Vigilantes Regroup

Episode 4: Vigilantes Regroup

The pre-dawn mist clung to Dow James like guilty secrets, but Jake LaPutka's latest masterpiece cut through the gloom with neon defiance. 🎨⚡ His wrist-mounted sprayer hissed one final time, completing the mural that would change everything—a state senator's face melting into corporate logos, connected by arterial spray-paint lines to the city's corruption network.

Raven Blackwood arrived at the course first, her trained eyes immediately catching the UV-reactive details invisible to casual observers. The Graffiti Warden tag pulsed in the corner like a heartbeat. She pulled out her encrypted scanner, and what she discovered made her jaw tighten. This wasn't just street art—it was a intelligence goldmine mapping connections her Sentinels had missed for months.

"Impressive, isn't it?" Neon Blaze's voice crackled from behind, accompanied by her signature light show. "While you've been skulking in shadows, my Knights have been painting the truth across every wall in this city." 🔦🎯

Raven's hand instinctively moved toward her disc bag. "Your operative compromised three safe houses with this public display. The conspirators will—"

"Will what? Arrest us for vandalism while they traffic weapons through the harbor?" Blaze stepped into the light, her mohawk casting prismatic shadows. "Jake's mapped their entire distribution network. Every tournament we've played, every course we've visited—he's been marking their routes."

As if summoned, Graffiti Warden materialized from the mist, his paint-splattered vest still wet from his night's work. 🧰🌫️ "Boss, we got a problem. The traitor from last week? He's holed up in the course's maintenance shed. Says the state boys put a bounty on him."

Raven's tactical mind raced. The betrayer's testimony could expose everything, but protecting him meant trusting Blaze's network. She watched Jake pull a custom disc from his bag, its rim etched with what looked like decorative patterns but she now recognized as map coordinates.

"This ain't just about turf anymore, Shadow lady," Jake continued, his blade-heeled boots scraping concrete as he shifted. "My tags been tracking their money flow. Every ace pot, every tournament payout—they're washing dirty cash through our sport." 💰🥏

Blaze's electric eyes locked onto Raven's. "So what's it gonna be, Blackwood? You want to keep playing secret agent, or you ready to see what happens when we combine your precision with our publicity?"

The first players began arriving for the morning round, unaware they were walking into a war zone. Raven noticed how Jake's seemingly random practice throws landed near specific murals, each disc placement marking another piece of intelligence. The Neon Knights had turned the entire course into a living map of corruption.

"Show me everything," Raven said finally, her voice steady despite the magnitude of her decision. "But we do this my way—structured, careful. One mistake and—"

"And they paint over our evidence like they always do," Jake interrupted, his laugh bitter. "Nah, we're past careful. Check hole seven—I tagged their main warehouse last night. By sunset, half the city's gonna know where they're storing the weapons."

A distant siren wailed, and all three vigilantes tensed. 🚨⚔️ Raven's secure phone buzzed with an emergency alert from her Sentinels—state police were mobilizing, but not toward the course. Toward Jake's warehouse mural.

"You magnificent idiot," Blaze grinned at her operative. "You just forced their hand. They'll have to move everything today."

"Or burn it down," Raven countered, already calculating response times and extraction routes. "Your Warden may have just signed his own death warrant."

Jake spun a disc on his finger, the motion activating hidden LED strips that revealed more map data. "Already died once when they killed my crew. This time, I'm taking them with me." His modified sprayer clicked, ready to mark targets with permanent, traceable paint.

The tournament horn sounded, calling players to their cards. 📯🥏 Raven found herself grouped with Jake and two civilians, while Blaze commanded another card nearby. As they approached the first tee, Jake leaned close.

"Your Shadow boy, the one who got turned—he drew me a picture. Shows where they're keeping the real evidence, the stuff that goes all the way to the governor." He pulled out a crumpled paper covered in what looked like graffiti practice but Raven's trained eye recognized as architectural blueprints.

"Where?" she asked, maintaining her throwing routine to avoid suspicion.

"That's the thing," Jake said, launching a perfect hyzer that curved past his mural. "It's under the old course. The one they condemned last year for 'environmental hazards.' Been using it as a depot while we've been playing up here like chumps."

Raven's throw sailed true, her mind already adapting to this new intelligence. 🎯🔍 The Neon Knights hadn't just been making noise—they'd been systematically documenting what her careful surveillance had missed. Perhaps there was merit to Blaze's chaos after all.

As the round progressed, Jake's throws became increasingly strategic, each landing zone corresponding to another tagged location in the city. By hole nine, Raven had memorized his entire network, her respect for the Graffiti Warden growing with each revelation.

"Tonight," she said quietly as they waited for the card ahead to clear. "Both teams hit simultaneously. You create your spectacle at the warehouse, draw their forces. My Sentinels infiltrate the underground depot."

"And the traitor?" Jake asked, his next disc already glowing with UV-reactive paint.

"Under both our protection," Raven decided. "Your visibility, our security. Time to see if oil and water can mix long enough to save this city."

The round concluded with Jake throwing an ace on eighteen, his disc smashing through chains as his victory cry echoed across the course. 🏆💥 But Raven noticed the real message—his disc had landed pointing directly at a final mural, one showing clock hands at midnight.

They had twelve hours to prepare for war. And for the first time since forming the Lone Wolves, Raven Blackwood found herself trusting someone who painted targets on their own back. The Graffiti Warden had shown her something her careful methods never could—sometimes the best intelligence comes from those willing to sign their work in neon defiance.

As players celebrated Jake's ace, Raven caught Blaze's eye across the crowd. The street artist gave a subtle nod. The real game was about to begin, and they'd need every Wolf in the pack to survive it.