God console duty was a drag, especially after last night. Five skinhead thugs taken down, someone saved from a beating or worse, and I’d barely been out three hours. That was at least as much as I ever did with the Wards, more probably since those bastards probably weren’t going to be going after people with their busted asses.

  Still, the fact that I’d actually made a difference made sitting and staring at a screen for four hours almost tolerable. It was annoying to be reminded by my friends that they got to go out while I was stuck here, calling every so often with their check-ins or requests for containment teams. But I’d make up for it, go out again soon.

  Not too soon of course, I didn’t want to risk getting caught. I’d wait a few days, a week at most, then I’d chance it again. I knew where one of their haunts was now, and I could go poking around there directly from the start. And now I was armed, the knuckle and knife I’d taken stashed outside Amy’s building. I’d relocate them closer to the Nazis next time I went out, but they should be safe there for now.

  “Crucible to console,” his voice piped suddenly into my ears, making me perk up.

  “Go ahead Crucible,” I replied instantly.

  “Need a social worker down here,” he said, sounding like he was speaking low. I could hear sobbing in the background. “Containment team too, send them together.”

  “Copy, wait one,” I said, pinging the guys on standby. I blinked and muted my mic, then turned to one of the other officers on the dispatch console. “Hey how do I request a social worker?”

  “A what?” he half-laughed. “Uhh, shoot, that’s a good one. Lieutenant Donovan, sir?”

  “What’s up?” the ops head asked, walking over. I told him and he frowned. “I’ll call down and let the team know to pick someone up from the BBPD. Probably going to be a ten minute wait, bare minimum.”

  “Got it,” I said with a nod, turning back to my screen and keying my mic. “Console to Crucible, it’s going to be at least ten minutes, but they’re on the way.” I heard a rush of breath that might have been a sigh.

  “Understood console, tell them to hustle. Crucible out.”

  Poor guy, I didn’t envy him there. I was no good at dealing with people when I was in a decent mood, let alone after a fight. Then again I’d dealt with the guy last night okay, hell he probably appreciated the cash more than he would have being talked to by someone from the BBPD. I know I would have, not that I really needed money. My shift continued to drag. The PRT wasn’t doing any ops today, so I didn’t even get to listen in on chatter.

  The city, it seemed, was on the road to being peaceful; or at least, something resembling the ‘peace’ that existed before Leviathan hit. I didn’t like that, it was the situation that let my mom be an invisible monster for god only knew how long. The PRT and Protectorate seemed fine with letting that be, but I wasn’t.

  I would make a difference, make it so when things actually got peaceful we wouldn’t have a bunch of white supremacists roaming the street picking on people. I remembered the feeling of cracking bones under my fingers and shut my eyes, swallowing hard. It was that or they’d hurt other people, couldn’t get hung up on it. The feeling passed soon enough anyway.

  And when the Nazis were gone, I wouldn’t have to worry about it anymore.

  A loud ‘crack’ tore through the still air. “Hit.” A handful of seconds later, a dull, distant, ‘gong’.

  “I didn’t even feel that,” I commented, cycling the bolt of the sniper rifle. “Didn’t you say this thing kicks?”

  “It does,” Miss Militia, or rather Hannah, replied. I glanced over and saw her smiling. I smiled back, then peered through the scope again.

  “Can I try the two-thousand?” I asked, shifting my aim slightly. The distant disc was half the size of the one I’d just hit, or at least looked like it.

  “Let me adjust,” she said. “Go ahead.”

  I took aim carefully. When I’d asked to go shooting yesterday, Miss Militia had told me to wait a day. My patience had been rewarded, and now I was at a range an hour outside town, using a rifle that was almost as long as I was tall; Miss Militia called it a ‘lapmag’, whatever that meant. She’d warned me about the recoil, but it seemed my projection was working just fine. A deep breath filled my lungs and I slowly squeezed the trigger. The rifle cracked and I felt the slight jolt against my shoulder.

  “Left and low,” Miss Militia said a second later. I swore as I cycled the bolt. “Don’t let it affect your shooting.”

  “I won’t,” I said, putting my crosshair a little higher and offset. My heart was barely beating any faster, it was an annoyance not the end of the world. I breathed slowly, letting my aim settle naturally where I wanted it. When I was ready, I squeezed the trigger and fired again. ‘gong’ I smiled at Miss Militia. “See?”

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  “Good hit,” she said with a chuckle. “Your aim has improved.”

  “Thanks to you letting me go to the range with you,” I said, cycling the bolt and sighing. “That was the last round. Hey does the PRT give you like, an ammo budget or something? Or do they just let you requisition whatever and don’t bat an eye.”

  “Usually the latter,” she said, sitting up as I started cleaning up the brass. It all went in the bag, they reloaded this stuff apparently. “Though generally there’s an understanding that if I use it frivolously they’ll start restricting it.”

  “That’s why we only got three boxes of this stuff?” She nodded and I sighed. “Too bad.”

  “Next time, perhaps a larger rifle,” Miss Militia said thoughtfully, and my eyes widened.

  “Like?” I asked expectantly, only getting a wry grin.

  “A surprise,” she said, packing up her spotter scope as I did the rifle. “Consider it motivation to remain on good behaviour.”

  “Sure,” I said, shrugging and picking up the now-full rifle bag. “Best behaviour, promise.”

  Another lie, considering I already planned on breaking the rules again, but it didn’t bother me too much considering the Protectorate never gave us the full story anyway. If Vista and I hadn’t shown up at the fire, we probably would never have heard of it; unless we read the newspaper which like, come on, none of us did. Except me now, since it gave me ideas of where to go next.

  It was a bit of a hike back to the car, an old sedan that Miss Militia had told me was her first and only car. I believed it, since it looked twice my age. I put the rifle in the trunk while she got into the driver’s seat, then got in and buckled up. A minute later, we were driving up the dirt road, heading back towards the interstate; back home.

  “Hey,” I asked as we turned onto the highway. “Did you um, have you talked to Doctor O’Keefe? We had a pretty good session this week, I think.” I’d managed to come across like I was chilling out more, at least I thought so.

  “We spoke,” Miss Militia confirmed.

  “And?” I said when she didn’t continue.

  “Give it time, Lia,” she said gently, offering a sympathetic look. “As much as anyone, I want to see you back out there, being a hero; it’s just not time yet. There’s no question of your improvement,” she cut me off before I could protest. “I appreciate your commitment to learn how to do things the right way. Keep showing that spirit, show us that you believe in this peace, and you’ll be a hero that people love.”

  “I don’t want to be loved,” I countered. “I want to keep people safe.”

  “And that’s why they’ll love you.”

  I stared out the window, silently watching the trees roll by. My earlier guilt at lying to her was gone. What had I said to O’Keefe that set him off? I couldn’t think of anything particular, maybe he just hadn’t liked how I talked about the Nazis? I’d have to tone it down even more then, great. In any case, I wasn’t going out as a Ward for the foreseeable future.

  Whatever, they wouldn’t stop me from protecting the people who needed it most.

  “Hey cutie, you doing anything after school?” I glanced up at the greasy-haired guy with a shitty grin on his acne-riddled face. I looked around and frowned, most my other classmates had left and the others were getting ready to.

  “Are you talking to me?” I asked, more confused than anything.

  “Sure am babe,” he replied smoothly.

  “Okay,” I said, frowning. “The fuck do you want?” I heard a snort of amusement from a passing student and saw Greasy’s face fall.

  “Hey, don’t be a bitch.” I rolled my eyes. “I wanted to invite you to a party tonight.” I blinked.

  “Really?” I didn’t bother hiding my suspicion. “Got to say, I think people are going to question your taste.”

  “No, you’re kind of a badass,” he said, shrugging. “Took on dudes twice your size and won, that’s pretty cool.”

  “Well, thanks, but I’m good,” I said. “Party on a Wednesday sounds like it’ll be dull as shit.” Not to mention I had a girlfriend, but I wanted to try and discourage this guy from thinking of me at all; let alone me and Amy.

  “Trust me, it’s gonna be awesome,” he said, leaning on my desk and lowering his voice before continuing. “It’s at a place in the East End, underground sort of deal.” The East End…

  “Oh?” I asked, feigning interest. “Where about?”

  “Can’t say,” he said with a smile. “Unless you come with.”

  I considered it, looking him over. He didn’t look like a Nazi, and he’d said me beating them up was cool. Seemed unlikely I’d be welcome if that was the kind of party it was. At the same time, who else would be partying out there? I wasn’t even sure why I was considering it, I had a girlfriend for fuck’s sake. I couldn’t go to a party with some random guy.

  “Nah,” I said, leaning back. “Rather not go to the shitty side of town with some random guy who won’t even tell me where we’re going. What do you think I’m stupid?”

  “No, I think you’re not a pussy,” he retorted. “It’s not even down by the Docks, it’s on Thirty-third, chill.”

  “Thirty-third huh,” I said thoughtfully.

  “Yeah.”

  “When is it?”

  He smiled and explained as my guts twisted into knots. This was probably a bad idea. If Amy found out she’d probably kill me. But it was also the opportunity of a lifetime if this was a bonafide Nazi rally. Dangerous, absolutely, but so was going out on my own at all. This way at least I’d be going somewhere specific, somewhere targeted, instead of wandering around the streets dishing out and taking pain at random.

  Finally Gabe, the greasy kid, let me go to lunch with the promise we’d meet up later tonight. I tried to put it out of my mind as I headed to the cafeteria. No point in worrying about it right now, I wasn’t seeing him til eight. Mmm, that meant I’d have to use my excuse of going over to Amy’s tonight. She’d be at the hospital again, but probably not as late as on Fridays.

  Well, it would be fine anyway. I’d go, find out whether it was a bunch of fascists or not; then decide if I was going to stay and gather intel, leave, or crash it. It’d probably be easier than last week, all things considered, since I had a more solid idea of what I’d be doing and where I was going. I had to be careful still, but I wouldn’t pass this up.

  “Hey, you’re late,” Amy commented when I finally sat down at our table.

  “Sorry,” I apologized, kissing her cheek. “Held up in class, that’s all. Uh, hey, can I come over tonight?”

  “Oh, sure,” she said with a shrug. “You know I’m working?”

  “Yeah, it’s okay,” I said, nodding. “I might be late anyway, homework and stuff.”

  “God, it’s not even October,” Amy groaned as her eyes rolled. “It’s crazy right, that we’re getting this much right away?”

  “Yeah.”

  The conversation turned away from tonight, and fortunately my thoughts with them.