Monster Assassins are great at poking the hornet''s nest. Courageous warriors would often charge into the ruins, caves, or mountains to save their people from their enemy''s clutches. In the modern day, most monsters, regardless of class and background, and a few centuries of modern adaptation. In a fight, they tended to rely on their innate abilities and their brute strength. A fair number of lesser creatures like trolls and goblins were known to cross the gap and had been found using knives or a gun, but even the most expensive firearm or the most ornate blade wouldn’t stop certain trolls from spitting acid in your face.


    Jenna Foster often felt a chill when her family dashed into danger, she was worried. Her maternal nature didn’t allow her to part with the most humanizing aspect of her soul. She clung to it, and it gave her power. Jenna had long passed the drive to fuss over the cuts, bruises, and broken limbs. Like a lioness, Jenna had always kept a watchful eye and was ready to pounce. Jenna watched her daughter disappear into the crowd, and she immediately went to work. Pop showed up on the screen and Emma’s voice carried through the speaker as she shared her plan of attack.


    “I’ve got to hand it to you, Emma,” Pop said. Jenna turned down her own comm to prevent the feedback or dual voices from competing for attention. Pop moved around the conference space of his workshop, and Jenna caught glimpses of Emma carefully moving around the news van, where she climbed up on and messed around with the dish that they used to transmit.


    “We should be good to go,” Emma said.


    Pop messed around with a computer and then moved to his phone. “I think we’re in business. I’ve had limited access to broadcast networks, but I never considered turning the IC3 system into a filter over outside video feeds.”


    “That should lessen the problems, right?” Emma pressed.


    “It should,” Pop affirmed. “I just need to modify the wavelength and secure the degeneration to avoid false readings.”


    “It made sense that the overheating problem was caused by centralizing so much power in one location,” Jenna added, messing around with the video feed coming through over the news station’s live stream. “We’ll get a wider range thanks to the camera’s functions.”


    “We should,” Pop said, “and it will help with the timing too. The one thing I’m worried about is that we may not cut through the illusion, glamour, or charm.”


    “As long as it points us in the right direction,” Emma said.


    “I’ll keep an eye on the IC3 to see how well this cheat works,” Pop said.


    “Sounds good,” Emma said.


    “I’ll watch the stream,” Jenna said, setting her phone in the drink holder. She extended the video feed and kept the volume low. She didn’t care so much about the words in place of what she could see or not see.


    “The piggyback is fully functional, and I’m seeing some possibilities off the distance,” Pop said. “Monsters are definitely present. Emma, do you have the valid entry?”


    “I do,” Emma replied. “I put it on my palm, so I’ll hopefully see the glow through the gap by my thumb. Mom, I will go up and down the street until you tell me where to focus my attention.”


    “Understood,” Jenna said. The red-tinted overlay on the footage distorted facial features and a few surrounding buildings, but Mom had a fairly good idea of what the camera operator was focusing on. Mom kept her eyes on the screen. Occasionally, Pop or Dad commented, or Emma offered a short interjection of the scene, but nothing stood out other than the smoke, the crowd, the people, and many questions.


    “I’ve watched some reports that just ended,” Dad said, “It wasn’t detailed. She said the police have no comment, and there is so much hysteria that no one can string two sentences together.”


    Mom clicked a button and opened an internet browser, “any lucky piggybacking on any social media live streams?”


    “You should be able to tune in anywhere,” Pop said, “Although, I’m sad to say the video quality might be poor given the strain the IC3 is having along with the internet activity in the area.”


    “We’ll take what we can get,” Jenna said.


    She watched silently for a few minutes and then was about to change to another feed when a glint flicked across the footage. The effect was quick, and she was about to disregard it. Until the vlogger, a girl with dark hair wearing a beanie turned the camera on herself, and there it was.


    “Is that what I think it is?” Pop asked.


    “Honey,” Dad said with an urgent punch, “you need to get out of there! Don’t go into the crowd.”


    “I have too,” Jenna snapped, “and I’m on it. Pop, you need to disconnect the camera feed from our system. I’m going to get Emma. This operation just deteriorated.”


    EMMA


    I appreciated enforcement and a decent list of espionage-related tools. I had taken a chance to mess with the news van, but given the chaos, no one was going to pay attention to me. Once back on the ground, and with Mom, and Pop as my eyes in the sky, I was ready to go into the crowd. Those first few steps were accompanied by apprehension and flushed cheeks. I had to exercise considerable control to not glance over my shoulder or lash out at the slimmest chance of a threat. The right kind of assassination attempt demands control of one''s environment. You need to have a game plan and escape routes, but when it comes to monsters, you need to find your target and act fast. If I joined a conversation. I had to come in and go out without anyone giving me more than a passing thought. We had practiced distraction techniques, but this wasn’t a customary environment. Like me, there were people who were watching for any kind of trouble. They would take the smallest actions and assume them to be hard-boiled threats. I couldn’t afford to be wrong! This damage was something you see in movies or a once-in-lifetime accident. There were regular people here. They were concerned about their neighbors, friends, and family. The average person doesn’t usually go looking for trouble, but their care and loyalty to their friends, especially any connection to the possible victims. There would be a few waves of people who would be looking for someone or something to blame.


    Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.


    Here, I was hoping that trouble had decided to stick around, and hopefully, the attackers, if they stuck around, would be off their guard.


    Twenty feet from the first significant pocket of people, the Valid Entry felt like a gummy soap on my skin. I moved toward the building and waited for a small group; about six people shuffled past. They were all in their teens, and while startled, the general implication regarding what had happened had yet to sink in. Once my path cleared, I ducked into the shade around the corner.


    Smoke hung in the air, and nearly a dozen people lay on the ground being treated by multiple paramedics. Some of them had severe burns, and the paramedics carefully applied medicine to the open and bleeding ones, while other victims had cuts and bruises. After their vitals were checked, basic bandages were used and adequately secured. The paramedics gave each victim simple instructions before the patients were either sent to their loved ones waiting on the street or directed to an ambulance for further evaluation.


    This is going to take some time to bounce back. I ventured further into the crowd, receiving multiple glares and flared nostrils as I interrupted their short or didn’t appear concerned for the victims. No one addressed me, which allowed occasional glances at my hand. I kept my hand cupped the best I could, but I worried the Valid Entry slime would ooze between my fingers. About halfway down the street, I paused and focused on my skin, not wanting to miss the tingle or a hint that I was getting close. As I reached a bench and a Post Office mailbox, I moved around and caught sight of a small object wedged beside my leg. I hurried over, scooped it up, and avoided wandering eyes by playing it as casually as possible. I took a few steps, then glanced at what I picked up, and my stomach flipped when I recognized what it probably was. I’m not an expert, but even an idiot knows when something has been scorched.


    “Pop, the attackers didn’t use magic, they brought literal explosives,” I whispered as a couple came out of a nearby building and hurried away from the crowd. There was no tingle or illumination, so they were obviously not interested in getting involved.


    “That certainly raises the stakes,” Pop said, “I don’t know a lot about IEDs, but to accomplish damage at this level. Whoever built them would have required considerable technical knowledge and a ton of resources.”


    “That’s a lead we can explore,” Dad said over the comm line. “It’s no coincidence that all the attacked victims were M.A.G.E agents. We could look at human bomb makers and there are potion makers who know incendiary and combustible mixtures.”


    “Either is possible,” Pop said, “I’ll get Gram to build a list.”


    “Emma, be on the lookout for anyone who''s watching from an abnormal distance.” I heard a voice that sounded like Tony. “There could be additional devices, and they could be waiting to set them off.”


    “Good point,” Dad said, “and they’d probably have a manual trigger or remote control. With such a large crowd they couldn’t risk using a magic code word because anyone could possibly set additional devices off prematurely.”


    While my family debated the specifics, I secured the shrapnel in my jacket pocket, and I found the sounds and smells go mute. My ears were ringing, and it was impossible to think straight, but I looked around the crowd, and I worried about the anger, the fury hidden behind the tears and screams. I pictured a dragon creeping through the flames, and I mentally watched a giant smash debris into dust with large meaty hands. This new clue kicked the threat level of the attacker, or attackers, to a whole new level. There were too many possibilities, and even if I found them, would I be able to get close to doing anything about it?


    “Hey, did anyone see what happened?”


    I glanced back toward the bench where four people had gathered. The speaker, a dude wearing a jean coat and red ball cap, quickly answered a text before sticking his phone in his pocket. His three friends shook their heads before taking sips of sodas from bottoms or cups with straws.


    “I’ve heard someone say it was a gas leak,” this speaker was another guy about the same age as the first. He wore a blue shirt with shaggy hair and an equally shaggy beard centered on his chin. “The buildings are you know, like super old. The pipes probably cracked at some point, and no one knew about it, then some employee probably left a foil-wrapped burrito in the microwave.”


    I snickered and turned away to avoid any of them from glancing in my direction. It was the stupidest thing I’d ever heard, and everyone seemed to agree.


    “A burrito in a microwave?” stammered a blond girl in a tank top and a dark red mini skirt brought together beneath an oversized black jacket that hung her shoulders. She twirled her hair around her finger, and even from my position, I could hear her chewing on a large wad of gum. “I’m not that smart, but even I know that’s impossible. I mean, come on, the windows like exploded, and ya, fire!”


    “Hey now, let’s be cool,” a guy with red-tinted skin and curly hair rose and placed a hand on his buddy’s shoulder. “None of us know what happened, and it could have been burritos in the microwave, especially if they were wrapped in wax paper.”


    I looked up and raised an eyebrow but didn’t look back.


    Seriously?


    “Wax paper?” said the guy in the blue shirt. “I didn’t say wax paper. I said tin foil. You know, because it''s metal.”


    “Nah, dude,” said the curly guy. As he spoke, I wondered if he had been trying to be funny, but now he came off as defensive as if someone had just been backed into a corner. “Wax paper will be the death of us all. I saw it in a documentary.”


    “You’re so stupid,” said the blond.


    While the excellent wax paper debate continued, I carefully slipped the fragment into my pocket and returned it to the crowd. I heard cars honk in the distance, and it took several minutes for the ambulances to leave, and then another would come and take the previous one’s place. As the cycle advanced, it wasn’t long before the crowd began to thin but that gave way to new waves of people coming in to survey the scene or in search of their friends and loved ones. I kept my attention on the Valid Entry, but there was no reaction. I was quite sure I had applied enough, and disregarding that notion, it began to seem pretty unlikely that the attacker or attackers would have hung around. They’d want to watch from somewhere secure. They wouldn’t want to attract attention and need a solid escape route to get away at a moment’s notice.


    I turned around and headed back up the street. This time, I watched the adjacent buildings and took a few moments to observe any parking lots nearby. A few families sat unhappily in vans, and a few solitary individuals watched people come and go, but none seemed a likely candidate. As I reached the first pocket, I slipped through the gaps, offering apologies as strings of profanities were tossed in my direction. There was action and trouble in this town, and they wanted to see it uninterrupted.


    I wet my lips; my feet and legs were beginning to ache. I opened my hand to flex my fingers, and several joints seemed on the verge of popping. I froze, the tingle becoming unmistakable. It must have activated when I passed someone in disguise. I quickly closed my hand and scanned the crowd. I’d deal with people in large crowds. The closer quarters and being within hand reach of any potential hostage doesn’t offer an assassin longer than a few seconds to make an approach and take a shot. Plus, these attackers would be watching for certain kinds of people. I stiffened, worried that one wrong look or going a few steps too far would betray my position.


    I felt my zap ring; it was easy to conceal, and if I got close enough, it would deliver a shock roughly equal to a Taser. I stalled in the middle of the sidewalk and took a few steps, carefully taking in the facial features and body language of everyone close by. All we needed was an ID. If one of these people didn’t belong, who would it be and-


    “Emma don’t react and stay quiet,” Mom whispered as her hand touched my shoulder. “Things have changed. We need to get back to the car right now.”


    “What? Why?” I hissed, “The Valid Entry just activated. Our target is here.”


    “I am aware of that,” Mom whispered, “but we’re not ready to take on a dark witch on the fly.”