In this game of hers, her against all of the local law enforcement and PRT, with their annoying-as-shit capes that they sicced on her, she could count this as a win.

One point for me.

How long had those police been working there? How much money were they paid, for that amount of time? How much coordination had gone into it? They would be frustrated, realizing that for all their vast resources, they had been trumped by a sixteen-year-old girl. It would ruin their days, like they had tried to ruin hers so many times.

The restlesness of the bus fled her as she picked up her pace. She walked everywhere, so she was good at it, brisk. She could have chosen another exit, but she chose the one the officers had gone to. They were busy herding the kids out of the station, directing them to different ends of the parking lot. There were more spray painted teenagers outside, with a makeshift booth, and that booth got one of the officer’s attention.

Ashley took a bit of pleasure in walking past the oblivious officers.

Another point for me.

No. She wouldn’t be greedy. Half a point.

She stretched as she walked out into the parking lot. She thought about where to go and who to ask, and she flirted with the idea of trying to talk to an officer. How many points would that be, to pass right under their noses?

No. It didn’t make sense. She was sorely tempted, but there were more wins to be had later. Bigger risks to take, bigger dragons to slay.

Not the spray painted teens. The clothes reeked of a uniform, and conformity disgusted her. If they belonged to a group or if they were serving a gang, then there would be people at the top who weren’t so beholden to a uniform. It made them subservient and it made them already bought and paid for. She couldn’t use that.

They were already packing up their table as she walked away, as if they’d been expecting to be shut down. She had a glimpse of the contents of the table—shitty art of the city on a third of the table, and another two thirds had shitty art of the heroes and villains of the area.

She’d get her information elsewhere.

The other group didn’t have stuff, so they’d moved under a tree in the shade. The older ones were sitting on the backs of cars, or leaning against the bumpers. The youngest were at the noses of the parked cars, picking at the grass and dirt by the concrete separator. One had an ant running up his arm.

The oldest was liable to be the leader, and he looked fit.

“Hey,” she said, making eye contact with him.

“What’s up?” another asked. Skinny, Hispanic, with an earring.