Parabellum claps her hands together, the sound sharp and commanding enough to make a few people around us flinch. "Alright, everyone. Let's get moving. Andres, you've got the flashlight, right? John, you're on watch duty. Eyes open, ears sharp. If you see or hear anything, you let me know immediately. Got it?"

I nod stiffly, not trusting myself to speak. I want to point out that I don't exactly need instructions for something as basic as "keep your eyes open," but I'm too busy swallowing the knot of unease in my throat. My brain is already buzzing with the sheer awkward horror of this situation. Of all the nights, of all the neighborhoods, of all the people organizing these walks--it has to be them.

The group splits into two smaller teams, as planned, and we head out into the cold, dark streets of Tacony. Parabellum leads our trio with a sense of purpose that feels almost cartoonishly intense, like she's trying to make the act of walking feel tactical. Every step she takes is deliberate, every movement crisp and precise, like she's marching through some imaginary battlefield instead of a quiet Philly neighborhood. Even her gear--loaded down with body armor, pouches, and a radio clipped to her vest--gives off this vibe that she's prepared for war, not a casual evening stroll.

Melissa, bless her oblivious heart, doesn't seem fazed. She walks a little behind Parabellum, chatting brightly and asking questions like she's shadowing someone for a school project. "So, what's the first thing you look for on a patrol?" she asks.

Parabellum glances over her shoulder, her expression stoic. "Anomalies," she says, her voice low and serious. "Anything that stands out. Broken locks, busted windows, unfamiliar cars parked too long in the wrong spots. People loitering where they shouldn't be."

Melissa nods, her flashlight bobbing with the motion. "Got it. Like, sketchy people hanging around?"

"Not just people," Parabellum replies. "Anything out of the ordinary. The point is to establish a baseline. When you know your neighborhood--every street, every building, every alley--you can tell when something doesn't fit."

I keep my mouth shut and my eyes forward, letting their conversation wash over me. My brain latches onto the phrase "sketchy people" like it's a hook, though, and my stomach twists. I know exactly what kind of people they mean. Or at least, I think I do.

We walk in silence for a while after that, the only sounds coming from the occasional crunch of our boots on salt-strewn sidewalks or the distant hum of traffic. The air feels heavy, like the neighborhood is exhausted, just as exhausted as I am. Most of the windows we pass are dark, curtains drawn tight against the cold and the fear that's been gripping Tacony lately. A few shops are still open, their neon signs flickering in the gloom, but the streets feel almost deserted.

"It's eerie, isn't it?" Melissa says after a while, her voice quieter now. "Like, you can tell people are scared. Nobody wants to be out after dark anymore."

"Can you blame them?" Parabellum asks, her tone flat. "With everything that's been happening? The fires, the break-ins... People are right to be cautious."

Melissa nods, and then, almost as an afterthought, she adds, "I just wish the cops would do more, you know? It feels like they're not even trying."

Parabellum snorts, a short, sharp sound. "The cops are overwhelmed. They always are. That's why groups like this exist. If you want something done, you have to do it yourself."

Her words hang in the air like smoke, and I feel my chest tighten. There's something in the way she says it--matter-of-fact, almost cold--that makes my skin crawl. I can't tell if it's the statement itself or the conviction behind it. Maybe both.

We stop at a corner shop, where a man in his sixties is locking up for the night. He looks up as we approach, his eyes darting between us. Parabellum steps forward with her hands raised in what I think is supposed to be a reassuring gesture, though her body armor kind of ruins the effect.

"Evening," she says. "We're just doing a community patrol. Have you noticed anything unusual around here lately? Anyone hanging around who shouldn't be?"

The man hesitates, his gaze lingering on her vest and gear. "Uh... no. Nothing like that," he says. "It's been quiet. Too quiet, honestly."

Alright, man. We get it, life has turned into a movie. Don't lay it on thick.

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Parabellum nods, her expression neutral. "Good. If you see anything, don't hesitate to call it in. We've got people watching out for the neighborhood."

The man nods back, though he still looks uneasy, and we move on.

As we walk, the conversation starts to drift. Melissa keeps asking questions, and Parabellum keeps answering, her tone somewhere between "grizzled soldier" and "frustrated teacher." They talk about everything from situational awareness to how to de-escalate a potential conflict (Melissa: "So you don't just, like, tackle them?" Parabellum: "Only if they're an immediate threat."). It's all very practical, very reasonable on the surface. But every so often, Parabellum's words take on a sharper edge.

"Most of the time, people like that aren't looking for a fight," she says at one point. "They're cowards. They'll run as soon as they see you're not afraid of them."

Melissa nods, wide-eyed. "What about, like... superpowered people? Do you think there's one of them behind the fires?"

"It's possible," Parabellum admits, her voice dropping slightly. "Lots of other superpowered individuals are dangerous, especially if they're unstable. That's why it's important to be vigilant. If you see something that doesn't feel right, don't second-guess yourself. Trust your instincts."

"It's not like you can know in advance, what with all the Jump going around," I say, trying to at least get a little bit of ideological diversity in this crowd of concerned civilians. "How do you tell the good supers from the bad ones?"

Parabellum turns her head to smile at me, sharp, owlish, like a contented cat, eyes taking in everything about me in an instant. I feel seen through, like my skin has just suddenly converted into glass, and she can see all the little organs and veins inside of me. "Good supers are the ones that either stop crime or don't get in our way. Bad supers commit crimes or get in our way."

"Our way?" I ask, trying to get an elaboration. Our way? Our way? Every permutation of the sentence feels like bitter licorice in my brain.

"Yes," she non-answers.

I keep my head down, my hands shoved deep into my pockets. The air feels colder now, or maybe it's just me. Every word out of Parabellum's mouth feels like a needle, poking at something raw inside me. I know she's not talking about me, not directly. But it still feels like she is. Like she's warning Melissa about people like me.

We pass a small group of teenagers hanging out near a corner store, their laughter echoing down the street. Parabellum slows, her eyes narrowing slightly as she watches them. "See that?" she murmurs to Melissa. "They're not doing anything wrong, but they're out here when most people are staying inside. That's the kind of thing you keep an eye on. Patterns. Anomalies."

Melissa nods like she's being let in on some great wisdom. She even tilts her flashlight in the group's direction, the beam sweeping across them for just a second before flicking back to the ground. "So, like... they could be casing the place or something?"

"Exactly," Parabellum replies, her tone warm, almost approving. "It's about being aware. People don't just stand around for no reason. There's always a context, a motive."

The teenagers, oblivious or maybe just used to this kind of scrutiny, start to move off. They melt into the shadows of the side streets, their laughter gone. I don't miss the way one of them glances back over their shoulder, a brief, wary look that makes something in my chest clench.

"They're just kids," I say, my voice quieter than I mean it to be.

Parabellum turns her head toward me, her expression perfectly neutral. "Maybe. Or maybe they're the lookout for something bigger. You can't assume innocence when the stakes are this high."

My jaw tightens. I don't know what to say to that. Melissa, for her part, nods along like she's taking mental notes. "Yeah, I guess it's better to be safe than sorry."

Better to be safe than sorry. That phrase rolls around in my head, bitter and sharp. Safe for who? Sorry to who? I stare at the pavement as we walk, trying to keep my thoughts from spiraling into something too obvious.

Parabellum's steps remain steady, deliberate. She doesn't look back at me again, but her presence feels inescapable, like a weight pressing down on the entire block. She watches them go, her expression unreadable.

"It's not about being paranoid," she says after a moment. "It's about being prepared."

I don't respond.

By the time we loop back toward the meeting point, my entire body feels like it's buzzing with tension. Every word, every glance, every step of this patrol has felt like walking a tightrope. The whole thing is surreal--this mix of well-meaning community effort and barely-hidden paranoia, all wrapped up in a package that feels way too close to something dangerous.

When we finally reach the others, I spot Egalitarian standing at the edge of the group, her arms crossed and her expression as cold and unreadable as ever. She looks up as we approach, her gaze locking on mine for just a second before flicking away.

"So," she says, her voice sharp and clear. "How'd it go?"

Parabellum gives her a quick rundown of our route, her tone brisk and professional. Melissa chimes in with her usual enthusiasm, talking about how much she's learned tonight and how safe she feels knowing people like Parabellum and Egalitarian are around.

I stay quiet, my eyes fixed on the ground.

Egalitarian listens, nodding occasionally, but her gaze keeps flicking toward me. It's subtle, but I can feel it, like a weight pressing down on my shoulders. I don't know if she's waiting for me to say something or if she's just trying to remind me that she knows who I am. Either way, it's working.

When Parabellum finishes, Egalitarian nods once. "Good. Sounds like a productive night."

Her eyes linger on me for just a moment longer, and then she turns away.

I exhale a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.