Alfred POV

  I have decided that playing a stoic badass is overrated. The salt?brine air was suffocating my lungs and the metallic tang of my own blood made me woozy. Armsmaster’s halberd, humming as he held it at the ready, was also an understandable source of anxiety.

  Velocity stands beside me, hands gloved and annoyingly gentle.

  “Stay still, buddy. You’re leaking.”

  “I prefer the term ‘marinading,’” I croak.

  My voice sounds like it’s been sandblasted. Judging by the burn across my ribs, maybe it has.

  Dauntless landed on my other side, shield projecting a faint shimmer that tickles my skin.

  “We can get you to the med?wagon in under two.”

  “No can do,” I push myself away from Velocity’s grip and the world pirouettes. “I appreciate the hospitality, but I don’t have insurance and your co?pay looks brutal.”

  Armsmaster’s visor tilts a fraction. He doesn’t lower the halberd.

  “Refusing medical assistance after a cape engagement is unwise. You’ve sustained at least three lacerations and a through?and?through.”

  His robotic monotone makes it sound less like a concern and more like a line item on an expense report.

  “Just scratches,” I lie.

  There is, in fact, a bullet lodged somewhere in my oblique, and every breath feels like a kick from a small but dedicated mule. Still better than transforming.

  Velocity snorts, “Sure. And my spandex is dry?clean only.”

  “I believe you owe us a statement,” Armsmaster continues.

  The blue band of his visor pulses softly—his lie?detector subroutine, I remember from the wiki. Terrific.

  I wipe drying blood from my cheek and feel fabric snag on the fresh cut.

  “Fine. Statement. I was staking out that warehouse,” I wobbled a finger toward the corrugated building still belching smoke, “hoping to confirm some ABB activity. Oni Lee showed up, decided I was tonight’s warm?up act, and things escalated. I got my butt handed to me, you guys arrived, Lee bailed. End of play.”

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  Dauntless asked, “Why the stake?out?”

  Think, Alfred, think. Lie detector. Partial truths.

  “Scouting gangs,” I say. “City’s a mess. Figured someone should keep an eye out.”

  Technically correct. The best kind of correct.

  Armsmaster’s helm tilts again, maybe a satisfied beep on the HUD? Hard to tell.

  “Motive accepted as non?malicious, but inadequate. You initiated a parahuman engagement without authorization.”

  “Unauthorized? I didn’t see a permit booth.”

  My grin tastes like copper and Velocity rolls his eyes.

  “He’s got jokes. Cool. Still bleeding, though.”

  “I’m fine.” No, I’m not.

  The dock lists and groans, or maybe that’s just my everything. My hoodie is half?soaked crimson. The cloth mask I bought yesterday is clinging to my chin like damp tissue. Stylish.

  Armsmaster steps closer, halberd now a stern parent.

  “Cape name?”

  “Don’t have one,” I steady myself against a wall. “I’m sort of in the market for something low?key. Maybe ‘Guy in Hoodie.’”

  Dauntless exhales through his nose.

  “Operating without registration is dangerous. For you and for bystanders.”

  “I’m allergic to paperwork. Break out in hives. Real medical condition.”

  Visor?beep again. Armsmaster’s tone stays level.

  “We could bring you in for further questioning.”

  My stomach free?falls and the Spirits rear their collective heads. I could feel Red growling and practically hear Violet muttering humorous obscenities. Not wanting to risk an inadvertent transformation, I shove them down. Hard.

  “Look, I didn’t break any laws tonight. Well, besides vigilantism and possibly trespassing. But your star witness is also the city’s most prolific murderer. I wasn’t looking for trouble. Just scoping out gangs and collecting information.”

  Velocity glances at Armsmaster, then at my rapidly spreading blood pool.

  “At least let paramedics close that.”

  I exhale carefully, “Not happening. I have my own way of dealing with injuries, so there’s no need for you to get involved.”

  Silence. Seagulls caw somewhere overhead, probably wagering on whether I’ll keel over.

  At last, Armsmaster lowers the halberd a hair.

  “Very well. We won’t detain you tonight. But be advised. Continued unregistered activity will result in escalation. Your presence and power set are now flagged for observation.”

  Observation. Lovely. I manage a mock salute.

  “Happy to disappoint your auditors.”

  My knees buckle, but Velocity’s there in a blur, propping me up.

  He deadpans, then shakes his head, “Seriously, get that stitched.”

  He presses a gauze pad into my palm. Little smiley?face print. Of course.

  I hobble down the pier, pulse thudding in my ears, half expecting a Taser net between the shoulder blades. Instead, the heroes recede behind me like a tricolour lighthouse warning ships away from the idiot shore.

  Only when the warehouse lights dip out of sight do I sag against a dumpster and unwrap my mask. Salt wind stings the slice on my cheek. The bullet wound protests any attempt at deep breathing. But I’m alive, unnamed, and technically free.

  One problem solved, approximately nine hundred remain.