Normally, She-Wolf loved her tall, powerful werewolf form. She kept a lot of her groceries and tableware set high up at home, out of reach of her diminutive human form.

This case, to She-Wolf's constant frustration, was a time when She-Wolf would prefer being a human. She sat next to Lady NightRaven, shifting around in the hard plastic seat. People openly stared at the vampire and werewolf, and She-Wolf could hear murmured whispers all throughout the car.

"We should have walked," She-Wolf growled, "Superheroines don't belong on the subway."

"Our car was totaled, it's late, and we have work to do," Lady NightRaven hissed, "Nobody walks away from Gorestrike and lives. Besides, what if we were followed?"

"We are surrounded by people," She-Wolf retorted, "What if we're being followed anyway? If we walked, at least there would be somewhere to run."

"We still have our weapons," Lady NightRaven said, a bit loudly to make sure everyone heard her, "Besides,” Lady NightRaven spoke quieter this time, “I called up the King’s Head P.D. and we have some backup.”

“Are we dropping the job?” She-Wolf asked.

“Huh?” Lady NightRaven asked.

“We agreed that if this was too dangerous, we would pass the work on to someone else,” She-Wolf said, “These people, they’re beyond us. We can’t handle this.”

“Weren’t you complaining about not doing enough superhero work?” Lady NightRaven asked.

“I wouldn’t mind rescuing cats from trees,” She-Wolf said.

“That hardly counts,” Lady NightRaven said, “And cats hate you.”

“I think it’s because I’m a six foot tall werewolf,” She-Wolf commented.

“Either way, this isn’t something we can send in over the phone,” Lady NightRaven said, “Any idea how we’ll make it back home?”

“On foot?” She-Wolf guessed, “We had to drive hours to make it to King’s Head, and I’m not calling a cab or riding a bus. It sends the wrong impression.”

“I’d rather take a bus, I’m worried about getting caught in sunlight,” Lady NightRaven said, “Does your insurance cover your car?”

“For that kind of damage, no,” She-Wolf said, “And I try to keep my work life separate from my personal life. I don’t want to explain why there’s giant fist marks on the car. I’ve got some cash saved up, this shouldn’t be that big of a problem.”

“Hey, that was a company car,” Lady NightRaven said, “And what kind of friend, coworker, and business partner would I be if I didn’t spot you some money?”

“Thanks, that means-” She-Wolf’s phone let out a short ring. She had an email.

“That doesn’t look good,” Lady NightRaven said, watching She-Wolf’s face contort into a snarl, “Threats?”

“No,” She-Wolf growled, “It’s a royalty check.”

“A royalty check?” Lady NightRaven asked, “For what? Did you do a commercial while I wasn’t looking?”

“I- Yes,” She-Wolf barked, “While you weren’t looking. Had a day off. Someone asked me if I didn’t mind doing a short commercial. Said the money was good. I never watched it.”

“Huh,” Lady NightRaven said, “From that look, I’m guessing the money wasn’t as good as you were hoping?”

“Yes. Barely any,” She-Wolf lied, trying to wrap her head around how Night Walker had gotten a publishing deal, and how he had finished the book so fast, “Not worth mentioning.” She-Wolf didn’t need to worry about making car payments, and she hated that.

“Well, this looks like our stop.” Lady NightRaven said, “Officers should be waiting for us.”

The ride was short, and the officers were professional. They didn't ask questions, work was already stressful enough without having to deal with superpowers. She-Wolf kept looking out the mirror. Her and Lady NightRaven had evaded Gorestrike twice now, and Gorestrike held grudges like no other. The police cruisers were rated against super powered combatants, but She-Wolf doubted the mounted weapons would accomplish much.

The officers dropped the detectives off at the precinct, thanking them before moving back to patrol.

…

"Chief Maxwell," Lady NightRaven said, snapping off a sharp salute, "I'm here with my partner to talk about the job that Detective Morrison hired us for."

"The destroyed seismic tracker?" Maxwell, a grizzled old man, asked, "I've been looking at your reports, something about a new group of supers?"

"Yes, we finally have footage of the supers," Lady NightRaven said, pulling out her phone.

"Are they on our side?" Maxwell asked.

"I'm afraid not, sir," Lady NightRaven said, "We found them fighting brass champions alongside Gorestrike."

"What was Gorestrike doing fighting the Cult of Brass?" Maxwell asked, "They never struck me as the 'honorable combat type."

"The cult was actually attacking us," She-Wolf explained, "I think that's what set him off."

"Well," Maxwell said, "Show me the footage." Lady NightRaven did. "Huh. How long have you been tracking these people?"

"A while now," She-Wolf said, crossing her arms in thought, "They're hard to pin down."

"Dressed like that?" Maxwell asked.

"You'd be surprised," Lady NightRaven said.

"Hold on, what happened to the audio there?" Maxwell asked.

"Oh, see the girl with the power frame?" Lady NightRaven said, "She said something so insulting that it physically hurts to hear."

"What'd she say?" Maxwell asked.

"Don't you have a heart condition?" She-Wolf asked, "And we're not going to carry around more than one memetic hazard at a time."

"More than one?" Maxwell asked.

"The other one only might be a memetic hazard," Lady NightRaven said, "Anyway, let's keep going."

"Hmm," Maxwell grunted, watching the adventurers tear apart the last brass champion, "Well, this is the last thing we need. I've lost good men to the Cult of Brass, and I don't have the budget to refit squad cars to fight them. Any idea what their motives are?"

"I can confirm that those three are part of the group that destroyed the seismic tracker," She-Wolf said, "We haven't found the other three, but I think it's a safe bet that they're working with Gorestrike. As far as we can tell, Gorestrike and the new supers have the same goals."

"Well, I'll get the word out to keep an eye out for them and a ‘do not engage warning’." Maxwell slumped back in his desk chair, deflating as long years caught up to him. "For all the good it will do us. You said you have a memetic hazard?”

“Oh, yeah,” She-Wolf said, “They’re also behind the crash of gold. I have a gold coin from them. They probably used it for bus fare or something.”

“It’s not cursed, is it?” Chief Maxwell asked, “Lady NightRaven, has your partner been spending extended periods of time looking at or talking about the gold coin?”

“No,” Lady NightRaven answered, “But I think she’s been in extended physical contact with it. She keeps it in her pocket.”

“I keep a written journal,” She-Wolf explained, “For just such an occasion.”

“Seriously?” Lady NightRaven asked.

“Of course,” She-Wolf said, “Do you not?”

“No,” Lady NightRaven answered, “What are you going to do if memetic hazards corrupt your thoughts?”

“I don’t know,” She-Wolf said, “But I’ll have the journal.”

“Well, I happen to keep someone on call in case any of my boys encounter a memetic hazard,” Chief Maxwell explained, “He does therapy as well, which is convenient.”

“Bonum Vibes Solum?” She-Wolf asked.

“Look, don’t mind the hippy stuff, he’s very good,” Maxwell assured, “Psychics are incredibly rare, King’s Head is lucky to have one.”

“No offense sir,” Lady NightRaven said, “But if these people are working with Gorestrike, or even have the same goals, I was hoping to report this to Brain Wave-”

“To Vanguard Squad?” Maxwell said with a snort, “Look, I understand if you want to dream big, but everything Vanguard Squad does is covered in red tape. Their job is to handle world ending disasters, and they don’t want to get caught with their pants down just because someone was handing out magic gold coins.”

“These people have handed out hundreds of thousands of dollars of gold,” Lady NightRaven protested, “And King’s Head is one of the most crime ridden, super villain infested cities in America!”

“And the only evidence you have of these coins doing anything is your friend’s journal,” Maxwell countered, “Look, just take it to Victor Vibes. Maybe try cross referencing criminal activity with them spending gold. If the gold really is a problem, and your argument can be supported by a certified psychic, then Vanguard Squad will have a lot more reason to listen to you.”

She-Wolf looked at the business card for Bonum Vibes Solum. It was done up in the kind of dull greens mixed with bright, psychedelic reds, blues and yellows that reminded She-Wolf of the handful of cannabis shops she had seen. She-Wolf knew she wouldn’t be surprised if Victor Vibes, a man with long, shaggy hair, large sunglasses, a swirling, rainbow t-shirt, and brown, tasseled leather vest, sold less than legal recreational drugs. She-Wolf also guessed he sampled the products himself.

“Well,” Lady NightRaven said, “It is a lead.”