The rain-slicked streets of Philadelphia gleam beneath the headlights of my Lexus as I weave through late-night traffic, my heart pounding in my throat. In the rear-view mirror, I catch a glimpse of the black SUV that's been tailing me for the past fifteen minutes, its high beams cutting through the darkness like accusatory fingers.

Shit, I think, my hands tightening on the wheel. Who the fuck did I piss off this time?

It's a question I've been asking myself a lot lately, ever since I started digging into this whole Rogue Wave situation. What started as a routine investigation into the source of these new superpower drugs, Jump and Fly, had quickly spiraled into something much bigger, much more dangerous. And now, it seems, my digging has attracted the wrong kind of attention.

I glance at my phone, sitting in the cupholder. I should call for backup, call Mr. Nothing or one of the others, but I can't risk it. Not until I know what I'm dealing with.

Besides, I'm the baddest bitch in Philly. I can handle myself.

I press down on the gas, feeling the engine roar beneath me as I swerve around a slow-moving taxi. The SUV matches my move, its engine revving menacingly.

Okay, Maya, I think, time to lose these motherfuckers.

I cut across three lanes of traffic, ignoring the blare of horns and screeching brakes, and take a sharp right onto a side street. The SUV follows, skidding a little on the wet pavement, almost but not quite fishtailing.

I've spent my whole life in these streets. I know every alley, every shortcut, every place to disappear. And I plan to use every bit of that knowledge to shake this tail. I take a series of rapid turns, zigging and zagging through the narrow streets, my Lexus handling the sharp corners like a dream. After five minutes of this, I risk another glance in the rear-view.

Fuck. Still there.

Whoever these guys are, they're not amateurs.

My mind races as I try to figure out my next move. I can't lead them back to any of the Kingdom's safe houses, can't risk exposing my people. But I also can't just keep driving around aimlessly, hoping to lose them in the maze of Philly's streets.

Just as I'm about to make a decision, my phone rings, the sound startling in the tense silence of the car. I glance down at the screen, a wave of relief washing over me as I see Mr. Nothing's name.

"Bitch," I say as soon as I answer, "I hope you're calling with good news because I have 5-0 on my ass."

"Maya," Mr. Nothing's voice is calm as ever, but I can hear the undercurrent of concern. "Where are you?"

"Just passed the corner of 5th and Market," I reply, taking another sharp turn onto the Ben Franklin Parkway, a fucking terrible choice for shake-down and escape. "Black SUV, NY plates. They've been on me since I left the warehouse district."

I hear the rapid click of a keyboard in the background. Probably getting into contact with C.

"The warehouse - I decided to go back to the scene of the crime, see if I could find any more clues about this Rogue Wave jawn. And I did, T. I found a lead."

"What kind of lead?" Mr. Nothing asks, his voice sharp with interest. "You hit up one of Maddeningly Obtuse Mandy's riddles?"

"Nah," I say, "nothing that bad. But I found a name, a contact. And when I tracked her down, man..." I push back the screaming and the blood. "She wasn't right. Something was wrong with her, N. Like she had demons in her, or some shit."

The typing stops. "Z... what happened?"

I take a deep breath, the images flashing through my mind. The woman's eyes, glazed and furious. The way she'd screamed at me, spittle flying from her lips. The way she'd thrown herself at me, clawing and biting like a cornered animal.

"I had to put her down, N," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "I had no choice."

There's a long pause, the only sound the hum of my engine and the distant wail of sirens. Then Mr. Nothing sighs, heavy and weary.

"Okay, Z. Okay. We'll deal with that later. Right now, we need to get you safe. Take a left up ahead, onto 22nd. I'll guide you to a safehouse. C's in my other ear. He already has eyes on the CCTVs"

I do as he says, feeling a small measure of the tension drain from my shoulders. With Mr. Camcorder in my ear, I can't fucking lose. He sees all and knows all, even if he'll never act on any of it, the chickenshit. I want to berate him for chaining himself to his computer. Go outside, smell the air. Maybe leave NYC once or twice.

"So what's the plan, N?" I ask, weaving through the light late-night traffic. "How are you breaking me loose?"

"Working on it," he replies, the rhythmic tapping of keys underscore his words. "He just needs to get a clear visual on the SUV."

As he works, I can't help but think about the mess I've stumbled into. Rogue Wave, these new superpower drugs, the mind-controlled contacts... It's all connected, I know it is. But how? And more importantly, who's behind it?

"The Kingdom needs this, Nothing," I find myself saying, giving voice to the thoughts that have been churning in my head for weeks. "We need to control the supply of Jump and Fly. It's not just about the money - though that's certainly a nice perk. It's about control. Power. Whoever's running this operation, they're playing in our backyard. And they're gunning for us."

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

"I know, Maya," Mr. Nothing says softly. "And we'll figure it out, I promise. But right now, your safety is my top priority. Okay?"

I nod - a quick, sharp gesture. I can be such a baby about him, like he's my goddamn caretaker.

"Thanks, bro," I say. "You know how quick I lose my cool doing this business."

He chuckles over the phone, but it's terse and tight. "You've done enough solo vigilantism for your lifetime. The game is different now."

He ain't wrong. Ever since the Big Raid took out all the top dogs and shook up the game, it's been a mad scramble for power. New players, new rules. The Kingdom's managed to stay on top by being smart, being strategic. But this Rogue Wave situation... it's a whole new level of fuckery.

"Okay, I've got eyes on the SUV," Mr. Nothing says, snapping me out of my thoughts. "Take the next right, then an immediate left. There's an alley about halfway down the block. Drive through it and cut your lights. The SUV's too big to follow without breaking something."

I follow his directions, my heart hammering as I make the tight turns. The alley is narrow, barely wide enough for my Lexus, and I have to fold in my side mirrors to avoid scraping the brick walls. I kill my headlights and creep forward, the darkness swallowing me whole. I half expect to hear that throbbing Hans Zimmer sound effect - you know the one. From that Batman movie, Begins I think.

Ten seconds, 30 seconds, a minute passes. Then I hear the distant roar of the SUV's engine, growing louder as they come up on the alley. I hold my breath as twin beams of light flash across the mouth of the alley, my eyes screwed shut as if that would help.

Please keep going, I think desperately. Please just fucking keep going.

Finally, blessedly, the sound of the engine starts to fade, the lights disappearing as the SUV moves on. I let out a shaky breath, my hands trembling on the steering wheel.

"You're clear, Maya," Mr. Nothing says, a touch of relief in his voice. "They're gone."

I close my eyes for a moment, letting that sink in. They're gone. I'm safe.

And I almost immediately remember that every goddamned car made in the past five years comes with a backup camera, so even if they left left, they saw me with that shit.

They saw me, out loud, cuss. "They definitely got my plates, though. This car's done, N. Am I close to a chop shop we trust?"

"Already on it," he replies, and I can hear the clacking of his keyboard again. "There's a place off Girard, about a mile from you. I'll text you the address. You go there, trade the car for some cash and a loaner. Then head to the safehouse on 12th and Pine. Lay low for a bit."

I nod, even though he can't see me. "You know what I could really use, N?"

"What's that?" he asks, indulgent.

"Nigga, a drink," I laugh, the sound a little too high, a little too sharp.

He laughs then, a true laugh, deep and rich. "Tell you what, you get to the safehouse in one piece, and I'll have somebody drop off a bottle. Sound good?"

"My man," I say. "I'll be there in twenty." I hang up.

The drive to the chop shop is uneventful, giving me too much time to think. I keep replaying that moment with the woman, the way her eyes went dead when I started pushing on Rogue Wave, the way she attacked me like her motherfucking life depended on it. Mindless, violent - a rabid animal.

What kind of power could do that to a person? Some kind of mind control, obviously, but... I've never seen anything like that before. Not even from heavy hitters like Esper or Psi-Kick.

This is something new. Something dangerous. And we know fuckall about it.

I trade in the Lexus for a nondescript Honda and a wad of cash, feeling a twinge of regret as I watch them drive my baby away. That car and I had been through a lot together, but I know how to let go of material things in this game. The temporary ones, at least.

The safehouse on 12th and Pine is one of our newer spots, a cozy little two-bedroom tucked away on a quiet residential street. As I pull up, I see a familiar figure lounging on the stoop, a bottle of Hennessy dangling from their chubby sausage fingers.

Mr. M. What the fuck is he doing here?

I park and approach cautiously, hyperaware of my surroundings. I trust him about as far as I can throw him with my powers turned off. Which is to say, not at all.

"Mrs. Z," he calls out as I get closer, a lazy smirk spreading across his face. "Took your sweet time."

I stop a few feet away, crossing my arms over my chest. "M, if I knew you were my welcoming party, I would've stayed at a motel. What are you doing here? And Hennessy, really?"

He shrugs, taking a swig straight from the bottle before answering. "Got a call from Mr. N, saying you might need some backup. Especially since you were off on your lonesome, playing detective."

I narrow my eyes at him, not liking the implication. "I don't 'play' anything, bitch. This Rogue Wave shit is serious business. Something you'd realize if you weren't so busy treating Philly like your own personal playground."

He chuckles, completely unbothered by my barb. "Oh, and you're so above it all, right? Ms. High and Mighty, here to save the city from the scary new drug lords. Tell me, Mrs. Z... they teach you that savior complex in superhero school, or did that come naturally?"

My hands clench into fists at my sides, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to lay this bitch out right here on the stoop. "Watch yourself, Mudslide. I ain't one of the hoes you run with. I'm just taking care of business."

"Touchy," he smirks, but there's a hardness in his eyes now. "Just like a woman to take a concern personal."

Oh, I'll show you personal, you chauvinistic piece of--

He raises a hand. I pull my shoulders down, and take a deep breath. "You want the booze or not?"

I let the anger wash over me like a cold shower. I don't answer him.

"N wants us both inside. Debrief. Now." I growl.

His smile is as greasy as his slick-back hair. I just know he's got one of those fucking brown paper bags in his pockets - it's weird seeing his face, but less recognizable. "After you, Mrs. Z."

I keep my eyes on him until I'm over the threshold. I could probably explode his head with a look and a single two-second inhale, if he was in the same room as me and the doors were shut. I picture the moment, relishing in its sweetness.

God, that was gruesome. I haven't become that cruel, have I? To even idle the thought?

Shaking the what-ifs away, I hit the "close door" button, the safehouse condo just a short ride up. I'm way too tired to handle stairs right now.

"So, what, you're going to sit here and babysit me?"

His slow spreading grin makes my stomach turn. "Your words, not mine. Maybe I'm here to help with the investigation. Share information..." he leans in closer - his breath smells like he ate a fucking tire, "make a little mayhem."

Yeah, you'd like that, wouldn't you? I think bitterly, staring straight ahead at the brushed steel of the elevator doors, waiting for the ding. We reach the sixth floor and the doors open, revealing the narrow hallway leading to the condo. I step out quickly, not wanting to be in close quarters with this scum sucking bastard for a second longer than I have to be. "Go bother some hoodlums, Mudslide. I'll be taking a nap. Remind me to get A to teach you a lesson in professionalism later. And give me that booze."

As I unlock the door, already planning how I'll rearrange the furniture to create a clear sightline from the living room to both bedrooms - fuck being caught by surprise - I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. A quick glance at the screen shows a single word message from Nothing: SITREP?.