The clock is ticking, and I'm deep in enemy territory with nothing but words as weapons. But for once, I'm not here to fight - I'm here to form the most unlikely alliance in Philadelphia.

  "We both know Patriot's got a hard-on for tradition," I say, keeping my voice even. "Law and order. American values. All that. But I'm telling you, someone's using that against him."

  Ugh. I'm so used to just punching my problems. Talking like this, trying to actually consider what it is I have to say because I'm talking to someone unusually unreceptive, is... difficult to say the least.

  Bulldozer leans back, crossing his arms over his massive chest. The position makes him look even larger, more immovable. His face settles into a mask of contempt, but I notice it's slightly exaggerated, performed for the benefit of the onlookers.

  "And I'm supposed to believe that a teenage girl who's been causing nothing but trouble figured this out when nobody else has?" His voice carries just enough to reach the nearest tables. "The same girl who can't keep her mouth shut at school assemblies?"

  A few chuckles ripple through the bar. Ah. So they do remember that little incident with Richardson at my school. Great.

  "When you're the one getting hunted," I say, "you pay attention to who's holding the gun."

  "Nobody's hunting you, kid. You're just facing consequences for the first time in your privileged little life."

  The words sting, but I don't take the bait. I need to focus on why I'm here.

  "The registration bill is bad news for everyone with powers," I say. "Even the good guys. Even the ones with badges. You think Argus Corps is going to make exceptions for people they like?"

  A man at a nearby table snorts. "Maybe they should register troublemakers like you."

  Bulldozer raises a hand slightly - barely a gesture, but the man falls silent immediately. Interesting power dynamic. These aren't just drinking buddies; they're followers.

  "The bill's got nothing to do with me," Bulldozer says, but there's something careful in his tone now. "That's state business, not city business. We take care of South Philly, and Harrisburg stays out of our shit."

  "For now," I say. "But what happens when someone decides South Philly needs a different kind of supervision? Someone who doesn't know the neighborhood like you do?"

  His eyes narrow fractionally. I get the impression that I poked a weak spot. Territory. The bartender is wiping the same spot on the bar for the third time, not even pretending he isn't listening.

  "I told you that you've got five minutes," Bulldozer says. "You're wasting them."

  "I've got proof that Richardson is working with people she shouldn't be," I say, dancing around directly calling her a member of the Kingdom. Just their crony, I imply. "People who don't have the best interests of Philadelphia in mind."

  "And?"

  "And Patriot trusts her. Argus Corps trusts her."

  "So? Patriot's a big boy. He can make his own decisions."

  I lean forward slightly. "Can he? When's the last time you talked to him? Really talked, not just got orders?"

  Something flickers across Bulldozer's face. Not anger. He stands abruptly. "Tony, we're using the back room."

  The bartender nods, reaching under the counter and tossing Bulldozer a key, which he catches without looking.

  "Bring your Coke," Bulldozer tells me, already moving toward a door near the back of the bar.

  I pick up the untouched glass and follow him, feeling the weight of every stare on my back. The message to the room is clear: whatever happens next isn't for public consumption.

  He leads me down a short hallway past the bathrooms to a door marked "PRIVATE." It opens into what looks like a small office or storeroom, converted into an informal meeting space. A battered table, a few mismatched chairs, a small refrigerator humming in the corner. No windows. One door. My lizard brain immediately registers the lack of escape routes.

  Bulldozer flips on the overhead light, a bare bulb that casts harsh shadows, and shuts the door behind us. The sounds from the bar become muffled, distant. "Alright," he says, his voice different now - harder, more direct. The performance for his audience is over. "Cut the cryptic shit. What exactly are you claiming?"

  He remains standing, leaning against the wall beside the door, effectively blocking the only exit. I take a seat, more to create space between us than anything else.

  "The Kingdom is manipulating Argus Corps," I say bluntly. "Through Richardson. Who is part of the Kingdom."

  His expression doesn't change, but I notice the slight tightening of his jaw.

  "That's a serious accusation," he says finally. "The kind that needs serious evidence."

  I set my Coke on the table, still untouched. "You know what the Kingdom does to heroes who get in their way."

  "I know what they're capable of," he acknowledges. There's something in his tone; not fear, exactly, but respect for a genuine threat. "There hasn't been a superhero assassination in Philadelphia since..."

  I can tell he wants to say Liberty Belle. But that's not quite what the trial showed, is it?

  "What, Franklin? They haven't needed to. Why fight when you can manipulate?"

  Bulldozer shifts his weight, his massive shoulders rolling slightly.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  "What makes you think Richardson is connected?"

  I hesitate, measuring how much to reveal.

  "Legal patterns," I say carefully. "Communications between certain legal entities. The lawyer on Argus Corps' paperwork is the same lawyer that handled Aaron McKinley - the Trenton Arsonist - his pro bono defense. Look it up. That stuff's public information."

  His eyes narrow slightly. "You expect me to believe a high school student uncovered a conspiracy that professional investigators missed?"

  "Professional investigators weren't looking," I counter. "And they don't have the same resources I do."

  "Like regeneration?" he asks sarcastically.

  "Like motivation," I correct. "When someone tries to kill you, you pay attention."

  That lands. His eyes sharpen with interest despite himself.

  "The Kingdom tried to kill you?" There's skepticism in his voice, but also curiosity.

  "They sent a Tyrannosaurus Rex to my house." I let that sink in for a moment. "You remember Mr. T-Rex from the zoo raid, right?"

  He doesn't nod or acknowledge my statement. Just stares, expression unreadable.

  "They caught me investigating one of their fronts," I continue. "So they sent him and Richardson to destroy my family's home. They weren't subtle about it."

  "That's convenient," he says, voice flat. "Kingdom attacks you personally, so now everything is connected to them."

  "My parents had to rebuild half our house," I counter. "You can verify it. Talk to them. Hell, check the insurance claim."

  Something in my tone must register as genuine, because his eyes narrow slightly. Evaluating, not dismissing. He studies me for a long moment, assessing. Then he moves away from the door. Not far, but enough to signal a slight shift in the power dynamic. He pulls out a chair, turns it backward, and straddles it, his massive forearms resting on the backrest.

  "Let's say I believe you have evidence," he says. "Why come to me? Why not go to the police? The press? Patriot himself?"

  "The police?" I laugh without humor. "Half of them are in Richardson's pocket. The press? They'd need sources, names, and that puts targets on people I care about. As for Patriot..." I meet his gaze directly. "Would you believe me if you were him?"

  Bulldozer's mouth tightens. "No," he admits. "I wouldn't."

  "But you're not him," I press. "You've known him for years. He'll listen to you."

  "You want me to be your messenger boy?" His tone is dangerous, offended.

  "I want you to verify what I'm saying yourself," I correct quickly. "Check it out. Look into it. Then decide what to do."

  He considers this, fingers drumming once on the chair back - the first genuinely unconscious gesture I've seen from him.

  "And what exactly do you think is happening? What's the endgame here?"

  I choose my words carefully. "The Kingdom wants power. They always have. But they've learned from past mistakes. Why fight the system when you can become the system?"

  His eyes narrow. "The registration bill."

  I nod. "Think about it. Once you know who all the powered individuals are, where they live, what they can do..." I trail off, a chill running through me. Lists of people. Databases. Hopefully he gets why that, historically, has been a problem?

  Bulldozer shakes his head. "You're overthinking it. If what you're saying is true - and that's a big if - it's simpler than that."

  "What do you mean?"

  "The Kingdom doesn't need a list to check off names. They need heroes out of their way." His voice is matter-of-fact. "Each new restriction makes it harder to operate legally. Registration. Licensing. Insurance requirements. Eventually, being a hero becomes effectively illegal. The means is the end."

  I scrunch my face up. That does sound simpler than lists.

  "Make being a superhero so legally complicated that only government agents can do it. Then the Kingdom operates with impunity." He crosses his arms. "No complicated conspiracy needed. Just steady ratchet escalation."

  "Yes," I say. "That's exactly what I think is happening."

  Bulldozer eyes me, his expression somewhere between skepticism and calculation. "I've seen kids like you before. Smart. Idealistic. Convinced they've uncovered the conspiracy nobody else can see."

  "Because I have," I insist.

  "Maybe. Or maybe you're connecting dots that aren't really connected." He leans forward. "Richardson's a politician. Politicians make deals. They compromise. They trade favors. Doesn't mean she's Kingdom."

  "She is," I say firmly. "I've tracked the connections. She was at my house when it got attacked. She called herself 'Mrs. Z' back then, before she went into politics. She was with Mr. T-Rex. She made it rain - literally. A freak storm appeared out of nowhere. That's her power. Ask Bulwark for the weather report if you want."

  Bulldozer's expression shifts slightly - genuine surprise. "You're saying Richardson and Mr. T-Rex attacked your house? Personally?"

  "Yes. She dropped him off, came with the rain, and left." I lean forward. "This was before her political career took off. Before she founded Argus Corps."

  He studies me more intently now. "That's... different from what I thought you were claiming."

  "I know how it sounds," I say. "I wouldn't believe it either if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. But she was there. In leather pants and an orange blouse. She helped Mr. T-Rex try to kill me and Jordan."

  "And you're certain it was her? The same Richardson who's now advising Patriot?"

  "Positive." I meet his gaze steadily. "And the lawyer connection is real too. It's all connected."

  Bulldozer rubs his jaw, genuinely processing this new information. "If what you're saying is true - and that's still a big if - why would she risk exposing herself like that? Personal involvement in an attack? That's amateur hour for someone now operating at her level."

  "This was years ago. Before she had political ambitions. She was Stormrise first, then retired, then somewhere along the line joined the Kingdom, then went into politics. I couldn't tell you why she didn't try to hide herself more. Maybe she thought nobody would believe some random civilians. How many villains you know fucked up because they did something hubristic?"

  "Nice five dollar word, kid," he taunts, shaking his head. "It's hard to believe someone could move through those worlds so easily."

  "That's exactly what makes her dangerous," I counter. "She understands both sides. The hero world and the villain world."

  He studies me for a long moment. "Let's say I accept this. Why come to people with it now? Why didn't you make a stink then?"

  "I've been trying!" I grunt through clenched teeth.

  Bulldozer stands, pacing the small room. "Even if everything you're saying is true, Patriot trusts her. Completely."

  "That's why I need your help," I say, jaw hurting a little. "He won't listen to me. But he might listen to you."

  He turns back toward me, skepticism written across his face. "What makes you think that? Patriot and I aren't exactly on the best terms these days."

  "Because you understand how power really works," I say, picking up on his earlier point. "Not through elaborate conspiracies, but through communities. Through street-level control. This bill threatens that," I continue. "It threatens what you've built here in South Philly."

  "I know it does." There's no hesitation in his voice. "State oversight means people who've never set foot in South Philly making decisions about how I protect it."

  "So you have talked to Patriot about this."

  "Of course I have," he says, impatience coloring his tone. "We all have. Nobody likes the feds coming in and taking over. But Patriot's convinced this is the right move. That it's necessary for public safety."

  "Because Richardson convinced him," I press.

  "Maybe," he acknowledges. "Or maybe he actually believes in it."

  I hadn't considered that possibility - that Patriot might genuinely support the bill, not just because of manipulation. It's an uncomfortable thought.

  "What if both things are true?" I suggest. "What if he believes in it because Richardson cultivated that belief? What if she found his weakness - his obsession with order and control - and exploited it? We can prove that. Help me show him what Richardson really is. You still have influence," I insist. "The Pals respect you."

  "The Pals aren't what they used to be," he says, his voice heavy with something I can't quite identify. "Things change."

  "So help me change them back," I press.

  He fixes me with a hard stare. "Why? What's your stake in this, really? This isn't about saving the world. This is personal for you."

  "Does it matter?" I counter. "If I'm right about Richardson, does my motivation matter?"

  "It matters to me," he says bluntly. "Because I need to know if you're fighting for my community or just using us."