Chapter 14
Shadow Stalker
Babysitting was not Sophia's idea of a fun patrol. Wards' assigned patrol routes weren't fun to begin with, but tonight she was also supposed to put up with a kid.
She had hoped that by now Aegis would learn to let her patrol solo, but no, the stuck-up prick wanted to pretend he was in control and could dictate Sophia's actions. Make her into a good little toy soldier and show himself as anything other than useless. Fat chance of that.
It was almost funny to see him flounder. She ditched other Wards on patrol whenever she wanted – usually when she wasn't planning to go solo later that day and wanted some action now – and their complaints fell on deaf ears.
Because Shadow Stalker was too valuable. She was the most effective Ward and the only one who did real work.
Oh, she knew not to push too far. The PRT had its rules and regulations and whatnot, and Piggot had to at least pretend to stick to them. Otherwise, the likes of Youth Guard or other useless sheep would raise a stink. It was annoying, and Sophia wanted nothing more than to return to her vigilante days, when she could freely show scum where they stood compared to her.
But she knew how the game was played. The PRT couldn't allow someone to be more effective than them, and so Sophia was caught and threatened with juvie to work for them. So Sophia chose the smart option and now she was a Ward.
But she was one on her own terms.
Tranquilizers and PR patrols sucked balls, but when it came time for real work, Sophia set her own rules.
Sophia knew if she fucked up and created a PR shitstorm Piggot would drop her. Anything less? As long as Sophia kept things quiet, she owned the night.
So yeah, Aegis and Vista could whine all they want—their boss knew who was the best Ward. Following rules earned you a pat on the head. Being feared earned you silence. Being strong earned you respect.
Sophia's eyes drifted to her partner.
Armiger looked ridiculous with his 'mini-Armsmaster' helmet and fake abs.
And wasn't that a fucking surprise. Armsmaster had kids. Hah! Who the fuck would date him?
Sophia would admit the hardass was kinda hot. Tall, square jaw, muscles in all the right places. Beard, if you were into that kind of stuff.
But the moment he opened his mouth, you knew exactly how insufferable he was. Dating, or worse, marrying that? Nah, no fucking way. It was clearly a pump-and-dump situation. Well, twice apparently, but if he kept his mouth shut, then Sophia could see some horny bitch with a daddy fetish tapping that.
And the kids were just as annoying as their dad.
Argent was an insufferable suck-up. Followed rules to the T, called Aegis 'sir', and generally had a stick up her ass.
Armiger was... well, he wasn't as bad as his sister, and at least shared her opinion of the other Wards. The problem was, he clearly lumped Sophia in with them. Looked down on her.
Usually, Sophia would show them both their place. And she tried. She needled them, called them out, tried other stuff.
And she wasn't even sure they noticed. All the usual things that riled up Vista, reminding her how useless she was—they completely ignored. Armiger just stonewalled her, giving her some snide remark at best. Argent acted so unbelievably stupid that Sophia almost, almost believed the shrimp was mocking her.
That wasn't normal.
It was enough to make her want to go further. Like, say do something with Armiger's precious kitchen, or shove his sister.
Each and every time something deep inside her screamed to stop.
One wrong twitch, and Argent's eyes immediately zeroed in on her. Armiger didn't even need to look and Sophia knew, she fucking knew he was watching her.
It put her teeth on edge. It made her feel like prey. She hated that.
When they first showed up, Sophia was interested. Well, before they turned out to be a pair of annoying children. The Wards were told they had a body count. Two capes no less. Now, that was something worth her respect.
So she did some digging. The PRT tried to bury it, but between the new Butcher, the whole Adepts fuckup, and the consequent gang war, their PR attack dogs were stretched too thin. Some things slipped through, and there always were suicidal idiots who would rather die than miss filming a cape fight.
The PHO was heavily moderated, but bits of footage showed up in other places. Like a five-second clip of screaming clones surrounding something best described as a runaway blender.
Limbs and heads flying in every direction, blood flowing, and just for a second, a glimpse of blond hair and a distinct pattern on black steel.
She initially dismissed it as meaningless. Even Vista could fight clones without needing an actual spine. But still, something nagged at her, whispered that maybe these kids were genuinely dangerous.
The kids still put Sophia on edge. She still didn't push.
It pissed her off—how calm he was. How little anything stuck to him. She wanted to tear down his composure, force him to reveal what he truly was under pressure.
"We have left our patrol route some time ago," Armiger stated neutrally.
"So?"
"So I would like to know where we are going."
"What, not going to whine about going back or call the console?"
"Would that change anything?"
"Fuck no. I go where I want to. I'm surprised you're going along so easily."
"I don't care either way."
That made things easier. But it still pissed her off. The way he said it—like the outcome never mattered. Like she never did.
Sophia led him into the Docks. To the ABB territory. Usually, she preferred hunting skinheads, but lately the Protectorate started pushing further into Empire territory. She already had to evade Miss Militia once the other night.
So ABB it was. At least Emma will be happy about that.
She knew the Docks pretty well by now. When you're a lone vigilante, you learn to let the heat die down. You hunt one gang for a week or so, then switch to another, leaving the first one to search for shadows and look over their shoulders. Then, when they let their guard down and the heat rises with the second one, you return. Rinse and repeat.
It was that kind of experience that made her a better hero than the other Wards who could only mindlessly follow orders.
She also knew how to find big targets. Case in point: a few weeks ago, she learned the whereabouts of an ABB weapons cache. Or maybe it was part of their smuggling operations—it wasn't important.
What was important was that there were plenty of targets. Enough to make Sophia think twice about going there. Sure, there were plenty of elevations and places to hide. But for all that she was invincible in her shadow state, the shootouts inside buildings forced her to turn back, simply because her bolts didn't have enough time to phase out when she shot them at those distances. Plenty of chances to catch a stray bullet.
With a Brute to soak up some damage, however? She could manage.
Sophia checked the cartridges on her forearms and rolled her shoulders. Everything was in its proper place.
She led Armiger through the alleyways. It wasn't her preferred method—she was easier to spot on the ground than on rooftops—but she scouted this route the night before and knew where the ABB spotters hung out.
Finally, Sophia stopped in a secluded spot, target in sight.
"Finally ready to tell me what this is about?" the kid drawled.
Sophia's lips twitched. "This is a warehouse with lots of guns."
"Let me guess, you aren't simply going to report it to the PRT?"
"They wouldn't do anything even if I did. Too deep into ABB turf. Too busy with the Empire."
"Then why are we here?" Armiger raised an eyebrow.
She turned to him. "We are going to hit it."
"Why?"
"Are you stupid? It's a place full of ABB scum. It's our job to deal with them."
"How strange. I was convinced our job is to look pretty for the cameras. Perhaps we should go back to Lord Street? I'm sure there's a fan there, waiting for your autograph."
Even with his helmet in the way, Sophia could see Armiger's usual resting bitch face. She wanted to punch it.
"What, scared to do some real work? Scared of a little danger?" she tried instead, mocking him.
"Terrified," he deadpanned.
It wasn't going how she imagined. He didn't challenge her. Didn't flinch. He simply refused to play. And somehow, that was worse.
"Why the fuck did you become a hero then?"
"I made a promise to a man chasing a lie."
He said it like a joke, distractedly, as his eyes were roaming around the building, but there was something bitter in his voice. He stilled and shook his head, as if surprised by his own words.
"The fuck does that even mean?"
"It means we should go back. There are at least a dozen people in that building, likely more. It's too dangerous for you. Wait until you're older before trying to take on a dozen armed men," he turned and started walking away.
Sophia seethed.
In the back of her mind, she knew the smart move was to retreat. Too risky. Too messy. She could take on a dozen gangoons, but enclosed spaces weren't her preferred battleground. And especially not when she was on an unsanctioned patrol. Taking a few bruised, a broken bone or even a wound when she could just return to the PRT and get healed by Panacea? Easy. She'd done that before. Returning and explaining that she attacked a weapon cache by herself and got hurt? She would be benched for sure.
But she was pissed. At Armiger's tone. At his patronizing words. At the way he made her feel—small.
She couldn't retreat now—not after that look, not after his tone.
She phased into shadow and went in.
Fuck it. Consequences were future-Sophia's problem. Saw suspicious activity, investigated, ambushed—easy enough lie. The rush of anticipation drowned out the nagging voice warning her this could end badly.
Lurking around the building, she noticed a single guards on the lookout, just standing around and smoking. She simply sneaked behind him and shot tranquilizer point blank.
Retrieving her bolt and dragging him out of the way and into a secluded corner, Sophia looked around, waiting to see if Danvers was still around. Was him leaving a bluff, or will he join her, now that him walking away did not dissuade her?
From her position, she could see the alleyway they approached from. It was empty.
A coward after all. Nothing about his cool demeanor held water.
She came here with vague hope that he would show some spine. That maybe there was another Ward who wasn't dead weight. But in truth? Sophia was glad that he proved himself just another weakling. That everything that unsettled her about Danvers siblings was a lie. A mirage, probably caused by their Thinker powers. Sophia felt a certain sense of relief.
Feeling vindicated, she decided to let loose. Pulling a knife from under her cloak, she rammed it into the thug's heart, killing him.
This was what being a real hero was like. Removing scum from the streets. No arrests. No second chances. Just judgment.
Shadow Stalker retrieved cartridges with lethal bolts from her back and slammed them into her crossbows.
Checking for walls for wiring with her tinkertech lenses, she slipped through the thin enough safe spot on the second floor, crossbows primed for combat.
From her perch on the second floor, Sophia counted heads.
Twenty. Maybe more. Most of them clustered around a table—cards, booze, half-empty food containers. A few lingered near crates and shelves. All relaxed. Unarmed, but not unarmed for long.
Perfect.
She fired.
Two bolts. Two kills. One dropped face-first into the table. Another staggered back, eyes wide, before collapsing.
Yells. Shouting. Gunmetal scraping. The room exploded into motion.
Sophia didn't wait. She phased and fell through the floor, shadowy whisps trailing behind her. A spray of bullets passed through her like mist. No cover up here anyway.
She hit ground level running.
Between crates. Behind steel racks. She weaved through shadows like water. One blink of solidity—one clean shot—phase again. Rinse. Repeat.
Someone caught a glimpse of her. A burst of gunfire tore into empty air. She pivoted behind a support beam, let their aim shift, then reversed course and came out the same side she'd entered.
Bolt. Throat. Down.
Another one raised a pistol at her flank. Too slow.
She was already leaping—flickering out of phase as bullets passed through her legs—and materialized mid-air just long enough to drive a boot into his chest and fire point-blank into his gut.
Screams. Gunshots. Panic.
They were shooting each other now. Good.
She danced between them, each movement flowing into the next. A sprint became a slide. A dodge became a pivot. Every bolt she fired struck clean. No wasted shots. No mercy.
They fired at shadows. She returned as death.
They died, one by one.
She ran. She weaved. She shot. She hit.
This was her hunt.
The survivors broke formation, scattered like rats. One ran behind cover—she phased through the wall and nailed him as he turned. Another tried to crawl under a truck bed. She walked up and fired without blinking.
The numbers dropped. Fifteen. Ten. Five.
Until only one was left.
He was already wounded. Scrambling for a dropped rifle.
She let him grab it.
Let him aim. Let him hope.
Then she was on him—wrenched the gun from his hands and cracked it across his skull.
He went down hard.
Sophia straddled him and drove the rifle butt into his face.
Once. Twice. Again.
She didn't stop when the blood started to pool. Didn't stop when bone cracked or skin tore. She only stopped when he stopped twitching.
This was how it was meant to be. Her — the predator. Them — prey.
And then—clatter. Metal on stone.
Sophia turned, crossbows snapping up—
—and saw a handgun slide across the floor.
Armiger stood over a prone man, boot pinning his shoulder, a bolt lodged in the gut.
One left. One she'd missed.
He was calm. Completely calm.
"Missed one," he said, as if they were comparing shopping lists. "Gut shots are rarely fatal. They tend to stay conscious."
Sophia knew that already. She also knew that they were very fucking painful. How the fuck did that guy fall down without a sound and just laid there waiting for an opportunity? Looking closely, he was one of the first she downed! Thugs are neither that smart nor that tough.
Sophia did not lower her crossbows.
Fuck. This was bad. She went full lethal because she thought Danvers chickened out and left. Now, it turned out he was still here—and saw everything.
If he snitched...
Unphased by her crossbows, Armiger took a knife from the goon's belt.
"Military issue. Not local. Not gang-market standard. Too clean. Too functional," he mused, twirling the knife in his hand, "Issued recently. Less than two months in use. Owner knew how to keep a blade alive. Not a punk with a shiv."
He took a firm grip on the handle.
"This knife was used tactically. Controlled targets. No panic slashes. Clean kills. No hesitation."
Sophia just stared at him, as the boy went on his Thinker rant.
"Professional muscle. Military or ex-military, I think."
Danvers turned to her.
"This is exactly what I was talking about. This man had discipline. A professional. You mistook him for trash. You went in, thinking yourself a hero dispensing justice, and almost died."
"I didn't need your help!"
"You didn't nearly get shot in the back while beating a corpse for fun?" Armiger raised an eyebrow.
Shoot him. Just shoot him. Tell Piggot he went off the rails, attacked the ABB, and got shot. That way no one will know anything about tonight.
Just a kid. Standing in the middle of bloodbath with a knife. Unfazed. Relaxed. Lecturing her.
Not a predator. Something else.
Something in the back of Sophia's mind screamed at her to shoot him. Another, deeper part of her whispered that it wouldn't work. That if he didn't go down with the first shot, she wouldn't live to fire a second.
Fuck it. He is Armsmaster's brat. The tinker surely will bring all the scanners to analyze his corps and quickly figure out I killed him.
She shot the guy he stood over instead.
Armiger didn't even twitch.
"I don't need to tell you to keep quiet about tonight, do I?" she loomed over him, intimidating the boy with her height.
He shrugged, utterly unfazed, as though standing in a room of dead gangsters was as routine as grocery shopping. "If it saves me the hassle of writing a patrol report—sure."
Sophia suppressed a shiver. Something was off about him. Not dangerous—calculated. Inhuman.
As they went back to the HQ, Sophia was sure that Armiger proved himself... not a predator, but something. He didn't kill anyone tonight. But he didn't need to. The way he held himself... He wasn't a sheep.
Yet despite finding another maybe-not-so-useless Ward, Sophia's feeling towards him didn't get any better. Just a different kind of animosity.
A/N
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