[SLTS]—❈—07:: Sniffing Out Trouble

“Are you ready?” Armsmaster asks through the phone.

“I am,” I reply.

“Okay, open the portal,” he says.

I reach down, find that odd, little zip that’s always where I reach for it, and open a hole through space.

“The portal’s open on our side,” Armsmaster says. “You can step through.”

Mom goes first, then José, and finally I step through, coming out the other end in a familiar conference room in The PRT HQ.

Twice I’ve been in this building today, and it’s not even 3 PM yet.

In the room are Armsmaster and Miss Militia.

“Hello, Musa,” Miss Militia says. “Thanks for coming.”

“I apologize that it’s not under better circumstances,” Armsmaster adds.

“Did you know?” I ask without preamble. “About Shadow Stalker.”

To be perfectly honest, I already know that Miss Militia (and the other wards) didn’t know about Shadow Stalker’s proclivities.

She couldn’t have, not with how appalled she’d been when I’d exposed Shadow Stalker back in The Wards HQ.

“No,” Armsmaster says, while Miss Militia simply shakes her head. “We didn’t.”

I take a Whiff of them (which they see me do and I refuse to feel guilty for); it’s the truth, Armsmaster hadn’t known. A fact that fills him with guilt and anger.

“That is no excuse however,” the armoured cape continues. “As the Head of The Wards program here in Brockton Bay, it is my responsibility to know.”

“Both of ours,” Miss Militia says, placing a hand on Armsmaster’s shoulder in support.

Armsmaster sighs. “We’ve failed in that,” he says. “But we won’t fail in making it right. Help us make it right.”

I take another Whiff of them.

These people… they’re being honest. Completely.

I suppose it makes sense. I mean, it’s not like they would put liars in front of me when they know that I have a power that will expose any dishonesty, now will they?

Even so though, it comes as a surprise that Armsmaster and Miss Militia are being completely straight with me, they didn’t know about Shadow Stalker’s issues and now that they do, they want to fix it.

That is the truth… and I don’t know how to handle that.

I suppose in a way I want them to have known. To have enabled and protected her. Maybe I even need them to.

So that they can be bad people, and I can say ‘see, this is why the world is the way it is.’

But they’re not bad people. So far, every member of The Protectorate I’ve met, with the obvious exception of Shadow Stalker, has been a decent (and, in some cases, nice) person who seems to genuinely want the world to be a better place. Even if marginally.

And this makes no sense to me. Because the world is not getting better. It is a terrible place. And I don’t understand how that can be when the people whose jobs it is to make it better seem to genuinely want it to be better.

How can things be so bad if there is an entire organization filled with people who want it to be better?

Are the people I’ve met simply the exemption? Is it possible that there are many more like Shadow Stalker than there are like these two?

I sigh.

“Yeah,” I say finally. “I’ll help.”

—❈—

“I have a lie detector in my suit, but it’s still in the early testing stages. Your power should help with its calibration, I think,” Armsmaster, ever the tinker, says, as we stare at Shadow Stalker through the one-way mirror into the interrogation room.

“Sure,” I say. “Let’s get this over with. I don’t want to be in a room with her longer than I have to.”

Armsmaster gives me a strange look.

Guess I said that with a little too much disgust.

“I don’t like the way she smells,” I explain. “Like bleach and bad meat.”

“I see,” Armsmaster says. “Better we start then. The sooner we begin, the sooner we’re done.”

I nod.

Mom squeezes me on the shoulder as we go in; the gesture comforts me, even as the reminder of Mom’s (and José’s) presence in the observation room makes me wonder just how much leeway The PRT is giving us right now by letting civilians observe Shadow Stalker’s interrogation.

We enter the room.

The room is bare and bland; practically two shades of dull grey away from depressing really.

There is a single metal table in the center, and on both sides are chairs, one metal and uncomfortable, the other wooden and padded.

The temperature of the room is set to ‘cold as balls’, and the lighting is a harsh florescent glare washing over everything from above.

Shadow Stalker, bound with tinker-tech looking cuffs, sits on the metal chair, looking cold, uncomfortable, and murderous.

As we walk in, and she lays eyes on me, she screams in rage and tries to leap at me.

The chains hold her back.

“You piece of shit,” she screams. “As soon as I get outta here I’m gonna fucking kill you.”

I take a Whiff of her, her Smell and… everything else making me grimace.

“She means it,” I say.

“Of course I fucking mean it, you motherfucker,” Shadow Stalker screams.

“Stalker,” Armsmaster says, voice authoritative, “calm down.”

“Or what, metal dick?” Stalker snaps. “You’ll zap me again? You know that’s a crime right? I haven’t done shit.”

“You attempted to stab a remote control into Miss Militia barely two hours ago,” Armsmaster points out.

“Because the bitch tried to fucking tase me.”

“You tried to escape.”

“Who wouldn’t when their own teammates turn on them on the words of some random cape?” Stalker asks. “You could all be mastered for all I know.”

“You phased your wards phone into the wall,” Armsmaster says angrily. “Why do that if you have nothing to hide?”

“Oh? Is that why I’ve been attacked by my so-called teammates, imprisoned against my will, tortured, and even denied a phone call? Because I broke my wards phone?”

Armsmaster lips dip in a frown. He’s angry. Angry and upset. Because he knows she’s right.

“Just wait until the Youth Guard hears about this,” Shadow Stalker crows. “You fucks are all going down.”

“Who’s your favourite victim?” I ask.

Shadow Stalker looks at me. “What?”

I step forward, coming to sit opposite her on the table.

“All abusers have a favourite victim,” I say. “That person who they really get off on tormenting.

“Who’s yours?”

Shadow Stalker’s mask stares balefully at me, the poignant hate pouring off her at me almost enough to make me sneeze with its bleach smell.

It’s funny, in a way. Neither of us know what the other looks like, yet we feel such strong emotions for each other.

“Fuck off,” Shadow Stalker says eloquently.

Ignoring her words, I dig into her smell.

The information I want is not hard to find, at all.

I suppose that shouldn’t surprise me, abusers are obsessed with their victims after all. It’s why they expend so much time and effort into making them miserable.

“So, it’s someone young—” I sniff “but not too young—” another sniff “your age?” *sniff* “Your age. What? Girl? Boy?” *sniff* “Girl. I’m guessing in school?” *sniff sniff* “School.”

A smell hits me. “You have partners,” I say. “It’s a group activity— no, it’s a—” *sniff sniff* “…pack activity? You’re… hunters and they’re what? Prey? What kind of sick…” another smell. Righteousness, of all things.

“So, what?” I ask. “You believe that because you’re stronger, you deserve the right to treat people however you want?”

Shadow Stalker is practically frothing in rage at this point, wishing with all her being that she could have one chance, just one, to rip my head from my body.

“Musa,” Armsmaster says, “we need evidence of her crimes. See if you can find anything.”

I don’t even have to ask. The mere act of Armsmaster bringing it up is enough.

Shadow Stalker panics.

“Someone has it. One of her ‘pack’. Her best buddy. Find her, you find the evidence.”

Armsmaster pauses, then turns to Shadow Stalker. “Emma Barnes,” he says randomly, and Shadow Stalker’s Smell lights up like the olfactory equivalent of the fourth of July.

“Yep, that’s her,” I say. “Find Emma Barnes, find the evidence.”

A smell catches my attention, something linked to this Emma Barnes character.

“Huh?” *sniff* “Emma seems to be the mastermind of this whole thing.” *sniff sniff* “She really hates that girl, their favourite victim.” *sniff* “They did something to her. They really enjoyed it. It was their crowning achievement.” I pause in horror.

“She almost died,” I say softly.

“Where was this?” Armsmaster asks, ignoring Shadow Stalker’s increased screams and struggling. “When?”

*sniff sniff* “I’m not sure,” I say. “I think it was in school. Months ago at least. But it was big.”

Miss Militia’s voice comes in on the intercom. “Armsmaster, on January 3rd a girl from Shadow Stalker’s school was rushed to the emergency room due to toxic shock. It just barely made the news.

“When I asked Stalker about it, she said it was just a stupid prank gone wrong. She said she didn’t even know the girl.”

“No,” I say. “She definitely knew the girl, and it wasn’t just some prank gone wrong either. It was a deliberate attack that took—” *sniff* “—weeks of planning and preparation.”

Armsmaster stares at Shadow Stalker for several seconds.

“We’re done here,” he says finally, then turns and storms out.

I rise.

Shadow Stalker is apoplectic with rage now, screaming threats that don’t make sense. Not even if you factor in her powers.

I look at her. Even with her full face mask, I can picture her expression; the bared teeth, the wild eyes.

She’s mad.

I shake my head and walk out.

—❈—

Taylor Hebert was upstairs in bed, pretending to do her homework while really keeping an eye on the spiders weaving the last parts of her costume, when the doorbell rang.

She made no move to go check who it was.

It was almost seven, and her father had come home early today for some reason, and since he was still downstairs watching TV (and she knew no one ever came looking for her) she figured he would handle it.

That feeling lasted until her father called her down.

When Taylor reached the living room and saw two policemen waiting with her father, she didn’t know what to think.

When one of the policemen said; “Miss Hebert, we understand that there was an attempt on your life on the 3rd of January this year by an Emma Barnes and a Sophia Hess. We’re here to take your statement.” Taylor really didn’t know what to think.