“He’s waking up,” Allacia says. I turn over to see her standing above the stirring form of the strange man who attacked us. I walk over from where I’d left his weapons in a pile on the floor, taking a closer look at the man in question.

  He’s definitely Japanese, with a slender build and long, black hair tied back. He looks younger than I’d expected - around our age, if I had to guess - and appears almost peaceful as he begins to wake up.

  It’s been only a minute or two since we fought. People don’t get knocked out like in the movies - it’s a brief affair unless something is really wrong. Not nearly as dangerous for SAUs as normal people, but still not safe either. We had just enough time to disarm him and drag him a little further into the alleyway and not a moment more.

  “Last chance - are you sure taking away his weapons will be enough to incapacitate him?” Allacia asks.

  “As sure as I can be,” I reply, “The fact that he never drew the longsword during our yet never let go of it tells me it has to be important. It’s irrational behavior otherwise; the most logical assumption is that it’s linked to his ability somehow.”

  Allacia makes an incredulous noise but says no more, and just in time too as the man finally opens his eyes. I catch the moment he finally comes too, his eyes suddenly widening, then narrowing again as caution returns. His eyes flick back and forth between the two of us, quickly trying to gather as much information as he can. I also catch the moment he realizes his swords are missing - a panicked glance down to his side is my only sign.

  “Let’s keep this simple,” I say to the man, “What is your connection to Charlie Gardner?”

  His eyes narrow almost imperceptibly.

  “Answer the question!” Allacia exclaims, frustration entering her voice.

  “I recognize you,” the man simply says, “Heroes, right? You have no idea how big of a mistake you just made. I’m a lot higher up the proverbial food chain than you amateurs know.”

  “That wasn’t an answer,” I reply, “and if we’re amateurs, what does that make you? The fact that you haven’t made a move yet tells me I was right: you’re powerless without that special blade of yours. Is it even your ability? Or have you somehow cheated your way to power?”

  He growls in anger and tries to stand, but he’s slow - almost comically so compared to before. A firm kick in his midsection keeps him down.

  “Well?” Allacia prompts beside me, “What do you know about Charlie? Are you responsible for her disappearance? Tell us!”

  I place a hand on Allacia’s shoulder, “Calm down. Please let me handle this one.” I turn back to the man, “Go on. Answer her.”

  “All I’ll tell you is you’re wasting your time,” the man says, “I have nothing you want to hear nor would I tell you if I did.”

  I fall into a squat so that our faces are level. The man’s expression is cold and serious, his eyes betraying little more than frustration at his predicament. I sigh audibly, lowering my head as I let out the breath, infusing a strange mix of nonchalance and disappointment into my body language. Then I look him right in the eyes.

  “I don’t think you really understand what the situation is. See, her and I have a vested interest in this - in making sure Charlie is safe. We care about her deeply, you know. And I know you’re not the type to be swayed by an emotional message - I won’t bother with that,” I say, then I lean in so that only he can hear my whisper, “but I’ve never met a man who can’t be swayed with the right threat.”

  “You don’t scare me,” he says as I pull back.

  “No?” I begin, “Alright then. Babe, break his sword.”

  I see him pale. It’s not a reaction he can hide, no matter what he might wish, and it instantly throws his chances of successfully bluffing us out the window. Once again, my intuition was right: that sword is his weakness. Given how he reacted when I mentioned my theory regarding his ability before, I could tell it was a sore subject. If I’m being honest, he really should’ve expected as much.

  Allacia slowly makes her way over to where I left the swords in a pile. The man tries to rise again, but I place a hand on his chest and activate a tattoo of an elephant, allowing me the raw strength to hold him down without even trying. He continues to struggle futile as Allacia picks up the pair of blades.

  “Which one?” she asks.

  “The longer one,” I callously reply, watching the panic spread across the man’s face,

  “Last chance,” I prompt him again.

  He stops struggling for a moment, eyes flicking between me and Allacia more times than I can count. I can tell he’s trying to decide, and so I make one last move to ensure he comes out on the proper side.

  I smile.

  “…wait,” he says, almost too quiet to hear.

  “What was that?” I ask, despite knowing exactly what he said.

  “Wait!” he exclaims. Allacia stops moving, already having realized what’s going on.

  “I don’t know everything,” the man says with palpable venom in his tone - clearly he’s still not with the situation he finds himself in, “but I do know why Charlie’s gone, and I can tell you who knows where she is.”

  “Is that so?” This time my smile’s genuine, “Well then, enlighten us.”

  —

  “You get some rest, I’ll be back soon,” I say before carefully shutting the door to Rowan’s room with a sigh. I feel my left arm twinge a little - it’s almost healed, but not quite. It’s amazing what adaptability can do; the damned thing was pulped after the fight. I remember a time when I would’ve been better off just amputating it. The good old days.

  The arsenal of miniature weapons hanging from my wrists jangles as I walk over to the door and grab my coat. I still carry over a dozen of the small weapon-shaped charms that work oh-so-well with my ability, even after so many hard-won battles. I’ve lost a few, in the past, but luckily not enough where I need more just yet. I’m not sure I could even replace them now.

  As I exit the apartment, I make a beeline for the roof, ascending via the stairs until I get to the top accessible floor then just reaching over the side to hoist myself up with my good arm. The one nice thing about a city like this is just how easy it is to move across rooftops unimpeded. Newest York used to be all skyscrapers and wide streets - still is, if you know where to look - but eventually folks just started to get tired rebuilding all that so many times and not nearly as many people still live here, so eventually they started toning it down. Not that the alleys aren’t just as cramped as always. The combination makes it so one can get to almost anywhere in the city without ever once touching the ground, and I personally like it that way.

  I begin to make my way across the roofs swiftly yet steadily, maintaining a casual speed punctuated by the occasional leap between buildings. The afternoon streets are just as busy as ever, but, up above, I find no obstacles in my path.

  About three miles of roughly the same later, I finally arrive at my true destination: one of the rare true houses still in the city. It’s a thin structure, no more than fifteen feet parallel to the road, but tall - about five stories. The poor thing is sandwiched between a pizza parlor and a barber shop, yet costs more money than many will ever have. I can see that it hasn’t changed a bit in all these years.

  Home sweet home.

  I rap my knuckles expectantly on the front door, then step back as I wait for a response. As the seconds begin to tick by, my palms begin to sweat and I start shuffling around, looking myself over, checking the time, and just generally trying to burn off some nervous energy. I had expected a quick response, but in retrospect…

  Then the door creaks open, and I can’t help how I light up - and just as quickly feel my heart sink as I see a frizzy-haired woman open the door.

  “Can I help you?” Dr. Holly Hennessy says harshly.

  “Doctor,” I greet, trying to ignore her hostility, “I was hoping Margaret was home?”

  “My wife,” she emphasizes vehemently, “has no business with you right now. Leave.”

  I’m about to retort when a voice calls from inside the house, “Dear, is that Latasha? Let her in, please - she wouldn’t show up unannounced without good reason.”

  Scowling, the doctor steps to the side, allowing me to pass into the house.

  “I’ll be watching you,” she whispers as she shuts the door, conveniently smothering the noise to all but us two.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “You and every bird in the city,” I whisper back, leaning in and causing her to flinch, “It makes no difference to me.” I then continue into the narrow foyer before she can respond, entering into a familiarly small kitchen where a woman in a shawl sits at the counter, drinking tea from a mug.

  Margaret Hennessy - once Margaret Sosa - is a middle-aged woman with straight auburn hair who’s lost none of her beauty over the years. Once my fiance, and now the wife of Dr. Hennessy, she’s a woman with an inescapable charm and unique knack for attracting prominent SAUs, despite not being one herself. She is truly special in her ability to treat even monsters of indomitable strength like myself as little more than human beings, and, if I’m being perfectly honest, I’m still very much in love with her for that.

  She also happens to be a licensed psychiatrist - and the only person here in the USC that I fully trust to help Rowan.

  “Hey, Mags,” sounds my woefully insufficient greeting.

  “Hello, Latasha,” she says back, “I hope you aren’t just here to tell more of your stories. I don’t mind, but I think Holly wouldn’t like it much, would you dear?”

  I hear the doctor make a grumpy noise of assent from behind me as I stand there in the kitchen. I don’t actually blame her for hating me - I’d hate me, were the roles reversed. I really hadn’t expected Margaret to move on so quickly after I left, though personally I find it a lot harder to be mad when I consider that she probably just got a strict upgrade in every way. Mad at Mags, at least - Holly’s feelings toward me are mutual.

  “Nothing like that,” I confess, “I’m actually here for your help.”

  “Your villain contacts aren’t enough?” The doctor asks her loaded question from just behind me.

  “Not many therapists among that crowd,” I shoot back without ever turning to look.

  Margaret sighs, “That’s enough, you two. Dear, would you mind getting me a refill on my tea?” She holds up the mug expectantly, and the doctor strides over to take it before continuing on to the stove begrudgingly.

  “Now, you were saying, Latasha?” Mags continues, “You need help working through something?”

  “Probably,” I reply without missing a beat, “but, more importantly, Rowan does.”

  “The girl you adopted?” Margaret asks, “I do remember you saying she had a hard time before.”

  “‘Adopt’ is a strong word, I helped her out a bit,” I respond, “but yeah, she’s still dealing with PTSD from all the shit she had to deal with and it’s gotten worse. I got her to a doctor back in Europe, but we couldn’t exactly take the poor man with us. I thought she was improving, but… today she got into some trouble that she should’ve been able to handle but she couldn’t because something triggered her. I’m no expert - that’s why I’m here - but that seems bad to me.”

  “Any issue that interferes with one’s life is worth solving, especially when that life is already difficult enough,” she considers it for a moment, “I assume you’ll be needing everything to be off the books?”

  “Still can’t get a citizen’s ID for her, so yeah, it’d have to be,” I say, “I can still pay your usual rate - or even more - if that’s the dealbreaker.”

  Margaret shakes her head, “I won’t take ill-gotten funds knowingly - especially in exchange for helping someone who needs it. I’ll do what I can.”

  I flinch at the implied accusation, but I can’t deny it - it’s not like I have what most people would describe as a “job.” That fact has always been a sore spot between us.

  “I guess that means you’ll help, then?” I ask hopefully, trying to focus on the positive.

  “Of course I will,” Mags responds, “For all our history, I’m still glad to see you trying to improve yourself and help others - even if it’s still just one person for now. I like to know that you’re doing good things that matter. Please continue to do so.”

  “I will,” I promise her, “Every day I can.”

  —

  “Sounds to me like she made a reasonable decision, so what’s the problem?” Allacia asks as the two of us watch the man slowly reattach his shorter scabbard & blade to his belt. Allacia still holds the long one, but he’s clearly powerless without it so I think we’re fine.

  The man in question has informed us to call him “Operative Gale Force.” I have decided that I will call him “Gale,” as that is much less of a mouthful. Gale has also informed us of the situation that occurred right after Allacia last saw Charlie: namely, how he tried to kill some villain and Charlie tried to stop him.

  “I agree on that point,” I admit, “Both of us would’ve done the same in her situation. The question then becomes, who decided she must be punished for that?”

  “Who else?” Gale responds, “Jonathan Alston.”

  Neither of us knows how to respond to that. I watch the shock on Allacia’s face as my mind whirls internally, trying to piece together context and fully realize the extent of what he just said. Annoyingly, Gale chuckles at our expressions.

  “Confused? I don’t blame you. Some people just can’t handle the truth,” he says arrogantly.

  “Shut up, edgelord,” Allacia shoots back, “You’re just messing with us - it won’t work.”

  “No, he’s telling the truth,” I admit; both of them turn to look at me in surprise as I continue, “It’s a logical conclusion. Mr. Alston is the one man who is guaranteed to have authority here - aside from the Upper Council, of course, but the classified nature of its members makes that train of thought meaningless anyway.

  “In fact, considering Gale’s insinuations that Charlie got herself wrapped up in something classified, that increases both the likelihood that Alston is the only one who can handle the situation and that it’s somehow related to a decision of the council. If I had to guess, I would suppose there is some sort of classified government agency silencing certain individuals - one Gale happens to be a part of and Charlie has somehow gotten herself involved in.”

  Just as I finish thinking aloud, I realize both Allacia and Gale have been staring at me with equally wide eyes. The two are speechless, until Gale opens his mouth.

  “Who are you?” he asks, “There’s no way you just pieced all that together just from what I told you.”

  “I didn’t,” I admit, “I relied heavily on prior knowledge and practiced conjecture, like any good detective would.”

  “Fucking geniuses…” Gale mutters under his breath. Allacia flashes me a proud - and slightly aroused - look that I can’t help but smile back at.

  “Regardless,” I continue, “I suppose that answers the second point: we know now who could tell us where Charlie is. That only leaves us with the how of how we’ll get him to tell us.”

  “Yeah,” Allacia agrees, “I’ve never met Jonathan myself, but how little the public knows about him should tell us just how impossibly secretive the man can be. There’s no way he’d just tell us something classified if all we do is ask.”

  “Any ideas?” I ask Gale. He just scoffs.

  “Not my problem. Just give back my sword and I promise not to kill you both,” he says.

  “Not until you help us,” Allacia responds.

  “No, you can give it to him,” I say. Once again, both of them give me surprised looks.

  “We can’t use him further,” I explain, “Even if we get him to agree to help with Mr. Alston, all he has to do is say ‘help, they’re blackmailing me’ the moment we get in front of him and then we get nowhere. It’s not like we could stop Alston from just taking the blade back if he wanted to.” Allacia looks unconvinced but hands the sword back, which Gale takes eagerly. Before he leaves, he turns to me.

  “You’re a strange one, hero,” he tells me.

  “I get that sometimes,” I reply, “and, Gale?” he eyes me suspiciously, “Should I ever learn that you are responsible for Charlie ending up hurt, I will personally be sure to disarm you and lock you in a room with Allacia for a while - see what’s left of you after that.”

  Gale shudders almost imperceptibly. Almost.

  “Come on, babe,” I say, “I think I have a plan.”

  —

  Seems to me that Gardner's daughter is just as problematic as her father was.

  That’s the logical conclusion I come to as I do my best to ignore Violet while she continues to sit on top of my desk, pouting - I’ve long given up on trying to get that one to leave me alone. The mere fact that someone as significant as the titular city champion could be influenced by the words of an arrogant child is worrying, to say the least

  I had almost believed in Frederick before his death, but decades do a lot to make a man see reason. Nonviolence is an admirable virtue for the common people of a safe country, not for those who seek in any capacity to protect one. I have dedicated my life to the system we now utilize; I will not see it torn down so easily.

  It’s as I finally allow myself to return to the task at hand - proposed budgets for the BCCSI’s next fiscal year - that I’m interrupted by a knock on the door. Both Violet and I perk up curiously; those who know the location of my office and those who’d bother to knock are groups with scare overlap.

  “Come in,” I say firmly, projecting my voice through past the door. A dark-skinned, thin young woman opens it - one I fail to recognize.

  “State your business,” I order without hesitation. I spare no time for unnecessary distractions, which this already seems to be shaping up to be.

  “I’m sorry sir, ma’am,” the woman says politely in a high-pitched voice, nodding to me first, then Violet, “My name is Allacia Hall - the hero Aphros - and, if I may have a moment of your time, I have something I’d like to ask you.”

  “Out with it,” I curtly reply.

  “It’s about a friend of mine, sir,” she continues, “A hero. She said she was going on a mission and couldn’t tell me more, but it’s been some time and I’m starting to get worried about her. If you could tell me a little bit more, even just assure me that's she’s okay-”

  “Name?” I prompt. Ms. Hall looks confused for a moment.

  “Name of your ‘friend,’ Ms. Hall,” I clarify, “I cannot tell you anything if I don’t even know who they are.” I see the clarity come into her gaze.

  “Charlie Celera Gardner, sir,” she tells me. I frown; Violet barks out a laugh, deepening my frown.

  “That’s what happens when you keep secrets, John,” she arrogantly claims, her proud voice prominently displaying her belief that she’s somehow ‘won’ our discussion before. Ms. Hall simply looks even more confused - that, or she’s an excellent actor.

  “I’m afraid what you are asking to know is classified, Ms. Hall,” I say, ignoring Violet, “I can tell you that your friend is safe, and that I have every expectation that she shall soon return safely home. Your concern is admirable but misplaced."

  “Misplaced?” she parrots, picking up on my intentional wording.

  “You should be more worried about the trouble you’re in,” I say, flicking my left wrist. On cue - though the motion was just for show - a single one of my feathers embeds itself in the wall to my left. Right beside it, a burly young man covered in tattoos seems to appear out of thin air - some kind of stealth trick.

  “After all, I certainly don’t appreciate your attempt at subterfuge,” I tell her.

  All three of the individuals I share the room with are struck silent. Violet I can tell had seen nothing until I revealed the plot, the newcomer is very much terrified, and Ms. Hall appears completely taken aback by how I so easily found them out. A simple thing, really. My feathers would be significantly less effective if I could not at least somewhat sense their location, and I’ve learned to expand upon that sense to the point I can now pick up on sounds via my wings more effectively than with my ears. The boy made noise, is all.

  I sigh.

  “All this, yet it was entirely in vain,” I tell the room, “Such disappointing actions for young heroes.”

  “That’s not fair!” Ms. Hall shouts in a sudden outburst, “We knew you wouldn’t tell us what you did to Charlie; we had to find out somehow!”

  “She’s got a point there,” Violet pokes, having finally recovered from her shock.

  “She might, were Ms. Gardner not set to return later today,” I reveal.

  Once more shock ripples over the room. It might be amusing to some, but I find the effect to be getting old rather fast. I once more take a deep breath, steadying my patience.

  “How about we all calm down and discuss together what happens next?” I suggest.

  Nobody disagrees.