Chapter 8

Sophia was angry. This was nothing new. She could barely remember a time when she wasn't. When she was younger, perhaps, years before she gained her powers. It didn't matter. It was her weapon now, her armor, her strength. It gave her purpose and focused her mind. It was there, always, lurking beneath the surface, waiting for her call.

The feeling faded, at times, that gnawing need, the driving desire to purge the weakness all around her. Emma helped. Sophia's friend, her confidant, someone she could share her victories with. Emma was strong, just like her. It was... nice, to have a friend. Sophia was grateful for the distraction. Emma made things better, made life out of costume easier to bear. Spending the day with her was almost as soothing as patrolling the streets.

So why was Sophia seething?

The mall, the goddamn mall. It was supposed to be a relaxing day off. It was too early to patrol, and Emma wanted to go shopping. Instead, she had gone home, white as a sheet, nearly brought to tears by harmless words.

Sophia wanted to tear that smiling blonde in half, at the time, but something stayed her hand. It was the probation, Sophia stubbornly insisted to herself. The Protectorate would know almost instantly if she started a fight with a civilian. The food court was crowded with people and cameras, so there would be no chance to lie her way out of any consequences. That was the reason she did not fight, did not defend her friend, did not beat the smug out of that arrogant girl.

It had nothing to do with the crazy bitch at her side.

Sophia could tell at a glance. She knew a fellow predator when she saw one, but the girl was different. She eyed Sophia like a particularly juicy steak. She was ready, willing, to try and kill her, right there in that crowded mall. It was the sort of utter disregard for circumstances only the obscenely strong could display. Or the completely insane. Sophia was unwilling to act, until she figured out which moniker applied.

But in withdrawing, she lost. It was the correct decision. Sophia knew it, understood it, hated it, but she had no choice. If she was right, if she called the nonexistent bluff, and that mad girl tried to kill her, Sophia might have needed her powers to survive, to win. Outing herself to an entire mall was the kind of loss she could not recover from. So she left, taking the hit to her pride even as she planned her revenge.

The girl was protecting Hebert of all people. Sophia supposed that answered her question, the girl was insane. No one in their right mind would defend that waste of space. Still, Sophia would give Hebert a break, let her think it was over. She would take some time, watch her, and wait. Eventually the lunatic would come back to check on her charity case, and Sophia would follow.

She hated losing.

It galled her, to stand there and take her threats, to act the weakling, a victim of her own caution. You can explain to him your theory of how the world works, before he skewers you, the words reverberated in Sophia's head. Kaiser was nothing. He couldn't even hurt her, while her shadowed bolts would pierce his metal armor like it was air.

It made no sense to her, to allow the scum of the city to fester. They were a slow rot, eating away at the roots of the city. A disease that flourished under the cities current regime.

Things would be so much better, if only the Protectorate wasn't filled with weaklings. They weren't prepared to do what was needed to win. Unwilling to act, to remove the stains on the city.

She would just have to do it herself.

Sophia made it home in good time. She spent the afternoon restlessly planning. The Wards were so limited, it was stifling. They did not make a difference, an impact, not really. Sophia needed to stalk, to chase, to satisfy her primal need as a predator, and the Wards actively prohibited it.

Tonight she would hunt.

The Empire had a drug depot on the edges of downtown, hidden within the dilapidated buildings that circled the docks. Sophia found it weeks ago, scouted it, saved it for later.

It was meant to be her bargaining chip, a carrot for Armsmaster, should she ever need it. The man would forgive quite a bit, as long as she was more useful than disruptive. He was realistic like that.

Sophia was done waiting. She was done with the Protectorate's constant compromise, its complete lack of will. Caution had always stayed her hand, held her back, prevented her from taking greater action against the scum of the city. Today, caution made her lose.

She was done being cautious.

When night fell, Sophia ditched her Wards phone, and donned a hockey mask. Tonight, she was not Shadow Stalker, the Ward. Tonight, she was Shadow Stalker, the hunter.

She made her way through her city with ease. Her power made roof running trivial, a simple shift into her breaker state after each jump propelling her from building to building.

The night was her natural environment, her territory, her playground. She was a ghost, invisible and undetectable. The scum she hunted had no chance against her.

The drug depot was well fortified. A once sturdy warehouse, barricaded in a way that mimicked a derelict, the building itself falling apart at the seams. Most people would assume it was long abandoned, lost to time and decayed into uselessness. Sophia was not most people.

She alone saw the patrols, the disguised enforcers, roaming the edges of the property. Lookouts, guardians of the herd, anxiously peering into the night. Searching for predators. They would not find her.

One by one, they fell. The Protectorate insisted on tranquilizer bolts. They were useful little things, at least when she needed a silent take-down. They were painless, though, nothing but a pinch, and inspired more confusion than fear. They did not send a message, did not impart the agonizing lessons her broadheads would. They would do little to dissuade the filth, but for the guards, they would suffice.

Sophia made her way to the roof, her path plotted out long ago. It was an exercise to stave away boredom, imagining how she would deal with a den of enemies. A fantasy that she once assumed unattainable. It was fear, she now realized, fear of failure that held her back. Fear that she wasn't the hunter she knew she was. She squashed it flat, ground it beneath her heel, buried her fear beneath a mountain of determined anger.

Sophia ghosted through the roof, quiet as a whisper. She landed silently on a catwalk, her breaker state blending perfectly with the darkness. Seven men, that was all that stood between her and victory. They were spread out, unaware, unafraid. Two lounged beside the closed doors, shotguns held loosely at their sides, confident in their lookouts, believing they would be warned long before an enemy arrived. Another four sat on a table playing cards, arguing quietly, unarmed and blissfully unaware. The final man walked along the upper level, making his way towards the stairs, a pistol in his waistband.

The two guard were the first to fall. Twin shadows ripped through the dark warehouse, incorporeal blurs nearly invisible to the naked eye, phasing into existence right as they buried themselves in each man's gut. One fell, screaming, clutching desperately at the bolt, his shotgun clattering to the floor. The other let out a stream of curses, and unloaded his weapon into the darkness. Her next bolt speared through his shoulder, pinning him to the wall and paralyzing the limb.

The room descended into chaos.

Sophia swept through them like a flood, firing as fast as she could load, disregarding location. Her goal was pain. Pain, and fear. Her prey would come to know these emotions intimately.

A bolt pierced the thigh of the second floor guard, and he tumbled down to the bottom floor with a scream. Two tranquilizers brought down the fastest of the card players as they fled for the exit, and a broadhead through the back dropped the next one as he ran for a weapon. The final man cowered beneath the overturned table, cursing and praying.

Sophia dropped down, abandoning her high ground. This coward, she would deal with face to face. She approached the table, taking measured steps, allowing herself to be heard. A stream of fuck what the fuck, and agonized groans were the only sounds in the warehouse.

Sophia reached the table, gripped its corner, hurled it aside, and shifted into her breaker state as the cowering man unloaded a pistol into her face. Not even close. She wanted to laugh, to mock his attempts at harming her, even as he desperately click click clicked his empty weapon. She phased back in, ignoring his startled yelp.

"Wait! I recognize you! You're-" her kick interrupted him, forcing the air out of his lungs. One hand batted aside the empty weapon, the other crashed into his kidney, even as she spun to dodge his panicked flailing. He fell with a groan, and Sophia buried a broadhead in his kneecap, twisting as he screamed.

"You're going to tell me everything you know about Empire operations." Sophia hissed menacingly. It was unlikely the man knew anything of note, but that wasn't the point. She needed to vent, to unleash her accumulated frustration. This idiot would suffice.

"F-ffuck you, you crazy bitch! Wha-" his tirade ended with a scream, as Sophia ripped the bolt out with a grim smile.

"You're going to learn what happens to scum like you in my city. I'm going to-" Sophia was interrupted by hot fire, lancing through her back. She barely registered the gunshot, instinctively falling into her breaker state. She collapsed, desperately switching back to her human form as she realized she couldn't feel her legs. Her body cracked into the concrete floor, and she tried to groan.

A pained gurgle was the best she could produce.

She couldn't see- she couldn't feel- what happened? Someone shot her? Someone shot her!?

"Oh fuck, you shot her!" voices, there were voices? Her prey, what-

"She was trying to kill us! I almost broke my fucking neck in that fall."

The mook on the second floor. Bolt through the leg, he fell and crack went his head. When did he get up? Why didn't he run?

"Help me up! We need to get out of here! You shot a fucking Ward!"

The Protectorate, they'd be here. They had to be here.

"Fuck! She's a Ward!? What the fuck!? What do we do?"

"We run- help me up, we run motherfucker. We need to tell Kaiser, he'll know what to do."

Kaiser... weakling? He couldn't hurt her, nobody could hurt her...

She could hear grunts of pain, and shaky footsteps, the creak of a rusted door opening and closing.

And then she was alone. She tried to move, to wriggle, to speak. Each attempt brought only pain.

Footsteps, loud, slow, methodical. Black and green running shoes came to a stop in front of her. Built for long distance. A good brand. Her head swam, made it hard to focus. She tried to turn, to call for help. She burbled blood instead.

The shoe pressed against her shoulder, turning her on her back. There was no pain, just pressure, and her head lolled against her shoulder, giving her a clear view of the girl in front of her.

She wanted to scream.

"This was a surprise." the mad girl said, cold eyes staring down at her, unconcerned with her pain, "I thought you would come straight after me, or maybe Taylor." She looked around the warehouse with undisguised amusement, "You did pretty good. Not that it matters. Even if I wanted to save you now, I couldn't."

Sophia shook, her body spasming in pain and anger. Her breaker state flickered, granting her brief moments of weightlessness as she tried to wriggle her way over to the exit. She had to escape, to get to the street, to find a healer. A fit of coughing interrupted her, and blood poured freely from her mouth.

The girl followed her, fishing a phone out of her pocket and dialing a number. "I'd like to report a parahuman fight. Yes. I saw Shadow Stalker of the Wards go into a warehouse on 12th and Jester, alone. Then I heard several dozen gunshots. She hasn't come out. Right, thanks." the phone snapped closed and she seemed to regard it for a moment. Then she shrugged and the phone crumpled in on itself.

Sophia did not have the energy to be surprised.

The girl stood over her, watching impassively, almost bored, as if she was watching paint dry. As if Sophia's death was nothing but a footnote.

"So this is all you are, in the end?"

Rage. It suffused her, filled her with strength, but her broken body could not hold it. It drained away like rainwater. Sophia thrashed, vomiting blood, desperately praying to anything that was listening, to give her the strength to kill this bitch. Even as she writhed, the light faded, and she fought to stay awake.

The girl's gaze turned curious, almost expectant, waiting for a sign that made sense only to her.

Sophia struggled to move, to scream, to fight against the encroaching darkness.

She would not end like this!

She would not!

She would not!

She would not...

She would not...

not like this...

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