Meg got the footage. It took Chuck a few hours to edit, but when he was finished, he couldn’t stop his hands from shaking.

The video started with a dark screen. Then, in white letters, text floated across it. The text read, On January 14th, 2023, Jaybird stopped three men involved in human trafficking.

The letters faded away, and now the screen showed a construction site. It was nighttime, and the site was dark save for the light that came from the headlights of two cars. They were parked at diagonals, their headlights illuminating a clearing between construction equipment and concrete pipes.

In the middle of this clearing stood a girl in torn blue jeans and a dirty white shirt. She wasn't wearing shoes. Unlike the video from the gas station, the video here was clear, so it was easy to tell the woman wasn't older than twenty. Her face was bruised and her brown hair was unkempt. She stared at her bare feet, sobbing quietly.

The video was taken from a distance of perhaps sixty yards. Then, there was another difference from the video taken at the gas station: this one had sound. A man stepped into the clearing of light and examined the woman, running a finger along her tear-stained cheek. Even from the distance, Chuck could hear him muttering softly. The man wore blue jeans and a black T-shirt.

Finally, the man stepped back. "She'll do," he said, his Brooklyn accent obvious even in those two words. He reached into his pocket. Two more men entered the clearing. From his pocket, the man in the black shirt removed a wad of bills. He handed them to one of the two newcomers. "The Chef will be happy. Same time next week?"

Wordlessly, one of the two newcomers took the wad of cash from the man with the Brooklyn accent and started to count the bills. "What?" the man with the accent said. "You don't trust the Chef to be good for his money?" He snorted. "Whatever. Count your bills."

The front of Scorpion appeared in the screen's foreground as Meg took aim. Even though she was behind the camera, Chuck could almost see her: eyes narrowed, tongue pinched between her teeth. He could practically feel her seething anger. And why not? These were bad men. They deserved everything Meg was about to give them.

Meg squeezed the trigger. There was a pneumatic hiss, and a purple and green-fletched bolt sprouted from the thigh of the man with the accent.

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For a moment, nothing happened. The man slowly looked down at his thigh, staring at the bolt in disbelief. The pain hadn't registered. Then, as if someone had flipped a switch, he started screaming. He brought his hands to the bolt's shaft, but that only made his scream rise an octave, and then he released the bolt and stumbled backward.

The two men who had accepted the money looked up, clearly aware that something was wrong but not registering what, exactly. Then the man with the wad of bills saw the shaft. He reached around his back as if trying to find a gun tucked into his waistband, but another bolt sprouted from his thigh. He brought his arms forward, throwing the wad of cash into the air, and his legs went out from under him. Chuck couldn't have planned it better. As the two men continued screaming, the money drifted around them like falling snow.

As the third man lifted his arms in a gesture of surrender, he stared wildly around the clearing. "Please!" he said. "Enough! You win!"

"Damn right," Chuck heard Meg growl. He could've taken that out, but he liked the energy. Instead, he put a filter over the words so no one would recognize the voice as Meg's.

"What do you want?" the third man said. In response, a third bolt took him in the shoulder.

With all three men incapacitated by bolts, Meg started charging at the cars. She quickly closed the distance between her and the clearing, but in the video, the action happened slowly, turned down fifty percent by Chuck's artistic touch to increase the suspense. The man with the Brooklyn accent, who'd recovered somewhat, shakily pulled a pistol from his waistband. Meg shot him again. His screams renewed by the bolt in his shoulder, he dropped the gun and went to his knees.

Meg ran the final few yards. When she reached the man with the Brooklyn accent, she kicked the gun under one of the cars. Then she turned toward the man and kicked him in the chin. His screams stopped as he was knocked unconscious.

The other man with a bolt through his thigh knelt nearby, holding the shaft with his opposite hand and gasping. Dark red blood seeped from the wound, staining his pants. He looked up at Meg with pleading, fearful eyes; again, she kicked him viciously in the chin, knocking him unconscious and sending him sprawling onto his back. She turned her attention to the third man.

“Stop,” he said, holding up a hand. “I don't know who you are, but the money is yours. Two thousand, all of it. Just take it and go.”

Meg punched the man in the face. The crack of his nose breaking was icing on the cake.

"This will not continue to happen in my town," Meg said. Again, Chuck disguised her voice. "I will end this. Evil has nowhere to hide."

As she advanced on the cowering man, the screen faded to black and the white lettering reappeared.

What have you done to protect the innocent today? the letters said. #featheredjustice.