AN: As always, I love hearing what worked for people and what didn't. I try not to be annoying about it, but I do read and appreciate every review, and hearing from readers helps motivate me to keep writing.

ooOoo

I had a head start on tracking the Undersiders, thanks to a moment of personal weakness. I hadn't mentioned it to Shadow Stalker; even if it had turned out to be useful in our pursuit of criminals, I didn't want to admit that I had done something so petty. Not that I had really done anything wrong, per se.

It was only natural that I thought about retaliating against my tormentors once I had a decent handle on my powers. There were practical problems. Any kind of overt attack could only end with the PRT hauling me off to prison. A more subtle approach might hurt them without any proof leading back to me, but they hardly needed any proof to take their bad luck out on me. There was no way to bring them down without bringing trouble down on my own head. More than that, though, I didn't want to use my power like that. I didn't want to go straight from being a victim of bullies to being a bully myself.

That didn't mean I couldn't dream about it, or make preparations for a revenge I knew in my heart I would never carry out. To that end, one of the terrariums in my old lair had a special colony of head lice. Once I had established an environment where they could breed, I had started exposing them to small amounts of the more popular lice treatments. Thanks to their quick life cycle and my ability to push the pace on their reproduction, they had started showing decent resistance after the first month. Not that I would ever actually sic them on anybody at school... probably.

I had used some of my flying insects as a delivery mechanism to drop the lice on the Undersiders. It was an act of petty revenge, yes, but it was more than that: my forced breeding program had resulted in physical changes in my subjects. It was pretty subtle-the kind of thing that would take a microscope and a dedicated entomologist to spot-but my power gave me instinctive knowledge of the physical state of every bug under my control. I was pretty sure I would be able to recognize my lice if I came across them in public.

I hadn't managed to tag Grue or Tattletale, but I had hit the other two. I had to hope that the four of them met regularly, and finding one would let me find them all. And that they weren't too particular about their hygiene.

For the week after the attack, I left for the Docks as soon as school ended. I was able to spend a few hours there before I had to head home for dinner with my dad. Some days I would wander up and down the boardwalk, and others I would just sit and do my homework at one of the many coffee shops that dotted the area. I could easily afford to hang out at even the overpriced touristy places, now. I was lucky Shadow Stalker had had my share of our take from the ABB in her safekeeping when I had my little run in with the Undersiders.

Arranging for a new lair had put a dent in my funds, but there was still plenty left for Mr. Levine to disappear into an account somewhere. It was amazing how money could make life easier. My new place was an old warehouse located in the area of the Docks on the fuzzy boundary between "Boardwalk adjacent" and "gang controlled no-go zone." The fee I had paid included a move-in service that had a team of men sweep out any vagrants-I could have done it, but a team of Boardwalk enforcers was certainly less conspicuous than a swarm of insects-and leave a pallet of terrariums behind.

Getting my new place set up was the other big item on my to do list. I had temporarily stashed my more valuable insects in our basement, and I was anxious to get them away from anywhere my dad might stumble on them. Fortunately, my power let me move a lot of insects using just my backpack. Being able to forego any kind of safety gear came in pretty handy there.

The exotic bugs had settled in to their new location without much hassle. Setting up the terrariums was actually kind of fun, and part of me just wanted to focus on moving forward in my new location and forget about the Undersiders.

It was the part of me that kept me from fighting back against the bullies at school. If anything, the situation here was even more favorable for inaction: I was working out of a new location now, one that would be much harder for them to find. If I just kept my head down there was every chance that I could avoid ever interacting with the Undersiders again.

But I hadn't put on my costume just to knuckle under to a new set of bullies. Part of the reason that I never fought back in school was because there was no chance of winning; Emma always manipulated the situation so that fighting back would just make things worse. This was different: even when the Undersiders had been prepared for me I had been able to make them uncomfortable; if Shadow Stalker and I could take them by surprise, we had a real chance of victory.

Besides, it wasn't like "Skitter" could choose to take a cautious career track at this point, anyways. Empire 88 and the Azn Bad Boys already wanted to kill me. Was it really worth sacrificing my self-respect just to keep from adding the Undersiders to that list?

So I kept my vigil on the Boardwalk. It had occurred to me that the rumors that the Undersiders were based out of the Docks might be wrong, but I didn't have much else to go on. It wasn't like I had a car I could use to search the whole city. Besides, the boardwalk was by far the nicest part of the city to keep watch on. Even if they weren't based out of the area, they might decide to stop by for coffee or something. In the meantime, at least I was comfortable while I kept watch.

My persistence-and laziness-was rewarded when I sensed somebody walking down the street outside with head lice. A quick status check confirmed that they were my special breed. Unless they had practiced some seriously poor hygiene and started spreading the lice already, one of the Undersiders was headed in my direction. I started packing up my homework, wanting to be ready to leave the coffee shop once my target had walked by.

I figured he would walk by because he was showing no signs of turning or even slowing down as he moved along the Boardwalk. I finished putting my papers in my backpack as he closed in from a block away to a half block away, then to within twenty feet of the coffee shop. I was surprised when he turned to walk into the shop, and I couldn't keep myself from looking up as two boys walked into the store.

One of them was obviously the Undersider who favored the Renaissance Faire look. His curly black hair was a dead giveaway. He looked younger than I expected-probably a year or two younger than me. He was handsome, if a little too pretty for my tastes, and he was chatting animatedly with his companion.

His friend was more of a man than a boy. He stood six feet tall, and wore his hair in neat cornrows; together with his dark complexion, they made him stand out even more than his height and build would usually warrant. Brockton Bay's status as the unofficial Neo-Nazi capital of America had been tough on the minority population.

Not that his build was anything to sneeze at. He didn't have the overdeveloped musculature of a bodybuilder or of some of the more extreme capes out there, but he did have a certain solidity about him. Functional muscle, the kind of strength you develop when you work with your hands for a living. Shifting my gaze from his shoulders to his face I realized he was looking right at me. He grinned as our eyes met-a surprisingly boyish expression, it made him look years younger-and I immediately dropped my eyes to the table, feeling my cheeks heat up under his scrutiny.

This was embarrassing. I was supposed to be here to track down the Undersiders. Not to ogle their surprisingly attractive friends. Their friends who were clearly out of my league. Huffing a little, I finished packing my things and made my way out of the store. I didn't look over at the Undersider on the way out, partly because I didn't want to draw attention to myself, partly because I couldn't bear it if they were laughing at the idea of me thinking I had a chance with one of them.

I did make sure to tag them both with a mosquito on the small of the back and on the shoulder. With two points of reference I would be able to tell which way they were facing as long as they were within my range.

Once I was outside I turned to walk the direction the Undersider and his friend had come from. Roughly a block from the coffee shop, there was a bench facing the ocean. I settled down to enjoy the view for a little while and waited for them to move. Fortunately they seemed to be getting their coffee to go, as they didn't stay in the coffee shop for long. I stood once they were outside, and tried to match my pace to theirs as I continued along the Boardwalk.

The plan was pretty simple. As long as I stayed approximately a block away from them, there was no danger that any of the bugs I was using for tracking would leave the range of my power. I figured they were unlikely to see me from that distance, given the normal foot traffic on the boardwalk. And even if they did see me, they would hardly suspect that somebody walking in front of them was trying to follow them home. I wouldn't even have to turn to look at them to know when they turned off the boardwalk.

They didn't stay on the boardwalk long, turning off after about ten minutes of walking. I hung out by the next intersection and let them get about halfway to the next street before I walked off the boardwalk myself. I didn't want them to catch a glimpse of me through some random gap in the buildings or at cross streets, and the additional distance still left them well within my range.

We were a couple blocks inland when the two guys I was following split up. The Undersider kept walking deeper into the Docks, while his friend turned down the street and headed in my direction. Fortunately, we were still in the relatively nice near-boardwalk area, so there was a little touristy store that I was able to duck inside. I browsed through the dresses on the rack without really seeing them while I waited for the coast to clear.

It was a little nerve wracking, waiting for him to walk past my position. I knew, intellectually, there was no way he could have seen me, but I still couldn't totally suppress the irrational fear that I had been spotted. I was also a little torn over how to react to their separation. I was a little disappointed that it looked like I had only found one Undersider rather than two, but it was a relief not to have to think of somebody with such a nice smile as a criminal. Not that anything was certain, but obviously they were less likely to be in the same gang if they didn't go back to some shared lair together.

By the time he had moved about a half block past the intersection, the Undersider I was tracking was just about to the edge of my range. I left the store and walked briskly to try to make up some of the distance. As I did, the neighborhood changed around me.

It's kind of amazing how quickly the Docks can go from the nicest area in town to one of the most dangerous. The boardwalk was a major source of tourist revenue, and a constant focus of development and law enforcement efforts. There was a little bit of spillover to the nearby area, but the bulk of the Docks was a sort of graveyard of modern industry, packed with warehouses and factories that had been the economic heart of the city back when Brockton Bay was a major hub of commerce. These days the major function of these buildings was to ameliorate Brockton Bay's homeless problem by providing shelter for vagrants who would otherwise be in the streets. It also served as a major breeding ground for crime, and we were starting to get into the rougher part of the neighborhood.

I gathered some of the local flying pests and sent them discreetly out around me, marking everybody nearby. It was a little early for gang members to start indulging in violent crimes, but it was just common sense to avoid groups of idle young men at any time of day. With a couple blocks of warning it was easy enough to arrange to be on the other side of the street from anybody who seemed suspicious.

I followed my target through the twists and turns of the Docks, never letting him get any closer than a block away from me. I was just starting to get nervous-we were pretty deep into the bad part of the neighborhood, and I did want to get home safely in time for dinner-when I felt it. Up ahead, another set of head lice that felt like my special breed. I ducked into a doorway and waited. Sure enough, the boy I was tracking headed straight for the same building I was sensing the lice from.

I had found the home of at least two of the Undersiders.

ooOoo

I spent the next week getting a feel for the place and planning out our next steps. I had to be careful-Tattletale could pull information seemingly out of nowhere, and details on all of the Undersiders were frustratingly hard to come by-during the day, I didn't direct any of the bugs inside at all. I could get a feel for the place based on their natural actions, though it was frustrating being unable to see through my swarm's eyes.

I only saw the building myself once. We had one of those beautiful sunny spring days that was still chilly enough to justify wearing a sweatshirt. I took advantage by donning a hoodie and sunglasses and jogging past the lair. Seeing the "Redmond Welding" sign on the building didn't give me any additional information about the interior layout, but I felt better having seen it with my own eyes.

I did manage to sneak out one evening to get a better picture of the place. It felt kind of nice to put on my costume again, though I still did my best to stay unseen as I jogged through the empty streets. It was late by the time I reached the abandoned factory, and from what I could tell from the bugs inside the Undersiders were already asleep.

I waited a little while to be sure that nobody was moving around, then started using the cockroaches already living in the building to map out its interior. Not in the kind of numbers that would give me a real-time three dimensional picture-that would be a foolish risk to take-but enough that I could sketch a decent map of the place in my notebook.

I also used individual spiders to confirm what I already suspected: the third Undersider living in the building was Tattletale, unless Grue was concealing some seriously long hair under that helmet. I had noticed during my daytime observations that there only seemed to be three people who actually lived in the building.

I didn't want to be too aggressive trying to track Grue down; tipping off Tattletale would be disastrous. I had spotted a fourth person in the building a couple of times, but there wasn't enough of a pattern to their behavior-or I just wasn't able to spend enough time to find it-for me to feel comfortable putting together a plan for a daytime attack.

The safer play would be to go in at night. We'd figure out how to deal with Grue when the time came.

ooOoo

Shadow Stalker, despite what her name might suggest, was not particularly patient when it came to standing around outside in the middle of the night. I could sense her fidgeting through the bugs I had deposited on her costume even before she spoke up.

"He's still playing video games?"

She had to already know the answer to that question. I was getting continuous feedback on the location of the Undersiders' night owl, and I would have told her if anything had changed. I glanced over in a futile effort to read her body language-we were crouched on the roof across the street from the Undersider's lair, and with the low ambient lighting she wasn't visible as more than a dark blob.

"It's almost like he doesn't realize tomorrow is a school day," I said, my nerves coming out in a bit of testiness. For all the advantages we had, this was still the first time I had deliberately picked a fight with any other parahuman, let alone a whole team.

Shadow Stalker snorted, then rose from her crouching position and began pacing back and forth. There was a muffled clinking noise every time she turned around, courtesy of the temporary addition to her arsenal. Mr. Levine had been amused when I asked about getting our hands on some chloroform. Apparently knockout drug technology advanced dramatically when tinkers showed up on the scene.

A small deduction from our bank accounts had procured the delivery of an innocuous looking aerosol can. Placing the attached plastic mask over somebody's nose and mouth before dispensing some of its contents would leave your target unconscious for four hours or until administered the antidote. I found it a little unsettling that such a thing was available for purchase, but I did appreciate that my lawyer was confident enough of my good intentions that he didn't ask what I was planning to do with it.

"When this is over, you want to go back to hitting Empire Eighty-Eight?" Shadow Stalker asked.

"Yeah," I replied, a little distracted by the need to keep a metaphorical eye on the Undersiders. "I figure they'll let their guard down a little bit since we haven't hit them in a while. Even if we do screw up and run into a cape, at least it won't be Lung."

"You don't even think about backing down, do you?"

I looked up at her, surprised at the question. I wasn't sure if her tone had been more bemused or more concerned. Looking at her didn't clear anything up. It was always hard to read her body language in costume, and in the dark of the night it was impossible.

"Kaiser is a bully who's used to getting what he wants. Bullies don't back off until you make them back off," I said, then paused. I decided that if what I was about to say sounded like an accusation, it was one she invited. "You sounded like you were on board last week."

"I guess finding out somebody actually put a price on my head made everything seem real serious all of a sudden," she replied.

I took a minute to gather my thoughts. My first thought when I learned about the bounty was that it was a sign that what we were doing was having an effect. It was funny to think that we could interpret the same fact so differently.

"All the more reason to keep going. What's he going to do, pay somebody to kill us twice? He didn't leave himself a lot of room for escalation," I said. "The way to get rid of the bounty is to make it so that Kaiser can't afford to pay it. We were never going to take down Empire Eighty-Eight without making serious enemies."

"Maybe you're right," Shadow Stalker said. She started pacing for a bit, then stopped and kicked at the roof. "Fuck! I can't believe the people in this town wear fucking Nazi tattoos right out in the open."

I shared the sentiment, and I was about to say so when I was distracted by movement from inside.

"He's moving," I said, holding up a hand. "He's... going to bed."

"Finally!" Shadow Stalker said, obviously excited at the prospect of getting off the roof. "You got all the creepy crawlies ready?"

"They've been in position for a while," I replied. "But we're not moving in for fifteen minutes. Do you really want any of them to be awake when we kick this off?"

"Yeah, yeah," she grumbled, but settled down in a crouch.

For the next fifteen minutes there was none of the idle chitchat that had marked the rest of our stakeout. Shadow Stalker was staring at the building across the street with an intensity that was almost frightening. I didn't want to distract her while she was getting herself psyched up, so the time passed in silence.

The head lice on the last Undersider to bed had stopped moving ten minutes in. I was pretty sure he had already fallen asleep, but I figured it was better to be safe than sorry, so I waited the full fifteen minutes before I gave my minions the go-ahead.

The bugs that I had gathered in the gaps between the walls in the Undersiders hideout each headed to the nearest power cord and started chewing with abandon. Many of them died as they came into contact with live current, but each bite eroded the wires just a little bit more, and it wasn't long before the wires were all severed.

"All clear."

Shadow Stalker didn't say anything in response; she didn't even look over at me as she ran forward and launched herself into the air. As soon as her feet left the roof she transitioned into her shadow form. Even knowing she was there I could barely see her as she drifed across the street and through the wall into our target building.

I did my best to keep an track of what was going on inside as I headed for the fire escape and made my way back to ground level. It was tough: Shadow Stalker was frequently shifting between her solid and shadow state, which made it hard to keep a bug on her consistently. I could have flooded the interior of the building with bugs, but that would have been counterproductive. I needed to be ready to help out if needed, but I didn't want to risk waking our targets prematurely.

Fortunately for my peace of mind, it was all over quickly. By the time I was walking across the street, Shadow Stalker had gone solid and was dragging the unconscious bodies of the Undersiders out into their common area. So far, so good.

I walked around to the back of the factory and pulled a length of cord from my utility pouch. After my little adventure at the zoo it had seemed like a handy kind of thing to keep around. I held one end up in the air where it was grasped by a helpful group of flies. They carried it up, looped the end over the bottom rung of the ladder attached to the fire escape, and brought it back down to me.

I had to hang onto both ends of the loop and jump up and down a few times before the ladder finally moved. It came down with a screech of metal and shower of rust-whether through neglect or design, it would have been impossible to sneak into the building this way. I clambered up the ladder and headed for the roof.

By the time I got there, Shadow Stalker had just finished tying up the last of our three temporary prisoners. There was a small rooftop garden up here, complete with outdoor furniture. Each of the Undersiders was tied to one of the wrought iron chairs that, together with a round table, had provided a place to sit and admire the garden during the daytime.

The Undersiders looked surprisingly young, tied up and unconscious as they were. I had seen the boy before, and pictures of Hellhound were readily available on the internet, but this was my first chance to see Tattletale unmasked. She was solidly on the pretty side of the pretty to normal spectrum, and a splash of freckles across the bridge of her nose that were incongruously cute. It reminded me of Madison, and the way she could look like butter wouldn't melt in her mouth while she told our teachers lie after lie about me.

"Let's get this started," Shadow Stalker said, snapping me out of my memories.

She walked over to the bound form of Hellhound and hit her with the wake up spray. The effect was immediate as her head snapped up to glare at my partner.

"I think we're out of range of your dogs," Shadow Stalker said. "But I want to be clear."

She was standing just inside the personal space of the bound Undersiders. We had agreed ahead of time that she would handle the talking; I was a little shy around new people, even when I hadn't just helped drag them out of bed and tie them up. Shadow Stalker had positioned the chairs along the edge of the rooftop garden, while I hung back and sat on the table. I had deposited bugs all over our prisoners so I would be alerted if they tried to move.

"If one of your little pets shows up, here's what's going to happen. You'll die, of course," Shadow Stalker continued, gesturing with the crossbow that had just appeared in her hand. "Then I'll go home, get a good night's sleep. Maybe get a mani-pedi tomorrow, get my hair done."

This was the point where I would have faltered under the death glare Hellhound was directing at my partner.

"Then I'll track down every dog you've ever owned, once your power has time to wear off, and kill them. Slowly," Shadow Stalker continued, with no trace of the teasing tone that had been in her voice earlier. "Do you understand me?"

"Fuck. You."

"Hey, it doesn't have to be like that," Shadow Stalker replied. "I don't really have anything against you personally. Grue's the one I want. Tell me where to find him and you'll be free to go."

We were hoping to set them against each other to try and get them to tell us where to find Grue. In Shadow Stalker's experience, most criminals were perfectly happy to have somebody else go to prison in their place.

"Fuck you."

Hellhound didn't seem at all interested in the opportunity to buy her freedom. Shadow Stalker was unfazed, patting her on the cheek before pulling a hood over her head.

"Think it over. We'll be making this offer to your teammates too," she said. "First come, first served."

The curly-haired boy was the next one she woke up. I still didn't even know his cape name. I sent a command to the bugs in the room below to crawl through his room and try to find anything that could be an id, or at least his wallet. While I was at it, I had the bugs in the rest of the apartment start looking for any cash they kept on hand.

His reaction to being woken up was more subdued. I saw him blink a couple of times before his eyes settled on Shadow Stalker.

"Is this some kind of foreplay?" He asked, a lazy smile coming to his face. "Because I would give you an A for effort and creativity, but I'd have to take points off for being just a little bit rapey."

"Maybe in a few years, kid," Shadow Stalker said, ruffling his hair. He flinched away from her touch, his cool facade momentarily cracking. "For now, though, I just want to know where Grue is. Tell me and I'll let you go."

"So you're just using me to get to my friend?" He asked, the bored expression back in place. "Tempting, but I'm going to have to decline."

"Think about it," she replied, pulling another hood from under her cloak and putting it over his head. "All three of you are getting the offer, the first one to take it is the only one who gets to go."

That left only Tattletale. Neither of us had been looking forward to this conversation. She had a way of getting under your skin, no matter the situation. If Shadow Stalker was feeling any nervousness now, she wasn't showing it; she carried herself with her usual confidence as she walked over and woke up the last of the Undersiders.

"I-mmph!" Whatever Tattletale was going to say was cut off as Shadow Stalker stuffed a gag into her mouth. Once it was secure she stepped back and glared at Tattletale.

"I don't like you. But I like Grue even less," Shadow Stalker said. "You tell me where he is, you can go. You got anything to say?"

Tattletale nodded, and Shadow Stalker stepped forward and took the gag out of her mouth.

"You're having trouble finding Grue, huh?" Tattletale asked. Shadow Stalker didn't reply, but Tattletale reacted as if she had nodded. "So all I have to do is keep my mouth shut and he'll have us out on the street in a week? Gee, tough call-ack!"

Once more, Shadow Stalker had cut her off mid sentence by stuffing the gag into her mouth.

"I wouldn't be so sure that Grue's riding to the rescue," she said. "Besides, you might only be facing juvie, but I don't think your teammates will be so lucky. I'll give you some time to think it over."

She fastened some improvised earplugs on Tattletale before pulling another hood over her face. Tattletale wasn't the kind of enemy that you could allow to get any extra information. With that complete, Shadow Stalker turned and walked back over to me.

"Might as well call the PRT now," she said softly once she was close. "They're not going to crack after that little pep talk."

"Is she right?" I asked. "Will Grue really be able to get them out?"

Shadow Stalker paused before answering. I could see her shoulders slump slightly as she came to a conclusion.

"Maybe," she said. "The Protectorate hasn't done a great job keeping guys like Uber and Leet off the streets. It won't help if their leader is still out and about, for sure."

I felt a chill run down my spine. We had the upper hand right now, but I knew I'd be lying to myself if I didn't admit that the Undersiders were fully capable of beating us in a fight. Any confrontation in the future would turn on who got the drop on who. I may have gotten the better of her this time, but I didn't want to get into an information gathering contest with Tattletale.

"So that's it?" I asked, disappointed. "They turn down the deal and we just give up?"

"What did you have in mind?" She asked. "You want to rough them up a little, encourage them to talk?"

She sounded more amused than offended by the idea. I still just shrugged in response. I felt bad about hurting somebody who couldn't fight back, but if he alternative was looking over my shoulder all the time once the Undersiders were back on the streets? I'd rather feel a little guilty than a lot of pain when a giant dog tackled me out of nowhere.

"The problem with that is we aren't exactly going to get in the PRT's good books if we hand over prisoners who have obviously been worked over," she said. "I'm not saying I've never dangled somebody off a building to get them to talk, but you can't bluff Tattletale like that. The other two are stone psychos. They're not going to talk unless we do some serious damage."

"Really?" I asked, gesturing at the boy. There was definitely something off about Hellhound, but he had seemed so normal.

"I know he's a weedy little guy, but he has the dead eyes," Shadow Stalker said, shaking her head. "If he doesn't have a dismembered hooker in his fridge, it's just because he's too lazy to saw up a body."

I blinked. That was surprisingly graphic. I didn't think I could second-guess her assessment of the Undersiders; she had more experience with criminal types than I did. Still, I didn't want to just give up. Besides, I knew from personal experience that you could hurt somebody a lot without inflicting any physical pain.

"Hellhound, what about her dogs?" I asked.

"Are you kidding?" Shadow Stalker replied. "If we start threatening them right in front of her we're going to have a giant mutant dog on our hands."

"Her power only works if the dog is alive."

The silence that followed seemed to stretch on for hours.

"No," Shadow Stalker finally said, quietly but with intensity. "We're not turning this into a full on blood feud."

I let out a sigh that was half frustration and half relief. I didn't want to hurt an innocent animal, but I really didn't want to have to fight the Undersiders again.

"What about Tattletale?" I said, waving down Shadow Stalker's objection. "I know we can't bluff her, but who says we have to bluff?"

"The PRT-" she said, but I interrupted.

"They picked a fight with me," I said. "It's only natural they'd pick up a few stings for their troubles."

She only hesitated for a second before she nodded. I started off by taking the canister of knockout gas from her and heading over to administer a dose to Hellhound and the little guy. No sense letting Tattletale pass on any more messages to her team.

When they were safely unconscious I tossed the canister back to Shadow Stalker and crouched down in front of Tattletale. Steeling myself, I reached out and removed her hood, then her gag and ear coverings. She was speaking almost before the gag was out of her mouth.

"You can't seriously think that we-"

"New deal," I interrupted. "You tell us where Grue is, and I stop."

I held up my hand, directing one of the bullet ants I had brought with me to walk over my outstretched finger. I saw her eyes widen in recognition, and the questioning expression on her face turned to one of condemnation.

"You wouldn't," Tattletale said, for the first time sounding unsure. "That's crossing the line."

Crossing the line. That was an expression I was familiar with. Emma, Madison, and Sophia could pile petty humiliation on top of petty humiliation, doing everything in their power to ruin my life. But it was all fine, as long as they didn't cross the line. Of course, if I ever fought back-even just giving in to the temptation to punch Emma in the mouth-that would be over the line.

I felt a surge of anger buttress the fear and sense of self-preservation I had been relying on to get me through this.

"I didn't notice a line when you were holding a gun to my head." I said, directing the ant to leap off of my finger. Once it landed it was easy to direct it to an exposed foot. Shadow Stalker had tied one of her feet to each of the legs of the chair, and there wasn't enough play in the ropes for Tattletale to do anything about the ant crawling on her.

"You-you don't want to do this," Tattletale said, focusing intently on my face. "You want to be a hero, don't you? Like Alexandria. What would she think of this?"

Like every other little girl, I had gone through an Alexandria phase as a kid. She was one of the strongest heroes in the world: able to fly faster than the speed of sound, hit an Endbringer hard enough to knock it over, and so invulnerable to harm that she could live to do it again.

Alexandria had also been a major force behind the founding of the Protectorate, an organization dedicated to the principle that parahumans were subject to the same rules as everybody else. What I was doing here, going outside of the law to accomplish my goals, it was against everything Alexandria stood for.

I bowed my head. I had known, as soon as I understood my powers, that I was no Alexandria. I couldn't go toe to toe with an Endbringer and expect to walk away. But I could clean up Brockton Bay. I could attack the problems that were beneath the notice of the big time heroes. I just couldn't do it if I had to live up to their example.

"You're right," I said. "I don't want to do this."

Then I had the ant sting her, right on the top of her foot.

I saw an expression of disbelief flutter across her face, right before her features twisted up in pain. She didn't scream, but she couldn't hold back the hissing noise as she seemed to expel all of the air in her body in one long, pained, exhale. It felt strangely intimate, but I forced myself not to look away.

"Where is Grue?" I asked, once she had focused her attention back on me.

"Right behind you," she said.

I didn't have to look to know it was a lie. I had enough bugs stationed around the perimeter of the roof to know that nobody was getting up here without me noticing.

I had the ant sting her again. The venom from the first sting would still be affecting her-would be for the next twenty-four hours, really-but the more venom that was pumped into her system, the more pain she would feel. It would take a truly absurd number of stings before the venom would reach lethal levels. As much as I hated this situation, the ant really was the perfect tool for the job.

She did cry out this time, a high pitched keening that grated on my ears. She was crying, too, tears leaking from her eyes and mixing with the snot draining from her nose. Overall, it was jarring change from the confident mien she usually carried about her. Part of me felt guilty about bringing her to this, while a darker part of me felt a sort of triumph at bringing somebody who had attacked me to such a state. I suppressed both feelings, focusing on my swarm and on the girl in front of me. This wasn't about my personal hang ups-this was something I had to do.

"Tell me," I said, "or this is going to get worse."

Head hanging loosely from her neck, no longer looking me in the eyes, she gave an address.

I paused and looked at her for a moment. I had assumed this would take a lot more than two stings. It was possible I was underestimating the level of pain the ants could cause-they had picked up their nickname because their stings were comparable to getting hit with a bullet, after all-but this still seemed a little too quick.

"If my partner finds a trap when she checks the place out," I said, doing my best to keep my voice level, "we won't be taking things one sting at a time when we start over."

Another long moment passed. I knew that even now she must be in a tremendous amount of pain. There was no realistic hope of rescue; they had probably chosen this area of the Docks as their home base specifically because it was off the beaten path. Nobody was going to stumble onto us, and whatever failsafe they had set up with Grue, it couldn't possible involve him waking up on his own and checking in during the wee hours of the morning.

Finally Tattletale let her head drop even further, and recited another address. I looked over at Shadow Stalker, and she nodded at me before tossing over the knockout gas. I used it to render Tattletale unconscious-there was nothing I could do to get the venom out of her body, but I could spare her the pain-and walked over to my partner.

"You think it's a trap?" I asked.

"Maybe," Shadow Stalker said, shrugging. "But I'm pretty hard to catch. I'll call you once I've checked it out. Shouldn't take more than twenty minutes to get there."

With that, she jumped off of the roof, transforming into her shadow state and disappearing into the night. I was left alone with three unconscious prisoners. And my thoughts.

ooOoo

By the time the phone rang half an hour later, I had had some time to come to terms with what I had done. It wasn't something I ever wanted to do again, but I had to consider the alternative: if the Undersiders got back out on the street and we continued our back and forth, things could only escalate. Eventually somebody would get seriously hurt or killed. I don't think I could live with myself if I let somebody die just because I had an ethical problem with administering a sting or two. I wasn't exactly thrilled with what had happend, but I could live with it; I would just have to carry it with me and make sure that everything else I did as a cape was worth it.

"I got him!" Shadow Stalker said as soon as I picked up. She sounded almost giddy. "His costume was in the closet."

"Good," I said, with a sigh of relief. I hadn't thought Tattletale was lying at the end there, but you never could be sure with her. I was glad that the night seemed to be drawing to a close.

"He's a hottie, too," Shadow Stalker said, "Why do the villains get all the eye candy? It's fucked up."

I really had no idea what to say to that. I kept silent, hoping she would change the subject.

"Or maybe I just think he's hot because he's a villain," she continued, dashing my hopes. "That would be pretty fucked up too, huh?"

I closed my eyes. Was this friendly banter? Emma and I had been too young to really talk about guys back when we were friends, and all the guys at school were too willing to do Emma and Madison's bidding for me to feel any attraction there. The only guy who had caught my eye lately was the Undersider's friend... I felt a chill run down my spine.

"Is he a black guy, cornrows, pretty built?" I asked, hoping for a no.

"How'd you know?" Shadow Stalker sounded surprised.

"I saw him with one of the Undersiders," I said, before some sense of honesty compelled me to continue. "You're, uh, not fucked up."

"No shit!" She said, then laughed. The thrill of catching Grue had really lightened her mood, she sounded more relaxed than I had ever known her to be. "I was just messing with you. I know a grade A side of beef when I see one."

I fell silent once again. I didn't really know what to say. There were a few kids at school that I got along with ok, the ones that were far from the orbit of the popular crowd, but we didn't... gossip. After a moment of silence I realized I was hearing some kind of thumping noise through the phone, and Shadow Stalker seemed to be breathing heavily.

"What are you doing?" I asked. I wasn't sure I really wanted to know.

"Just dragging the big lug down the stairs," she replied. "There was a big white van parked outside, and boytoy here had a set of keys. I'm thinking this calls for a change of plans."

I liked the old plan. Get the Undersiders together, knock them out, then call in a tip to the PRT. It was simple and safe. I didn't really feel like changing it on the fly. Still, if we were going to work together I couldn't expect to call all the shots, so I decided to hear her out.

ooOoo

The video was middling quality, which is actually pretty good for a surveillance tape. The time stamp on the bottom right corner indicated that the video was taken at three in the morning, and the black and white feed showed a couple of PRT agents standing around, looking at nothing in particular. Suddenly one of them points and shouts, and the two of them are obscured by a cloud of insects.

The insects pull away from the men after only a couple seconds, revealing that they are completely unharmed. They fly away slowly, maintaining their cohesive shape. The camera turns to follow them, and after a second a spotlight highlights the dark cloud of bugs flying high across the street. When they reach the building opposite the PRT headquarters, the group merges into a larger cloud of bugs already blocking the view of the front of the building.

As soon as the spotlight was on the building the bugs all dispersed, almost seeming to vanish as they transitioned from a single mass to a thousand individual bugs. In their place the camera now could see four individuals, dangling down from the top of the building. The camera doesn't show it, but I know that each is secured by a painstakingly crafted harness of spider silk to make sure they don't accidentally fall to their death.

The camera zoomed in, revealing what look like four ordinary teenagers in their pyjamas except for one detail: each one is wearing a mask.

The video was posted to Parahumans Online, and had already elicited a stream of responses.

Bagrat: A friend at the PRT sent me this... somebody delivered the Undersiders to them this morning, all wrapped up like a Christmas present.

CapeWatcher59: That's the Undersiders? Damn, Grue can [content blocked by SafeFilter, to reveal the blocked content please contact your network administrator] under my side any time, if you know what I mean!

Chrome: I think we all know what you mean, CapeWatcher. Please keep the NSFW stuff in the appropriate forum.

TheGnat: Those bugs... could this be that new guy, Skitter?

XxVoid_CowboyxX: Maybe. Damn, the Undersiders picked the wrong guy to fuck with.

The commentary continued in that vein, eventually degenerating into a bunch of posts of that horrible PRT picture of me overlaid with various threatening messages. It was nice to get a little recognition, although it was annoying that ninety percent of the posters seemed to assume I was a guy. I glanced down with annoyance: even if everything else seemed to be going right in my life, one thing had never changed.

That was about all that I could complain about, though. Rounding up an entire criminal gang was a major coup, and also removed a major worry from my mind. I knew we would still have to deal with the ABB and E88 eventually, but the Undersiders were the only ones who had ever been able to track us down, and now they were out of the picture.

Even the fatigue I was feeling couldn't keep the smile off of my face. I had managed to get through the assignment in Mrs. Knott's computer class on sheer willpower, but I could feel my energy reserves running low. Fortunately Mr. Gladly always assigned group work, so I figured I would be able to catch a nap in his class.

In the mean time, there was a lot of interesting content to read on the message board. There actually weren't a ton of posts on the Undersiders' section of the forum before today-other than Hellhound, they had mostly flown under the radar. With their arrest, a flurry of speculative posts started showing up. Mostly they had to do with what was going to happen to the Undersiders now, although Grue's habit of going to sleep in his boxers had apparently earned him quite the fan club.

I was so engrossed in the forum that I didn't notice the end of class approaching, and when the bell rang I was slow to react. By the time I closed out of the computer and stood up, Mrs. Knott had left the room. So had most of my classmates, but a few had lingered behind. Mostly Emma and Sophia's hangers on, and... Emma was walking into the classroom herself. I don't know if she was here to use a computer or what, but once she saw me heading for the exit I knew there was no way I was getting out of the room without some kind of confrontation.

"Taylor, you really need to start taking better care of yourself," Emma said, in that fake friendly voice that she had perfected over the last couple of years. "Bags under your eyes at fifteen? That's not good. It's not like you have the looks that would let you get away with letting the little things slide."

I didn't say anything. If she wanted to take shots at my appearance, it wasn't anything I hadn't noticed about myself. It wasn't exactly nice to hear it from somebody else, but after hearing it for a year and a half it had lost a lot of its sting.

"But you look so cheerful..." Emma said, putting a finger to her chin as if in thought. "Is it true, you were up all night trying to... win the hearts of the football team? All at once?"

"That's pretty rich, coming from the girl who sneaks off under the bleachers with Mark Jansen in fifth period every day."

She was staring at me in shock, and it took a second to realize that I had said that out loud. I must have been more tired than I had thought.

I had been in the habit of tagging my three primary bullies with bugs to keep track of where they were at school for a while. It wasn't a perfect defense-sometimes classes dictated that we would be close to each other, sometimes they would leave my range, sometimes I would forget to note their positions-but it did help me keep from wandering into their sights any more than strictly necessary. It also had kept me more clued in on Emma's social life than I had really wanted to be.

"How do you-why would you even think that?" Emma hissed, displaying actual anger towards me for the first time in a while. Usually she just wore a kind of bored, superior smirk.

I thought about apologizing, but it was too late for that. I turned my thoughts instead to Shadow Stalker, the way that she would brazen her way through every situation, no matter how outmatched she seemed to be. I squared my shoulders and stood up straight, looking Emma in the eye as I spoke.

"Everybody knows. You think I'm the first person to hear anything?" I said, then forced myself to smile. "You should be thanking me for telling you what everybody's thinking."

"What makes you think you can talk to me like that?" Emma asked. "If you don't shut up and mind your own business-"

"You'll what, stuff me in a locker full of used tampons?" I asked, shaking my head. "The problem with running at maximum bitch all the time is that you don't leave yourself much room for escalation."

The girls around us started whispering furiously back and forth to each other. Emma rounded on her friends, realizing for the first time that the audience might not be entirely on her side. Not that any of her friends liked me, but I'm sure they wouldn't mind taking her spot as the queen bee of Winslow. I was sure that Emma would eventually turn things back in her favor-she always did-but for now she was on the back foot. I walked around her and made my way to the door, only to come face to face with Sophia.

She had to have heard the whole thing, but she didn't seem mad. She almost looked thoughtful as she studied my face for a moment, then nodded at me and stepped out of the way. I walked cautiously out the door, waiting for an attack in the back that never came.

That was odd. If this were an after school special I would say Sophia had some kind of newfound respect for me after I stood up for myself, but after almost two full years at Winslow High I knew better than that. The three of them had already shown the willingness to play the long game and manipulate my feelings just so that future bullying would hit me even harder. Sophia's behavior could be part of some new scheme. At best she was engaged in some kind of alpha girl battle with Emma and appreciated an assist no matter what its source.

I put my head down on the desk almost as soon as I entered Mr. Gladly's classroom. I wasn't much for figuring out high school politics when I was fully rested; there was no way I could puzzle out Sophia's motivations while I was dead on my feet. Mr. Gladly was just starting some kind of lecture about capes as I drifted off to sleep.

ooOoo

Colin snapped his hand open as soon as he saw the electricity start to move in the wrong direction, but his reflexes weren't up to the task of outrunning lightning. The clatter of his weapon hitting the floor provided accompaniment to the muttered string of curses that escaped his lips as he tried to shake some feeling back into his hand.

He would count this attempt at integrating his bug zapper mark four into his halberd as a partial success. It generated an electrical field that would certainly kill any flying insects within its area of effect. When the zapper worked on its own, that was enough. The problem was that when it was added to his halberd, all of that electricity wanted to arc back to the closest thing to a lightning rod in the general vicinity.

Maybe the best solution was to incorporate insulation for his hands into his costume. Then the bug zapper could double as anti-theft technology.

The primary purpose, of course, was to protect himself against Skitter. If he ran into the young parahuman again, he would of course attempt to recruit him into the Wards. That was standard procedure for good reason: they needed all the capes they could get. But after the aggression and hostility Skitter had shown in their first meeting, it was only prudent to prepare to defend himself in case things went south.

A beeping noise from the wall distracted Colin from his train of thought, and he glanced up at the clock in surprise. It was already time to start getting ready for the morning's interrogation. He set aside the disassembled components of his gear before donning the "dress uniform" he used for those occasions that required Armsmaster to make an appearance inside the Protectorate Headquarters.

Every cape had a type of opponent that they hated to face. Some hated fighting movers, finding it impossible to lay a glove on them. Some hated the way brutes could smash their way through the obstacles in their path. Some-villains in particular-hated running up against tinkers.

Colin liked to think he had something to do with that, but he knew in reality it probably had more to do with the fact that the Protectorate did a good job recruiting unaffiliated tinkers into their ranks and supporting their research. As a result, the good guys tended to hit the streets with a noticeable technological edge. The sheer versatility of the solutions a good tinker could provide was difficult for anybody to handle.

Colin hated dealing with thinkers. Other types of powers, he could figure out how to beat. It was just a matter of putting in the time, working through the glitches inherent in any new piece of equipment until it was ready to neutralize his opponent's advantage. Adapting his combat analysis software to handle novel types of movement powers, modifying his halberd to defeat new defensive powers. Colin enjoyed it: tinkering with his tools in a constant process of refinement and improvement provided a sort of pure satisfaction and fulfillment that was all too hard to come by in performing the rest of his duties.

To have a thinker eyeball his latest trick and figure out a way around it in three seconds flat was incredibly frustrating. Forty hours in the lab turned into nothing more than a momentary one-time advantage on the streets.

The really frustrating part was that he knew he was smarter than most of them, on a power-neutral basis. He had his test scores from before he had triggered, and they compared favorably with the test scores from the thinkers the Protectorate had complete files on. To be effortlessly defeated in his one field of strength solely because some cosmic fluke had given his opponent the right superpower, it felt-well, probably how a dedicated bodybuilder felt when he found himself crosswise to the wrong brute, or how scientists felt when they tried to analyze tinker technology.

Colin tried not to let his frustrations with thinkers affect his professional interactions, but there was no denying that it sometimes made it easier to play his role in good cape, bad cape style interrogations.

Once he was properly attired, Armsmaster made his way to the observation room. He ran into Director Piggot in the elevator, and the two shared a nod of greeting. The director didn't believe in small talk, which was one of the little things that made for a smooth working relationship between the two of them.

The observation room was a mirror image of the attached interrogation room. Bare concrete walls set off a cheap conference table and chairs, all illuminated by flourescent lights that were recessed into the tile ceiling. The only difference was the alignment of the one way mirror and the controls for the intercom system that allowed them to call in questions or instructions if necessary.

Armsmaster and the director hadn't been waiting for more than a minute when the door opened and Tattletale was led into the interrogation room. What struck Armsmaster, as it so often did, was just how young she looked. She looked like a perfectly ordinary student at Arcadia High. Nothing about her appearance marked her as a member of one of the more elusive gangs in the Brockton Bay underworld-which might help explain their elusiveness. She sauntered into the room like an honored guest, apparently untroubled by the handcuffs on her arms.

Sitting opposite her was one of the obviously ex-military men that the PRT tended to attract to its ranks. Looming over his side of the table, he was directing a stern glare in her direction that seemed to have very little effect. In fact, Armsmaster realized, she hadn't even looked at her interrogator. Ever since she walked into the room, her eyes had been fixed on the one way mirror, looking directly at the spot where Director Piggot was standing.

"Lisa Wilbourn," the interrogator said, "or do you prefer Sarah Livsey?"

Tattletale seemed unfazed by the casual display of knowledge about her life.

"Let's stick with Lisa," Tattletale-or Lisa, Armsmaster thought, considering the context of the conversation-replied, apparently unconcerned by the casual display of knowledge of her personal background. "I spent a lot of money setting up that identity, it would be a shame to let it go to waste."

She turned to look at the interrogator directly for the first time. "And what about you? Do you prefer gopher or flunky?"

"Neither," the PRT officer replied, obviously unamused.

"Well, if you work hard and get promoted, maybe someday I'll care about your preferences," Lisa said. "In the meantime, why don't you stop wasting my time and go get Director Piggot in here?"

"I don't think you understand the gravity of the situation," he replied, leaning over the table as some anger started to color his voice. "You could be looking at serious jail time for the things that you've done."

"If this is going to be that kind of conversation," Lisa said, unmoved by the threat, "I think I'd like to have it with my lawyer present."

The PRT officer nodded, then stood and walked to the exit. Opening the door, he spoke briefly to the guard waiting on the other side, then returned with a cell phone that he placed on the table. He uncuffed Lisa's right hand, securing the empty cuff to the leg of the table.

Lisa would have been well within her rights to demand privacy for her phone call, but she seemed completely oblivious to their scrutiny as she dialed a number from memory and perched the phone between her shoulder and her ear.

"Hey Quinn... of course it's me, don't you watch the news? For what I pay you, you ought to be here already," Lisa said, her tone of voice making it clear that she wasn't actually upset. "Just get down here. They'll be expecting you."

Director Piggot reacted when she heard Lisa address her lawyer by name. "Quinn Calle... if she can afford his services, the Undersiders may have been more prolific than we realized.

Armsmaster thought back to the last major thinker villain they had taken down in Brockton Bay. It had been shortly before the director had transferred to her current posting.

"Or she came to some kind of arrangement," he said. "A law firm can get a lot out of one hour of a thinker's time."

The director nodded to acknowledge the point, and the two of them settled in to wait. They didn't have to wait long. However Lisa was paying her legal bills, it was clear that she was a high priority client. Quinn came bustling into the room not ten minutes after Lisa had hung up the phone, and after a short meeting with his client he managed to finagle his way into the observation room.

"I have to admit," Quinn said, flashing that annoyingly confident smile that Armsmaster had come to know all to well from his run-ins with the man, "I'm curious how my client went from sleeping in her bed to PRT custody without any kind of warrant being issued."

"She came to us, in a way," Armsmaster replied. "You've seen the video, I assume."

"And the series of events leading from her sleeping at home to her being dangled from the roof of a building were orchestrated by purely private action, I'm sure," Quinn said, skepticism clear in his voice. "It would be fun to see you try to make that hold up under Toymaker."

Armsmaster had to fight to suppress a grimace. Toymaker v. New York was the landmark case that laid out the standard for when the acts of a costumed vigilante could be considered state action. Since the average vigilante had little appreciation for fine points of law, dealing with Toymaker issues tended to be an incredibly frustrating part of Armsmaster's job. It was only compounded by the fact that instructing local vigilantes in the intricacies of the law was exactly the kind of thing that, under Toymaker, tended to make courts treat the vigilantes as an extension of the Protectorate.

The way the legal system turned victories for the good guys into defeats almost seemed designed to create frustration. Armsmaster knew he wasn't the only tinker who had developed lie-detecting technology, and to be forced to let people go who he knew were guilty just because the courts hadn't deemed such technology to be trustworthy... sometimes it made him question why he was doing what he was doing. He tried to focus on the fact that adhering to that kind of asinine technicality was what separated the Protectorate from any other gang. They weren't just the strongest group of capes around: they were dedicated to upholding the rule of law.

Quinn had paused to see the reaction to his little dig, but he had more to say. "Unfortunately for me, but fortunately for you, my client has seen the light. She wants nothing more to do with a life of crime, and she's willing to join the Wards program."

"You must be joking."

Director Piggot spoke for the two of them. Quinn looked a little taken aback by the flat refusal.

"Not at all," he replied. "And don't tell me you've never done this sort of thing before. I know you're always in need of more thinkers-"

"Not one with a murder on her record," Piggot replied.

"Murder?" Quinn asked, blinking in surprise. "Ah, I think I understand. The brother, right?"

Director Piggot nodded.

"So, let me tell the story: two children, one the apple of his parents' eye while the other can't do anything right. Driven by jealousy, she uses her spooky powers," Quinn said, pausing to wiggle his fingers dramatically, "to drive him to kill himself. Looks like a suicide, but actually it's murder most foul. Does that about sum it up?"

Director Piggot nodded once more.

"I can see how to local yokels down in the precinct could come up with that one," Quinn said, shaking his head, "but I expected better of the Protectorate. Come on, what's missing in that story?"

Armsmaster felt like slapping his forehead when the penny dropped. "The trigger."

"Exactly!" Quinn exclaimed. "If sibling jealousy were enough to trigger superpowers we'd be drowning in capes. Isn't it more likely that the traumatic death of her brother caused her to trigger? And once she had her power she knew beyond a doubt that her parents blamed her for what happened. Is it any surprise that somebody in that kind of situation would run away and fall in with a bad crowd?"

Director Piggot turned to Armsmaster. "You buying any of this?"

The subtext of the question, of course, was what his lie detection suite was saying.

"I believe that he believes it," Armsmaster replied, then gestured towards the interrogation room, where Lisa was sitting by herself at the table. "I also believe that she can be quite convincing."

The simple fact was that all the lie detection technology in the world was no use when the subject didn't know he was lying.

"A claim like this changes the whole situation," Director Piggot said, then sighed. "I'm going to have to hear it from the girl herself. Armsmaster, I'm delegating the final authority on the disposition of this case to you."

Armsmaster nodded. Standard procedure when a stranger or a thinker was involved was for the person with decisionmaking authority not to enter the room with the subject. If it became unavoidable, the authority would be delegated to another.

Quinn simply waved Director Piggot on as she headed out. Usually a lawyer wouldn't want his client talking to law enforcement without being present, but having a thinker involved changed the whole complexion of the situation.

"Tell me how you triggered."

The director didn't waste any time asking the question as she walked in the door. Lisa looked up, startled. For the first time since she entered the room, she didn't look completely comfortable.

"I guess this was bound to come up eventually," she said, turning back to look down at the table. "It started when my brother killed himself."

Partly true. Before Armsmaster could move to signal Director Piggot, Lisa continued.

"That wasn't when I triggered exactly, though," she said. "It was the nightmares afterward that kind of drove things home. I knew his life wasn't perfect, you know? Saw some of the little things that were screwed up. But I never put it together. I just couldn't get over it-why couldn't I figure things out? And then it got so I could figure things out, but it didn't really help anything at all."

That had the ring of truth about it, both to Armsmaster's ear and to the analytic software in his helmet. He brought his hands together behind his back and tapped his right index finger on his left wrist. It transmitted a signal to a patch the director wore on her lower back, causing it to vibrate once.

Director Piggot had paused, both to allow Lisa time to gather herself and to wait for Armsmaster's signal. When she received confirmation of Lisa's story, she spoke again.

"Thank you for sharing; I know it is a difficult subject," she said, then paused. "If you are serious about wanting to join the Wards, we will need an explanation of just what your power is."

"Right," Lisa said, straightening up, "I know things."

When Director Piggot didn't respond other than raising an eyebrow, Lisa continued.

"Not everything. It's more like a kind of super-intuition. Like, total bullshit Sherlock Holmes kind of stuff," Lisa said, then took a long look at the director. "Let's start with the easy stuff: you're left handed, ex-military, unmarried, no kids. You have two cats, and your computer passwords alternate between the cats' names followed by random digits. Three or four digits? Ah, your parents' birthdays. You have a condition that requires the use of a dialysis machine, which you don't use as directed, probably because-"

"Enough!" Director Piggot interrupted. "That is quite sufficient, if not a little alarming. How do we know you're not just orchestrating this conversation to your own benefit with a power like that?"

"It doesn't work like that," Lisa protested. "I get facts, not instructions. I mean, I can tell you don't like me-no, that's not it, you don't like capes in general? Wow, that's pretty fucked up."

A silence fell over the room. Back in the observation area, it was all Armsmaster could do to remain impassive in the face of twin revelations of what a useful power had fallen into their laps and the director's apparent prejudice. Quinn Calle was openly gaping at the two women.

"One fact you or your power left out was that I was on the first team sent in to investigate Nilbog," Director Piggot said, her voice flat. "So yes, I have a healthy appreciation of the dangers of power falling into the wrong hands. I also dislike the erosion of civil society caused by all of the violence inherent in parahuman combat. But I am perfectly capable of judging each particular parahuman as an individual."

Armsmaster relaxed a little when his software confirmed that the director was telling the truth. He counted it as a victory that he managed not to sigh in relief in front of the defense attorney.

"My power is like that," Lisa said. "I can make some pretty ridiculous inferences, but I can't just pull facts out of nowhere."

A silence fell over the interrogation room once more, but this time it was much less fraught. Armsmaster briefly weighed his options before turning to address Calle.

"She'll have to allocute. We'll recommend probation. If she's a Ward in good standing on her eighteenth birthday, she gets a clean slate," Armsmaster said. "Any crimes turn up that she didn't mention, any disciplinary actions that result in her dismissal from the team, and she goes straight to juvenile detention."

"That's about what we expected," Quinn replied. "Do you guys have some kind of standard form or do you want me to draft something?"

"There is one other thing," Armsmaster said. "Our understanding is that the Undersiders were working for someone. We'll need anything she knows about who that person is."

Quinn gestured toward the window. "I'm sure she won't mind sharing. Would you like me to go ahead and ask?"

Armsmaster nodded, and keyed on the intercom. Quinn leaned forward to speak clearly into the microphone.

"Lisa, dear, we've just about finalized a deal," he said. "Is there anything you can tell us about the man calling the shots for the Undersiders?"

She giggled, which was not the response Armsmaster was expecting.

"The others talked about that, huh?" She asked, looking at Director Piggot and receiving a nod. "They talked to 'Mr. Big' on the phone once or twice, and I was the only one who met him in person, right?"

Director Piggot nodded once more.

"And after that initial contact I was the only one who ever interacted with the boss, and nobody else had any idea who he was..." Lisa said. "You see where I'm going with this?"

"There was no 'Mr. Big'?" Director Piggot said, echoing Armsmaster's line of thought. "But why?"

"You think Grue would take orders from a skinny little white girl? Or that Bitch would listen to a thinker who couldn't stand up to her dogs even before she pumped them up?" Lisa asked, shaking her head. "But have them talk to a scary voice on the phone, put the idea of some mastermind behind everything in their head, and they fall right in line."

"This isn't the kind of conversation that makes me think you'd be a good fit in law enforcement," the director commented.

"Like you could turn down a thinker like me," Lisa said, flashing a grin. "It's not like we ever did anything that bad, we just had big dreams."

Those last two comments, at least, registered as completely true, which Armsmaster found only a little reassuring.

"And this whole thing isn't part of some master plan to infiltrate the Wards?" Director Piggot asked.

"If I could plan that far ahead, we wouldn't even be having this conversation," Lisa said, which registered as true. "On the other hand, if I didn't have a backup plan for leaving my old life behind, they'd make me turn in my thinker rating."

She smiled after making that last comment, the first really full, open smile Armsmaster had seen since she walked into the room. Something about it made him wonder, just for a moment, if he would be letting a fox in the henhouse by admitting her to the Wards.

At least as a Ward she would definitely be transferred to another city and become somebody else's problem.

ooOoo

AN: Time for Operation: Cannot Possibly Fail...