[b][u]Mia Jones[/u][/b]

“You're welcome.” Mia replied wearily. She felt the wind brush against her skin as Reiko exited out the door, and with it, the wafting scent of blood and wine. Her senses were not so finely attuned as her adversary's – that fact unbeknown to her – but these were powerful odors. The smell of the blood reminded her of its metallic taste from this morning, the wine, of the years she spent her life hiding inside a bottle of spirits and vintages. Both memories were quite... grounding. Sobering. They acted as reminders for why she was here.

She didn't really care how important or respected this Reiko woman was. She won't receive any mercy from Mia. As far as Mia was concerned, she was never given any mercy. The city was merciless – the [i]world[/i] was merciless – if enacting vengeance made her the representation of that simple truth, then so be it.

The blind woman followed the huntress close behind, feeling around with her cane. Between bumping into the boots of Skull members and laden bricks or motorcycles, it guided her to the center of the street reliably. The whooping and howling of gangsters surrounded them, but it did not detract from her focus. Mia heard the thumps of leather not so far off. Reiko was taking something off. Mia let go of her cane and let it fall clumsily by her side. The sounds that followed were... disturbing, to say the least. Ripping flesh and liquid hit the ground in what sounded to be a sopping mess. The smell of blood flooded her nose. Grinding could be heard by the pavement. A vicious roar emanated from her location.

Something bestial.

Reiko was just an animal, then. An animal waiting to be put down. What a pity. But she had to be careful nonetheless. Animals were simple, but they weren't anything like people. She shouldn't hold back. Mia raised her arms to frame her body, her hands were clenched into fists and were set on either side of her head as she fell into form. A hybrid stance: elements of boxing and Israeli martial arts were both present. Her eyelids fell half-closed as she reached out all around her with her other senses.

The breathing, the panting of the beast. Just ahead. Mia would wait... wait for the beast to become impatient, or to find an “opportunity”. Only then would she strike – like a snake.

_______________

[b][u]Baron Moreau[/u][/b]

“Oh,” Baron said absentmindedly, “good.”

Really, that was all that mattered. As long as Ivan didn't talk too much about the company, no harm. But there was still the issue that Ivan made a connection that can be used against him. That was one thing Baron learned in America del Sur: if there are people that know you, they will be used against you. Ivan is no longer acquainted with the Deadnaughts, but he is still a connection to them and possesses information. As long as the company didn't make any dangerous enemies, he should be safe. If not, well... he can only hope the explosives expert could make a convincing lie on the spot.

It was something of an art, deception. You had to weave in just enough truth to make it believable, and direct them the wrong way with suggestions. Filler information.

Anyways, Tobias' research and experiments really were quite interesting. They were not in his own field of expertise, but he could identify the talent and skill required. And manipulating a power through medicine... who would have thought? A gene. A gene caused all this. A gene created supernatural abilities in mortal men and women. What science could justify that? They isolated the gene, but could they remove it? Mitigate it? If some extremist got their hands on Tobias' research, they could probably learn how to identify and interact with the gene. Perhaps cause it to swell and make the meta-human powers more potent.

Baron sighed. It had to have been a matter of time until one man's good intentions became another man's super weapon.

But these were not thoughts that Baron has time to express to the doctor, and were silenced by Ivan's insistence on dealing with gang matters.

“Rural areas of Levant were fairly nice,” Baron admitted, “just as you stay out of the war-torn suburbans. The people I've met were very genuine and have a rich culture. One man there gave me a free nose piercing that I never plan to reopen again.”

Baron momentarily seemed to be lost in thought as he reminisced about the eastern Mediterranean region. “Granted, Grit eventually blew my cover and, wouldn't you know, an Al-Qaeda patrol was just around the corner. Just [i]barely[/i] talked myself out of that one. Anyway, I'm sorry Ivan. I hate to do this to you – I really do – I just don't think I want to play a part in any [i]gang wars[/i]. That sort of thing I get [i]paid[/i] to do, and I'm on vacation.”

He reached into his pocket and procured a pack of cigarettes, the butt of which he smacked against the palm of his hand a couple times.

“You understand, right?”