[The Kill List]—❈—11:: The Wolf

Monday, 11 April, 2011

Night.

Sophia Hess (because Shadow Stalker is too chuuni a name for me to take seriously, even in print) was a hunter; a predator. She was a shadow in the night. The terror of the wicked.

She was vengeance.

Pfft!

On a serious note though, Sophia Hess thought she was hot shit (even though the only thing her power was really good at was running from a fight), and she’d reaffirmed that belief to herself loudly, repeatedly, and for so long that she had actually succeeded in drowning out the voice of the scared little girl deep inside her crying for help.

Now, as you can imagine, Sophia was not, in fact, hot shit. True, she was a passably dangerous parahuman, but besides that, she was simply a classic example of the abused becoming an abuser. Someone who’d gone from being the child curled up in fear of the monster hiding in her closet, to being the monster hiding in the closet.

To use even fancier wordplay, Sophia was the hero living long enough to see herself become the villain.

And she had been a hero, early on in the beginning. I mean, sure, eighty percent of the reason Sophia had put on the mask in the first place was to find acceptable targets to work out her frustrations on—find men like the one who’d broken her and break them in return.

But then she’d gone out, and Sophia had quickly learnt that she didn’t like victims much.

They reminded her too much of herself. And Sophia Hess, regardless of how it may look on the outside, did not like herself all that much.

So, she’d made herself stop giving a shit about them, so much so that, at some point, she just stopped seeing them as people.

They became sheep in her mind, cows, dumb, mindless animals whose only purpose was to serve as food and entertainment for the wolves of the world.

She was nothing like them, she will never be anything like them, and they were not worth her time.

Suffice to say, Sophia Hess was delusional.

She was right in the middle of feeding that delusion tonight, and if she’d known what awaited her, Sophia would have run back home, burnt her costumes, and not leave her room for the next several months.

She didn’t though, so instead of doing that, she was instead dishing out some much needed justice on an Empire mook she’d come across during her patrol.

If this was an official Ward patrol, she sure as shit wouldn’t have been able to do this, which was exactly why she went on these unofficial patrols.

If The PRT wanted to sit with their thumbs up their asses while fucking Nazis ran free, then they could do it. She would be out here doing real hero work.

Hell, even that fucking bimbo, Glory Bitch, was doing more to stop the fucking Nazis than the actual government.

Pathetic.

The Empire mook she was fucking up threw one last wild haymaker at her with what was left of his strength. Sophia ghosted through it.

He collapsed to the ground, spent, and Sophia moved in, laying a few solid kicks into his ribs for good measure.

She heard a snap.

Good. She smiled, pleased.

“What the fuck?” the mook wheezed. “You broke my fucking ribs, you crazy ass bitch.”

Sophia kicked him again.

The mook groaned and curled up, hoping to protect his hurt side.

Sophia scoffed. Like that would stop her.

“The fuck do you want?” he groaned. “I wasn’t even doing shit.”

He was right, he hadn’t been doing shit.

Sophia had literally just spotted someone in Empire colours going about his night and she’d come down on him like a coked-up pigeon or some shit.

She kicked him again, in the head this time, smacking his skull against the ground and rattling his brain.

If he didn’t before, Mr. Mook definitely had a concussion now.

Sophia scoffed. “Like I need a reason to go fuck up a Nazi piece of shit,” she said.

“I’m not the only Nazi in town, you psycho.”

“No, but you had the bad luck to run into me.”

She kicked his head into the ground again, once, twice, and the Nazi scum finally slipped into unconsciousness.

Sophia scoffed for a second time, disgust rising within her at the sight of the prone weakling.

“Fucking pretend wolf,” she muttered.

“If he’s a pretend wolf,” a calm male voice asked from behind her, “then what does that make you? A pretend honey badger?”

Sophia turned.

She recognized him immediately; Armsmaster had shown her (and the Ward idiots) his picture just that morning after all.

The tinker had told them that he might be dangerous and was definitely powerful, and that if they ever came across him, they should proceed with caution and try to sell him on joining The Wards.

Sophia did neither.

See, like most bullies, Sophia was a small, scared, pitiful child trying to mask her traumas and insecurities with an image of strength and confidence. And, like most bullies, Sophia did not take lightly to any attempts to question or tarnish that image.

Having someone show up who didn’t immediately recognize her for the predator, the top dog, she portrayed herself to be was simply unacceptable.

So, instead of proceeding with caution like Armsmaster had advised, Sophia proceeded to show Black Leg that taking on a few Empire capes did not, in fact, make him hot shit.

She threw herself forward and ghosted, intending to move through him, judo flip him from behind, and make him eat his words.

Black Leg slapped her solid.

The slap didn’t hurt, hell, she barely even felt it through her hockey mask, but the shock and force of it did send her on her ass.

Sophia stared with wide eyes, a chill running down her spine as she remembered something that Armsmaster had also said; Black Leg had a trump power that cancelled out breaker states.

A cold weight settled in Sophia’s stomach.

She knew she wasn’t untouchable in her shadow state (electricity affected her after all), but she’d never quite internalized that she could come across someone who could just… ignore it.

“As I was saying before you so rudely interrupted,” Black Leg said, “if he’s a pretend wolf, then what are you? Cause you have a power that’s perfect for assassination, and yet, despite how much you claim to hate The Empire, all you ever do is go after loser nobodies who don’t really matter.”

His dark, intense gaze settled up on her, and Sophia froze, the eyes of a true predator, nay, a conqueror, too heavy to even let her breathe.

“So, again, I ask; what kind of pretend predator are you?”

Sophia’s lips trembled. “F-fuck you,” she whispered, the words barely coming out. “I-I’m no fake, I’m—”

“Yes, you are, Sophia,” Black Leg cut in, so naturally that the fact that he knew her identity simply flowed past as a matter of course.

Of course he knew her identity, he knew her; those eyes of his could see right into her very soul.

“You are a fake. It’s why you only go after the losers of society. Losers like Taylor. Because at the end of the day, you’re a loser yourself, and the only way you can feel good about who you are is by stepping on the bigger losers around you.

“You’re not brave. You’re not strong. You’re still just the same little girl you were who always hid.”

“No, no, you’re wrong,” Sophia said, but even as she said it, she knew, he wasn’t. And the hot tears dripping down her face were proof of it.

Strong people don’t cry.

Strong people don’t hide.

Strong people don’t wait and plan.

That was what she always told herself  she was doing. Waiting. Planning. And that, one day, when she was ready, she would go after The Empire properly and take them all down.

But that was just a lie she fed herself. Just like the lie she fed herself that she was a predator.

She was no predator.

Here was a real predator, a wolf, and all it took was a look for him to see her as the phony she was.

Black Leg crouched next to her, moving with the fluid grace of a savage hunter.

“You don’t deserve your power, Sophia,” he said. “That’s why I’m going to take it.”

Sophia felt the words wrap around her heart like barbed wire.

“What?” she asked, then; “No. You can’t.”

She didn’t know if she was saying that he couldn’t take it, or that he shouldn’t.

His hand reached for her face.

Despite everything, Sophia tried to run, tried to ghost (God, she really was weak and pathetic), but of course, it changed nothing.

Black Leg simply stared at her, and it was like her power, always so responsive, always so eager, recognized the presence of a true predator, and fell apart at his gaze.

He took hold of her mask, and he pulled it off, then he placed his hand on her cheek.

“Please,” the lamb begged, shaking and crying. “Please.”

“No,” the wolf said.

Pain came, and then the world went black.

—❈—

Two hours later, on a hospital bed and being questioned by Piggot, all Sophia could say was; “The Wolf took it. I didn’t deserve it, so he took it.”