The meeting room at the DVD headquarters is packed to the gills with superheroes, all of us crowded around the large conference table. The Young Defenders are here in full force, along with the Delaware Valley Defenders and Bubble, who's been sent as a representative from the Tacony Titans. I give her a little wave as she sits down in the corner of the table - in recognition, she gives me a polite little wave back. I'm not sure what the motivation was for sending her of all the members, but I've generally grown to trust Sundial's judgement calls.

It's a strange mix of people, all with different powers and personalities, but we're all united by a common goal: figuring out what the hell Rogue Wave is and how we can stop them.

Multiplex is at the head of the table, his face grim as he surveys the room. "Alright, let's get started. We've all had a chance to review the information obtained from Sparkplug's interrogation. What have we got?"

Fury Forge leans forward, her elbows resting on the table. "Not much, unfortunately. Sparkplug was clearly a true believer in this Rogue Wave thing, but he didn't seem to know much about the organization itself. Just a lot of vague promises and grandiose rhetoric."

Crossroads nods in agreement. "It's clear that Rogue Wave is operating on a need-to-know basis. Compartmentalizing information, keeping their operatives in the dark about the bigger picture."

I can't help but feel a twinge of frustration. We finally have a name for the enemy, but we're no closer to understanding their motives or their endgame.

Bubble, who's been quiet up until now, clears her throat. "The Titans have been doing some cur... some, uh... some cursory investigation, trying to track down the production line in more detail. From what we can tell, it's not being manufactured anywhere in the city. Sundial has been able to use her postcog... um... her past-sight to tell that it's not coming in through sea or airport. It's all land-based."

Playback frowns, his brow furrowed. "So it's all coming in trucks or in people's assholes. Great."

"Language," Puppeteer chides.

"Bite me," Playback barks back. "So are we just going to sit here and wait for them to pop up again or what?"

Bulwark shakes his head. "No, we need to be proactive. We need to find a way to infiltrate Rogue Wave, gather intelligence from the inside. It will be impossible to extract any useful information from individual agents operating in decentralized cells."

I can't help but snort at that. "Yeah, I'm sure we'll fit right in. Like there's not an all-points bulletin with our names and faces already spreading throughout the org."

Crossroads shoots me a look, but I can tell he agrees with me. At least, I'm assuming he does.

"Look," Gale says, leaning forward, her foot finding mine underneath the meeting table. "We need to focus on what we do know. Rogue Wave is flooding the streets with these power drugs. They're creating an army of superhumans, but for what purpose? What's their endgame? Do they care that the only people who want to use this stuff is... are criminals? Is this the ideal end state for them? Are they trying to make money, or is the project ideological?"

"Good phrasing," I mumble, reaching under to squeeze her hand. She squeezes mine back, but it's soft enough that it raises my anxiety levels rather than lowering them.

Silence falls over the room as we all ponder the question. Bulwark is the first to speak, his deep voice cutting through the tension. "I think we need to consider the possibility that Rogue Wave's goal is not just to create an army, but to create chaos. To destabilize the city, the country, maybe even the world. It would not be the first time an anarchist sect seeks to create chaos for its own sake."

Playback scoffs at that, but nobody really has any response more in-depth than scoffing.

"It makes a certain kind of sense. After all, what better way to seize power than to create a crisis that only you can solve?" I pitch in, feeling very good about my ability to understand the conversation.

Playback shakes his head. "No, man, it's definitely not a false flag. There's way easier ways to fake a terrorist incident. Or make one."

"Are they terrorists?" Rampart asks, giving everyone another moment of pause. "Or just ideologues?"

"I think you would find the line is much thinner than we would like, young one," Bulwark replies.

Fury Forge looks at him, clearly troubled by something, but doesn't open her mouth to respond.

Multiplex nods, his expression grim. "It's a possibility we can't ignore. But regardless of their endgame, our priority right now needs to be containment. We need to find a way to get these drugs off the streets, to stop the spread of this epidemic before it's too late."

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Kate's metal fist crashes into my jaw, snapping my head back and sending a spray of blood into the air. I stumble backwards, my vision swimming, but I don't have time to recover before she's on me again, her iron grip closing around my throat.

"You just don't get it, do you, Sam?" Kate snarls, her face inches from mine. "You think this is about the law? About what's right and wrong? This is about being left behind. About being abandoned by the one person I thought would always have my back."

I choke out a laugh, my fingers scrabbling at her unyielding grip. "Is that what this is about? You're jealous because I got into a better school than you?"

Kate's eyes flash with anger, and she slams me back against the ground, knocking the wind out of me. "You think that's all this is? Jealousy? God, you're even more clueless than I thought."

She steps back, her chest heaving, and I push myself up onto my elbows, gasping for air. "Then enlighten me, Kate. What is this really about?"

"It's about you leaving us behind!" Kate shouts, her voice cracking with emotion. "It's about you abandoning our entire friend group to go to some fancy charter school, while the rest of us are stuck in third-string, D-list public schools. It's about you forgetting about us, about me, the moment something better came along."

A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

I shake my head, trying to clear the fog from my brain. "That's not fair, Kate. Everyone split up for high school. It's not like I had a choice in the matter. My parents-"

"Your parents," Kate scoffs, cutting me off. "Of course. It's always about your parents, isn't it? Poor little Sammy, always doing what Mommy and Daddy tell her to do."

I feel a flash of anger at that, and I push myself to my feet, my fists clenched at my sides. "You don't know what you're talking about, Kate. You have no idea what I've been through, what I've had to deal with."

Kate laughs, a bitter, mirthless sound. "Oh, I know exactly what you've been through, Sam. You got superpowers, and suddenly everything else stopped mattering. Your friends, your family, your life before all of this. It's like we never even existed."

Before I can say anything, Kate is on me again, her metal fist slamming into my gut and doubling me over. I gasp for air, my eyes watering from the pain, but I don't have time to catch my breath before she's grabbing me by the waist, her iron fingers digging into my flesh. I try to twist out of her grip, but it's like trying to move a mountain. Kate's metal body is too heavy, too strong, and I can feel my strength failing against the slick surface of her new skin, even as I try to grab hold of the cloth of her costume.

With a grunt of effort, Kate lifts me off the ground, both hands on my waist, and throws, slamming me down onto the hard rubber of the basketball court. I hit the ground with a sickening thud, the air rushing out of my lungs in a whoosh.

For a moment, I just lie there, stunned, trying to catch my breath. But then I feel a flicker of pride, despite the pain. That was a textbook spinebuster, the kind of move that would make any wrestler proud.

I shake my head, trying to clear the cobwebs. I can't afford to be distracted, not now. Not when Kate is still coming at me, her metal fists raised and ready to strike.

I roll to the side, barely avoiding another blow, and push myself up to my knees. My whole body aches, but I force myself to focus, to tap into the power thrumming just beneath my skin.

I clench my fists, feeling the teeth pushing through the skin of my knuckles, forming my usual knuckledusters. If I can dent Chernobyl's much more well-armored suit, I can dent Kate. And maybe make her stop this insanity.

With a cry of rage, I lunge at Kate, my fists flying in a flurry of blows. Muscle memory corrects my sloppy, overemotional stance, whipping limp wristed slugs into tense, tight jabs and hooks. The teeth connect with her face with a sickening crunch, and for a moment, I think I've done it, I've found a chink in her armor.

But then I see the cracks spreading across the surface of the teeth, the way they splinter and break against her unyielding skin. They don't shatter completely, but they're badly damaged, and I can feel the pain lancing up my arms with every impact. Small little divots form in Kate's cheeks, and she clenches her steel teeth together.

Kate staggers back, more surprised than hurt, and I press my advantage, ejecting the spent teeth like bullet casings and pushing more to the surface. My arms scream with pain, a thin trickle of blood leaking out into my gloves, and for a moment all I'm concerned about is how annoying laundering them will be afterwards.

"You want to be a hero so bad?" I find myself screaming. "Just remember when I put you in the hospital - you chose this. I didn't."

"Get over yourself, Peter Parker," Kate snarls back, cracking her knuckles with the sounds of angry chimes going off.

"I have responsibilities to society now! I'm sorry you're too juvenile to understand that sort of thing!" is what comes out of my mouth before I can stop myself.

She stops for a second, clenches her entire body up, and then her face contorts. "YOU HAD RESPONSIBILITIES TO YOUR FRIENDS, TOO!"

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The sun is setting over the Philadelphia skyline, painting the city in shades of orange and pink. It's a beautiful sight, but I can't seem to focus on it, my mind too caught up in the whirlwind of thoughts and worries that have been plaguing me for days.

Beside me, Jamila takes a sip of her tea, her dark eyes studying me over the rim of her cup. "You're thinking about Rogue Wave again, aren't you?" she asks, her voice gentle.

I sigh, running a hand through my hair, or what's left of it, anyway. "Is it that obvious?"

Jamila smiles, reaching out to take my hand. "I know you, Sam. I can tell when something's bothering you."

We're sitting outside a small café in Germantown, a rare moment of peace in the chaos that has become our lives. It's been too long since we've had a chance to do this, to just be together without the weight of the world on our shoulders. Or maybe it's just the weight that's on my shoulders.

"I just can't shake the feeling that we're missing something," I say, my brow furrowed. "Rogue Wave, the power drugs, all of it. It's like we're just scratching the surface of something much bigger, much more dangerous."

Jamila nods, her expression thoughtful. "I know what you mean. But we have to remember that we're not in this alone. The Young Defenders, the DVD, the Tacony Titans... even Jordan and their crew. We're all working together to figure this out."

I take a sip of my own soda, letting the coolness spread through my chest like a balm. "Remember what Rampart said at the meeting? Do you think they're ideologues or terrorists?" I ask, my voice low. "Rogue Wave, I mean."

Jamila hesitates, her eyes flickering with uncertainty. "I don't know," she admits. "I think... to certain kinds of people, the distinction doesn't matter. I think anything that's a danger to the status quo is... automatically terroristic. To some, I mean."

I nod, my mind racing with the possibilities. "But what is their message? What do they want?"

Jamila squeezes my hand, her touch grounding me in the moment. Then, her cheeks pull up. "Sam, are you quizzing the one Muslim girl you know about terrorism on purpose, or...?"

I feel a rush of embarrassment run through me like bullets, and jerk away to cover my face. But Jamila is there, patting my hands and gently urging them away from my cheeks. "Chill, chill, I'm just effing with you."

I can't help but smile in between soda-thick coughs that make tears well up in the corners of my eyes. "I don't know what I'd do without you, Jamila. I'm sorry I haven't been around as much lately. It's just been so crazy, with everything that's been going on."

Jamila shakes her head, her expression a leisurely painting of understanding. "You don't have to apologize, Sam. I know what it's like, remember? The responsibilities, the sacrifices, it's all part of being a superhero."

"I just wish it didn't have to be this way. I wish I could be there for my friends, for my family, the way I used to be. You know? I feel like... I'm failing them a little bit. And you," I start off strong, but as the sentences emerge, they sort of dissolve into oblivious mumbles.

Jamila leans forward, her eyes intense. "But that's what makes you a hero, Sam. Your willingness to fight for what you believe in, even when it's hard. Even when it means giving up the things you love."

I feel a lump form in my throat, and I blink back the tears that threaten to fall. "Thank you, Jamila. For everything. I'm sorry I'm not a great girlfriend."

We sit in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the people pass by on the street. Any single one of them might be near death tomorrow. And maybe they'll be the next great superhero or supervillain. Or maybe they'll find the right or wrong drugs and become part of this underworld - the closest thing to a sort of hell I can fathom.

"So, any plans for the holidays?" I ask, trying to lighten the mood.

Jamila smiles, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Actually, yes. One of my brothers and I are planning on doing the Hajj this year, now that he's done touring with Demon Core."

I tilt my head, confused. "The Hajj? What's that?"

Jamila laughs, shaking her head. "I forget how much of a heathen you are sometimes, Sam. The Hajj is a pilgrimage to Mecca, in Saudi Arabia. It's one of the five pillars of Islam, something every Muslim is supposed to do at least once in their life, if they're able. And, well, I'm more than able."

I nod, fascinated. "That sounds amazing, Jamila. I'm sure it will be an incredible experience. Can you keep telling me about it so I don't have to think about all the other things I'm neglecting right now, like my schoolwork?"

Jamila grins, her excitement palpable. "Yeah, sure. I'll give you the whole infodump, it's gonna be great."