The rain pattered against Sandra’s trench coat as she walked to work the next evening. She thought that it was a good thing she decided to wear a leather jacket instead of her usual cotton coat. While she was late, it was only by a few minutes and wouldn’t be anything too drastic. Entering the elevator, however, she saw that one person was beginning to cause quite a commotion as he bolted in.

The person was Jonas Kenna, the boy she met yesterday evening. He spouted apologies to any person he may have tapped, but did not stop in his rapid dash to the elevator. Eventually, Sandra figured out why.

“Wait!” he shouted, as the elevator doors began to close. “I’ve got something I’ve gotta help out on over the top floor pronto, you can’t let me wait!”

She was not a merciless entity, and it seemed as though Jonas wanted to keep his job, whatever it was, so she pressed the button to keep the door open, the boy sprinting in and panting as he caught his breath. As he stood still, Sandra noticed something odd. Jonas’ wavy, brown locks had an ashy sort of scent to them, and he seemed to be suffering from some kind of fatigue, leaning against the wall and panting even after a good minute of the elevator going up.

“Tired?” asked Sandra.

Jonas lazily reared his head, replying “I woke up at… 6AM, and I have to kickstart my day with a shitty cup of coffee and a complimentary biscuit. What do you think?”

“Well, at least you managed to make your way here. How’d you get over here?”

“I had to walk here.” Jonas sighed. “From my motel to that coffee franchise, to here. Let me tell you, it sucked. Sucked having to walk another block to get to this friggin’ place.”

“Hey,” Sandra said, patting Jonas on the shoulder, “at least the workout helped you get a little bit of exercise in, right?”

An incredulous look on his face, Jonas tiredly stared at Sandra before the ding of the elevator caught both of their attentions.

“Looks like I get off here.” said both of them, in sync, as the doors opened, walking forward and into the hallway.

“Jinxed.” said Sandra, smiling. “Why do you need to be up here again anyways?”

Passing the office where Alfie Moldoff’s body had been found, it seemed as though it was already thoroughly emptied out. Good thing Irina had been snapping photos of the scene.

“Well, I do part-time for the car repair shop that helps provide your firm with vans for their news reporters.” said Jonas. “Since I already knew Alfie from school, Mr. Moldoff began asking for me to pop by as the agent after the first few weeks of me working for them.”

“Funny. I’m actually headed to his office myself. I guess I won’t have to tell him about you sending your regards, right?”

“Guess not.”

Arriving at the office of Mr. Moldoff, Sandra walked in with bravado, and - oddly enough - the office’s owner was sitting in his chair. As he saw them enter, Sandra noted his fingers quickly gliding to the left hand side of the keyboard and tapping two keys before resuming his typing.

“Evening, Ms. Mosquera. Ever-punctual, as usual.”

“Sorry, sir!” apologised Sandra. “I, uh, had to-”

“No, no,” said Mr. Moldoff, “it’s alright. In fact, I’ve been feeling… generous, as of late. It’s exam season for you two kids, right?”

“Th- That’s right…”

“You should be at home revising for them, then.” said the man. “Don’t worry, I’ll still pay you if you report to my office every evening before closing time, or to send an email if anything is stopping you. Now scram. Me and Kenna have some… business to discuss.”

Sandra opened her mouth to respond, maybe to verify his choice, but Mr. Moldoff interrupted, saying “Private business.”

“Alright, sir…” said Sandra, walking back out of the office.

Instead of leaving, however, she made her way to the bathroom, verifying if it was empty, and then locked herself in one of the stalls, sitting down on a toilet as she dialled Irina from her heads-up display.

“S- Sandra? What do you need?” asked Irina, typing on her computer. “I’m in the middle of working on a big commission, make it quick…”

“Tracker 22,” said Sandra, “I’m going to need an audio feed from it.”

Irina tabbed out of whatever window she was using and then navigated through some menus with her mouse. Once she finished, she said nothing.

After a few seconds of silence, Sandra asked “Was that tracker…”

“Why are you here?” said Mr. Moldoff, his voice cold, tone cold, and with no inflection whatsoever.

Sandra would have thought that someone had hacked into their line if Irina hadn’t said “Yeah… T- They were just… quiet.”

On that other end, Jonas responded “I’m here for my pay. For that fixing I did for you.”

“But I’ve already paid your employers.”

“And my employers haven’t paid me squat!” shouted Jonas. “Look. I’m not a violent guy, I absolutely detest violence. But I need me a good fix of cash, or we’re gonna go places you and I are gonna hate.”

Moldoff paused. “I- I’ll see what I can do, Mr. Kenna.”

“Clever boy. I want it in under a month, but what I really care about is if I’m gonna get it, you hear me? I want at least a couple Benjamins for this.”

“I… I ‘hear you’, young man.”

“Good.” said Jonas, standing up, “I’ll be back if you fail me.”

Then, he left the room, entering the elevator. It was then that Irina muted the live recording and then said “$2000? For fixing up cars? That doesn’t sound plausible…”

“You still have Mr. Moldoff’s will, right?” asked Sandra. “Try to find his bank account from that, and tell me about any outgoing transactions that may be… odd.”

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“C- Can do!” said Irina, somewhat chipper. “I’ll have to do it after I finish this commission, though… G- Good night, babe! Stay safe out there, I love you!”

“Love you too, mi vida. I’ll be home soon?” Sandra said.

“Alright!” said Irina. “S- So… are you going out on patrol tonight?”

“I won’t be going out immediately. I’ll need my utility belt when I do go, though.” said Sandra, closing the call. Cracking her knuckles, she then made her way back out of the building, using her heads-up display to then turn on the tracker she’d planted on Jonas, giving her a GPS and a map guiding her to the boy. But this wasn’t important. The only things that she would need for the potential mission were her suit and gear. Jonas may have seemed harmless, but he couldn’t be trusted with the negotiations that Sandra and Irina overheard.

Calling a cab, one pulled over. Her driver was Mina again. Pushing herself into the seats, Sandra saw that the seats were clean and the legroom wasn’t filled with cigarette butts anymore. Cleaner than what she knew of the woman, based on her cab.

“I see you’ve cleaned up your car.” commented Sandra.

“That’s right.” said Mina, pulling into the road. “I’ve met some friendly customers who’ve started to tip me enough to finally buy this thing a deep-clean! You could learn a thing or two about that, kid.”

“You’re asking a sixteen year old living on a part-time secretary’s wages to start tipping you?” asked Mira, incredulous. “If only I could. I don’t have enough money to tip myself!”

“The thought would’ve been nice,” grumbled Mina, cursing out some ‘knobhead’ who cut her off, “but whatever happens, happens.”

“Never really got that. ‘Whatever happens, happens.’”

“Come again?”

“What you said.” said Sandra. “Even if something bad happens, we’re all human, right? Sure, your day might be soured by the occasional bad apple, but whatever’s ticking you off isn’t gonna keep at it forever. You shouldn’t see it as the world punching down on you, something that you can’t control.”

Mina pulled into the spot that she last stopped at the first time that she dropped Sandra off, killing the engine of the car. “But that’s the point. One more day, one more tragedy for the road. Why not ignore it all? It’s out of my hands if kids abroad starve, if families die. I’ve been across the world, and I see kids just as hopeless as the ones over here.”

“But there is something you can do about the tragedies closer to us.” refuted Sandra. “Go volunteer at a soup kitchen, at a nursing home or orphanage, or go and learn from your dad, give some street kids a free ride. Sure, people in this country, traffick, kill, and more, but it doesn’t mean you’re absolutely powerless to remedy the consequences.”

The cab driver considered this, before responding “Alright. Yeah. I think I will.”

Sandra left the taxi and began to amble into her and Irina’s hideout. The girl wasn’t on the couch - most likely in her room. Once inside, she entered the kitchenette and turned on the gas.

Irina, she was not a connoisseur of food, and neither was Sandra. However, Sandra knew that every person would enjoy a good meal. Living on the wages of a freelancer and a part-timer was not exactly the best for this, making Irina’s diet consist primarily of cup noodles and an egg, if they had them. For the work she had done, though? She felt like Irina would deserve something a little extra.

Filling a pot with water and bringing it to a boil, Sandra took out a packet of noodles, but didn’t put it in immediately. Instead, her first option was some strips of cured beef in the fridge. The beef began to release its juices, and Sandra used a fork to nudge them to the side, placing the brick of dried ramen in the space. After a few minutes of this, she placed the seasoning packet into the water and mixed it. Once the boiling water had become broth, Sandra used her fork to extract the noodles from the pot. After that was the beef, which - due to their thin size - had browned rather quickly and cooked well. Once all of it had been put into the bowl, Sandra poured in a fraction of the chicken soup into the bowl, enough to fill it up, before pouring the rest of the soup into another bowl, setting it down in the fridge.

Bowl in hand, Sandra walked slowly out of the kitchenette and back into the small lobby of the hideout, so as to not accidentally jerk her hand and cause the soup to spill out, and towards Irina’s room. Entering it, the room was dark, the only illumination being a wall of old CRT monitors. Sandra saw Irina typing away at her desk, a small keyboard sat on it. It was neat. With enough space available on the desk, Sandra set the bowl down on this unused space.

“Thank you.” said Irina, still at work, typing.

Sandra replied “No problem. Did you find anything on his account, babe?”

“Two outgoing payments of $4000 to one ‘A. Bautista’ and one to your new friend, J. Kenna…” replied Irina. “I need a fork, by the way.”

“A. Bautista.” noted Sandra. “Any results in criminal databases?”

“Only a few news clippings about the name being seen sprayed on walls by some gangs or shared between criminal circles.”

“What happened to those gangs?”

Irina typed something up and scanned one of the screens. “Nothing.” she said, leaning back. “Nothing happened to them after they were arrested… I’m not seeing anything about sentences, or where a large number of them were sent…”

“Can we contact any of these prisoners?”

On another one of Irina’s screens, Sandra saw a plain terminal screen with white text turn on, and Irina’s fingers hastily typed something into her keyboard. Pressing enter, another window showed a positive response, a spreadsheet flickering on. Irina studied the screen for a few seconds before responding with “Based on what I’m reading here, there’s only one person who hasn’t disappeared or… killed.”

“So who’d that be?” asked Sandra, leaning in.

“Cherlyn Fox.” said Irina, her fingers finally resting. Eyes wide, she was clearly grave about this.

“The Queen of Swords…” muttered Sandra.

Cherlyn Fox. The Queen of Swords. She may have been small for 26 years old. She may have been quite scrawny, possibly able to be mistaken as a small child if it wasn’t for the fact that she was a homicidal criminal. She may have been an extremely unstable person, with her paraphilia of blood. What was certain, however, was that she wasn’t an idiot - she didn’t go through private high school while hiding a private, murderous persona as an assassin under a nationwide crime operation, graduating from school with flying colours for nothing - and she certainly was not a weak little woman, holding her own against the largest of the prison guards. Some even said that - as long as a single drop of blood had been dropped - she would be able to perform superhuman actions like dodging bullets. Those were nothing more than rumours, but there may have been some truth to it.

However, there was a case that she’d need to solve. Collecting her thoughts, resolving herself, the sleuth asked “Where’s she being held?”

“Cherlyn’s been locked up in the offshore Aberdeen Penitentiary island solitary confinement for two months as of late.” said Irina. “She’s been an absolute star of a prisoner, if you ignore the fact that she’s killed three people in her previous prison.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t bail her out. She seems much too harmful to just let out to wander.”

Sharing a kiss with Irina, Sandra then began to walk towards the door. “I’ll be getting into my suit in my room, mkay? Love you`.”

Irina paused. “I- I love you too, babe!”

Leaving the bedroom, Sandra entered her room and shut the door. For the most part, her bedroom was completely empty. Nothing to personalise it. Nothing to make it stick out against any other. Only a cabinet filled with her normal clothing (and the trench coat she wore over her suit), a plain, white bed in a metal frame, a mirror, and a small chest built into the floorboards that she - as Justice - used to store her suit and belt were all that she needed to live. The only proof that Sandra’s room wasn’t some kind of liminal living space like a motel room or apartment was that - on her nightstand - was a single photo of her and Irina at a festival.

Their first taste of freedom together.

Sandra’s face in that picture may have been stone cold, like a soldier on night watch scanning the pitch-black horizon for threats. But the horizon at that carnival was of light and pure fun. She had no reason to be on guard that night, but was nonetheless. She smiled about that thought. To think that she was that cold 14 year old girl fresh out of her brutal training. Moving to the hidden compartment, Sandra opened it, taking Justice’s suit, mask, belt and fedora out of it, setting it out across her bed.

The catsuit that Justice wore under her trench coat was particularly tight, and black, with white accents tracing her thighs, going all the way up to her hands and shoulders. A large zip, beginning at the suit’s navel and going up to just at the middle of her neck - was left unzipped, naturally so that Sandra could slide into the outfit if needed. Of course, there were no pockets in it due to the nature of skin-tight suits, but at least it was easier to move around with, in her opinion - quite literally, it was like a second skin to Sandra. The purpose of pockets would be served by her utility belt anyways, and - usually - most of what she needed would either be built into her gloves and boots, or wrist-mounted and relatively portable.

Once she pulled herself into her catsuit, Sandra stood up and ogled herself in the mirror for a few seconds before heading to the wardrobe. Opening the door and taking her trench coat out, Sandra pulled it over her shoulders, flaring it and twirling in the mirror, simply enjoying how it felt on her. It was something intimate. Something nice. But she had work to do.

Sandra lifted her mask onto her face. She was Justice again. Slithering her hands and feet into her Spider gloves and boots as she walked into the lobby of the hideout, Justice took the Spinneret device out of a drawer. It was a small device - a singular cuff that locked around the wrist, a single bump at the top to help with aiming, another which was where the actual rope of the Spinneret was shot out of.

Aiming up, Justice shot the rope up, and swung off into the night. It would be a long way to Aberdeen Penitentiary.