Taylor Hebert, Medhall Intern Pt 10 (Patreon)

Part Ten: Unlikely Heroes

[A/N: This chapter commissioned by @GW_Yoda and beta-read by Lady Columbine of Mystal.]

“This is a Code Yellow. I say again, this is a Code Yellow. There is an armed assailant in the building. If you are on the first floor, make your way to the lobby immediately. All other personnel, lock yourself into a safe place and await security to escort you out. This is a Code Yellow …”

After the second repetition of the message over the PA system, I managed to tune it out as I jogged along behind the gurney. The medical techs weren’t slowing down for anything, even as one held an IV bag in the air, replenishing Mr Grayson’s lost blood. “How often does this happen that you need a code for it?” I asked Bradley, trying not to sound too much like I was out of breath.

“Not often, but it’s not the first time.” He never stopped looking around as he spoke, his voice as grim and harsh as I’d ever heard it. I almost felt sorry for whoever he got to unleash his wrath on. “Last time was a bunch of Merchants looking for a fix. Nobody got hurt that time, though. Nobody who mattered, anyway.”

By which I figured the Merchants got their asses kicked nine ways from Sunday. I was perfectly fine with that. Of course, we had bigger problems than a bunch of strung-out Merchants right now. “You think she’s still in the building?”

“Yeah. We’ve got the place locked down. That vest she was wearing was from the mail room loading dock, which has gotta be where she came in by. She’s cunning enough to spot and avoid security cameras, but she can’t get out without being seen. Soon as Grayson’s in medical care, we’re going on the hunt. Room by room if we have to.”

That was the longest speech I’d ever heard from the taciturn security guard. He’d clearly taken the attack on Mr Grayson on a personal level, and if I were reading him correctly, he would move heaven and earth to capture Sophia now. Not that I blamed him; she’d made my life hell for far too long for me to see her in any kind of friendly light.

“I wish I could help,” I said frankly. “I know I can’t, but I wish I could.”

“You’ve already done more’n most,” he said, surprising me. “Grayson woulda bled out if you hadn’t been there and raised the alarm. You got guts, kid. She got in, you were gonna take her on with a letter opener. But there’s one thing you can do for me.”

“Name it,” I said immediately. With the respect and consideration he was showing me, even in this stressful time, I was willing to go the extra mile and beyond for him and Medhall both.

“Stay with him,” he said, indicating Mr Grayson. “The clinic’s already under guard, but everyone there will be busy trying to save his life. I want you in the room with a radio, so if something goes sideways that I need to know about, you can tell me right then. Got me?”

I nodded, knowing he was basically putting me out of harm’s way, but fully intending to do the job he’d given me. “I can do that.”

We were at the elevator by now, and he smacked the call button with the heel of his hand. The security guards kept a lookout both ways down the corridor while we waited, but when the doors opened two of them immediately pointed their pistols that way. “Clear,” each of them said in turn, then the medical techs hustled the gurney into the elevator.

I went in as well, and Bradley followed me. He put a key into some sort of locking mechanism and turned it, then handed me a radio from his belt. “Stay frosty, kid,” he said, then slapped me on the shoulder and stepped out of the elevator. I wasn’t sure what he’d done until one of the medical techs pressed a button and the word “EXPRESS” started flashing at the top of the panel. We dropped—fast.

I had just enough time to figure out that he’d made sure Sophia couldn’t hit the button on a lower floor and catch us on the way down, before the elevator came to a spine-compressing halt. The doors sprang open, and I stepped out of the way just before they would’ve run me down with the gurney. I followed them, fully aware of the armed guards eyeballing me. The inspection didn’t last long; they nodded and gestured for me to follow the gurney. Bradley, I figured, had called ahead.

But I hadn’t heard it, which meant that my radio wasn’t on, or I was using it wrongly.

Meekly, I approached one of the guards and showed him my radio. “Bradley said to keep in touch with him using this,” I said. “How do I use it?”

“Let me see that,” he said briskly. “You’re Harcourt’s up-and-comer, right? We heard about you and the car.”

I blinked, wondering what else they’d been saying about me. It was weird, finding out that people were saying nice things behind my back instead of the usual. “I, uh, yes,” I stammered.

“Good.” He turned a knob on top, and I heard a burst of static. “On-off switch and volume control in one. See this press-button on the side? If you want to talk, hold it in for a second, say what you gotta say, then wait another second to let go. If it’s held in, you can’t hear anyone else, but they can all hear you. Got it?”

I accepted the radio back from him. “On-off and volume, press to talk. Got it, thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Clinic’s down that way.” He took up his guarding stance again, and I moved on.

The job I’d been given wasn’t exactly the most glamorous or important, but I was going to do it to the very best of my ability.

Unfortunately, as the doctors started work on Mr Grayson, it also left me with plenty of time to worry.

I hope Greg made it out okay.

<><>

Director Piggot’s Office

PRT ENE

When Emily heard the tap on the door, she somehow knew it was bad news. She didn’t get this feeling often, and it was always in conjunction with bad news she’d already gotten, so she didn’t entertain any ideas about being a Thinker. She preferred to put it down to excellent pattern recognition; or to put it another way, why would the world choose to stop shitting on her?

“Enter,” she called out, clasping her hands on the desk in front of her.

The door opened, and Renick stepped inside. “Director …” he began. His face said it all. She’d been right from the get-go.

“Let me guess,” she interrupted. No Endbringers were encroaching on the city at the moment, so she went with her current worst-case scenario. “Shadow Stalker’s done something even more egregiously stupid than before.” She wasn’t quite sure what that could possibly be, but capes had never let her down in that regard to date.

He didn’t even bother looking surprised. “Yes. She’s invaded the Medhall building in her civilian identity, presumably looking for revenge. So far, she’s attacked and critically wounded the lawyer who showed up at Winslow. The Hebert girl had a close call, but she’s reportedly unhurt. They’ve locked the building down and they’re about to start searching, floor to floor.”

“In her civilian identity.” That was the only faint spark of hope in a heaping helping of shittiness. It was quickly extinguished by her own common sense; if Hess found herself cornered, she would absolutely use her powers to get out of it. Then another question occurred to her. “You said he was critically ‘wounded’. Not ‘injured’. That implies a weapon was used.” She wouldn’t have been that stupid. Would she?

His expression became even more drawn than before. “Yes. One of her old Shadow Stalker crossbows.”

Her internal thought process shuddered to a halt, and she trembled on the verge of red rage. I am going to fucking murder that little …

Drawing in a deep breath, she tamped down the explosion that desperately wanted to happen. No matter how ardently she lobbied for it, the Chief Director would not sign off on a hearing for a kill order, and even the Birdcage was only an outside chance. Though, depending on the body count Hess was likely to leave behind on this little jaunt, it might become more probable as the day went on.

“Is she trying to out herself?” she gritted, those words being the only ones she trusted herself to say without screaming at the top of her lungs.

“The thought certainly crossed my mind,” he admitted. “Ever since she was arrested at Winslow, it’s like she’s decided she’s got nothing to lose, and is going all-out to get revenge on everyone she perceives as responsible for her downfall.” He glanced at her briefly, and she read his meaning with no trouble at all.

Yeah, I’m probably on her list too.

Her mind flicked through the branching possibilities. There were none that actually had a good outcome, and few that had an acceptable one. Sometimes, the only way to avoid gangrene was to amputate the entire limb and cauterise the stump. “Okay, we’re launching damage control as of right now.”

“Director?” She’d caught Renick on the back foot.

“Send a squad to Mrs Hess's place of work, another one to her son’s work, and a third one to her child’s daycare. Take the whole family into protective custody. Send another couple of squads, plus whatever capes we have who can no-sell Stalker the best, to Medhall. But hold them back until the Hess family is under guard. As soon as they’re secure, we open a line to Max Anders. Tell him who Hess is, and get him to pull his men back. If she’s going for blood, they don’t stand a chance.” She set her jaw. “We’re going to have to dig her out of there.”

As she spoke, she could feel the yawning pit under her feet. If she could spin events just right, she might even get to keep her job, but one death too many and she’d be for the high jump. But she couldn’t see any other way to rein Stalker in and save the innocents.

Renick didn’t argue, for which she was grateful. However, instead of immediately leaving her office, he paused. “One suggestion, ma’am?”

“Talk to me.” She’d take any lifeline right now.

“Send Velocity to the daycare, with troopers following along to there and the other two places. We ring the mother and son and tell them to shelter in place until the troopers get there. He can get there a lot faster and secure the child, then the troopers can relieve him and convey her back here while he goes on to Medhall to back up the other capes. This lets us get our people to Medhall now, rather than waiting for the troopers to get to the kid.”

She nodded. “Good plan. Make it happen. Let me know the instant Velocity gets to the daycare and the other two have been notified.”

“Will do, ma’am.” He left, closing her office door behind him.

She glared at it for a moment, in lieu of Shadow Stalker. Her fingers itched for the touch of a firearm. Right then, right there, she would have happily shot the rampaging ex-Ward if the girl had been there in front of her.

But of course, her life could not allow for such simple solutions. One hand hovering near the phone, she began to mentally compose her words to Max Anders.

This was not going to be a fun conversation.

<><>

Greg Veder

If anyone had told Greg before he started at Medhall that cleaning toilets was kind of fun, he would’ve … well, he probably would have ignored them. Or assumed they were punking him. But that had been him then versus him now. In his time doing maintenance work in the Medhall building, he’d learned over and over that doing the job meant doing it right, and getting all your ducks in a row the first time around.

Now? He was in the groove. He’d struggled to get it right the first day, and even the first week was a trial. Taylor’s words of encouragement had been about the only thing that got him to stick it out, but now? He could see where he’d been going wrong from the start. They’d okayed him wearing headphones while doing this sort of thing, so long as he kept the music low enough to hear someone talking to him, so he was bopping along to his favourite tunes while making that porcelain sparkle.

Going along the row of cubicles, he applied toilet bowl cleaner to each commode in turn, then went back along the row to the beginning. He’d learned that this particular brand worked best when given a little time to settle in; just about the same amount of time that it took to dose each toilet in a row, in fact. On the second pass, he sprayed an anti-bacterial cleanser over the seats with one hand while pressing the flush buttons with the other. It’s all about getting the job done as efficiently as possible.

The sound of flushing toilets filled the echoing space, almost drowning out the music in his headphones. Fortunately, he’d made personal use of them before starting to clean (another trick he’d been taught) so the gurgling of water didn’t make him want to stop and take a leak. However, this meant that he was back at the first toilet and starting to wipe down the seat before he finally heard the recorded announcement over the PA system.

“… lock yourself into a safe place and await security to escort you out. This is a Code Yellow. I say again, this is a Code Yellow. There is an armed assailant in the building …”

He stopped dead still, his mind racing in circles, trying to make sense of what he was hearing. One hand came up, hooked through the headphone cords, and pulled the earbuds free to make sure it wasn’t a set of lyrics he was mishearing. The announcement cycled through again. It was real.

This was real.

Just for a moment, he was the old Greg Veder again, jittering in place, wondering what to do. Then he took a deep breath, inhaling the clear sharp smells of the cleaning products, and centred his mind. Okay. I’ve got to be smart. Armed people means Taylor’s in danger.

Hooking the spray bottle of cleaning product into the holder on his belt, he took his phone out. The earphones came free and he shoved them into his pocket, then he turned it to silent. No way was he going to end up like a victim in those movies where a phone goes off at the wrong time and alerts the gunman. Shoving the phone back into his pocket, he went to the end of the washbasins and took out the ring of keys he’d been issued when he showed up that day.

He could lock the bathroom door, but that would only delay matters if the shooter or shooters really wanted to get in. What he had to do was go where they wouldn’t think to look. The maintenance door even had tiles over it to better resemble the wall, with just one tile missing to make way for the keyhole. The correct key came readily to hand, and he opened the door. Stepping inside, he pulled it closed behind him.

He didn’t have a flashlight—these were only issued if he had a job to be crawling around in the interspaces of the building—but his phone would work well enough. There were cramped little staircases (and sometimes just ladders) connecting one floor to another, so he didn’t have a problem there. He just needed to remember which maintenance door let out closest to Taylor’s workspace.

Making his way up to the correct floor gave him time to mull the question over in his mind. There was one in each of the bathrooms, but that wasn’t close enough for safety. Then he recalled a third one; in the kitchenette, where the coffee machine was. Okay, then. That’s where I’m headed.

As he crept through the dark, dank passageway, he recalled his enthusiasm when he was telling Taylor about the maintenance spaces. ‘Secret passages’, he’d called them. God, I sounded like an idiot.

And then he was at the door in question. It was narrow, about half the width of an ordinary door; he recalled that it was wedged in beside where the fridge was situated. All of a sudden, he was glad he was skinnier than the average. Turning the handle, he carefully disengaged the tongue from the strike plate (before he’d started here, he wouldn’t have known what they were called) and then pulled the door open, inch by inch.

He couldn’t see or hear anyone moving around in the kitchenette or nearby. This didn’t mean that they weren’t there; just that they were being quiet if they were. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a dime and flicked it out into the kitchenette, then waited. It made a distinct noise on the floor, but there was no answering sound of footsteps or even a voice.

Breathe in. Breathe out.

Okay, then.

He wanted more than almost anything to remain in the safe dark spaces of the maintenance corridor, but that wasn’t what he’d come here to do. If Taylor was up here, she was unsafe. She’d come through for him so many times since they’d started this internship; hell, she’d tried to warn him that his slacking off was going to bite him on the ass, just as it had. When Ms Harcourt had given them the thousand dollars after he’d spectacularly failed the fire drill, she had once more explained how it was going to go, and she’d been right … again.

But even after all that, after he’d been relegated to learning how to clean toilets the right way, and she’d ended doing stuff that sounded fun and cool and interesting, she still hadn’t looked down at him or told him to stop bothering her. She’d tried to show him where he was going wrong, and she’d even been nice about it. Her advice had really helped him, and when he’d had the chance to help her in return, it had been the best feeling in the world. (The kiss on the cheek had definitely been worth it too, just saying).

He suspected he might be crushing harder on her than he’d previously thought. Not that he had any particular illusions anymore about how girls saw him, not anymore. He was just another guy, working in a menial internship because he’d been too stupid to see through the basic tests they’d thrown his way.

But this thing he was doing right now, this had nothing to do with any feelings he might hold for her. This was all about doing what was right, and making sure she didn’t get hurt by whoever had invaded their workplace. He was Greg Veder, Medhall Maintenance; and they were in his house now.

Greg Veder, Medhall Maintenance, crept out and peered into the corridor. Left, then right, then pulled his head back fast while he thought about what he’d seen.

Nothing, either way. But there was an unattended coffee cup on the desk where he was pretty sure Taylor worked. Someone had to have put it down just before the alarm went out. He highly doubted she or her boss were the type to just leave an empty coffee cup sitting around.

“Taylor!” he called out in the loudest whisper he dared. “Taylor! Are you there?”

There was no answer, but he hadn’t really expected one. Taylor was smart. She’d be laying low and staying silent. If she was hiding around here, it would be someplace where she could lock the door. Now, where would that be? He also wondered if he should grab something to use as a weapon, like the fire extinguisher he’d seen hanging up in the kitchenette. Too late now.

Ducking into the next cubicle bay, getting farther away from the maintenance door than he really liked, he looked around for potential hiding spaces. There was a row of offices across the way, but after a moment of thought, he shook his head. Way too obvious, plus they had big windows to allow them to survey the working peons. The shooters would look there right away.

Looking around, he darted back the other way. He was a lot more exposed here than he liked, but he had to make sure she’d made it to safety. Frantically, he kept looking. Then his eyes fell on another door. A supply closet, one of the big ones. Shelves all around, with room in the middle for people.

With another nervous glance down the corridor, he ducked down that way and tried the handle. Locked.

They never lock these things.

He didn’t have time to knock and call out; Taylor might not recognise his voice through the door, and the real shooters might be lurking around somewhere. Getting the keys out again, he located the one for the supply closets and slid it into the lock. The door clicked open … and something large and heavy-looking swung down at his head.

With an undignified scream, he flailed back out of the way. The broom swung down and smashed into the floor, then came up again; a second later, Greg recognised the face behind it. “Ms Harcourt!” he gasped. “It’s me! Greg Veder, from Maintenance! I’m here to help!”

“Mr Veder?” Ms Harcourt seemed to refocus, seeing Greg properly for the first time. “What do you have to do with this?” Her fingers flexed on the broom. Greg had no doubt she was fully capable of beating him to death with it.

“Nothing, nothing!” He pointed down the corridor toward the kitchenette. “I’m here to get you to safety. Is, uh, Taylor with you?”

Slowly, she lowered the broom. “No. The last I saw Ms Hebert, she was hand-carrying an envelope up to Mr Grayson’s office. I received a phone call saying that Mr Grayson had been targeted by a teenager with a crossbow, and to seek shelter. There was no word that Ms Hebert had been injured.”

“The shooter’s a teenager with a crossbow?” That made absolutely no sense to Greg. He shook his head; it was something he could worry about later. “Listen, come on. I have a place where you can be safer than in there.”

“We were supposed to shelter in place and wait for security to escort us out,” someone said from behind Ms Harcourt; it sounded like one of the secretaries.

“On the other hand, Mr Veder located us within minutes,” Ms Harcourt said, and put the broom down. Her attention focused on Greg again. “You say this place of yours is safe?”

“Safer than—” Greg began, then turned his head. “Did you just hear footsteps?” He hadn’t so much heard the original steps as the echoes between the ongoing warning on the PA system.

“This safe place,” Ms Harcourt snapped. “Take us there, now!”

“Yes, ma’am!” He led the way at a fast trot, trying to keep his footsteps quiet. When he got to the kitchenette, he gestured them all into the alcove; apart from Ms Harcourt, there were four women in their early twenties.

“We can’t hide here!” one of them protested.

“Shhh!” hissed Greg, patting the air frantically. He pointed at the still-open maintenance door beside the refrigerator. “In there!”

“What’s in there?” The woman looked suspiciously at the open doorway, then back at Greg. She looked on the verge of refusing to go in, on general principle.

Ms Harcourt, on the other hand, had the expression of someone who has just experienced an epiphany. “It has the supreme advantage of not being out here,” she snapped. “In there, ladies! Immediately!”

Greg knew full well that he could have had sat the women down to a presentation like he and Taylor had put on for the World Affairs class, and given the most persuasive talk of his life, and they would have refused to enter. Begging and pleading would have failed to move them. He could have shouted, threatened, or even offered violence; they’d probably gang up to kick his ass. At the end of the day, nothing he could have said or done would’ve convinced them to skootch in through that narrow doorway.

Ms Harcourt achieved it with four words.

<><>

Taylor

The Medhall clinic was a mini-hospital in and of itself. I was reasonably sure it didn’t have an MRI machine, but it was pretty well-equipped apart from that. Not wanting to be the source of any difficulties, I stayed well out of the way as the doctors worked on Mr Grayson. Not that I knew how well they were doing, but their murmured voices were calm rather than urgent, so I had to have hopes that they were winning the race with death.

I’d fiddled with the radio until I worked out how to turn the sound down, so as not to disturb anyone. From what I could hear, they were clearing the floors one by one, getting the personnel out of their hiding places and bringing them down to the lobby. Nobody had mentioned encountering Sophia Hess, so she’d either managed to slip out (which I doubted, given Bradley’s assurances in that regard) or was sneaking farther up the building to keep ahead of them.

I kind of wished I could be there when Bradley caught up with her. She might have a crossbow (I mean, what the hell was with that?) but I had every faith in his ability to kick her ass across the building and back again. I’d make popcorn, just for the occasion.

“Taylor!”

I spun around at the familiar voice to see none other than Tracey. She was wearing pajamas and her arm was in a sling, but she was upright and walking. Behind her, I could see a few beds set up in what looked like a recovery area.

“Tracey!” I said, restraining myself from hugging her. “I thought you were in the actual hospital!”

“Pfft, as if,” she retorted. “Have you seen the cost of a hospital stay, these days? Insurance barely covers it.”

I nodded. “I’ll take your word for it. Dad and I are generally healthy. How are you feeling?”

“Better than I was when you had to crawl into a crashed car after me,” she said, then the smile fell off her face. “But what’s going on? They’ve got a shooter in the building? Nobody’s telling me anything.”

“It’s Sophia Hess,” I said. “You know, one of my bullies? She’s always been the violent one, but now she’s gone over the top.”

Tracey frowned. “What does she look like?”

I shrugged. “Track star, dark skin, black hair, surly expression, extreme willingness to go straight to violence. Why?”

“Because that’s who caused the crash.” Tracey looked at me soberly. “She killed Justin.”

“What?” I stared at her. “Please tell me you’re joking.” Tracey looked back at me, not a flicker of a smile on her face. “You’re not joking. How’d she even get in the car?”

“I have no idea,” she confessed. “All I remember is seeing something smash him in the side of the head from behind. I looked around and saw her in the back seat. Pretty sure she unclipped his seatbelt about then, but the car went off the side of the road and she bailed out.” She frowned. “I must’ve hit my head then, because I could’ve sworn she vanished like mist or fog.”

I blinked. A lot of jigsaw puzzle pieces came together all at once. All the different questions suddenly started acquiring the same answer. Black teenager, excessively violent, turns to mist.

It explained why she got away with so much at Winslow.

It explained how she was so good at fighting.

It explained how she got away from the police.

It explained where she got the crossbow from.

It explained how she got into Justin’s car.

It explained how she got into Medhall.

It explained so very much.

Well, it didn’t explain why she was being such an idiot about all this, but I couldn’t have everything.

I lifted the radio and jammed the talk button closed.

<><>

Hookwolf

Bradley’s radio earpiece crackled. “Taylor calling Bradley. Taylor calling Bradley. Bradley, can you hear me?”

He glanced around one more time before hitting the pressel down by his neck. “I hear you, Taylor. What’s up?”

Even with the electronic distortion, he could hear the strain in her voice. “You’re all in danger. It’s not just Sophia Hess you’re looking for. She’s Shadow Stalker. Sophia is Shadow Stalker. It’s how she got in the building.”

He blinked. It made sense. It made so much sense. Still, he had to make sure. “You’re sure of this?”

“Sure as I can be. She was in the car and hit Justin with something to make them crash, then bailed out and went to shadow. Tracey saw her, but didn’t know what she was seeing.”

That was good enough for him. “Good catch, kid. Thanks.” Letting up on the pressel, he glanced at the rest of the security squad. “Okay, that changes things.”

“So what do we—” began Melody, but he cut her off with a raised hand as his phone rang. He took it out and checked the number, then swiped to answer when he saw it was Max’s personal phone.

“Fieldmark,” he answered, keeping his voice down and his eyes moving. Everyone was looking all the way around now, including at the walls, floor and ceiling; having an adversary who could ignore simple barriers was a lot more problematic.

“Bradley, I’m going to need you to pull back to the lobby,” Kaiser said as a preamble.

“Let me guess.” Hookwolf didn’t normally do the smartass thing, but this time he couldn’t resist. “Shadow Stalker’s in the building.”

Not much managed to surprise Max Anders, but he sounded more than a little astonished when he answered. “Well, yes. Director Piggot just contacted me. How did you find out?”

Bradley grinned tightly. “The Hebert girl put the pieces together and warned me.”

“Oh, she did, did she?” Max sounded very thoughtful indeed. “I’m going to have to think about giving her an extra incentive for staying on in Medhall after this. However; the PRT is inbound. They’ll be taking over once they get here. Searching the building from top to bottom, getting the staff out and tracking down Shadow Stalker.”

Bradley turned away from the squad and lowered his voice; some of them weren’t all the way in on the entire story at Medhall. “The entire building, sir? What about the, ah, classified areas?” He meant the places that the Empire Eighty-Eight made exclusive use of; not on the official building plans, they could still be discovered by a thorough enough search of the building.

Max didn’t sound very happy about matters. “We’re going to have to hope that they locate and secure Stalker before they reach those areas. Refusing entry would look far more suspicious. Pull back to the lobby now. That’s an order.”

“I copy. Pulling back now.” Bradley closed off the call and turned to the squad. “Orders from above. We’re pulling back to the lobby. PRT’s going to take over the search.”

Cricket and Stormtiger both stared at him, and he shook his head fractionally. It’s out of our hands.

Carefully, they backed off down the corridor, weapons still at the ready.

Let’s just hope Max made the right call.

<><>

Shadow Stalker

Sophia was frustrated and angry.

She was good at what she did. Scratch that; she was real good at what she did. Pound for pound, she was the most effective, most badass superhero in Brockton Bay, bar none. Nobody kicked more ass than she did. Nobody got the results that she did.

It was obvious that Pigface and the rest of the washouts at the PRT building were jealous of her. So what if she chose to use her spare time keeping Hebert right where the sad little queef belonged; down in the dirt. Seriously, what she did outside the Wards in her off-time was none of their goddamn fucking business.

People like Hebert didn’t deserve to get ahead. The world belonged to the strong, while the weak got out of the way or died. And by coming to Winslow; hell, just by existing, Hebert kept on getting in her way.

Which made it all the more aggravating to her, Emma and Madison when Hebert landed that internship. Not only would it take the undeserving bitch away from Winslow where Sophia could explain to her how much of a nothing she was, it could also be a gateway into a good job, even a career. A better career than Sophia could ever hope for (not that she was jealous, just fully aware that Hebert didn’t deserve it) so it had clearly been their designated duty to ensure that Hebert failed at that, just as she was a failure in everything else.

Which was all well and good, until those Medhall outsiders started making legal noises at Blackwell over a couple of perfectly innocent pranks, and the PRT had to take notice. Without those interfering assholes to spoil her fun, she could’ve kept on handing Hebert her needings for the foreseeable future. But instead she’d been physically assaulted and fucking arrested, all for something the PRT should’ve swept under the rug like they had everything else.

After all, she was a superhero. She was strong. They had to know that; otherwise, they wouldn’t have gone to the trouble of pulling her into the Wards program (as irritating and frustrating as having to play nice with others was) and given her new gear. So she was at an absolute fucking loss as to why they were rolling over for these Medhall fucks.

Which made her next moves clear. Medhall, or whatever part of it that tolerated Hebert’s existence, had to go. Once that was done, the pressure would be lifted off the PRT, and they could go back to letting her kick ass her own way.

Once she evaded the cops yesterday, she’d been hiding in Hebert’s basement with the intent of fucking up Hebert and Veder both, and forcing them to tell Medhall to drop the legal bullshit, but then the pair of assholes from Medhall dropped by, and she’d seized the opportunity. Her strategy, as she'd formulated it, was simple; whoever helped Hebert was her enemy. Her job was to fuck them up as hard as she could, until they stopped helping Hebert. The tyre iron from the trunk had gotten the guy, and the car had gone over the edge so the girl had to be a goner too.

It had been a long walk back into the city from Captain’s Hill, but so worth it.

Grayson had been easy; served the asshole right. Running into Hebert was something she hadn’t expected, especially in the new outfit. She’d thought they’d taken all that shit away from the skanky little whore, so to see her dressed professionally, looking like she belonged in that hot-shit office environment, had taken Sophia by surprise and slowed her reactions just a little too much. When Hebert barricaded herself in Grayson’s office, she’d been tempted to just phase through the door and deal with Hebert then and there, but there were too many security cameras and she wasn’t sure if her arrows could even bust open the protective glass domes. Besides, she didn’t have all that many arrows.

When the security team had come on site and gotten Grayson out of there, she’d retreated to another floor. Every exit was probably being watched twice as hard now, which meant she almost certainly couldn’t just walk out the fire exit and ditch the high-vis vest once she was away. If she was going to get out without revealing her secret identity, she’d need to borrow a villain tactic.

She was going to have to take a hostage.

Which was why she was prowling the building now, floor by floor, looking for someone who fit the bill. “Heeeere, hostage, hostage, hostage,” she crooned under her breath. “Come out, come out, wherever you are …”

She wasn’t going to take just anyone hostage, of course. It would have to be someone young and agile, so they didn’t do something stupid like tripping at the wrong moment. Preferably a chick, because a guy would probably get all testosterone in her face and she’d have to shoot him. The more she thought about it, the more she realised Hebert would’ve been ideal. Walk her out of the building, then finish her off before making a clean getaway.

Now, of course, she’d just have to hunt down Hebert and Veder and show the world why little shits like that had no business fucking with her, in any way. Ever.

After that, she was going to have to move to another city, but that was fine. Brockton Bay had been getting to be a bit of a drag, anyway—

A high-pitched scream echoed down the hallway, followed by a clatter as something hit the floor. Sophia grinned wickedly, then started in that direction at a fast trot, crossbow up and ready. Whoever made that sound had just volunteered to get her out of the building.

As she neared the place where she’d heard it—there was an open supply closet up ahead, with a broom laying nearby—she could hear muffled voices. Between the echoes and the ongoing PA announcement, she couldn’t make out the words, but there were definitely people there. Exactly what she needed, if she was going to get out of here without going through that bullshit arrest procedure again.

There was a click and a metallic clatter that she couldn’t quite place, then the quite familiar sound of a refrigerator door opening. Are they actually hiding in the fridge? Really?

Rounding the corner into a kitchenette, Sophia quickly scanned the area. There stood the fridge in question, door wide open … and a pair of sneaker toes peeping out from underneath.

“Really?” she asked out loud, shaking her head. “I can see your feet, you fucking moron. Come out of there.”

Silence from behind the fridge door. Cold air rolled across the linoleum. The sneakers edged backward slightly, but not all the way out of sight.

With a huff of irritation, Sophia switched the crossbow to her left hand and strode forward. Grabbing the open door with her right, she pulled it closed.

That was when everything went wrong.

<><>

Greg

The first two girls were in through the door, with the third trying to squeeze past without touching any part of the doorframe, when Greg heard the footsteps coming closer and closer, not just the echoes. They sounded far too close for comfort; there was no way they were going to get the fourth girl, Ms Harcourt and himself into the maintenance space and close the door before the shooter was on them.

“Go, go, go, go!” he whispered urgently, and darted across the kitchenette. Two items caught his view and he grabbed them up, then hooked the third from his belt. Ms Harcourt ducked past the fridge and out of sight, and he heard the door click shut. As the footsteps came up to the kitchenette, he pulled the fridge door open and ducked down behind it. His sneakers were in plain view, he knew, but that couldn’t be helped. It was more important that what was resting on top of them stayed out of sight.

“Really?” The voice was all too familiar. Sophia? What the fuck? “I can see your feet, you fucking moron. Come out of there.” Yeah, that’s definitely her.

He had little to no room back there, but he tried to shuffle his feet back anyway. From the sound he heard, it hadn’t worked.

Her footsteps strode across the kitchenette, then one strong hand wrapped around the corner of the fridge door and yanked it shut. Screaming what was partly a war-cry and partly pure terror, Greg shot to his feet like a jack-in-the-box, clutching the ironing-board to his chest with his forearms. Sophia recoiled backward, and the crossbow went off. There was a clash of metal on metal and Greg felt a sudden pain in the middle of his chest, but he straightened both arms and squeezed the triggers on what he held in each hand.

In his left hand, he held a spray-bottle of bleach-based cleaner, which he squirted repeatedly at Sophia’s face and eyes. But in his right hand was the small fire extinguisher that had been hanging on the wall. His fingers clamped convulsively on the trigger, playing it over her left hand and body, dousing her with freezing carbon dioxide.

Letting out her own scream of pain and anger, Sophia stumbled backward, clawing at her face. Before his eyes, even as the fire extinguisher continued to blast the chilled gas over her body, she flickered and changed to a shadow form. Letting the ironing board clatter to the floor, Greg stumbled forward, staring in disbelief. What the fuck? Sophia’s a cape?

And then she became solid again. Falling to her knees, she dropped the crossbow, clutching at her throat. For a moment, she seemed to rally; baring her teeth as her eyes turned toward him, she scrabbled for the crossbow again.

He didn’t hesitate; stepping forward, he swung the fire extinguisher. It was smaller than normal, but it was still heavy enough. There was a hollow clunk as it bounced off her head. This proved to be the last straw; her eyes rolled back in their sockets and she collapsed bonelessly to the floor.

Breathing heavily, Greg dropped the fire extinguisher and pulled his shirt open. There was a little bit of blood, but the cut was only shallow. Looking back at the ironing board, he could see how it had trapped the arrow. That could’ve killed me.

He dug his phone out of his pocket and dialled the front desk. “Hello? It’s Greg Veder here. Could you please tell Mr Anders that I’ve just knocked out the shooter?”

There was a babbling in his ear, but he wasn’t listening. Leaning up against the bench, he slid down to sit on the floor.

I can not believe I just did that.

<><>

Taylor, Later

Greg winced as I hugged him, but he didn’t protest. Ms Harcourt was nearby, talking to Mr Anders. Both of them were glancing our way, making Greg look nervous.

“I wonder what they’re saying,” he said quietly. “I totally ignored the order to shelter in place or go downstairs. She could’ve killed me.”

I shook my head. “You saved Ms Harcourt and the others, and you took down Sophia herself. You’re totally a hero.”

“Damn right,” Bradley said from behind me. “Veder, if you ever get tired of working for Maintenance, we’ve got a spot for you in security.”

It was telling that neither Greg nor I jumped or yelped; we were just too worn out from the day’s tribulations. We turned and looked at the burly security guy, looking for any sign that he was joking. There was not even the hint of a smirk on his face. On the contrary, he looked totally serious.

“What, for real?” Greg shook his head. “I’m not … I mean, I just … I fix air-conditioning ducts and clean bathrooms.”

Bradley clamped his hand on Greg’s shoulder and shook him slightly. Now there was a grin on the big man’s face. “And you did something me and the rest of the team couldn’t. You fuckin’ wrecked that little bitch. You got the right stuff, kid. Come see me if you ever want to talk about it.”

“Uh, yeah. I will.” Greg watched him walk off, then turned to me. “Am I dreaming? You’d tell me if I was dreaming, right?”

I grinned at him. “You’re not dreaming, Greg. Oh, here comes Mr Anders.”

We both stood up straighter as the CEO of Medhall strode over to us. As always, he carried with him the air of always being totally in control of the situation. I wanted to learn how to do that.

“Well done, Mr Veder,” he said firmly, offering his hand for Greg to shake. Looking slightly stunned, Greg did so. “Sophia Hess has been handed over to the PRT, and with any luck her shadow will never darken our door again.” He paused to allow us to chuckle politely at the pun. “Alexander Grayson is still in serious condition, though the doctors assure me the way is clear for him to make a complete recovery. Thanks mainly to you, Ms Hebert.”

Again, he held out his hand, this time to me. I shook it, trying not to look as awe-struck as I felt. “Uh, thank you, sir. I just did my best.”

“And your best is clearly very impressive, as we have noted several times since you began your internship at Medhall.” Mr Anders nodded toward me appreciatively, and then to Greg. “You are also apparently an inspiration to your fellow intern; Mr Veder may have had a rocky start at Medhall, but his showing today is a credit to you both.”

Greg resembled nothing more than a bobble-head doll as he nodded wordlessly, his throat working but no sound coming out. I cleared my throat discreetly. “Uh, thank you, Mr Anders.”

He gifted us both with a genial smile. “Oh, I intend to do more than say nice things about you. Ms Harcourt will be speaking with Legal. Your internship contracts will be redrawn and presented to your parents. As of next month, should you accept, you will be each drawing a full adult salary for the hours that you work here.”

Turning, he strode away. Greg’s wondering eyes met mine, and I wordlessly nodded. Yeah, he just said that.

Working at Medhall was interesting, to say the least. Dangerous sometimes, certainly.

But right then, I wouldn’t have given it up for the world.

<><>

PRT ENE

Director Piggot’s Office

“Shadow Stalker’s been captured,” Renick reported, leaning in through Emily’s door. “Would you believe it, one of the interns clocked her with a fire extinguisher. No other casualties.”

“Well, that’s about the only good thing to come from all this.” Emily was still smarting from the conversation she’d had with Anders, and then with the Chief Director. “The PRT’s going to be paying damages to Medhall for not keeping control over our little walking fuckup, and it’s going to be coming out of our budget. On the upside, there’s a chance we can get her put away permanently into psychiatric holding. From all indications, there’s something seriously wrong with that girl.”

Renick’s eyebrows rose. “How did she even get into the Wards program again, ma’am?”

Emily grimaced. “Because the powers that be have decreed that we needed every warm body on the streets. And some asshole lawyer provided a character reference.” She made a show of checking some information on her computer. “Interestingly enough, the father of one of Hess’s accomplices at Winslow.”

“Definitely interesting, ma’am.” Renick smiled; he knew her well enough to predict what was coming next.

Emily bared her teeth in return. “There’s definitely going to be an inquiry as to who fucked up here, and how badly. I don’t feel like being thrown under the bus. Find out everything you can about this Alan Barnes, and why he might have provided Shadow Stalker with that character reference. Also, Anders suggested that Hess might have caused the car crash on Captain’s Hill yesterday, the one with the fatality. Look into that. We might get her into the asylum yet.”

Renick nodded. “Yes, ma’am.” Stepping back, he closed the door.

Emily turned her chair and looked out through the polycarbonate window at Brockton Bay, sprawling in all its fractured glory. She rarely had good days here; most were average at best. But as crappy as this day had been, she took bleak solace in the fact that someone out there was having a worse day than her.

Turning back to her desk with a cold, hard smile, she took up where she had left off.

Part 11