and Miss Militia had stolen his momentum before he could do or say something he'd regret. So, Colin turned and made for the door, intent on leaving Miss Militia to deal with Shadow Stalker in whatever way she saw fit. He did his best to compose himself as his fingers closed around the cold stainless steel door knob and twisted it. As the door swung inward, it revealed Pigot and her guard waiting patiently on the other side.

"Director—." Colin started, but Pigot silenced him as she and her guard pushed past him into the waiting room. She was a stout black woman with close-cropped hair and a squared jaw; when she spoke, she spoke with a commanding voice that left no room for negotiation. Pigot's attention fell on Shadow Stalker, and she addressed the two troopers accompanying her.

"Escort Shadow Stalker to a temporary holding cell."

Shadow Stalker shot to her feet and, no doubt, would've protested, but she wasn't given the chance. The troopers closed the distance, drew their batons, and one of them wasted no time jabbing the electrified end into Shadow Stalker's chest. All she could manage was a strangled grunt before collapsing to the floor in a limp heap.

It wasn't the first time that Colin had seen PRT troopers in action—and he doubted it would be the last—but it never stopped being just a bit unnerving how quickly they jumped on Capes when given the chance. He had to guess it was part of their training; when it came to Capes, it was best not to give them any chances. His eyes followed the two troopers as they dragged Shadow Stalker from the room by her arms, batons still drawn and quietly humming with electricity.

"I've been waiting for a chance to put her on timeout." Pigot said it evenly before turning her attention to Colin. "Close the door, please."

Colin did. The following, intermediary silence was tense, and the atmosphere didn't necessarily improve once Pigot eased herself into an armchair tucked into a corner of the room and finally broke the silence.

"First, whatever happened in this room between you and Shadow Stalker stays in this room." Pigot jabbed a finger at Colin.

"Yes ma'am." Colin nodded.

"Good. As much as I'd love to see her in cuffs, all I can manage is a two-week suspension with no pay, and since you assaulted a PRT-affiliated Cape, you'll be taking over Shadow Stalker's duties as the Wards' chaperone for those two weeks."

Colin would've bristled at that if he wasn't well aware of the disproportionate nature of his punishment. If their roles had been reversed, Shadow Stalker would be in cuffs, just as Pigot wanted. He could treat this like a brief vacation if he really wanted to; he wouldn't be expected to take patrols or keep up with his regular duties in those two weeks.

"Yes ma'am. I understand."

"Miss Militia, you're free to return to your duties."

Miss Militia nodded and left the room, leaving Colin alone with the director. Colin finally took a seat on a couch opposite Pigot; the waiting room was small enough that the distance between them didn't hinder the conversation.

"Aegis should have an after-action report ready for you sometime today, but I wouldn't be surprised if you didn't see it." Pigot said.

"Why?"

"He looks like a walking corpse, Armsmaster. I doubt he's capable of drafting a report without bleeding on it."

"Shouldn't Panacea be seeing to the Wards' injuries?"

"Normally, but she's currently predisposed."

"With what?" It didn't make sense that Panacea wouldn't be rushed here to tend to the Wards, considering their priority status over Panacea's volunteer work. Was New Wave making a statement—refraining from supporting Capes that belonged to the PRT? No, that wasn't likely. Something more mundane?

"A blood transfusion." Pigot answered. Colin nodded and opened his mouth to speak, so Panacea was just ignoring them in favor of her volunteer work. Pigot lifted a hand to silence him before he could voice that assumption. "She was at Brockton Bank during the robbery and was shot by an armed gunman. Glory Girl rushed her to the nearest hospital with less than two minutes to spare."

"Oh." Colin said. He'd been wrong in his assumption, and he'd kick himself over it later, but now he was concerned with the armed gunman Pigot had mentioned. "The perpetrators were the Undersiders, correct?"

"Yes."

"Then who's the gunman?" Colin knew beforehand that the Undersiders had two new members: the hired killer that his informant had told him about, and said informant. However, it didn't hurt to play dumb and fish for more information; he didn't know anything about this hired gun other than that he was new and a complete unknown.

"We don't know."

"I've been reviewing relevant CCTV footage and police reports over the past few years." Dragon spoke over comms. So that's why she's been so quiet. "I haven't found anything that couldn't just be coincidence; just a handful of armed robberies involving someone that looks similar, but that's not nearly enough evidence to make any concrete statements."

"Is he a Cape?" Colin asked the both of them.

"We don't know." Pigot repeated.

"There's no evidence suggesting he is, but it's a safe bet." Dragon responded.

"Right." Colin sighed. He'd find no rest, even when he took over as the Wards' chaperone, just more questions. Colin had been doing some research regarding the Undersiders between projects before now, but he hadn't really gotten anywhere—most leads ended in dead forum threads or devolved into baseless speculation. That was, until his informant contacted him. She hadn't told him her name, and, as far as he knew, she still didn't have a Cape identity; so, for now, she was just the informant. She'd told him about the robbery beforehand, and, while he didn't have much room or time to do anything about it, he appreciated the heads-up, and she'd given him invaluable—though vague—information regarding Tattletale and had revealed that the Undersiders had a benefactor.

"I want you to look into this." Pigot said, rising from her seat. "Whatever you have to do, I want to know what's going on and who's behind it."

"Yes ma'am." Colin straightened his back and injected some confidence into his voice. Whether or not Pigot appreciated it, he didn't know; she only nodded and left, closing the door behind her and leaving Colin alone in the silent waiting room. Colin opened his private channel to Dragon.

"There's someone I want you to meet, Dragon."