The Tacony Music Hall's makeshift Faraday cage room has become our de facto war room, its wire-mesh walls and eclectic furnishings a testament to our resourcefulness and determination. The table in the center is littered with papers, laptops, and empty coffee cups, the detritus of a week-long investigation into the power drug trade that has consumed our lives.

I sit at the head of the table, my brow furrowed as I pore over a stack of handwritten notes. The fluorescent light overhead casts harsh shadows across my face, highlighting the dark circles under my eyes and the healing bruises that still mar my skin. But there's a fire in my gaze, a determination that belies my exhaustion. Where bear paws dug great gouges into my cheek - gouges that go suspiciously unremarked upon by my schoolmates and teachers. I mean, I'm sure my teachers have put together the superheroics by now. I haven't told them, but they're all adults. But I wonder what my classmates think when I come back covered in bandages again?

Hmm. I'm getting myself off track.

Jordan is perched on a nearby chair, their legs folded underneath them as they type furiously on their laptop. The blue glow of the screen illuminates their face, casting an eerie pallor over their already pale skin. But there's a glint in their eye, a hint of excitement that suggests they may have found something important.

Derek leans against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl etched onto his face. He's been on edge all week, his temper fraying with each dead end and false lead. But there's a sharpness to his gaze, a focus that suggests he's not ready to give up just yet.

Spindle is sprawled out on the floor, his lanky limbs splayed out like a starfish. He's been unusually quiet, his usual goofy demeanor replaced by a pensive silence. But there's a coiled energy to his stillness, a sense that he's ready to spring into action at a moment's notice.

I clear my throat, drawing the attention of the room. "Jordan, you said you found something on Squeal?"

Jordan nods, their fingers flying over the keyboard. "Right. Sorry. I got distracted by his forum profiles. Yeah, hold on. Yeah, I did some digging and found out his real name is Steven Praznik. He's a 32-year-old former sound engineer who fell on hard times a few years back."

I raise an eyebrow. "A sound engineer? What's he doing slinging drugs?"

Derek snorts. "Probably the same thing everyone else is doing. Trying to make a quick buck."

Jordan shakes their head. "I mean, he's got a license for superpower usage. He was even a Registered Superhuman Entity for, like, all of two months. 'Personality conflicts'."

I frown. "So he's not a Jump or Fly user?"

"Doesn't look like it," Jordan confirms. "His powers seem to be au naturale, but I couldn't find anything on his activation event."

"How do you even learn this? Do people generally leave information on this sort of thing on the internet?" Derek asks, eyebrow raised, clearly dubious.

"Freedom of Information Act. Lucky us the first ladder on the chain has a record. But even if he didn't, there's dozens of ways to sniff someone's online paper trail - I already went through some of them just in case it was a coincidence on the first hit. There's companies that let you run background checks on people for... a nominal fee," Jordan waves around a debit card between two black painted fingers. "Just had to double check his name and usual usernames. You leave behind crumbs all the time on the internet. Nerd stuff."

"Told you," I say to Derek, smirking smugly. Can't help it. Feels good to be right.

Derek pushes off the wall, his expression thoughtful and a little annoyed. "Whatever. So he's a low-level dealer for Sparkplug, huh? Selling Jump and tempting people towards the harder stuff?"

Jordan nods. "That's what it looks like. He's got a reputation on the streets for being a bit of a loose cannon. Apparently, he's not above using his powers to intimidate customers who don't pay up."

I sigh, rubbing my temples. "Great. So we've got a drug-dealing banshee on our hands."

Spindle sits up, his expression quizzical. "A banshee? I thought those were old ladies who screamed a lot."

Derek rolls his eyes. "It's a metaphor, dumbass."

I shoot Derek a warning look before turning back to Jordan. "What else do we know about him? Any weaknesses we can exploit?"

Jordan shrugs. "I mean, people don't generally go posting on the internet about their personal weaknesses or life history. You know, he uses the same usernames on a bunch of different forums and chatrooms because he's not smart, but that doesn't mean he talks about himself. If we were coming in from the outside, without aliases to use, all you'd be able to gather about this guy is that he lives in Philly, he smokes a lot of weed, and he has a bad attitude."

Derek cracks his knuckles. "Doesn't matter. We'll find a way to get to him. We always do."

I nod, a grim smile playing at the corners of my mouth. "Damn right we will. But we need to be careful. We can't afford to underestimate this guy."

Jordan leans back in their chair, their expression thoughtful. "So what's the plan, boss? How do we take down Squeal without tipping off Sparkplug?"

---

The next day, the Tacony Music Hall is buzzing with a nervous energy as we prepare for the sting operation. Derek is pacing back and forth, his phone pressed to his ear, his expression a mix of frustration and determination. I can't help but tap my foot, the nervous energy thrumming through my veins.

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Jordan and Spindle are huddled around Jordan's laptop, their eyes glued to the screen as they monitor the police scanners and social media feeds. They're our eyes and ears, our early warning system in case anything goes wrong.

I turn my attention back to Derek, trying to piece together the conversation from his end. It's like listening to one half of a heated debate, with Derek constantly cutting himself off as Squeal talks over him.

"Yeah, I got the cash," Derek says, his voice low and steady. "But I need to know the product is good. Can't be selling my people no bunk sh-- Yeah, I know you said it's legit, but I gotta be sure, man. My people are counting on-- No, I ain't questioning your word, I'm just saying--"

There's a pause, and I can hear the muffled sound of Squeal's voice on the other end, the tone angry and insistent. Derek's jaw clenches as he listens, his free hand balling into a fist at his side. I watch his nails dig into his palm.

"Listen, man, I ain't wearing no wire. This line is clean, I made sure of that. You think I'm stupid enough to-- No, I ain't calling you stupid, I'm just saying-- Yeah, I know the deal, but I gotta look out for my own, you feel me? I've already got powers, I just need to bring my boys to the same level, you know?" He says, his sneakers squeaking on the floor. Normally, work boots. Today, sneakers. Beats me as to why.

Derek starts to pace faster, his voice rising with each word. "Alright, alright, I get it. You can't be too careful. But I'm telling you, this is legit. I got a crew ready to roll, and we need that Jump to-- Yeah, I know it's a big order, that's why I'm willing to pay extra for-- No, not tonight, it's gotta be during the day. I ain't taking no chances with that Big Bad Wolf motherfucker running around."

I exchange a glance with Jordan, who raises an eyebrow.

"Yeah, the old warehouse on Tioga. Noon. Tomorrow. I'll be there with the cash, you bring the product. And come alone, you hear me? I ain't looking to-- No, I ain't trying to set you up, I just don't want no surprises. This is business, plain and simple. Fine. You can bring a guy if we're really not getting this-- I just told you-- You can bring a guy! Fucker!"

Derek's voice is strained now, the frustration evident in every word. I watch veins bulge across his forehead. He's trying so hard to keep it together, to avoid reaching through the phone line and strangling this man through the cord. "Alright, fine. You can bring one guy, but that's it. And I'm paying 50% extra for the daylight meet, so you best come correct. No games, no bullshit. Just the product and the cash, and we both walk away happy."

There's a long pause, and for a moment, I'm sure that Squeal is going to back out. But then Derek nods, a grim smile spreading across his face.

"Alright, we got a deal. Noon, at the old warehouse on Tioga. Don't be late, and don't fuck me over. I ain't the type to forgive and forget. Motherfucker. You heard me! I said MOTHERFUCKER!"

Derek slams the phone shut, the sudden silence deafening. We all stare at him, waiting for the verdict. For a moment, I'm sure the plan is off, that Squeal got spooked and backed out.

But then Derek cracks a grin, his eyes glinting with a mixture of relief and anticipation.

"We're good. Noon, at the old warehouse on Tioga. Squeal will be there with the Jump, and he's only bringing one guy."

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding, the tension draining from my body. Jordan and Spindle high-five, their faces split with matching grins.

"Alright, so we stick to the plan," I say, my voice steady despite the butterflies in my stomach. "Derek, you'll make the buy. Jordan, Spindle, and I will be your lookouts. We'll have eyes on all the entrances and exits, make sure Squeal doesn't try anything funny."

"And then I get to use my secret weapon?" Jordan asks, bouncing on their heels.

I roll my eyes a little bit. "Yes, Jordan."

Derek nods, his expression serious. "I'll get him talking, see if I can get any info on Sparkplug or the supplier. But the priority is getting that Jump off the streets. You guys can deal with it afterwards. You know, like, legit superheroes and shit."

We all nod in agreement, the weight of our mission settling over us like a heavy blanket. We know the risks, know that we're walking into the lion's den. But we also know that we have no choice. These drugs are causing problems, and they need to be stopped before things get worse. I'll let the Young Defenders handle their part of the city - and we'll do the rest.

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It's a sweltering Saturday afternoon, the kind of heat that makes the air feel thick and heavy, like a wet blanket draped over the city. The sun beats down mercilessly on the cracked pavement and crumbling brick facades of the abandoned factories that line the outskirts of Kensington. It's the kind of place where hope goes to die, where the only signs of life are the occasional druggie nodding off in a doorway or a homeless person pushing a shopping cart filled with their meager possessions.

I don't like it. I couldn't tell you why. It feels like an emotion that I'm too young to have, even though I've been shot at and stabbed and irradiated AND I've had my first kiss. But seeing this neighborhood... it's a new kind of upset. Something I can't explain.

I shift uncomfortably in the confines of the cardboard box, my legs protesting beneath me from being folded up for so long. Jordan and Spinelli fit neatly aside me, and the three of us occasionally shift for space in this larger-on-the-inside area. Jordan, after all, can't sustain two axii at once. Axeses? Axises... Axii was right I think. But, either way, a cardboard box can be expanded in one direction... but the other two directions are still just cardboard box width.

"I can't believe I let you talk me into this," I mutter, wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand. "We could've just watched from a rooftop or something."

As I peer through the cracks in the box, my eyes scanning the shadows of the loading dock, I can't shake the feeling that something isn't right. There's a prickling sensation at the back of my neck, a tingle of unease that I can't quite place. I squint, trying to make out the shapes lurking in the darkness, but it's like trying to see through murky water.

Jordan grins, their teeth flashing white in the dim light filtering through the box's hand holds. "Where's the fun in that? Besides, this way we're close enough to hear everything."

I roll my eyes but don't argue. They're right, of course. From our vantage point, we have a clear view of the meeting spot, an old loading dock with rusted metal doors and piles of discarded machinery. It's the perfect place for a drug deal - secluded, quiet, and easy to escape from if things go south.

I check my watch for the hundredth time, my nerves jangling like live wires. Derek should be here any minute, along with Squeal and his muscle. The anticipation is killing me, the not knowing what's going to happen next. I peek out again through the handhold, squinting my eyes, cupping them, trying anything that would help me see that much better into what I'm seeing in the distance.

I nudge Jordan, my voice a barely audible whisper. "Hey, do you see anything out there? In the shadows?"

Jordan frowns, their eyes narrowing as they follow my gaze. "I don't know. It's hard to tell. Why, what do you see?"

I shake my head, the unease growing stronger by the second. "I'm not sure. But I feel like... like we're not alone out here."

Jordan opens their mouth to reply, but before they can say anything, the sound of footsteps echoes through the empty streets. We both freeze, our eyes locked on the approaching figures.

It's Derek, looking every inch the hardened criminal in his leather jacket and ripped jeans. He's got a duffel bag slung over one shoulder, and I know it's filled with cash - or at least, what looks like cash. He's also got a gun tucked into the waistband of his jeans, but I know it's not loaded. We're not here to start a shootout.

I hope.