Roger Bowden cracked his knuckles, one by one, as he leaned back in his leather chair occupying his office at CCPD Headquarters. The office - reserved for the Chief of Police - overlooked the heart of Champion City. Roger could see the myriad of skyscrapers cutting jagged edges in the sky. A bit further, and the start of the city's biggest residential area began. The majority of the houses there all looked more or less the same, save perhaps for the color, and the amenities were often.. Lacking. Roger grew up there, but had since moved into a luxury apartment two blocks away from the office. With his new income pouring in, he saw no real reason to live in subpar conditions. No, that wasn't fitting of the most influential man in the Champion City underground.

His duty as Police Chief was a side job - a front. It kept up appearances, nothing more. Roger may have started as a law enforcer, but he had become so much more. After putting in a few hours of paperwork at Headquarters, he was able to head home. It was a good thing, too - night was beginning to fall. His time was coming. Thirty minutes later, and the Spectre could be seen strolling through the side-streets of Champion City at sundown. Dressed in black formalwear, finished with a leather jacket, his tie the color of blood standing out, the transformation from Chief of Police to Crime Boss was complete. Roger's face was hidden by a mask; all good criminals were doing it, as were the vigilantes. Because his enemies would just [i]love[/i] to find out that the Spectre was a cop. It could ruin him. No, the mask stayed on. Roger's was that of a black skull - it had come to symbolize The Fallen as a whole. At his hip. A large black revolver sat menacingly in its holster. People saw him, and made themselves scarce. The Spectre was known, and the Spectre was certainly feared; and that was just how Roger liked it. 

***

"'Falcon', is it? Is that what you call yourself?" The Spectre raised an eyebrow, though hidden by his mask. In front of him, a frail-looking teenager hung by chains. A dark bruise covered half his face, and his arm was bleeding from multiple spots. It seemed as if The Fallen had had their fun with the captive before Spectre even arrived.
"Y-yes.." The kid muttered, not daring to look Roger in his masked face.
"Well, what the hell kind of name is that? What, were the good ones taken? You had to resort to picking bird names out of a hat?" Roger chuckled. "What was the runner-up, 'flamingo'? Ah, hell, that isn't why we're here. My men had you cornered. You were dead, Falcon, but you said that you had something to tell us, isn't that right? Something that might save your pathetic excuse for a life?" Falcon nodded as vigorously as he could, before wincing from the subsequent pain.
"Well," Spectre replied. "Are you going to share, or should I have your friend from earlier make an encore performance?" He gestured toward Falcon's arm and face. The teenager's eyes widened, and he began to shake.
"No! I.. I'll tell you," he said. "I'll tell you all I know. The.. The word on the street is.. I mean, I heard from my buddy, Rover, that he saw- no.. He heard that..th-that-"
"Spit it out, goddamn it!" Spectre exploded, beating him across the face with his entire arm. Falcon cried out in pain, and began to sob between words.
"Okay! Okay.. It's us vigilantes.. The word is, someone is trying to bring us all together - to.. To make a team of some kind.."
Spectre considered this for a moment. This was big news. Potentially dangerous, as well. Roger never had to worry about the cops interfering, but vigilantes? They were beginning to be a real nuisance. He continued the interrogation: "Do you know who is organizing this?"
"N-no sir.." Spectre made ready to hit him again. "I don't know! I'm sorry!"
"What about where they're meeting?"
"I don't know.. I don't.."
"What about which vigilantes are signing on?"
"Please.. I don't know anything.. Please just let me go.." Falcon was breathing heavily, and it looked as if all his spirit had been drained from him. Roger wondered how old he was. Seventeen? Maybe eighteen.. Perhaps older, but he doubted it. 
"Okay, Falcon, I believe you," Spectre confessed, loosening up a bit. Falcon let loose a huge sigh.
"So you'll let me go?" He asked, eyes still full of fear.
"Yeah.. I'll let you go." Spectre went around behind Falcon, to where his chains were locked in place. Though he could no longer see the kid's face, he could tell that Falcon was counting his lucky stars. That was when Roger shot him twice in the head with his revolver. Two loud bangs echoed through the small, soundproof room. Bending down, he put the key into the lock for the chains, freeing his arms first, and then his legs. Falcon's body slumped to the ground in front of him.
"You're free to go, Falcon."