One second, he was scanning the neosteel; the next, he snapped his visor shut, scooped up everything I brought, including the single emergency chunk of neometal he gushed about. I very much intended to tell him I have a truckload at the SCV parked outside but he decided just to grab dash and speed-walked out of the lobby like a man possessed. If he’d moved any faster, he’d have left an afterimage.

  Miss Militia let out a long, resigned sigh. “He’s gone to the workshop.”

  Armmaster didn’t even say goodbye.

  The fucker saw lootbox and said, screw it. Mine! Mine! Mine!.

  Assault folded his arms. “Yeah, we’re not gonna see him for six hours minimum. Probably more.” He shot me a half-laugh while still looking quite apologetic at their sudden leader behaviour. “You really shouldn’t have given him that many toys. He’s like a kid who found the entire catalogue of Christmas.”

  Battery nudged her husband with an elbow. “It wasn’t toys. It was… whatever that was. I could hear his heartbeat spike from where I was standing. What the hell did you give him? Looks like just a piece of metal to me.”

  I wondered the same thing as well. “It is a piece of metal. Is that normal?”

  “Absolutely not,” Assault said cheerfully. “Usually, he mutters something about recalibrating, then steals whatever you brought in a way he thinks is subtle. This time, he didn’t even bother with the pretence. That means he’s panicking in a good way. Tinker panic. The fun kind. Lots of people dont know about it, but..Armsy’s here ain't exactly good at talking to people”

  I kinda knew about it, but I didn't think it was this bad. The man could shake and wave during a PRT PR event, but this? This seems a little tad bit extreme, innit? Like, some dude is high on Hikimori after finding a gem of a game, so he could hold up in his apartment and play it.

  Miss Militia looked at me with that polite-but-dead-serious calm she always carried while coughing in embarrassment, “Forgive my colleague's sudden outburst.I hope you understand what you just did. ”

  I raised a brow. “Gave him a material sample?”

  “No,” she said, voice flattening. “You triggered every scientific, military, and bureaucratic instinct he has. He’s already planning the next week of his life around reverse-engineering that material. And you walking into our HQ showed up and gave the very thing he wanted to obtain, and the PRT is going to be… extremely curious.”

  Battery nodded. “And jumpy. Don’t forget jumpy…oh boy, I thought that innocent piece of material had some sort of master rating from his reaction”

  Assault leaned closer to me, dropping his voice. “If he comes out of that lab with bags under his eyes, muttering equations, and smelling like solder? Congratulations. You’ve just ruined his sleep schedule for the next month.”

  Miss Militia gave him a look, then returned her attention to me. “That was impressive. Terrifying, but impressive.”

  I shrugged. “Just thought I’d show goodwill.”

  The three of them stared at the pile of empty air where Armmaster had been five minutes ago.

  “…Well,” Assault said, clapping his hands, “you succeeded.”

  And judging from how fast Armmaster ran, maybe succeeded a little too well. Sophia didn’t look impressed.

  She stood there with her arms crossed, visor half-lowered, weight resting on one hip, classic predator pose, but her body language radiated the kind of bored irritation you’d expect from someone being forced to sit through a bunch of old people talking shit she doesn't understand

  . If she could’ve phased out of her own skin to escape the situation, she probably would have.

  Miss Militia noticed. Her smile softened, patient in a way that told me she’d dealt with dozens of “reluctant teenage capes” before. “Why don’t I give you both a tour while Shadow Stalker gets introduced to the other Wards? They’ll want to meet her.”

  Assault perked up. “Yeah, we should probably warn them first.” Battery added a quick nod. “We’ll let them know she’s coming.”

  And just like that, the two of them jogged off toward the interior corridors to tell the others. Assault waving enthusiastically like it's his job to be funny all the time., Battery half-dragging him to keep him from shouting something back at us. Honestly? I can't believe both of them are married to each other. I was just thinking …poor Battery. Isnt it exhausting to handle a husband like that? I wouldn't have the energy at all.

  Sophia didn’t move, of course, she's still scoping the place out like she’s marking it her territory, still so cautious even to Miss Militia. She waited a full second before giving her a gentle but firm look. “They’re expecting you. We had a briefing about you a few days ago.”

  Sophia scoffed, just a small exhale, but I caught it and shoved her hands into the pockets of her new Dominion Trooper armour. Then she stalked off after them, each step making it clear she was only doing this because she’d already agreed to the deal and not one ounce more.

  I watched her go, unsure if she’d start a fight, insult someone, or just silently judge everyone she met.

  Honestly? It could go either way.

  Miss Militia turned back to me. “She’ll be fine.”

  “Will she?” I muttered.

  “She’s… spirited,” Miss Militia said delicately. “But she’s also tough, resourceful, and motivated. She’ll do well with the structure we have here.”

  I wasn’t convinced, but I let it slide.

  Miss Militia gestured down a different hallway. “If you’re ready, Mr J, I can show you around.”

  The PRT HQ had a very corporate smell, the kind of smell when you used too much Kleenex and maybe too many overworked bureaucrats with several perfumes wafting in the air mixed in with the air conditioning.

  The walls were plastered with posters about safety regulations, training schedules, and speeches about responsibility and public trust. Everything was laminate or reinforced glass, clean to the point of sterility. There’s even a poster about community guidelines and PR do’s and don’ts, like one of those weird corporate motivational posters, except they aren't. It’s a PRT motivational poster.

  As we walked, I took note of every sensor, every checkpoint, every automated turret disguised behind polymer casings. Old habits. Terran instincts or just some of my old hobbies coming back to good use. I used to play around with airguns and joined military airsoft training via simulations. Made many mistakes. Too many BB guns to the face with the wrong gear and protection.

  I shall never wear a ghili ever again. Waste of money at least to me, but it also taught me I quite enjoy sniping at the right position.

  This place here? Surprisingly secure for an office space. I probably need to think twice if I ever wanna siege a PRT HQ. Some of the non-powered were in modern military gear as well. Parahuman Response Team doesn't shy away from equipping their non-powered soldiers well with some high-tech stuff.

  Miss Militia walked a step ahead, posture relaxed, shoulders squared with military precision. I tend to forget that she’s one of the few real ones with Military training. Her eyes were the same as mine, far less bright in that bottle glass green tint. She noticed me staring and just smiled. What a gal. She remained a very steady, rational character throughout this world, contrary to most other parahumans out here. says a lot about cape culture and capes in general.

  “You’ll likely interact with this building often if you intend to remain registered as an independent. We encourage cooperation, but you won’t be bound to the same protocols as the Wards.”

  I nodded.

  My mind was on Sophia. Thrown into a system she hated, surrounded by people she probably viewed as prey or obstacles. And now she was being greeted by a group of teenagers with powers and egos of their own. And I made her do it. Why? Even when the PRT tries its best, even if I believe it doesn't really work, with the holes and people like Thomas and the various gangs having eyes as they spy the place here,

  it’s the only option for an underage girl to have some government oversight in handling her specific case. Not to mention, being a full-time ward member and not one on probation gets paid full. I think it was around 50k or 60k yearly. Her family needed it even if she didn't. Her mother at least needs to know about it. If I were any better, I’d take her under my wings, but I'm not.

  I still dont understand how the previous handler botched her job so badly that it led to open bullying without any oversight. Blackwell had a hand in it too, but I dont think it’s fair to blame it all on the school with no funding. I’d blame the person who baited them with the money and funding to turn a blind eye to her constant bullying of Taylor Hebert. There’s still the other duo, even if I could intervene on one out of the trio. What should I do about Maddison and Emma? Or should I let kids settle things between kids? But I already knew how that would end up.

  Hmm…The dilemma of a transmigrator who knew too many things.

  I could practically imagine her leaning against a wall, eyes half-lidded, unimpressed with everything they told her, as she looked so damned bored at everything here. I dont blame her, I do too, and I wasn't impressed with whatever operation they were trying to do here. It all felt so stifling with nonsensical rules that don't apply the rule of common sense.

  Miss Militia continued speaking, guiding me toward the secure hallway that led to the testing labs, the vehicle bay, and then the administrative wing. It was all clean, orderly, predictable.

  Meanwhile, Sophia Hess, the worst possible fit for predictability, was somewhere in the building meeting her new “team.”

  Miss Militia slowed her pace as we reached a quieter section of the hallway with less foot traffic, fewer security checkpoints, the kind of place where conversations could happen without half the building overhearing.

  She glanced at me, measuring my attention. “There are a few things we’ll have to do next regarding Shadow Stalker.”

  “First,” she said, “we’ll need to contact her parents. They must be informed of her involvement in the Wards program and sign the standard consent documents. If they decline, the director will have to escalate through legal channels. But given her history, we’re prepared for resistance.”

  That last part was phrased carefully.I didn’t comment since I too agree with that statement. The parents must know, even if the parents dont care about it, it is their obligation. Good parent or bad parent? That’s debatabl,e and honestly? Not something I want to intervene or the PRT should intervene.

  Sophia will need to deal with that eventually, to be honest with her mother, maybe even her little siblings, as they both will want to look up to her if only to not keep looking at her like the bitchy always always-angry older sister. That sort of personality isnt easy to hide after all, and regardless of her Predator or Prey mentality, Sophia Hess isnt one for subtleties when she’s already exposed.

  Miss Militia continued while my mind wandered for a brief moment and came snapping back, “Second, we perform baseline psychological evaluations and risk assessments. Nothing invasive, but they’re mandatory for all Wards. We’ve already scheduled a preliminary session.”

  I raised a brow slightly. I didn’t need a Thinker power to guess Sophia was going to hate every second of that.

  “Third,” she added, “we need to establish a training regimen tailored to her combat style. Shadow Stalker is… unique, but undisciplined. We’ll need to curb her more dangerous tendencies.”

  Meaning, stop her from maiming gang members for breathing wrong. I already got first-hand experience of that after all, and I’m still not sure if she’s willing to keep playing nice when some of these gang members do something stupid or overescalate stuff.

  I stayed quiet.

  “And finally,” Miss Militia said, “we’ll integrate her into the Wards’ daily structure like patrol rotations, school schedule adjustments, curfew, team-building exercises, supervised missions. The standard program.”

  Nothing about Sophia Hess was standard. Miss Militia paused, studying my expression as though gauging my reaction. She doesn't seem too positive due to my silence. I wonder if I should say something.

  “You brought her in before the situation escalated,” she said. “You likely prevented a forced apprehension. Given her attitude, that would not have gone smoothly.”

  No kidding. Sophia would have tried to fight her way out of the building. Then I asked, because really..I had to ask. “So what now? What’s next for all of us?”

  “For you?” Miss Militia answered. “Nothing immediate. She isn’t your responsibility anymore. We’ll take care of the paperwork, the introductions, and the assessments.”

  But there was a small smile at the corner of her mouth that suggested she didn’t fully believe her own words.

  She knew just as well as I did that Sophia wasn’t the type to release her hold on people once she’d decided they were hers. And whether she admitted it or not… She’d already decided that about me like a damn cat.

  Miss Militia resumed walking, voice calm and reassuring. “We’re grateful you came directly to us with this. It helps everyone involved. Shadow Stalker will be monitored, guided, and hopefully… stabilised.” We’re going to try to civilise the feral housecat you just dropped into our lap.

  I exhaled quietly and then broke into a tiny smirk and laugh “Well,” I said, “good luck.” I gave her my number in one of those name cards people hardly use anymore in my timeline, but there was a time a name card was important. On it was just a number and my Initials. J. Simple, no nonsense. Just a black card with my number on it.

  Miss Militia gave a soft laugh as she received it amicably. She understood the assignment, too “We’ll need it.”

  I just nodded and gave her a reassuring smile “Contact me if you need help, especially with her. Oh, and I left a bunch of the metal stuff outside of the PRT at the parking lot. Tell Armmaster if he needs anything, he can call me on that number.”

  I left the place and rode on SCV 12.

  “Scv13, drop the stuff down and then head back to base. “

  As for me? I think I’ll do one of those famous patrols heroes used to do around here, maybe check out Brockton Bay scenery and see the stuff myself around the docks area. I could see Arcadia from here, but the schools are closed for the holidays.

  Not much exploring then, Time to head out.

  —-------

  Sophia Hess POV-

  They shoved me toward the Wards’ common area like I was some kind of dangerous dog they didn’t know how to approach. Whatever. I walked on my own two feet, I kept it fast, confident, and back straight. Let them think I wanted to be here. Let them think they had a choice.

  The double doors slid open, and I stepped into the Wards' lounge.

  Bright, clean, too many colours.

  A huge TV on the wall, like they're trying to compensate for something. The couch is big enough to swallow a few teenagers whole as if it's plush enough to contain some unruly angst among them. Posters, training schedules, and a glass window looking into the sparring room. Everything screamed sanitised hero daycare for brats. Fuck this place. It makes Jason's crib look a thousand times better.

  Two heroes stood inside already, two fucking adults thinking they were heroes but just glorified babysitters. Assault leaning on a counter like he owned the place, Battery beside him with her arms folded. Great. The dynamic duo morons of the Bay.

  And the Wards.

  All masked fully, some just a half domino, since I intrude suddenly.

  Clockblocker was the first to see me. Of course, it was him. That awful clock motif design on his suit.

  His helmet tilted my way, body language already smug. Like he had a pun cocked and ready. Fucking Clockblocker…He pushed out his hand for a shake. Like hell I would ever fall for that, I ignored him and turned to the next ward baby.

  Kid Win’s visor whirred faintly as he adjusted something and stared at me with way too much curiosity. Tinker eyes. Irritating. Who the fuck calls themselves a kid? And as if winning matters ever. A scrawny guy thinking he’s an Alpha predator. No alpha would be caught dead calling themselves a kid.

  Vista sat on the couch, tiny legs crossed, watching me with guarded suspicion. Twelve-year-old or not, she had the look of someone who’d seen enough crap to be done with introductions. She at least knows her stuff, but I ain't gonna take lessons for a pipsqueak.

  Who else?

  Aegis stepped forward and stared for a while. What the hell is he trying to do? What’s with that jankyass pose? Cape boy scout posture, chin up, trying to look welcoming but also intimidating. He was tall, armoured, and older than the others. The one they clearly expected to handle me.

  Good luck, dipshit.

  Gallant wasn’t in costume, but the glowing eyeplate on the table gave him away. He studied me like he was scanning something. Pretty boy giving me looks but I hated that. Hated the way he looked at me, already judging me and probably got me all figured out with that disarming innocent look. Act like a snitch, seems like a snitch. Is probably a snitch. I should be wary oh him.

  I didn’t want to be here.

  I didn’t want to be stuck around being paraded like some stray animal Jason found, cleaned up, and handed over. But this was the option that didn’t end with cuffs, guns, or forced recruitment. Better to pretend I chose this. Jason said if it didn't pan out well, if I wanted an out…He will take me in. Would he? What if it’s all just a ploy to dump my ass here?

  Even if he did give me free gear. Stuff to help me hunt better, be a better Predator among these prey like losers. Aegis stepped closer, trying to be friendly with that stupid fake smile of his, trying to be approachable. Must I really play nice with these losers?

  Battery cleared her throat and introduced me before he could open his mouth.

  “Wards, this is Shadow Stalker.”

  The shift in the room was immediate at the mention of my name. Clockblocker leaned back like he needed space from the edgy predator girl like he suddenly realised…oh shit its her, as he muttered “ New gear? shit…That’s her?”

  Kid Win’s visor brightened with interest as he eyed the stuff I had on. Jason called it Dominion Elite light infantry or something like that, even matter. The armour is lighter than my old gear. How metal is lighter than leather got me stumped as well. Jason was so out of the norm, he made a Tinker machine that made Tinker gear out of Tinker materials.

  The dude is a league on his own. He could have ruled the city like he wanted; he said so himself, but didn't choose to. Dumbass noodle boy decided to play “politics”, whatever the fuck he’s trying to say. I know politics, say the right words to the right people, and people think you’re hot shit and a hero. Fucker said he ain't a hero, but he’s more heroic than any of these Dumb PRT stooges could amount to, and he didn't even want to.

  The rest of them were uncomfortable with me; I could see it in their eyes, like how that Taylor girl sees me.I could have phased become smoke, shadows, untouchable and left them all staring. But I didn’t. Not yet.

  Aegis offered his hand.

  I didn’t take it.

  Let them figure out who I was from that. Assault chuckled from the back, and Battery elbowed him hard enough to shut him up. Aegis didn’t break stride. “We’re glad to have you,” he said, tone even.

  Liar. He didn’t want me here. None of them did. Better to keep them at arm’s length now than deal with whatever dumb expectations they had for “teamwork” later. I crossed my arms and stared them down one by one.

  If they were going to judge me?

  Fine.

  I’d judge them first.

  Vista is too young. Too soft-looking. Probably smarter than she let on. Dangerous in her own way. Claims to bend space, but I never saw her do that, not even on Pho or online.

  Kid Win, on the other hand, is just another poor Tinker. Great. Those types were too curious for their own good and usually too invested in proving themselves. Half of the tinkers in the world dont do shit with their inventions. He’s probably one of those as well, no funding, no material. She's seen what a real tinker could do, like Jason. He makes my armour in an hour while we’re having breakfast. This guy just tinkers with a roller skate.

  Clockblocker is a fucking clown in armour. The kind who laughed through fear. The kind who would get annoying fast, bullshit powers, but also touch-based. Not exactly something I need to worry about if I can put an arrow to the face from a long distance.

  Gallant? Dont know what his powers is, says he’s a tinker, but that armour is shit compared to mine, A bargain bin armaster if I ever saw one. Another non-factor loser.

  Aegis: the stiff leader. The one who’d try to “fix” me. Seen him patrol on the boardwalk before, could fly like glory hole, and is some kind of brute. That red armour isnt very nice to look at, rust red and too many places where a stab and a pierce could easily take him out. Seen him go down before by E88 mooks. Doesn't really impress me if he lets a bunch of mooks with guns hurt him.

  Playing nice with these fucking losers? Not happening.

  Battery finally broke the silence. “We’ll give you all some time to talk and get acquainted. She’ll be joining the program starting today. So be nice to her.”

  Aegis nodded. “We’ll help her settle in.”

  Not if I didn’t want to.

  But the thing was… Jason had done his part. He’d brought me here. And I wasn’t going to make him look stupid by immediately getting into a fight. So for now, I played along. Invisible tension coiled through the room as the Wards stared back at me as I walked into their nest.

  Good.

  Let them feel it. Let them understand one little minor shit , I wasn’t here to be their friend. I wasn’t here to play child hero. I was here because they didn’t have the guts or skill to stop me otherwise. I'm here to make a statement and show these people how it's done. How real justice is done.

  They tried to play it natural. I could see the effort in their shoulders. Whatever it is, I already ruined it. The new member, me had just suddenly walked into their cosy little hero clubhouse, and they weren’t sure if I was here to join the team or tear it apart.

  Good, let them squirm a little. Aegis broke the silence first. Of course he did. So he’s the top Alpha of this little Disney wonderland.

  “Shadow Stalker,” he said, tone steady like he’s already settled the name in, “we’re just going to take some time to get to know each other. Nothing formal. You’re welcome to sit.”

  I didn’t sit. I leaned against the counter with my arms crossed. Why should I? “Sure,” I said. “Let’s bond. Share feelings. Bake cookies. Whatever the wards do these days”

  Clockblocker barked a laugh. Vista rolled her eyes. Gallant’s eyebrow twitched behind his half-mask; I could feel him trying to read me. Let him choke on that. Kid Win took the invitation to talk first. Tinkers always try to yap in...just like Jason, so is Trainwreck.

  “So uh,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “what’s your speciality? Your file says ‘ stealth,’ which sounds… cool as hell, and the armour, that’s tinker tech isnt it?”

  “I didn't build this. Go ask him yourself.” I said.

  Vista muttered, “Charming.”

  Aegis stepped in, smooth as ever. “Capes tend to be categorised on broad terms. But if you want something more specific…”

  “I don’t,” I cut in.

  Clockblocker raised his hands in mock surrender. “Okaaay, so we’re dealing with the broody thing. Cool. We’ve had worse.”

  Kid Win shot him a look. “Have we?”

  “Not really, no,” Vista said flatly. “That’s just a joke”

  Clockblocker winced. “Okay, fair. Tough crowd to joke on.”

  Gallant cleared his throat, gentle but prying. “You’ve worked solo until now, right? Joining a team can be an adjustment. But we look out for one another. Everyone pulls their own weight.”

  I smiled thinly. “I don’t need babysitting.”

  “Not what he said,” Vista replied. “We’re a team, not a daycare. You pull your weight, we pull ours. Nobody freeloads.”

  I stared at the tiny gremlin, mildly impressed. “You’re mouthy for someone who can’t ride half the roller coasters in the city.”

  She smirked. “I bend space. I am the roller coaster.”

  Clockblocker pointed at her. “That right there? That’s why she gets to talk trash.”

  Aegis sighed dramatically. “Can we please stay on topic for more than fifteen seconds?”

  “No,” Clockblocker said.

  “No,” Vista echoed.

  Aegis ignored them with practiced patience. “Shadow Stalker, the Wards program is structured. You’ll have training blocks, patrol shifts…”

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  “Curfew, school attendance,” Vista added with malicious satisfaction. “Paperwork. So much paperwork.”

  Kid Win nodded sympathetically. “There’s more homework here than at school sometimes.”

  I scoffed. “Wow. Government hero prison. Amazing.”

  Gallant tilted his head. “It’s not prison, no… But it is accountability. We’re minors with powers. There have to be rules.”

  I stepped closer. “And if I break those rules?”

  Clockblocker leaned toward Vista and whispered loudly, “Bet she already did."

  I shot him a glare. Aegis answered before I could escalate it. “Then you get consequences. Same as the rest of us.”

  Vista made finger guns without enthusiasm. “Reprimands. Extra training. Psychological evaluations. Mandatory team bonding. It's hell.”

  Kid Win nodded gravely. “Trust falls.Yeah…those sucks.”

  Clockblocker shuddered. “We lost a man on those.”

  Gallant sighed. “We did not. Kidwin just…got bruises. Nobody was injured.”

  I snorted despite myself. “You guys are a disaster.”

  Aegis stepped closer, expression sincere. Annoyingly sincere. “Look… whatever brought you here, whatever deal you made to join the program, we’re not looking to make your life harder; we are going to expect you to follow the same structure we follow. Patrol rotations. De-escalation protocols. Media training”

  “Speak for yourself, they put me in this dumb dress” Vista said showing off her ridiculous green skirt and barely any armour on her outfit. I have to agree, what the fuck were they thinking putting her in that? Wait..would they changed how I look too? fuck.

  “Oh yeah,” Clockblocker perked up. “You’re gonna love that. Smile, wave, don’t threaten journalists, really fun stuff!”

  I blinked. “…That’s a rule? What? No punching the journalist?”

  Kid Win nodded. “Dont punch the journalist, please, because that was absolutely a problem for someone for one of the independent guys around Brockton Bay. He didn't last long in his career. Moved to Alaska last time I heard, Clockblocker almost tried before Director Pigot showed up and stopped it”

  Clockblocker coughed. “You think I’d threaten a journalist? That’s slander...I was just gonna give him a handshake, do a little prank.”

  Vista whispered, “He totally would…dont shake his hands.”

  Aegis pinched the bridge of his nose. “The point is: this team works. We fight together. Train together. Cover for one another. And when one of us screws up, we fix it, we hold each other accountable for the things we do.”

  I let that sit for a second. They meant it. Annoyingly, frustratingly, honestly meant it with all this kumbaya playing nice bullcrap. I hated that it didn’t sound like a lie.

  Vista hopped off the couch and walked toward me, hands on her hips. “You can keep acting like you’re above all this. That’s fine. Everyone does at first. But sooner or later, you’re gonna realise something.”

  “Oh?” I asked. “What’s that?”

  She shrugged. Her shoulders and stare at me like it's the most obvious thing.“We’re not the enemy.”

  Clockblocker chimed in, “Unless it’s Mario Kart night.”

  Kid Win grimaced. “Never again, you kept cheating on all of us.”

  So they have video games here? I guess that’s one plus point better than Jason’s crib. He doesn't even have a single console. I might need to remind him to get some game stock up on that boring base of his.

  “I dont cheat? Besides…there’s something far more important we're all curious about,” he drawled, hands clasped together, “about your… friend. That Dreamhack guy, you two seemed pretty familiar.”

  I should’ve expected it.

  Of course, the moment I walked into the Wards’ lounge and got the “welcome-to-the-team” interrogation, the conversation drifted to him. Jason. Dreamhack. Mr J. Whatever name he decided he liked today.

  Clockblocker was the first to bring it up, leaning forward like a gossiping housewife who’d just smelled scandal.

  He’s not my friend, He’s my sponsor.” I said automatically.

  Vista snorted. “You say that like we’re going to believe you.”

  I glared at her and she just smirked harder, the annoying little shit. Kid Win pushed his goggles up since he’s clearly interested in the armour im wearing. “Isn’t he the one who make your armor? can I have a look at it?.”

  crossed my arms. “Yeah, fuck no.”

  Kidwin winches and look a little sad, like I give a fuck about that nerd and his need to know about my gear. The less they know the better.

  “So,” he said, elbows propped on the back the nearby station leaning an elbow by “you came in with that… Dreamhack guy”

  I tensed immediately. “What about him?”

  “Oh, nothing dramatic,” he said, raising both hands. “Just curious. He shows up, drops off some stuff, tells the PRT you’re joining. That’s a little… unusual.”

  Vista added quietly, “Most capes don’t walk in with somebody at their side. Especially not someone who looks like he walked off a military sci-fi poster and besides..hes just here to drop you off? Isnt he joining the PRT?”

  I didn’t answer right away. I wasn’t about to give away anything personal, mine or his.

  And hell if I’d admit he did something like "supporting" me. He’s giving me free stuff. That’s more like a sponsorship right?

  “…We met before. Got into a scuffle, said he helped out with some new gear” I finally said. Simple and true enough.

  Kid Win pushed his goggles up. “Still, he had a… presence. The kind that makes the adults straighten up.”

  Clockblocker snorted. “You mean the kind that makes Armmaster sprint to the lab like someone dropped alien tech on his table? What was that stuff anyway?”

  Vista blinked. “Wait, is that what happened? I thought he just left suddenly.”

  “I heard Miss Militia say he was reacting to data obtained from the stuff Dreamhack dropped off, Gallant said carefully. “She didn’t say what kind.”

  Clockblocker leaned towards me. “Sooo… your friend eh? seems like a pretty big deal. Kinda mysterious.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Everyone in a mask is mysterious. Including you.”

  Clockblocker tapped his visor. “Fair. But he feels different.”

  Vista nodded. “He didn’t act like a rogue. Or a villain. But he wasn’t exactly a hero either.”

  “That’s because he isn’t,” I muttered as I thought about why Jason diddnt really like to label the hero villain thing, calls it a pageantry and he talk as if he’s above that shit, like being a hero or villain dont matter at all.

  Kid Win tilted his head. “Does he have a classification? Tinker? Thinker? Something else?”

  And that was the problem. Jason didn’t fit in any neat little PRT box, and they hated that, He didnt seem like he care all that much either. I dont know much about the guy, Noodle boy kept alot of things to himself. An Ai, the ability to just build anything the fuck he wants, and all he wants to do is keep low and do…That’s the thing..I dont know what Jason wanted to do, even with all that power at his fingertips.

  “He’s…Complicated. Let’s leave it at that.” I said.

  “Everything’s complicated,” Clockblocker replied. “The PRT loves complicated. They write whole paperwork forests about complicated.”

  “Not like this, J hates all of this, the hero stuff, even the villain stuff. Something about a waste of time.” I said.

  Gallant studied me, carefully, gently, not the way Emma used to look at me, dissecting me. More like he was trying to gauge whether I was lying or something. It’s a little unnerving to be staredat for so long by someone, the rest of the wards dont do it, its just him. Even Battery doesn't pay attention while we mingle and keeps listening to Assault. Those two …are a little weird.

  “So why did you follow him and not the PRT? I was there during the last time we met, tried to recruit you for the third time. So what changed this time?” Aegis said.

  “ I didnt” That came out differently as I snapped back a little too fast.

  He didn’t push. “You don’t have to. But you followed him here. That’s… unusual dont you think so?”

  Vista muttered, “More like … I didnt think someone like you would agree. We have your psyche profile and everything”

  I wanted to snap something back. They have a file on me? Fucking PRT. I wanted to curse out, but the words didn’t come. Because I knew they were right. I had followed him. And part of me still didn’t understand why.

  Kid Win clapped his hands together. “Okay, okay, change of topic. Let’s talk about you, not him.”

  Thank god.

  Clockblocker pointed a finger at me, mock-serious. “But we are coming back to that later. I need to know if he’s one of those brooding mercenary types, or if he actually knows how to smile.”

  I scoffed. “He smiles. Usually, when he’s about to cause trouble.”

  “So he’s your type,” Clockblocker said immediately.

  Vista burst into laughter. Gallant sighed. Kid Win made a choked sound.

  I glared daggers at them. “I don’t have a type.” Do I have a type?

  Clockblocker beamed. “You very clearly do.” I wanted to throw something at him. Badly. Or put holes in him. Badly. Especially with my new bolts. Jason gave a variety of bolts for various situations. There’s even a bolt that could burn you or electrocute you.

  Gallant, mercifully, changed the subject. “Anyway… the lifestyle here isn’t complicated. Curfews, you’ll get used to it.”

  I huffed. “Yeah, sure.”

  Then the console beeped sharply.

  I saw Assault and Battery exchange a glance, tense and professional, the kind of look that made me think something serious just happened. Battery muttered something into the comms, and I caught fragments: Capitol Hill… gang fight… units deployed…

  My pulse picked up, a familiar twinge of nervous energy. The room, once warm with casual conversation, now felt tight, focused.

  Everyone straightened as they heard it too, attention snapping to the alert. Even the wards who had been joking around fell silent, eyes flicking toward the monitors.

  I stayed back as the rest of the wards huddled around Assault and Battery, listening intently to the orders being given. Everyone else seemed to know the drill already, who goes where, which sector to watch, how to coordinate, except me.

  I was new, just joined today. And suddenly, that felt like a problem.

  Battery’s voice cut through the room. “Delta team, you hit the east side. Alpha, cover the perimeter. Keep comms clean, eyes sharp. Wards are to scout ahead and report back. Do not engage if there’s cape involvement. Follows Miss Militia’s Instruction and mine got it?”

  Assault chimed in, “We’ve got reports of the gangs moving fast. Don’t engage unless absolutely necessary. Contain, observe, and report.”

  The other wards murmured acknowledgements. Everyone was sliding into formation in their heads, mentally preparing. And me? I was left standing there like a ghost, arms crossed, feeling my stomach twist. That’s it? While the rest were already waving me off

  “Bye, Shadow! Nice to meet ya, we gotta go ahead,” Vista said cheerfully, even the pipsqueaks get to go.

  Aegis “ See you later”, and ran off.

  Clockblocker just gave me a salute and a smile and bugger off, Gallant the same, Kid win didn’t say anything and just slinkered away.

  Just scout and report? Lame.

  I couldn’t help it and need to ask. Why wasn’t I in it?

  “Wait… what about me?” I said, stepping closer. “I just joined, but-”

  Battery glanced over, a hint of annoyance in his expression. “You’re with me here. Today’s mostly observation. Learn the layout, watch the comms, keep track of movement. You’ll get your chance.”

  I huffed quietly, trying not to let my frustration show. Observation? That sounded like babysitting. I had powers, damn it! Fuck this shit! I mean…Jason did tell me it was gonna be like this, but I didn't think there would be any action at all, not even a little bit. whats the point of giving me all this free gear? I wasn’t here to be a glorified note-taker.

  Assault noticed my expression and softened slightly. “Shadow Stalker, it’s not unfair. It’s protocol. You’re new. You get to see how we operate before jumping in. Trust me, it’s better this way.”

  I stared at him, sceptical about all of this. “Better for who? Me or you?”

  He gave me a small, almost sympathetic shrug. “For both. You watch, you learn. Next time, you move with us. Today? You’re in the safe zone.”

  I slumped back against the wall, trying not to glare too obviously. Safe zone or not, it still felt like being sidelined on the very first day. I knew I had to prove myself eventually, but right now, all I could do was watch and wait.

  And watch.

  Fuck this shit.

  I want off this train right now. right now..Fuck.

  What the hell is Jason doing right now? Bet he’s busy building another bullshit back at his lair.

  —-------

  The SCV rumbled beneath me in a steady mechanical drone, a sound I’d gotten used to. It is almost comfortingly industrial, like a heartbeat made of servos and hydraulics and boosters humming along like I'm not riding an SCV but a really beaten down armoured core.

  It got me thinking that maybe I might just upgrade it with some personal gear and turn it into a proper combat machine.

  I didn’t have a real reason to be out here other than curiosity. Curiosity and… reconnaissance, I guess. Capitol Hill Memorial was one of those places Brockton Bay locals mentioned with a shrug and a warning in the same breath. ABB territory pressing in from one side, Empire from the other. A tension line. A cultural fault zone. Besides, I'm curious enough to see if they would avoid me or engage a cape in a mech to see where I stand.

  Perfect place to get a feel for the city’s pulse.

  The machine plodded forward, slow enough that it looked more like construction equipment than anything suspicious. A tourist in a thousand-kilogram metal suit. Fitting, I suppose. Even have a plasma cutter on one hand and a drill and claw arm on the other.

  The air here tasted different from the salt and piss smell from the bay, diesel fumes from the old truck routes, a faint charcoal burn lingering around the edges that reminded you of a busy city. We are in a city after all, sometimes I tend to forget that Brockton Bay is a lot larger than I give it credit for.

  The smell of territory lines marked in the way only gangs did is exponentially bigger, which made me think about the actual sizes of the gangs compared to what I perceived when reading it in canon.

  There’s also gang signs, silently, aggressively. I passed by some gang members with spray paint and broken windows and the knowledge that everyone else understood what it meant. I was entering gang territory, and people were marking it as if they belonged to them.

  Capitol Hill Memorial rose ahead, a slanted slab of old stone steps leading up to a whitewashed monument that had once been grand.

  Now it was chipped at the corners, stained by weather and exhaust. Someone had tagged it with angry red kanji on one side and harsh black runes on the other. ABB, Empire 88. Both are claiming it. Both defacing it. The memorial didn’t belong to anyone now. Just a contested patch of concrete in a city that barely held itself together.

  Pigeons roosted on the statue’s shoulders like they were guarding it. Or maybe they just had nowhere better to go. Pigeons eating the crumbs from the consequences of gang violence. It’s almost laughable when you think about it.

  No carrions, just pigeons.

  Street vendors set up folding tables along the base of the stairs. That surprised me. I expected more hostility, fewer snacks. But the locals had adapted; people always do. A middle-aged woman sold skewers of grilled squid under a faded umbrella.

  A man in a wool cap wearing those late 20s Irish hats sold bootleg DVDs and cheap cigarettes. A cluster of teens loitered around a convenience store entrance, trading gossip and cheap booze.

  Life continued, even in the cracks.

  A few pedestrians glanced at the SCV as I passed. None of them were startled, just curious.

  No one expected them to have a pilot inside wearing a pseudo-Ghost mask and a pseudo-military outfit, contemplating geopolitical gang tensions. I was just another bulky silhouette with hazard stripes, another piece of machinery crawling between two worlds.

  The cultural split here was palpable. ABB shops displayed neon signs, plastic lanterns, stacks of imported candies and rice crackers.

  On the opposite street, the Empire’s side had more old-world aesthetics with German delis and thrift stores with iron signage, buildings whose brick facades were meticulously scrubbed clean of any graffiti made by the “wrong” group.

  Two cultures, each pretending the other didn’t exist, separated by a twenty-foot stretch of asphalt and a memorial statue no one respected anymore.

  I eased the SCV to a stop near the centre of the square. The machine’s sensors pinged quietly

  This place wasn’t a battlefield.

  Not yet.

  But it felt like the pressure here could snap at any moment. Something small. Something stupid. One ABB kid is throwing a bottle at the wrong group. One Empire lieutenant decided to “patrol” the line a little farther than usual. One set of footsteps in the wrong alleyway.

  Capitol Hill was a pressure cooker disguised as a leftover landmark.

  The SCV whirred, shifting its weight.

  Ahead, a narrow plaza opens between gutted townhouses. Two groups converge.

  White hoodies and shaved heads on one side, Empire 88. Red jackets and dragon patches on the other, with green clot,h are the ABB.Both walk like the street belongs to them.It doesn’t

  I sink lower in the cockpit, letting the camera feeds paint a clearer view with the zoom function

  “What do we have here…”

  The first voice is a rough jeer from the E88 side.

  “Look at this, more imported trash trying to creep past the line, trying to ruin gods work the lot of you.”

  The ABB front man was a lean man, tattooed down the neck in clean inkwork, not wearing a shirt. Just one of those ABB bandanas and a dragon motif armband.

  “Your line moves every week, baldy. Hard to keep track of your imaginary empire gwailou.”

  A few E88 skinheads laugh, but their leader doesn’t.

  “That’s funny. Real funny. You know what else is funny? You rats think you run anything? Just a bunch of immigrants coming to our sacred land, taking from the good white folks of this land. I’d say go back to your country if the Endbringers didn't already stomped those sorry ass places to the ground.”

  The ABB lieutenant steps forward just a hair.

  “Empire’s been slipping for months. Is Kaiser too busy hiding behind his cape squad? Too busy banging two white giant cunts to keep track of their honorless men? We’re here to keep the streets clean for our people, and we’re expanding.”

  Behind him, ABB foot soldiers shift, hands drifting toward knives, batons, and the kind of improvised weapons I have seen a few dozen times as I passed by this area. It’s a large area, of course, but it’s interesting how there’s more gang activity here than the rest of the city as the two gangs keep each other in check.

  The E88 leader chuckles darkly.

  “Watch it, you ching chong motherfuckers.. you're gonna expand into what? Trash cans? Massage parlours? A fucking den of more illegal harlots from China? You parasites breed fast, I’ll give you that.”

  ABB members bristle, a ripple of anger moving through them. One of the younger ABB boys spits back, “Kuso gami-At least we work for our place, gaijin. You? You inherited your hate from Daddy. Heil fucking Hitler.Guess who’s paying to fuck our women? White folks like you with too much money on their hands and not enough problems to handle… Fucking white privilege.”

  That triggers the reaction as I expected: skinheads never take well to being mocked. The E88 bruiser nearest the front cracks his knuckles.

  “You should watch your mouth, rice fucker. Don’t want us turning you into a smear on the pavement.”

  The ABB lieutenant grins a sharp, humorless thing.

  “You can try honourless one.” An E88 man takes the first swing when he saw an opportunity. I can tell by the angle of his shoulder, the tension in his wrist that it’s a knife strike. The rest of the ABB reacted instantly, A baton whips out. Another man pulls a short machete from his jacket. A third hefts a length of pipe.

  I just watched as the two sides crashed together, a tangle of bodies and metal. One ABB fighter gets shoved into a parked car, denting the door. An E88 skinhead takes a hook to the jaw and crumples. Blood sprays when someone’s blade finds flesh.

  Despite the brutality, the pattern is familiar to me, street-level, undisciplined no training, just raw bashing SCV tracks movements silently, HUD outlining trajectories and potential threat vectors, though I have no intention of stepping in, not yet anyway.

  Not yet.

  One of the E88 men pulls a handgun.

  “Back off! Back the hell off!”

  ABB gangs freeze for half a heartbeat long enough for my system to tag the weapon type, ammo count, and line of fire. The lieutenant bares his teeth.

  “You bring guns now? You trying to start a war?”

  E88 laughs.

  “Already started, chink. You’re just late to it.”

  The moment the gun lifts, the atmosphere shifts. I could feel it through the SCV’s sensors as clearly as if it were a physical pressure on my skin.

  I wouldn’t give them any chance to escalate things. The SCV steps forward, hydraulics breathing a slow hiss with every stride. Plates of Neosteel catch the evening light, and the mechanical shadow he casts stretches long across the street.

  That alone is enough to break the rhythm of the brawl. Movements falter. Heads snap in his direction. Panic flickers across the faces of both ABB and Empire Eighty-Eight alike. It’s almost comical how quickly bravado drains when a two-story machine walks into the middle of a gang fight.

  They shot at me of course, shot..tried and failed. Bullets just bounce off so easily. To put a hole in a SCV, the equivalent bullet would be a tungsten carbide armour-piercing round, and even then it wouldn’t actually penetrate it, dented sure but not penetrated. The tech of this world didnt have the penetration power to cut through neosteel with conventional firearms. Maybe a 50cal sniper rifle. Maybe…

  I push the throttle and the boosters ignited. The SCV lunges forward, landing with a heavy thud that shudders through asphalt and bone. Someone fires. The bullet pings harmlessly off the SCV’s chest again, a tiny spark swallowed by steel, the very definition of insanity.

  If the first bullet bounced and the second and third, what makes them think the 100th time would work?

  I closed the distance in two long strides.

  The machine’s claw-hand snaps out, crushing the gun like tinfoil before sending the shooter flying backwards with a clean, sweeping motion. The man hits the ground hard, rolling until momentum bleeds away.

  Three ABB fighters come at me at once but fear disrupts their coordination. I took the chance to pivot the SCV to meet them. A baton strike glances off his arm. A machete hits the leg plating and bounces away. He catches the closest one, drives the SCV’s shoulder actuator into another’s ribs, and knocks the third into a crate stack with a backhanded sweep. They drop in seconds.

  The SCV’s metal groan and hydraulic puffs are the only sounds he allows into the chaos.

  An E88 brute charges from the right, putting everything into the rush. But I rotated the chassis, swept the machine’s arm to block it, and stops the man cold as i flung him away into the rooftop of a second-floor shoplot, Feet lift. Air leaves lungs. Gravity does the rest. The brute hits the ground hard enough to rattle the gravel.

  The gangs pull back, forming a loose, trembling circle. I stand alone in the centre, towering and unyielding like a machine god dropped onto their neighbourhood. Ten, maybe twelve fighters remain. Hard to count when half of them can’t decide whether to run or pretend they still have courage.

  They choose poorly.

  They rush him all at once.

  I met them head-on. The SCV moves in clean arcs, each motion precise, almost elegant for something built to handle construction equipment. A knee actuator sends one thug sprawling upward before he crashes back down. A spinning chassis turn clears three more, scattering them like dry leaves. Someone leaps onto the SCV’s back. A chain whips at him from the left. But the SCV catches it in the claw, yanks, and sends its owner tumbling. Piloting the thing manually is much better since I get to counter in real time.

  They start yelling before half of them can even stand.

  Voices rise all over the street that starts with accusations, confusion, the pointless bluster of people trying to recover pride while sitting on the pavement. Even through the SCV cockpit, the noise bleeds in shrill, angry, and desperate.

  “The hell was that?” One of the Abb guys shouted. “Metal freak just stomped us!” another punkskin head complained “You think you can just walk in here? This is ABB turf!” The other one glared, “No, this is Eighty-Eight turf, you idiots!” from the rooftop, the one I flung with the claw.

  I let them yell. Yelling meant they were alive. And that meant he did his job correctly. I let them do it for a few seconds. Let them get it out of their system. Then I shift the SCV forward a single step.

  One heavy metal foot slams into the pavement.

  Silence hits instantly.

  I flip on the external speakers, keeping my tone flat and bored. “Before anyone asks, no, I don’t care whose turf this is.”

  Some of them stare up at the SCV like they’re waiting to see if it’s going to start spitting flames. Honestly, not a bad idea. Maybe I can build one that does.

  “I’m not here to take territory,” I continue. “I’m not here to pick sides. And I’m definitely not here to listen to you idiots scream at each other.”

  The cockpit lights glow across the controls as I turn the SCV to face both groups at once.

  “I’m telling you to go home.”

  That gets looks from both sides, angry, confused, or just wounded pride. One ABB guy manages to croak, “Go home? After you-after that ?”

  I raise the SCV’s claw and hold it open like I’m offering to repeat the whole thing. “Yes,” I say. “Home. Before you kill each other and escalate this even further.”

  That shuts him up.

  An E88 guy, bleeding from the elbow, pushes himself upright and squints at me. “You’re Dreamhack,” he mutters, like he’s asking the universe for confirmation. I don’t bother responding.

  The SCV’s visor does the glaring for me.

  “Listen,” I say, keeping my tone level. “If you wanna beat each other up, go ahead. Just don’t do it here. Don’t block the street, don’t scare the locals, and don’t make your bosses clean up after you.”

  One of the ABB fighters glances at a crate of smashed contraband now shaped like a pancake under the SCV’s foot. I doubt he’s looking forward to explaining that later.

  “Nothing personal,” I add. “But if you start killing each other, and it involves cape fights, who do you think are gonna suffer?.”

  One E88 thug scoffs, half under his breath. “You think you can just boss people around?”

  I lean the SCV forward, not enough to threaten, just enough to loom.

  “I didn’t come here to boss anyone around. I came here to keep you from killing each other in the middle of the street.” I let the mechanical hum fill the space between us. “And since you’re all still breathing, I’d say it went fine. Go back home to your families, go do business or something”

  That finally gets them moving. ABB limps back toward their turf, muttering curses in Korean and Japanese. E88 drags their wounded toward their own territory, throwing jittery glances over their shoulders.

  I wait until the last of them disappears around a corner before powering the SCV down to idle.

  “Fantastic,” I sigh to myself. “All this before Dinner.”.

  Of course it isn’t over.

  I’m just about to turn the SCV around when the air shifts. A gust of wind cuts down the street like someone swung a knife through the atmosphere. Storm Tiger drops onto a rooftop to my left, crouched low, mask gleaming.

  Cricket skates into view on my right, bouncing lightly on her feet, blades humming like angry hornets.Great, just fucking great. The Empire’s attack dogs.

  “What do we have here! A new cape in the scene! “Shouted StormTiger with that stupid smug on his face with that stupid blue mask.

  IBehind them, the E88 thugs who were already limping home perk right back up like someone just plugged them into a car battery.

  “Boss!” one of them shouts. “They jacked us! ABB stole-”

  Cricket shrieks something unintelligible and unleash a sound distortion, her favorite party trick and Storm Tiger answers with a low growl of wind that whips trash down the street.

  The ABB start panicking again while the E88 start puffing up again. Both sides look ready to explode all over again. Fuck this.I feel something inside me snap. No.Absolutely not.Not doing this twice.

  I slam the SCV’s external speakers to max.

  “HEY!”

  The shout echoes down the street, vibrating windows. Everyone freezes including Tiger, Cricket, the two gangs, even a couple of pigeons.

  I don’t give them a second to breathe.

  “I JUST cleaned this mess up,” I say, every syllable sharp enough to cut steel. “I’m not doing it again because you two feel like marking territory.”

  Storm Tiger straightens, wind curling around him like invisible claws. He’s trying to size me up, big SCV, unknown cape, already handled two gangs solo. His instincts are making him cautious.Cricket tilts her head, blades humming, but even she doesn’t charge. Good. At least they have a survival instinct of a proper person instead of a pigeon.

  “I don’t care,” I continue, “who owes who money, who insulted whose ancestors, or why you’re all allergic to handling problems like adults. But if anyone here throws so much as a punch-”

  I drop the SCV’s claw straight into the pavement, cracking asphalt.

  “I will end the round myself.”

  Both gangs flinch backward.Cricket actually shuts her screeching blades up for once. Storm Tiger narrows his eyes but doesn’t step forward.

  “ABB,” I bark, pointing the SCV’s claw at them, “go home.”

  They scatter like cockroaches.

  “Empire,” I add, turning to the other group, “go home.”

  They grumble, but they didn’t budge. Why would they? Their capes are here. Storm Tiger lingers around while Cricket watches me from behind her visor, blade-drones twitching.

  I raise the SCV’s visor toward them. Of course, these fuckers want a fight, the stupid parasite in their stupid ass brain probably started egging them to get more data, especially against an unknown mech like my SCV.

  “You two wanna fight? Do it somewhere else, away from them.”

  They didn't budge. Storm Tiger smirked disdainfully, “Why would we? That's a nice mech you got there. Are you a Tinker? Ya know.. Joining the right gang and serving would do wonders for your career”

  “Brockton Bay,” I mutter. “Why is everyone allergic to peace?”

  And I just muttered my annoyance on loud loudspeaker with a tired blank tone. “Oh, look, it's Storm Tigger, Pitmaster of the Third Reich, little-known fact?” I pause for dramatic effect, leaning forward so the SCV’s metal arm creaks under my weight. “Not very dope in a fight. You and your sidekick Cricket, with that stupid cage helmet to cover that burnt ass face,”

  I then complained further, “ I loathe the two of you like I hate all Nazi’s but watching the two of you like this? Leading an army of white men? Fucking disgraceful. You're six feet tall and can't even get a date? So you gotta settle on a bitch face with a cage? With those awful skills? I guess you can't even get a white girl pregnant. “

  “The fuck you say?!” Storm Tiger got mad first, but I didn't relent.

  “Ooo scary, tell me, Tigger boy, do you hate me? Are you so easily given in to the hate? You think you’re powerful? With that airbender farce? Think you’re hot shit with that finger flick pinches? Think you’re the Strumtiger in World War 2? Giving the Sturmm?rserwagen their fitting name?”

  I just laughed and cackled like a mad villain, making everyone around us uneasy,

  ” What an epic fail. The man thinks he’s a German warfare machine. The fact you dont even wear a shirt with no protection makes me think you think it's all just a joke, huh? For a tank, you’re pretty much defenceless. Who you trying to pull a hookwolf? You got no blades to cover u,p not even your stupid tiny wee wee.”

  I let out a slow sigh. “Must I deal with this?”

  Both of them freeze, blades humming, wind swirling, and for once, the predator game stops. Storm Tiger’s jaw ticks; his normally sharp, calculating glare falters. Cricket tilts her head, visibly baffled, her cage-helmeted face giving nothing away, but the way her stance stiffens says it all.I can almost hear their mental gears grinding, trying to figure out if I’m joking or just insane.

  “The fuck you say?! Say that again!”

  “Sure thing, cosplayer, so shut up, stand at attention, you seig fucking heil loser, what’s with that lameass posture? You call yourself a proper Nazi with that hunched back? Fucking hell.. at least Krieg dresses smartly, befitting of a Schutzstaffel, the man at least knows how to dress sharp and not look like a hobo out of Connecticut. The least you can do is show some pecks, but all I see is a beer belly bottom. Do you not even lift, bruh…”

  I can almost hear their mental gears grinding, trying to figure out if I’m joking or just insane.

  “You’re dead!”

  Cricket did her pulse sonic attack towards me, but it’s not very effective since I'm insulated within the cockpit. Cricket can maintain a pulse of subsonic noises to disorient and induce vertigo in nearby opponents. While the ABB gang had already left, the rest of the E88 were affected and started convulsing on the ground. One of them even vomited.

  Storm Tiger lunges again with that wing claw strike of his but it didn't even dent anything, and I let him make a fool of himself. With a calculated swing of the SCV’s articulated arm, I knock him off balance, sending him skidding across the concrete with a grunt that’s part frustration, part pain. He scrambles back to his feet, glaring, but that momentary advantage is all I need. A bad matchup. If Kaiser were here, id probably run away. The man controls metal after all, but just these two?

  I lean back, voice calm, almost bored, letting the mechanical whir of the SCV fill the space. “You’re going to have to try harder than that,” I mutter.

  Cricket steps forward, but the hesitation in her stance is clear. They’re both strong, no doubt, but they’re reacting to me on my terms now. And right now? I’m not even breaking a sweat. I turned off my external speakers and got to work, and hit my coms.

  “Need some of the SCV units to Capitol Hill. Monica, are you hearing this?”

  A static later and the coms light up “Yes, Commander, I have your visuals, engaging with hostile presence”

  I just laughed at it, “ Call in the cavalry, send SCV13 en route here if it’s not yet at base. It’s only been a few minutes”

  “Acknowledge, Commander”

  Yeah, just another is enough.

  **********************