In front of the massive screen stood an equally massive man. Impressively muscled arms were crossed over a broad chest as he all but glared at the view before him. No crimes all night? In a city as heavily populated and crime ridden as Independence City that was unheard of. Justin didn't trust the calm. It was always like this before the really bad stuff started happening.

He turned when he heard the door opening and nodded to Olivia as she entered. He would have gone to greet her if she didn't look so utterly exhausted. Justin understood the feeling. Vigilantism didn't exactly leave a lot of room for a normal sleep schedule. Keeping up an ordinary life while simultaneously patrolling the night meant you grabbed what rest you could and sucked it up when that wasn't enough.

Olivia deserved her rest. Rather than disturb her Justin turned back to glaring at the display on the wall.

Sherman's House
Independence City, 0100

His entire bedroom was dark except for the blue-white glow of a desktop monitor. The glow lit the face of a teenager who was hunched over in a black leather computer chair. A black Jack Skellington beanie grasped a head full of brown downy curls that poked out from beneath it and beneath a large Orion gamer headset. Behind black-framed glasses, Sherman was frowning hard at the screen in concentration. The only sound that filled his room besides the whirrs of his computer was the rapid clicking noise from his mouse mostly and the pitter-patter of his keyboard.

“One of them is near base!” Sherman yelled over the mic. “Go, go, go!”

On the screen, three champions were racing through a forest, chasing after some bouncing kangaroo with a great sword.

“Go, go! Stun him!”

While the group was focused on chasing the kangaroo warrior, no one saw the ninja turtle that snuck into base and was secretly taking it down. Suddenly, a cut scene of Sherman’s base exploding flashed on the screen.

“What the fuck? Did nobody see that fucking ninja?” he cursed.

YOU LOSE!

Throwing himself back into his chair with an irritable huff, Sherman scowled at the screen. His chair bobbed a little from his motion, and through his headset, he listened to his schoolmate Harold with the lisp.

“Whatevers Sherman. Ish not like you did anysing to contribute to our win. You were chashing Gladiroo too. We were all shuckers. Better luck next time. For now, I’m going to bed.”

“Come on dude, one more game.”

“That wash the tenth losh in a row. Give it a rest. We’ll try again tomorrow.”

Sherman sighed again. “Whatever dude. Night.”

Sherman peeled off his headset and set it on the desk as he started shutting down Hero’s Gauntlet. His tired eyes stared at his desktop as he contemplated cutting on UTube or even watching a bit of anime. Anything but bed. He wasn’t ready for tomorrow. Tomorrow meant he’d have to go to gay-ass school. Once again, sitting back in his chair, Sherman just boredly stared at his screen. Actually, he hadn’t felt like watching UTube or anime. Shit, he had nothing else worth doing, which meant he had to go to bed.

“Ugh, fuck my life,” he muttered.

Rising out of his chair, Sherman walked over to his bed, using the glow of his computer as his guide. He threw back his Marvelous Studios blankets and plopped face down into bed. With his face buried into his pillow, he moaned loudly—moaned and groaned as though his soul was being ripped through his back. He had quite the imagination, didn’t he? Hammering his fists against his pillow, Sherman flipped over onto his back and gazed up at his ceiling.

“Well…at least my dreams are entertaining.”

Grasping his blankets, he pulled them up to his chest and closed his eyes. Fuck school; fuck school; fuck school, he chanted his last thoughts before slumber overtook him.

---

Old Abandoned Boarded-Up House
Somewhere in the projects of Independence City, 0120

An old beggar wearing a brown filthy jacket was sleeping in the corner of what could have once been a kitchen. The place was dusty with a rat racing across the floor every now and then. Most trespassers had stayed away from the place believing it to be haunted. It was old and made creepy creaky noises. The beggar could see why people would be so superstitious toward it. When one was a man who owned nothing but the clothes on his back, he was desperate to make any place his home and the haunted house was better than a cardboard box in an alley. He was curled up, his arms hugging his chest to keep warm when suddenly a warm yellow light began to bathe him.

The beggar cracked open his brown eyes, squinting through the sudden light that filled the place. He heard the clatter of silverware and smelled fried dough…pancakes? His eyes opened wider to take in the sight of a whole kitchen. His once dusty surroundings were completely spotless. He even found himself leaning against buffed wooden cabinets. The floors were white tile. There was a boy, a girl, and a father all seated at the kitchen table. The man of the house was reading a newspaper. His wife was at the stove cooking flapjacks.

Mary Ann’s brown brows rose on her forehead when she noticed the old man suddenly in their kitchen. She was wearing a yellow dress with a red ribbon holding her brown curly locks in a ponytail. Resting her hands on the table, she pulled her white stocking-covered legs into her chair and sat up, pointing across the table passed Chris.

“Look! It’s an old man!” she announced.

Chris turned in his chair to gaze back at the old man who was trembling in terror. Blinking slowly, he sighed and complained, “Daa~d, another one got in the house again.”

The man who was reading the paper was dressed in a black suit with a purple undershirt and wine-red tie. He merely turned the page of his newspaper and muttered, “He’ll just get scared and leave. That’s what they all do.”

As though on cue, the old man began whimpering and immediately rose to his feet and fled out of the kitchen. He ran right out of the brand new apartment, closing the door behind him. Mary Ann pouted, “Aaw~ I was gonna share my pancakes with him.”

“Don’t talk to strangers Mary Ann,” Mr. Infinity told her. “Besides, I wouldn’t share your mother’s pancakes with anyone. They’re the best.”

Sharon turned around with a bright smile. She had oven mitts on her hands and was holding a frying pan unusually stacked high with pancakes. “Who wants pancakes?” she asked on a sing-song voice.

“ME!” Chris and Mary Ann chorused.

The lovely brunette in a similar yellow dress as her daughter walked around the table, placing a spatula full of stacked pancakes down on her children’s plates before she placed the last stack on her husband’s. Mr. Infinity folded the newspaper and looked up at his beautiful lady.

“Morning Beautiful,” he greeted with a content smirk on his face.

Sharon bumped him gently with her hip. “Morning my gorgeous husband.”

She leaned down to press her ruby lips to his, leaving her lipstick residue on his face. Mary Ann laughed through cheeks full of pancake matter at her father. “You got Mommy’s lipstick on your face!”

Mr. Infinity grasped his napkin and wiped the residue from his lips. He then looked back at his wife, his eyes running up and down her backside before he turned back around to face his pancakes. He inspected the yellow stack of buttery cakes.

“You outdid yourself this time. I don’t know if I can finish this,” Mr. Infinity complimented.

“I’LL EAT THEM!” his children chorused.

“No, me!” Mary Ann shouted.

“You got to eat Dad’s pancakes last time!” Chris yelled back.

“No!”

Mr. Infinity raised his hands and made a downward motion with them. “Woah, woah, settle down. There’s no need for a shouting match. I was only joking. I’m going to eat all of these pancakes, and if you’re not careful I’ll eat yours.”

His amber eyes mischievously motioned from Chris to Mary Ann. His children protectively wrapped their arms around their plates as they stared back at him. Mr. Infinity cracked a grin and laughed, “Pass the syrup please.”

Aro danced on a fence as loud music blared from the speaker in her pocket. Tonight was a nice day, the nose-biting cold was just enough to warrant a light jacket, but not cold enough for a real coat. She was snug her her plush vest and she pulled it closer as she spun. Aro hopped off the fence, the Eurobeat in her pocket playing loud enough to fill the silent street. She playfully jumped around the street to the beat of the music, doing an occasional spin to check her surroundings. If there was one thing that would definitely ruin her party, it would be getting mugged.

Aro spun again, her black hair whipping her in the face when she suddenly stopped to keep dancing down the street. She saw a small black cat wrapped in what looked like loose kite string. She turned down her tunes so it became subtle background music. She quietly made her way to the cat and picked it up. It made a small fuss, but it was stuck and clearly wanted help. She gently pulled on the string that was preventing the feline from walking. It was pretty tight, she'd need scissors. Of course, she could use her knife, but she didn't want to hurt the little thing.

"Oh you poor thing, all caught up it seems," Aro purred to the cat before making her way to the nearest business. It was closer than any home she had claimed for the night. Besides, she didn't own scissors. Her new goal was to free this cat. Hopefully, when she let it go, it wouldn't be dumb enough to get stuck again.

Denise stepped out into the dead of the night, the cool breeze sending shivers down her spine. She tugged on the edges of her jacket to keep herself warm, although that wasn't doing much to help her. With her head down, she crossed the street, ignoring the catcalling of some idiots driving by in their shitty car. As if they'd ever have a chance to begin with.

Finally home, Denise went straight to her room. She'd gotten a few snacks from the convenience store right across the street; some corn nuts, an iced tea, and a Snickers bar. She was well aware of the fact that her late-night binge eating routine was nowhere near the same realm as healthy, but she'd had a rough day, apparently like most other ones. She settled in her room by taking her shoes off and plopping down in bed, grabbing the remote control before she leaned back on her pillow. About a few minutes after she started watching TV, Denise received a message.

You can't avoid me much longer. Keep running, and you'll regret it dearly.

She immediately put the phone down, knowing damn well it was Max even though the sender showed as "Unavailable". Her pulse increased, and a small lump formed in her throat. He was back, and this time he could be awfully dangerous.

It had been two days, two days since he burned his penthouse to the ground. In those two days, Adam has been generally miserable. The cold winter nights had begun to settle in and all he really wore was some clothes he managed to steal off a hobo. Not exactly stylish, but they did work for blending in with the homeless population pretty well.

This time, he sat outside a bloc apartment. He had been watching the comings and goings pretty intently, this place was a safe haven for members of his cartel. Death row was a shitty place yeah, but it was helluva place to run a gang. The man who had formerly been dubbed the black cat, decided now was his time to get in, get some of his shit, and get out.

He picked a day where the boss would be meeting with most of underbosses, and better soldado's. He had been apart of those meetings once, when he had been one of his bosses most efficent killers, now he wasn't sure what he was. But he was definetly no longer a member of Os Anjo's. He took the back door in, putting in his alarm for the backdoor and he was surprised to see it still worked. He smiled things might of been looking up for him. Turns out not only was it unlucky to cross a black cats path, it was also unlucky to be a black cat. Sitting there waiting for him were two cartel members waiting for him. "Well look at what the fucking cat dragged in." Said one of them, a shortened mossberg in his hand. "Good one dude!" Adam said, he smiled and summoned his loud voice. "So tell me, how'd you know I was coming in?" He asked, the other gangster smiled. "You used your code, we are watching the fucking building dumbass." He said, As the other gangster said that, he frowned. He hadn't thought of that one.

Adam's mind was kicking into overtime, he was thinking of ways out of the situation. His handling of the situation involved burning it with fire, he threw fire at the both of them catching ones pants aflame, and the other was going to lose his South Pole hoody. Using this as a distraction, he jumped forward and took the mossberg from one of them. He hit the man with the side of the shotgun, and shot the other in the stomach spilling blood, all over the tile floor. "Fuck that's gonna be a bitch to get out." He joked a smile appearing on his face, and hefted the shotgun.

He took the shotty, and put it to the other mans head. If he felt any regrets about attacking his former friends, it didn't show, and he didn't feel it right now. "Who is he sending after me?" He asked, his voice seemed to lose the joking demeanor. "Everybody. Every single underboss, and Soldado is going to be out looking for you. Slapped a bounty worth the amount of jewels you lost, and then some." The man said, looking Adam in the eyes. "How much?"
"400k dead, 450 alive so he can have at you himself. You caused him a great deal of stress, and here you are nice and alive. You shoulda stayed hidden."
"Oh boy, he loves me! But nah, hiding isn't my style man. Because I got bigger balls, than all of you mother fuckers." He chuckled, took the shotty and blew the other man's skull away. He made his way through the rest of the apartment, going up stairs trying to dodge his former allies. He burst through the door of his former safehouse, safeapartment, safespace? He contemplated a good name for it, while rummaging through his things. He took a spare cellphone, some cash, a couple changes of clothes that were probably the most expensive things in there, and finally a glock he had hidden underneath the bed. He made his getaway, and slipped out into the night. Before anyone could nab him again. When he made it outside, he pulled the cellphone out of his pocket and dialed 911. He gave them some sort of story about a gang turfwar breaking out, but he knew some of the cops wouldn't head to this apartment. They had been bought off. So hopefully he could summon the saints here first.

The cold air of Red Harbor bit at Neaera's skin. Normally she could keep herself quite warm, but the sun was not out and she was not about to use her precious saved energy to warm herself. Red Harbor was a dangerous place, doubly so after dark. Not really the place you would expect to find a kid like Nee, but she wanted to find the Saints. No, she needed to find the Saints. She had only met one, but he had single-handedly convinced her that joining the Saints was the next step in her budding crimefighting career. Of course actually joining the Saints was proving to be a great deal harder than making up her mind. The Saint had been vague about where to find them. Security reasons probably. Nee watched her breath puff out as she made her way down a disused sidewalk. Her jacket was old and offered little protection from the late winter's chill. The girl shivered again as she passed an alley and looked to cross a deserted street.

"Hey, girl! Where do you think you're going?" That's rather cliched. A hand grabbed her upper arm and yanked her into the alley she had passed. Gotta get better at paying attention, even if it's near freezing. Nee's eyes adjusted to the unlit alley after a few moments so she could get a look at her harassers. Both men were bundled up, but didn't show any signs of gang affiliation. Er, not that Nee could recognise signs of gang affiliation but whatever. "What do you want?" Nee defiantly stared up at the two men.

"Anythin' you got." The man on the right smiled devilishly and Nee thought she caught the glint of a blade.
"Well-" Neaera channeled a part of what power remained into her fist and launched it, flaming, at the man on the right. It impacted on his chest, tossing him stumbling backwards into unconsciousness and leaving his jacket smouldering. The other man hastily swung at Neaera, who ducked and countered with an (unpowered) punch of her own. The man blocked her untrained strike with one arm and grabbed her other, pulling the girl off balance. Struggling to yank free of the man's strong grip, Nee channel what little power she had left into a bolt of sunlight that scorched the man's stomach and sent him reeling as flaming bits of clothing wafted about the cool air. Taking advantage of the man's injury, Nee finished him off with a punch and shook herself off, "-I don't intend to give anything." The sleeves of her jacket were burnt and shortened by a good five inches and somehow it was even colder than before. Neaera relieved the first man of his blade (which she tucked into her jacket pocket) and walked back out into the street.

She had just scorched and beat two men into unconsciousness and used up the last bit of stored power and was still no closer to finding the Saints. Dejected and lacking energy, Nee trudged along the empty street before settling down in a bus stop outside of a derelict carpet factory.

---

"Swirling morrows of steam and fog,
surround root of things oft’ not meant
For the drowning of seas and flood.
The mountain stirs in it’s death,
It’s harrowing slumber;
And great winds course
through the veins of water."

With a sigh, Nicodemus rubbed his eyes in contemplation; it had reached one in the morning as Nicodemus had sat in his dimly lit desk, struggling to phrase the latest series of dreams he had been having. Perhaps he needed more time to read his dream-logs and fit things together, or perhaps he simply needed a moment to step away from his work. Presuming the latter he stood from his desk, returning his dip pen to it's holder, then dimming the authentic oil-lamp on the corner of his desk; he had a love for antiquity.

Walking from his desk in the dark room, his form began to adjust, his face fading and being replaced with a gross maw of flesh. Donning his yellow cloak, he began to move, although not in any way natural. Instead of walking, he simply seemed to disappear and re-appear several yards away; continuing this movement, he began to move significantly faster, so quickly that his form began to blur during the moments of his appearance.

He made his way to the Saint's warehouse, his direction an unsettling labyrinth to the location; a method he used to guarantee he wasn't tracked, and increase the number of sightings the Saint had. A large part of his persona as a saint regarded the terrifying methods he used to deal with his targets, the psychological terror his victims felt gave Eld Fen more pleasure than the act of killing them. It brought knew material to his writings.

It wasn't long however until he had found himself on a roof nearby the Warehouse, covered in the shadow of a larger building and looking around, searching for any that may have followed him. Satisfied that he hadn't been, he moved into the building, near the large screen in it's confines. Looking around, he saw that Olive was here, although asleep, and Guardian was a few feet from him watching the crime screens.
"Busy Night?" He asked in a harsh, whispering voice; one he had designed for using specifically when under the moniker of Eld Fen. His featureless face seemed to gesture to the sleeping woman, nodding in her general direction.

Interacting with: @Amaranth

"You alright, kid?"

Red Harbor was cold at night, even in summer. And summer it certainly was not. The chill came in from the water in a way not entirely physical, that carried with it a fear of what might be found come morning. The harbor had earned its name for a reason. Acheri always found it a little odd that they had set up shop here, where they were too late to stop something before it happened, but usually decided she was reading too much into it. It was just the easiest place to find a space that wouldn't be noticed. Still the locale required a certain preparation.

That was why Acheri walked the street with a warm wool overcoat, hands in her pockets. That and the fact that such a coat could hide her tools of the trade. Vigilante trade, though if she rooted through her pockets probably remained a notepad or pen from the daytime. It was also one reason she wondered whether this girl at the bus stop was alright; walking Red Harbor with so light a coat was hazardous. As was walking it at this time of night.

Which was the other reason.

A few blocks back, after some sounds of struggle, she had found two men unconscious. Their aim wasn't hard to guess, but a better question was who stopped them. Not one of her compatriots, if she trusted her gut. Not to mention that off the top of her head, they didn't use heat and the men exhibited signs of scorching. As did this young woman's jacket. The bus stop she lingered at was too close to their base for her to want to approach until she left, anyway, so she had time. And if she could lend a hand before she really went to work, even better if it could be a hand and not a fist for once, she would.

”Red Harbor’s not the safest this time of night. What’s got you out here this late?” A pause, and Acheri gave a friendly smile. ”Doesn’t really matter, I suppose. Would you mind if stayed until you got on the bus? Don't like leaving people alone in this part of town.”

@hagroden@Agent 47



"Long day I think." Justin said without turning to look at the disturbing visage beside him. The other man always gave off an aura of slithering scales and breaking minds. Like he drew his power from somewhere that shouldn't exist. "She just got back in but it's been an unusually quiet night so far. I'm starting to wonder if someone found our link into the police databa-"

A red spot had appeared on the map. A larger one so it was more than a simple mugging. Perhaps a multigang shootout or large building fire. Or both. Things were starting to get a bit strange with so many super powered people in the city. Lines of text started to appear next to the dot, details added as they came through the law enforcement network.

"Multiple reports of shots fired. Although how much shooting is going on seems uncertain. Minimal police response but that's not surprising." He did turn to look at Eld Fen now. "Looks right up our alley. Are you going to head out now or do you want to wait for the rest of us?"

Location: Death Row, lone warehouse.

Vicker West stood across the street to an empty warehouse, watching masked people unload cargo from blank vans. The cargo wasn’t important; he didn’t even know what was in it. What mattered was the pay. For a smuggling op, five thousand bucks was almost irresistible. He had his own theories, of course.

Maybe it’s a new drug hitting the streets, it’d explain all the protection.

Perhaps a stockpile of weapons? Hell, I might just spend my five thousand on a gun that ain’t crap.

What’s with all the damn holes in the boxes?

Whatever. At this point, it didn’t matter anyways. He’d see some change in the criminal landscape, and it wouldn’t take a genius to figure out where the change came from.

Still, something about all this was just bothering him. It was like a tiny itch in the back of his brain that he couldn’t scratch. Eventually, he gave into his gut and walked over to talk to one of the other guards.

“Hey, you know what’s in these crates?” Such a simple question, and also one the man had to answer, regardless of whether he wanted to or not. It was Vicker’s “gift”, per se.

“Don’t know, man. Boss said that it’s important for his clients’ ‘satisfaction’. Hell if I know what that means.”

“Gotcha.”

Vicker slunk into the warehouse, trying to avoid notice from the other guards. He was technically a guard as well, but he was supposed to be on lookout. If someone saw him stalking around the cargo, it would raise more than a few suspicions. The strangest thing was the smell, however. Who on the face of the Earth would want to buy something so repugnant?

He slowly approached one of the boxes, and looked around to see if anyone was near. Thankfully, there wasn’t. He was about to unlock the crate when suddenly, it shook.

“Jesus!” Vicker rasped as he jumped back.

Someone’s in there.

Vicker quickly unlatched the crate, and when he did, the top came off by itself, and what he saw enraged him to no end. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. Drugs and violence, those were pretty normal things, especially in Death Row. But this… this was a new low.

Kids! They’re fucking trafficking kids!

The girl couldn’t be older than ten, and she looked painfully skinny. Maybe forty, fifty pounds at most? Her skin clung desperately to her bones, her eyes sunk into her skull, and human waste clung to the bottom and sides of the crate.

So that was the smell. Fucking Hell.

He could only assume that the other crates were the same. Nausea crept up his stomach, and nearly made him retch. He needed to get these kids out, every single one of them.

A masked guard came around the corner, shotgun in hand. Vicker recognized him as the guy he mind-controlled earlier. He froze when he saw the kid. Vicker didn’t even think of using his power. Right now, he just knew the kids needed help.

“Hey you! Guard! Help me!”

The man rushed over, shotgun still levelled.

“Wait, they’re shipping kids?” Behind the baklava, Vicker saw the man’s eyes widen in shock. He looked at the kid, then back at Vicker.

“You just gonna stand there? Come on!”

To his surprise, the guard shook his head.

“I’m sorry man, my family needs me. My son… he…”

“What if your son’s in one of these damn things next, huh? You just going to stand around then?”

Vicker saw that the guard wasn’t going to help, so he made him. For the second time, he took control.

“Free all of the kids. Make sure they all get out safely, even if you die. If anyone tries to stop you, kill them.”

“Got it.”

Then just like before, Vicker slunk back out like a cat. He wasn’t going to get any money from the job, but that didn’t matter. He had another target in mind.

---

For days now Brittany had been tracking the crimes around the city with a logarithm she had coded. With the program prototype she was able to pinpoint the crimes happening around the city, their risk level and the probability of a Saint showing up to help. What her program did was to cross information from social networks, police radios and the media.

This was the 4th day since her program was running, and it had not failed to track in what crimes the Saints would show up. And that night there it was, a red ball in her computer screen, right on top of the Death Row. Drawn in the red ball there was a big S, that was the symbol that indicated that there was high probability of the Saints to show up. This was the night when she would finally be able to contact them. She dressed up all in black, tied her hair, grabbed 10 small stones from her collection and put them in her pocket.

The night was cold, so there wasn't much people walking in the streets, but she wasn't afraid, she knew how to protect herself, and what was that situation if not a real life game like the ones she use to play? After some walking and 4 metro stations she finally arrived at Death Row, now she would have to be cautious, soon she would be in the place the red ball was signalling. She was conscious that she would probably have to fight, but if that was the price to pay to be an inch closer to belonging to the Saints she was ready to pay it.

Aro was busy messing around with the kitten she had found, who was playfully pawing at her fingers with the paw that she had managed to uncover. It was small and alone, just like herself. If she had a place to keep it, she would. Alas, she didn't.

Aro was lost in thought as she scratched the small black kittens chin. She was wondering where to get scissors. She figured there might be a gas station nearby, but she had no idea one might be. Aro picked at her brain for a location, and didn't notice another person walking along.

Aro slammed into the woman's back, nearly dropping the cat as it let out a tragicly unhappy noise. She looked up at the head of the person she had slammed into, eyes wide while she clutches the cat to her chest.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't see you there!" Aro began backing away from the person, getting ready to bolt if things went sour.

@Kaesus

---

"You alright, kid?"

A voice. Nee snapped out of her cold and fatigue induced stupor and looked towards the sound. It was a woman. A friendly looking one. She was about the same height and weight as Nee, although she looked considerably warmer. Nee smiled and nodded at the newcomer. How did Neaera miss her? She must have been too caught up in her disappointment. It was the second night with no sign of the Saints at all. Nee didn't even know what she was looking for in all honesty. Her searching was more like aimless wandering and her mother saw fit to let her know every time she came home. However Nee was not one to get discouraged, after all what kind of hero would she be if she gave up after two nights of no leads? A bad one, that's what kind.

"Yes, I think I am. Just a little cold is all."

A few moments passed. Nee picked at the burnt sleeves of her jacket, and watched as ashen cloth floated on the chilly wind that swept through the deserted street.

”Red Harbor’s not the safest this time of night. What’s got you out here this late?” A pause, and Acheri gave a friendly smile. ”Doesn’t really matter, I suppose. Would you mind if stayed until you got on the bus? Don't like leaving people alone in this part of town.”

Neaera nodded again.

"Yes, that is alright with me. Actually, I was looking for something... but I'm not really sure what it is."

As soon as she said it Nee realised how strange that sounded. It was the truth however, and she hoped this lady didn't think she was too crazy.

Interacting with: @Amaranth

Acheri cocked her head a little, but nodded after a moment. There was certainly a story there, even if the girl hadn't shared it yet. But the more immediate problem was how ill-prepared she seemed for the cold. So she patted her pockets down, checking her pockets; she knew a pair of gloves where in one pocket, she used them to avoid leaving fingerprints at night, but somewhere she was pretty sure... Rewarded for her efforts she produced a pair of gloves from one of her coat pockets, and a hat from another. It was always best to keep spares on hand. Never knew when you might need them, especially considering the wear and tear her gear usually saw at night.

"I think we all get that sometimes. Here." The ASA held out the winter gear, smiling again. "Just bring them by the State's Attorney's office, if you're ever in the area. I'm Acheri."

She slipped her other hand back into her pocket, casting a brief glance towards the warehouse. She was running later than she wanted. But she cast the thought out of her mind and returned her gaze to the younger girl.

"What were you looking for? I'm out here pretty often, maybe I can point you in the right direction."

Old Abandoned Boarded-Up House
Somewhere in the projects of Independence City, 0135

Full of pancakes and content, Mr. Infinity stood next to the door with his wife Sharon as Chris and Mary Ann donned their backpacks in preparation for school. Mary Ann enthusiastically ran over to her mother and Sharon crouched before her. She ran her fingers through her daughter’s locks and poked her nose with her finger, receiving a smile and a giggle in response.

“You be careful dear. Stay with your brother,” she told her before kissing her cheek.

Mr. Infinity crouched next and scooped his daughter into his arms giving her a BIG hug. “Grr! I love you pumpkin.”

Mary Ann squealed before giving her father a kiss on the cheek and he returned a kiss to hers. Setting her down, Chris was next. The boy’s eyes were downcast to the floor. His hands were gripping his bookbag straps and he attempted to just walk passed his parents until Mr. Infinity slid his right leg in front of him, barring his path.

Chris sighed in exasperation. Sharon looked at her son with concern glimmering in her eyes. “Christopher, what’s wrong dear?”

Chris didn’t look at her as he irritably answered, “Nothing’s wrong. I just don’t want any kisses. Your lipstick didn’t come off last time and the other kids laughed at me.”

Sharon smiled. “I won’t kiss you then. How about a hug?”

Chris turned toward his mother and still without looking at her, he wrapped his arms around her in a quick hug before he attempted to turn and go on his way. He found a pair of polished shoes in his path and peered up a pair of legs to the suited gentleman that was his father. Mr. Infinity crouched before his son and watched as Chris’s eyes fled to the floor.

“You’re too old for that baby stuff, huh? Then look at me when I’m talking to you,” Mr. Infinity demanded.

Chris timidly looked his father in his honeyed eyes and Mr. Infinity frowned at what he saw or what he believed he suspected. “We’re gonna have a talk when you come back. Now give me a hug.”

Chris wrapped his arms about his father’s neck in a hug and Mr. Infinity returned the embrace. As Chris stepped back, Mr. Infinity rested a hand atop his son’s head and smiled.

“Have a good day at school champ and keep a big brother eye on your sister.”

Chris nodded and Mr. Infinity stood watching with Sharon as their children went on their way. He closed the apartment door and Sharon immediately snaked her arms about her husband’s neck. She rested against him, staring prettily up at his face as he smirked down at her.

“I think Chris is being bullied at school,” he shared with her his thoughts.

Sharon’s brows rose in surprise. “No? My baby?”

Mr. Infinity frowned in momentary contemplation. “I wanna follow him, but I fear that I might just embarrass him.”

“He has to learn to be brave.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. If I find any marks on my boy, then I’m gonna go talk to whoever’s parents.”

Sharon smirked. “Don’t scare them too bad.”

Mr. Infinity smiled. “Do I look scary?”

Sharon giggled. “If by scary you mean handsome then…”

Mr. Infinity kissed his wife and then grinned at her. “I gotta go back to work.”

Sharon was reluctant to release him. “Work? You mean reading that newspaper?”

He headed over to the kitchen table and snatched up the paper. “I got to catch up on all the news. I don’t carry a cell phone and neither does my employer—they’re traceable. All I got is this newspaper to go by.”

“Let me brew you some coffee.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Mr. Infinity grasped the kitchen chair and slid it out before plopping in it. He spread the paper again, resuming his read. Sharon poured him a mug of hot coffee and carried it over to the table to set it next to him. She then returned to the kitchen to begin washing dishes.

Mr. Infinity set down the newspaper to pick up his coffee. He gave the black liquid a tender sip as he stared at a report that was mysteriously appearing on the page he had been browsing. It was a fresh witness report to the police. Death Row. Turf war. Wounded. There wasn’t much details. Usually when gangs fought each other, no one got involved. If they wanted to kill each other then so be it. Mr. Infinity sighed and closed his eyes as he cradled the warm mug in his hands.

Sharon overheard him. “What’s wrong, dear?”

“There’s a turf war in Death Row.”

“You’re not going to get involved in that are you?”

“I may just actually standby to make sure innocents aren’t caught in the fire.”

Sharon smiled to herself while she scrubbed circles on a dish. “Is that all you plan to do?”

Mr. Infinity opened his eyes and stared across the table at nothing. “I guess. Hopefully one thing doesn’t lead to another.”

“And if it does?”

“Then I might be out longer than intended.”

“Don’t the Saints have enough helpers? Can’t you just come back early?”

“I can try.”

Sharon uttered a sultry laugh behind her smile. “I’ll be waiting.”

Mr. Infinity’s brow slowly rose as a naughty smile stretched across his face. He scooted his chair back and rose to his feet. “I’ll make this quick.”

He left the kitchen into the living room and approached a sword mounted on the wall over the fireplace. Mounted above it was a simple black pistol. Grasping the pistol first, Mr. Infinity pulled back on the slide to put a round in the chamber before he tucked the weapon away inside a shoulder harness beneath his coat. He then grabbed the red katana, slid it open a little to inspect the blade that immediately combust. The orange flames danced across its lustrous steel. Closing it, Mr. Infinity returned to the kitchen and stepped up behind Sharon. He slid his arm across her waist, holding her close as he kissed her neck.

“I’ll (kiss) be back (kiss)” he told her.

Sharon moaned softly and reached a hand back to cup her husband’s jaw. “Hurry.”

Stepping away from her, leaving such a lovely woman standing there alone made him ache on the inside. As much as he just wanted to whisk her off her feet and steal her into their bedroom, he knew that skipping out on a potential duty wouldn’t have settled well with the Saints. Mr. Infinity turned his back on her before he submitted to the temptation. He snatched up his coffee mug on the way out.

---

Death Row
Roof Top, 0215

Mr. Infinity was standing before the ledge of a building adjacent to the apartment. His coffee had cooled, which made it easier to drink. He had no intention to get involved with whatever the firefight was over at least not before the other Saints arrived. He hoped that they deemed the situation not their problem (mostly so he could return to Sharon for some kinky time but that was a selfish wish).

Tagging: @Agent 47@Silvan Haven@hagroden@Enalais

Location: Death Row, Jimenez Mansion.

Berlach Jimenez. The name of a dead man. Or at least, he was going to be dead. The damn fool was stupid enough to hire his personnel face-to-face instead of anonymously. Everyone knew where his hideout was, but until today, the rich boy had kept coups in line through money-loyal bodyguards. In fact, Vicker was sure that the five grand he and the warehouse lookouts were getting paid was lowball at best. When someone was paying you enough money to buy a luxury car, common sense dictates that you protect him.

But no guard would save him from justice. Whether it be from Vicker’s gun that night or the police years down the line, justice would come. However, Vicker was particularly impatient that evening. Jimenez’s hideout was damn near the stupidest place he could have picked. For one, it was a mansion. Those marble floors and walls didn’t exactly spell d-i-s-c-r-e-e-t. Also, the warehouse he shipped the cargo to was literally a block away. Yeah, the guy was rich, but no one ever said that he was smart.

Vicker had already passed the gates on his way in, and now he hit a wall. For one, there were way more soldiers than expected. Maybe Jimenez got a call from someone back at the warehouse, or maybe he was just paranoid. Either way, there were about a dozen guards patrolling the perimeter. Vicker knew that Jimenez liked to stay in the top floor inside his fancy room. It sickened him to think of children facing such a monster.

After planning for about ten seconds, Vicker discarded his plan and decided to wing it. A guard came out around the corner in front of him, yelled, and drew his gun. With a simple nod, he was under Vicker’s control.

“Okay, go to the West Wing and start shooting up the place. Avoid hitting civilians, and stay alive for as long as you can.”

“Got it.”

And off he went, carrying his automatic rifle like it was a toy. Vicker waited ‘till he heard the first gunshot, and like clockwork, the guards swarmed out of the mansion towards the West Wing. Then he made his move. It wasn’t hard, he simply walked in through the front door. Now, chances were that there were still some guards guarding Jimenez. Actually, the rich asshole definitely had bodyguards. If you had that much bank, you’d damn sure have the best protection money can buy.

Well, that’s why I’ve got a gun too.

He checked his holster for his pistol, and like always, it was there. Nothing fancy, a Hi-point 9mm. In fact, it was quite crap. The only good thing about it was that it always fired when he pulled the trigger. Where the bullet actually flew anyone could guess, but it was usually anywhere but straight.

So with gun in hand, Vicker strode down the amber-colored hallway. He didn’t see anyone yet, but that was about to change. As he rounded the corner, he stopped dead in his tracks. He saw the door to Jimenez’s personal quarter, but there was a slight complication, and it took the form of two bodyguards pointing AK-47’s directly at his face.

Well, shit.

Jimenez came out, his white suit barely able to contain the fat underneath. He wore a pair of aviators and smoked a fat cigar. He also carried a big-ass pistol that looked like it could take out a truck in one shot.

“Who the fuck are you?” he said with a thick, slurring accent. Actually, he didn’t really have an accent. He was just really drunk at that moment.

“A guy who really, really hates people like you. Do children ring a bell?”

He removed the cigar, and the wheels slowly turned in his head. After a long moment, those wheels were finally able to light a bulb.

“I mean hey, we’ve all gotta make money, right?” he said with a slight chuckle. “I’m pretty sure you’ve done bad things for money too, right?”

“There’s lines you don’t cross, Jimenez. Trafficking kids is one of them.”

“Oh, and you’re going to give me a lesson on morality? Might as well be a Saint.”

“The fuck is a saint?”

“Don’t matter for you ‘cuz you’re gonna die in a second, but I’ll indulge you; They’re wannabe cops.”

“Vigilante group? Huh, sounds pretty interesting. I’ll make sure to check them out after I’m done here.” Vicker suddenly ducked behind the corner, just as gunshots shredded the area he had been just a moment ago.

“Hey, what the hell are you–” Jimenez took a step too far forwards, right into Vicker’s range.

“Kill yourself.”

Vicker sprinted out of the building, and about thirty seconds later, he heard two booming gunshots, then a few moments after, a final one. It seemed that his guards tried to stop him. Too bad.

Now, for these Saints.

---

Kinestia was sure she was in the right place, but there wasn't sound of battle, at least not that she could hear. There was no way her logarithm was mistaken so probably she had arrived earlier than the Saints which was strange.

Suddenley she felt something slamming against her, when she looked up she saw a woman holding a cat on her arms.

"Not the safest place of the city for someone to walk alone, are you lost? Do you need help?"

---

Mentions:@LordofthePies

---

"Uh," Aro wasn't used to the question. Usually, when she accidentally ran into someone in the middle of the night they wanted to stab her. "Yes and yes. I, uh," she looked down at the cat, who was giving her evil eyes for almost dropping it. "Need to find some scissors. That and I seem to have forgotten where I am." Aro gave a sheepish smile, hoping this person would take her to the place instead of pointing out directions. She would never remember where to go if they didn't lead her.

@Kaesus