Akilah sighs, looking back at me. "The details are hard to come by," she admits. "A lot of it's still classified, or buried under so much red tape bullshit that it might as well be. But what we do know is that Patriot was involved in some seriously shady operations during his time with the military. Extrajudicial killings, torture of prisoners, coverups of civilian casualties… It's all there, if you know where to look. I guess nobody cared to talk to their golden boy about it."

I nod slowly, my mind reeling as I try to process this new information. It's one thing to suspect that Patriot is a bad guy, to know in your gut that he's rotten to the core. But to have it laid out so plainly, so inescapably… It's a lot to take in.

But there's something else that's bothering me, some piece of the puzzle that's still missing. "What about the rest of them?" I ask, my brow furrowing. "I mean, it's not just him. There's… Hmm…" I rummage for the names. "Egalitarian. And some others, right? Is he, like, hoodwinking them, or do you think they just don't care?"

There's a long, heavy pause, and then Akilah reaches into her bag and pulls out a small plastic baggie filled with something that looks like orange dust at first. But then it starts to move. It's sand - orange, sparkly sand. Almost pretty. In another context it'd be gorgeous body glitter.

It's blood. Dried, powdered Jump-blood. Or Fly-blood. Who knows. I know it as soon as I see it, those telltale flecks of orange.

My eyes go wide, my heart dropping into my stomach like a stone. "What the fuck," I breathe, my voice barely above a whisper. "Is that… Is that what I think it is?"

Devonte nods grimly, his face drawn. "Egalitarian's blood. Courtesy of our anonymous source. Still twitching with trace amounts of whatever the fuck's in Fly. We don't know when she started using, or how long it's been going on. But we do know that it's happening, and that she's going to great lengths to keep it under wraps."

"We're just smarter than her, that's all. Couldn't have happened to a nicer fascist," Akilah mumbles.

"But why?" I ask, my mind spinning. "She's already a superhuman. She's already got powers, right? Wasn't she a superhero before Fly was a thing? Why would she need to… to juice herself up like this? Can you even do that?"

"Evidently," Jordan calls out.

"I thought if you got too many superpowers you just exploded, like Ricochet," I muse, half to myself, half to the room.

Akilah shrugs, her face unreadable. "Could be a lot of reasons," she says. "Insecurity, fear of being replaced. Maybe she's just a junkie, or maybe it's part of some larger plan. Who knows? Fly's a hell of a fucking drug. But whatever her reasons, it's a serious liability. For her, for Patriot, for the whole fucking Pattinson's Pals operation. If word gets out that one of their top enforcers is a goddamn tweaker…"

"Hey, don't say that shit. I've met plenty of tweakers nicer than her," Devonte grumbles, sounding, for maybe the first time in my life, genuinely offended. He even gives Akilah a little punch to the shoulder, like the kind she usually gives him. "Anyway, whatever she's juicing with, maybe it's, like… a baby power. To jump up the edge? Or maybe something Brain-type that wouldn't be visible. Maybe she's dying of a brain tumor, dawg. Maybe, maybe, maybe."

He trails off, letting the implication hang in the air like a noose. I swallow hard, feeling the sudden urge to grab Jordan and Maggie and just… run. Leave the city, leave the costumes, leave all of this insane superhero business and everyone who's gotten hurt by it behind. Forget it. Forget all of it. Go be a normal kid.

But I know I can't. I'm in too deep, now. I'm part of this world, whether I like it or not. And if Patriot and Egalitarian are out there, running around with this kind of power and this kind of disregard for human life… Someone has to stop them. Someone has to try.

"This is fucking insane," Jordan mutters, their arms folded tightly across their chest. They're not usually so quiet - I wonder if they're feeling as blindsided as I am, right now. "I always knew those pigs were dirty, but this… And with Sam at the center of it all, right in their fucking crosshairs…"

I glance over at Jordan, feeling a sudden rush of guilt and shame. I dragged them into this, didn't I? Them and Maggie and Tasha and everyone else. I made them a part of my world, my fight, whether they wanted to be or not. I introduced them to a level of fear and distrust and paranoia that I don't think any kid our age should have to deal with. Would it have been better if Jordan just remained a petty criminal, spent some time in Juvie, and then moved on with their life? If I never got myself involved in Illya's business, and Maggie never almost died? If I was never Tasha's friend, never dragged her or Kate or anyone else into their own personal hell?

And for what? What have I accomplished, really, besides painting a big fat target on my back and the backs of everyone I care about? What good has any of this done, besides driving a constant stream of danger and hurt towards the people I keep trying to protect?

I hit myself on the head, once, to stop the thoughts, and then twice more because it feels nice. Everyone looks at me like I'm crazy, but I wave my hand around a bit and take a deep breath.

"Okay," I say slowly, dragging a hand down my face. "Okay. So we know Patriot's a war criminal, and Egalitarian's a drug addict. Great. Fucking fantastic. What are we supposed to do with this information, exactly?"

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Devonte and Akilah exchange another one of those loaded glances, like they're having a whole conversation without saying a word. "That's the million dollar question, isn't it?" Akilah says finally, leaning back on her hands. "We've got the intel, but what we do with it… That's up to you, Bee."

"Me?" I ask incredulously, my voice cracking on the word. "Why me?"

"Because you're the one they're after," Devonte says simply, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "You're the one who testified in front of Congress, who put your neck on the line to try and change things. They hate your secret identity and they hate your superhero identity. And you're the one we can trust. You think someone like Patriot is going to enjoy having a civilian oversight board, and at your costumed recommendation?"

"That's not true," I protest. "They want Jordan, really. I was just in the way."

Jordan looks at me with a pitying look, like not even they believe what I'm saying. "They got my website down, but I'm just an embarrassment they lashed out at because of a narcissistic injury,"

Akilah scrunches her face a little.

"You, unfortunately, young grasshopper, are a part of history now. I never testified to Congress. I just set them up to get videotaped punching a teenager in the face," Jordan breathes out, arms furled protectively over their own stomach. "I'm the spark, you're the fire. Whatever you want to do, no matter what, I'm with you."

I feel like I can't breathe, like the walls are closing in around me. I want to scream, to cry, to throw something heavy and breakable against the wall just to watch it shatter. But I don't. I can't. Not here, not now. Not with everyone watching me, waiting for me to be the leader they think I am. The leader they need me to be.

So I take a deep breath, and I push it all down. The fear, the anger, the overwhelming sense of helplessness that threatens to drown me every time I think too hard about the enormity of the task in front of me. I push it down, and I focus on what I know. What I believe.

"Well," Tasha asks, softly. "What now?"

I stand up, my hands clenched into fists at my sides. "Now," I say, my voice sounding a lot more sure than I feel, "we go talk to Patriot."

There's a stunned silence for a moment, and then the room erupts into chaos. Jordan leaps to their feet, their face twisted into a mask of fear and disbelief. "Are you out of your fucking mind?" they demand, their voice shaking with barely-contained fury. "After everything we just heard, you want to go talk to that psychopath? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Maggie nods vigorously in agreement, her eyes wide and frightened behind her goggles. "Sam, no," she pleads, her voice trembling. "It's too dangerous. He'll kill you, or worse. You can't-"

"I have to," I say, cutting her off with a sharp shake of my head. "Don't you see? This is our chance to end this, once and for all. If we can confront Patriot with the truth, if we can make him see how far he's fallen… Maybe we can stop this before it goes any further."

"And how well did that work out with Sparkplug, huh?" Jordan snaps, their voice dripping with sarcasm. "Or… Or Mr. Polygraph, or Mr. T-Rex, or any of those other deranged freaks? You go 1 and 5 on talk-no-jutsuing a supervillain and now you think you can make everything sunshine and rainbows with a quick call-in?"

I flinch like I've been slapped, the memory of Mr. T-Rex's cold eyes and cruel grimace flashing through my mind like a bolt of lightning. I still dream about that night, sometimes - about the feeling of getting my foot turned into a fine soup.

"You've been reading that fucking comic too much, man. It's rotting your brain," Jordan protests, running a hand through their hair. "I'm gonna beat up your grandpa."

"Hey!" I flare up, twisting myself around, rising to my feet on top of the sofa. "Leave my Pop-Pop out of this."

"I admire your optimism, but I don't think appealing to the morality of a man who has personally committed war crimes is what we call a winning formula," Akilah snarks.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Look. Some kid from school invited me to a counterprotest, or a protest, or whatever. I guaran-fucking-tee you that Patriot will be there. I'd bet good money he doesn't know that his best buttbuddy is a Flyhead. Make your backup copies and throw them on the internet when your site comes back, Jord. I'll go to a crowded place, even more crowded than Homecoming dance, and if he decides to beat the paste out of me again, well, once is a fluke, twice is data. That's what my Dad says."

"Your dad's stupid too," Jordan grumbles.

"Will you shut the fuck up? I have a plan. Patriot has not beaten me nearly as bad as half the other dipshits I've fought with. Deathgirl left me limping for weeks. I'm already basically fine from his little show of force. I'm not just being a stupid fucking bullheaded optimist about this, but I don't want to have to… shiv anyone unless I really, really have to, you know?" I start yelling, my voice rising with every sentence. Eventually, it reaches a slight scream. "We can't trust the fucking adults around us because they either can't do anything because of red tape, can't do anything because they don't have superpowers, or, are like, an active threat to our health. You think the Senators I talked to don't know everything about Project Thanatos or whatever it's fucking called?"

"Titan," Tasha corrects me.

Unfortunately for her, my body sort of twists on its own. "I don't care! What do you want me to do, go to Councilman Davis and go, hey, this guy who has half the country thinking its fine to beat a 15 year old girl bloody while being recorded has skeletons in his closet? Ooh, wow, that'll really show him! Most of these people probably think him shooting someone overseas is awesome, man! If I leaked this to the press, ten dollars says his approval rating goes up! Superhuman terrorism is the issue du jour so we have some asshole killing terrorists like two decades ago? Fucking stoked to meet him, man! He sounds like just the sort of tough-as-nails thought leader we need running things! Can you guys just shut up for a fucking second? You think I'm gonna go convince him that being an asshole is bad when he already thinks murder is good? I said talk, not fellate."

I take a breath. I take another couple of breaths, sweat beading on my forehead. Everyone is staring at me like I'm a bomb about to go off. "Jesus. I'm not mad at any of you. Just… I do think about this stuff, believe me. It's all I fucking think about since he smashed my skull against a wall. When a superhuman goes bad you're supposed to talk to the NSRA, but, guess what, we have firsthand experience about how they're all pieces of shit, and I'd bet good money they're the ones that spearheaded Project Tightass in the first place. The only interesting thing here is the Fly. I'll take this information and I'll… do what I can with it. And if that explodes in my face and I'm not dead then you can all get your yuks telling me you told me so. Alright? Deal?"

It takes about a minute of me catching my breath for a murmur of assent to build in the room. I step into the kitchenette for some water. Then, because I'm only like twenty feet away, I step back in.

"Now, how fast can we get everything you've got onto Jordan's computer?"