The last few weeks had been a real shitshow. Grace supposed she shouldn't be surprised, since she was probably the only one with the big picture. People all over the world were gaining special abilities, and predictably were using them to indulge their baser instincts. Crime was at an all time high, since the police were mostly powerless to stop the new criminals, and violent crimes, especially murders, were becoming the new favored method of dealing with your problems. Really, all this didn't especially bother Grace. She was safe in her anonymity, and nobody could trace her connections no matter what. She had been the best in her field before the storms, but now she was unbeatable period.

That said, when this had passed her feed, it had become instantly personal. She had liked Officer Lauren and her family. She had done enough consultancy work for her that they were practically friends, and now she was dead.

"Dispatch? This is Alacrity. Suspect has left the scene behind. Do not pursue, do not engage. Your people can't handle this one. I'm sending in a specialist." Grace spoke into her microphone, then shut off the connection before the inevitable argument. She hated working with the uninitiated.

Specialist was a bit of an overstatement to be honest. She wasn't even sure her 'contact' would help, but she hoped. She was beginning to feel something close to actual rage. Still, her image software had returned a match, and now showed her a black and red sports car speeding down the highway, going 35 over the speed limit. After a few minutes, she managed to snag a plate and match it to a VIN number. Unless he dumped the car, she could find this guy anywhere he drove. Now all she had to do was prepare.

Somewhere, a very specific ringtone played from a very specific phone, which now showed a very specific caller ID.

"LucyAnswer ThePhone"

---

Miles away, somewhere in the middle of the city, a nearly empty cafe sat with the lights off. In the back room, a lone occupant sat in the dark, a half empty bottle of whisky in one hand and a TV remote held loosely in the other. The cafe had been closed for days, and he was losing money, but he couldn't quite bring himself to open up. Not when the place only reminded him that he'd lost a friend. The flashing news program on the television was playing some chase scene. The world seemed to be going to hell. On a whim, Chris flipped the volume up until he could hear the report. 

"-in. Another violent murder continues the string of recent crime in Atlanta. Police Chief Phillip Cohen and his family were shot and killed after a break in at their own home. After a shootout with the police responders, the suspect escaped and is still at large. Investigators believe one Jace Williams to be responsible for most, if not all of the crimes-"

The television was suddenly drowned out by the sound of shattering glass as the bottle in Chris's hand broke into tiny shards and fell to the ground. A half second later, the TV remote found itself embedded into the screen of it's parent device, and Christoph found himself halfway across the cafe floor on his way out. In his sudden rage and purpose, his didn't even register that his hand, while wet, was entirely unharmed.