I slide silently from the booth, checking to make sure my cap is pulled low and my hoodie zipped up tight to help obscure my features. Jordan moves with me, flowing with the same boneless grace and economy of movement that they bring to the streets when we're out on patrol.

Left foot, right foot. Breathe in, out. Stay calm, stay focused. You've got this, Sam.

A sudden flare of adrenaline spikes through me as we approach the exit, my senses going into hyper-alert mode. Every muscle in my body tenses, ready to move at a split second's notice. My knuckles ache from how tightly my fists are clenched inside the safety of my pockets.

Just a few more feet and we'll be home free...

Without warning, Jordan suddenly flinches, stumbling forward with a sharp intake of breath as their foot catches on - something, I can't quite tell in the blur of motion. A chair leg, maybe, or the lip of some uneven flooring, or someone's shoe. They pinwheel wildly for a split second, arms windmilling as their movements turn clumsy and erratic.

And then, with a dull thump, the wayward piece of furniture goes clattering to the sticky floor, sending up a raucous clatter that slices through the low buzz of conversation like a gunshot. Every head in the place swivels around in near-perfect unison, three or four dozen pairs of eyes fixing on us with eerie synchronicity.

For a heartbeat, the entire bar seems to freeze in place - a tableau of shocked silence and wide, staring eyes. Jordan scrambles to their feet, face flushed with embarrassment as they mutter hasty apologies to no one in particular. I reach out instinctively to help steady them, trying my best to project an aura of casual indifference even as my heart threatens to pound its way clean out of my ribcage.

And then, like a switch being flipped, the moment shatters - replaced by a sudden flurry of activity as Patriot and Egalitarian come striding purposefully towards us, twin expressions of faux-concern plastered across their faces.

"Whoa there, friend!" Patriot booms out in a voice pitched to carry, one beefy hand already outstretched in a gesture of assistance. "Looks like you took a bit of a spill there, huh? Here, let me help you get back on your feet..."

I tense automatically, every instinct screaming at me to slap that proffered hand away and put as much distance between us as humanly possible. But I force myself to stay still, to meet that too-wide grin with a tight-lipped smile of my own as I reach out and clasp the man's wrist in a brief, perfunctory grip.

"Thanks, but we're fine," I manage to grind out through clenched teeth, already shifting to place myself between Jordan and the approaching 'heroes.' "Just a little trip, nothing to worry about."

Egalitarian arches one perfectly sculpted eyebrow at that, her dark eyes glittering with something that might almost be amusement beneath the soulless, porcelain facade of her veil. She doesn't say anything, though - simply folding her arms across her chest and regarding us with an impassive, almost clinical sort of detachment that sends icy shivers dancing up and down my spine.

"Well, if you're sure," Patriot drawls, recovering his composure with impressive swiftness as he claps me on the shoulder with enough force to make my knees buckle. "Wouldn't want anyone to get hurt on our watch, now would we?"

There's a ripple of forced, slightly uneasy laughter from the assembled bar patrons at that, a few halfhearted cheers and whistles rising up to fill the sudden, yawning silence. I force myself to chuckle along with them, ignoring the way my stomach twists itself into sickening knots.

"No, of course not," I agree, pasting on my most convincing smile as I start edging towards the exit once again. Jordan falls into step beside me, their own expression a mirror of my own carefully-crafted mask of nonchalance.

"Anyway, thanks for the concern, but we really should be - "

"Samantha Small, isn't it?" Egalitarian's voice cuts through the din like a blade, quiet and razor-sharp. I freeze mid-step, my blood turning to ice water in my veins as I slowly pivot back around to face her.

The rest of the bar ticks on without seeming to even notice, leaving Jordan and I trapped in a bubble, metaphorically speaking, with these two. She said it just quietly enough that only we heard. Or only we cared.

Oh G-d, I think, licking suddenly bone-dry lips. They know. They know what I am, what I can do. I'm totally, utterly -

But then the tiniest hint of a smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth, and the panic recedes just a fraction as realization dawns. No, not that. Not yet, anyway.

"Yes ma'am," I confirm with a jerky little nod, fighting to keep my voice level. "That's me. Can I uh... can I help you with something?"

Patriot chuckles at that, low and indulgent, like I've just performed an especially clever trick. "No need to look so nervous, kid," he reassures me, reaching up to tug and adjust his costume. "We just wanted to have a quick chat, is all. Maybe clear the air a little bit, what with all the... unpleasantness that's been going on at that school of yours lately."

A muscle tics in my jaw, a fresh surge of anger rising up to war with the fear knotting my guts. So that's what this is about. Of course it is. I should've guessed that Ridley and his little pack of jackboot thugs would go whining to their steroid-swilling attack dogs the second they started feeling the heat.

I open my mouth to retort, to tell these self-righteous pricks exactly where they can stick their 'chat,' but Jordan beats me to the punch - their voice low and steady despite the way their slim fingers tremble ever-so-slightly where they brush against my wrist.

"Look, if this is about-" they begin, every word carefully measured, but are quickly cut off.

But Patriot just holds up one meaty hand, with a genial chuckle that doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"Let's take this outside, shall we?" he suggests, the words friendly enough even as his tone brooks no argument. "Bit too crowded in here for a proper heart-to-heart, don't you think?"

I grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches and I think some of my tooth caps crack, but nod in jerky acquiescence all the same. There's no point in arguing, not here - not with an entire bar full of drunken, belligerent cops and rent-a-fascists watching our every move like hawks. Better to play along for now, to pick our battles a little more carefully.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Jordan seems to have come to the same conclusion, because they simply shrug and gesture for Patriot to lead the way - their face a mask of neutral indifference even as their eyes dart back and forth like a trapped animal seeking escape.

We follow the two 'heroes' out into the parking lot, gravel crunching underfoot and the sour stink of stale beer wafting in the night breeze as we go. The door swings shut behind us with a muffled thump, and then we're alone - two teenagers facing down a pair of grown-ass adults playing dress-up in their little kid pajamas.

"So," Patriot drawls, leaning back against the side of a battered pickup truck as he crosses his arms over his barrel chest. "Word is you've been sticking your nose into places it doesn't belong, Miss Small. Ruffling a few feathers, as it were."

His tone is light, almost conversational, but there's a glint of something hard and unyielding lurking behind those too-bright eyes. I swallow heavily, trying my best to meet that steel with my own stubborn resolve.

"I was just doing what I thought was right," I retort, lifting my chin in silent defiance. "Someone had to stand up to that meathead Ridley, and I guess I drew the short straw."

Patriot just shakes his head, clicking his tongue in melodramatic disappointment. "See, that's where you're confused, young lady," he explains, patient and patronizing all at once. "It's not your job to 'stand up' to anyone - especially not the fine men and women tasked with maintaining law and order in that little schoolhouse of yours. That's their job. To stand up for all of you."

Behind him, Egalitarian nods in silent agreement, her dark eyes glittering like tempered chocolate in the wan glow of the streetlights. I catch a glimpse of teeth behind that veil of hers, bared in what might be a grin, or a snarl.

"B-but he was hurting that kid," I stammer out, hating the way my voice quavers ever-so-slightly. "He was out of control, someone had to - "

"What someone had to do," Patriot cuts me off sharply. "Was respect the authority of their betters and let the professionals handle it. That's why we have police, and why they have their own dedicated security forces. People trained, prepared, and entrusted with their responsibilities for a reason. I'm sure the boy would've been fine."

He smiles then, wide and wolfish, and somehow his voice now dripping with oily, mock-friendly magnanimity only makes it that much more unsettling.

"So here's what's going to happen," he continues, straightening up to his full, imposing height. "You're going to drop this little crusade of yours. No more videos, no more accusations, no more stirring up trouble just for the sake of your own little hero complex."

I reel back as if slapped, white-hot rage and something uncomfortably close to genuine hurt warring for dominance in my chest. Is that really what he thinks this is about? Some kind of... of ego trip, a pathetic little power play from a naïve schoolgirl with delusions of grandeur? I haven't even done anything else. Everyone's just targeting me for having done the right thing but it's not like I did anything after that.

Do they really just want to brook no quarter? None, none whatsoever?

I open my mouth to argue, to hurl every ounce of that pent-up frustration right back in his smug, self-satisfied face, but once again Jordan beats me to it - their voice low and urgent as they grip my elbow in warning.

"She understands," they assure Patriot, gaze downcast in a show of meek deference that I know must be physically painful for them to maintain. "Don't you, Sam? No more trouble-making, cross our hearts."

I grit my teeth so hard that I can practically taste copper on the back on my tongue, but I force myself to nod all the same - the motion jerky and unconvincing even to my own eyes.

"Y-yeah," I mutter, tamping down the urge scream. "I understand. No more trouble from me, scout's honor."

Patriot's eyes narrow for a moment, searching my face for any hint of deception or defiance. Egalitarian just watches it all unfold in silence, her head cocked ever-so-slightly to one side like a bird of prey evaluating a particularly juicy morsel.

"See that it stays that way," Patriot rumbles at last, apparently satisfied. "For your own good, kid. Trust me, this is one hornet's nest you do not want to kick."

With that he turns on his heel and strides away, heavy combat boots throwing up little puffs of grit and grime in his wake. Egalitarian lingers for a moment longer, still as a statue and just as inscrutable.

But then she too is moving, turning to follow her partner with a swirl of dark fabric and a whisper of displaced air. She pauses for one final backwards glance and a crooked little finger waggle that sets fresh icy-claws of trepidation raking down my spine before melting away into the shadows as if she were never there at all. Catch you later.

And then... nothing. Just the two of us standing there in the middle of a dark, litter-strewn parking lot, trembling and raw-nerved beneath the sickly orange glow of the buzzing streetlamps. For a long moment, neither of us speaks a word - too shaken, too dumbstruck by everything we've seen and heard over the past few surreal hours.

"So," Jordan says at last, their voice impossibly small and tight in the yawning silence. "That, uh... That sucked."

I can't help it - a strangled little laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep in my chest, high and wobbly and just a hair shy of outright hysteria.

"That sucked," I agree, letting my forehead thunk forward to rest against the cool brick exterior of the building. "G-d, Jordan... what are we supposed to do now? Those two, they... they have the cops in their pocket, the school, maybe even the mayor. Even Watkins. How are we supposed to fight against something like that? Like, the other guys, you know -- those were bad guys and everyone knew it. But now I feel like I'm going insane."

Jordan is silent for a moment, chewing their lower lip as they seem to mull the question over. When they finally do speak, their voice is slow and carefully measured.

"I... think we need to be smart about this," they begin, glancing around furtively as if expecting Patriot and Egalitarian to come leaping out of the shadows at any moment. "Keep our heads down, play along with their little 'friendly warning' for now. Keep the heat off our backs while we figure out our next move. With most of the other bad guys, you know... there's a measure of fair play. I don't think Mr. Nobody was under any illusions about the kind of person he was. But these people are, and that makes them way more dangerous."

I frown at that, something hot and fierce rising up to war with the icy coils of fear squeezing my heart.

"So what, we just give up?" I demand, pushing myself upright to glare at my partner dead-on. "Let them win, let them keep hurting people while we just sit back and twiddle our thumbs? I can't do that, Jordan. I won't."

Jordan sighs heavily, scrubbing one hand down their face in a gesture of bone-deep exhaustion. "I didn't say we give up," they clarify, meeting my gaze with a stubborn set to their jaw that I know all too well. "I said we need to be smart. We go charging in half-cocked now, we'll just end up getting our asses handed to us - or worse."

Going up against that head-on, without any kind of plan or fallback... it'd be suicide. For me, for Jordan, maybe even for my parents and my normal life. And life in general. And I can't risk that, can't put the people I care about in danger just to satisfy my own bruised ego.

"Okay," I relent at last, the word tasting like bile on my tongue. "Okay, so... we play it cool for now. Lick our wounds, regroup, try to come at this from a different angle."

Jordan looks relieved at my capitulation, reaching out to give my shoulder a quick, reassuring squeeze. "Exactly," they agree with a firm nod. "Trust me, Small Stack. We'll nail those smug assholes to the wall, same as always. Just gotta be a little more careful about it this time around, that's all."

"Alright," I sigh, feeling some of the leaden weight on my chest begin to ease ever-so-slightly. "Alright, so... let's get out of here before the waitress starts hunting for those two assholes that ordered wings and then left."

Jordan snorts out a soft huff of laughter at that, clapping me on the back as we turn to make our way towards our respective homes. "That's just normal bar stuff, buddy."

"Yeah?" I ask.

"Sure is, boss," they agree, an undercurrent of relief clear to hear as we beat our retreat. "Just promise you won't wander into any Irish pubs on the way back. Don't think my poor little heart could take it right now."

I chuckle at the weak attempt at levity, falling into our usual rhythm with an ease born of familiarity and fondness. But even as we wisecrack and tease, I can't quite shake the lingering sense of unease crawling beneath my skin - a twisting, gnawing feeling in the pit of my stomach that no amount of snark or false bravado can entirely dispel. I taste cigarette ashes in the wind.