He soon found his city an even less safe place than he remembered. The blue were EVERYWHERE. He tried hanging in the subway. No dice. Two different bus stations. Cops. Even his old neighborhood alleyways that were ALWAYS clean were crawling with police. But it was in that alleyway off Mockingbird that he heard something that set his heart to racing, and nowhere near in a good way.

"Ay Wolf!"

He whipped around to see his old buddy Ritz strolling towards him, smiling wide as the chapel doors. Noah laughed and ran to him, nearly knocking the man down with a massive bear hug.

"Fuckin' shit, Ritz! How are you bud?!"

"I'm makin' it, brother, I'm makin' it! Ain't seen you on this side of town in a hot minute. What you been gettin' into?"

"Shit, I've been in the east end under the Red Line. Had some nice digs over that way but I ran into trouble. 3 years I've been there, and I never talked to not one cop. Two nights ago there's three, under the bridge at my place! So I tossed 'em cold and split, but I can't find no kinda place that ain't fuzzy here. What the hell is all that?"

"Tell the truth, I've been thinkin' of ya lately. Couple whack jobs are on the run, blowin' shit up. Cops are everywhere lookin' for 'em, trouble is each place that goes up don't leave no clues as to who or how. Got me thinkin' that maybe...maybe it's some cats like you, Wolf. Doin' shit folks ain't supposed to be able to do, ya know."

"Fuckin' hell..." Noah sat down in the alleyway utterly dumbfounded. Maybe Ritz was right, maybe he wasn't. But the idea had never occurred to him. That there were others. "...damn. Maybe...listen, Ritz, I gotta blow. It was good seein' ya, but if there's a manhunt goin' on I better skip out too. Maybe catch up with these cats and check what they're about."

"Shit, yeah you better go. Keep a tight head, brother. And keep a bullet out of it."

They shook hands and parted ways, maybe for good.

So here was Noah, hitchhiking out of town. Two drivers had picked him up and he was getting practically nowhere. So he had the last one drop him at a service station where he promptly boosted an old ratty Lincoln.

Finally making some distance, he was about to doze off at the wheel before he heard an explosion.

"The hell? More explo...SHIT." That's GOTTA be them.

He just barely saw an old dirt road in time to tear off the pavement (rather loudly and jarringly) and follow it for a spell. He was gonna check these bastards out, for better or for worse.

Isaac stuck his head out of his tent, the crisp desert air invading his tent.
"Clothes?" Isaac kept his eyes closed while holding tightly to the zipper of the door, "Clothes, clothes, clothes."

He turned his head towards the horizon, the sun barely glimmering as it began to crest above the line. He then turned his view towards the faint glow of the city

why so early

"Alright, I have an idea." Isaac zipped his tent back up and sat in the center of his tent, bundled up in blankets, and began to think of local clothing stores near where his apartment was. Isaac longed to be in his own bed, but he thought of the days of running around, while knees deep in mischief, daily.

As Isaac closed his eyes to think of where to get decent clothes from, he almost forgot,
"There's coffee and breakfast stuff in the small cooler in the truck!" He projected from his tent.

As he lowered his head, he blinked into a view of a person just a few blocks away from his apartment.
"This will work easier than expected" Isaac and the host said simultaneously. The host appeared to be a middle aged woman, an odd soccer mom haircut, and a large purse with nothing but a check book, a few platinum credit cards, and a bible the size of a small suitcase, dotted with rhinestones and gold rimmed. An uneasy feeling spread over Isaac as he noticed that the host was dressed almost too modest. A long, thick wool skirt, flats, turquoise studded jewelry, and a sweater top too warm and scratchy for Mid-September.

Fuck it, might as well Isaac thought to himself, walking towards the nearest outlet mall, a small clothing store with cheap clothes and accessories.

"Hello ma'am, if you have any questions, just holler." The unenthusiastic clerk chimed between gum popping clicks.
"Ma'am? Shit, right." Isaac quickly retorted as he adjusted the host's skirt in a form-of-habit feel. He had never had to adjust many articles of clothing, let alone a skirt. Most of the time, his clothes fit well enough to conform to Isaac no matter what.
Old habits die hard, I suppose

Isaac went around grabbing jackets, jeans, tank tops, socks, underwear, and just about anything they need or could need. Half way through, Isaac went from tossing clothes over the host's shoulder to snagging a cart while another shopper wasn't looking and filling the cart to the brim and more. The poor clerk at the check-out counter sighed and began scanning without even bothering to fold the clothes, and tossed them into bags. The manager standing nearby gave a slightly disgusted face to the host, but quickly forced a smile. The store had just opened, and was emptying everything.

The host looked at the manager and meekly smiled "Growing boys?"
"Sure, of course, I guess you wanna clear most of the men's area."
"668.35, ma'am." The clerk muttered as the host put all the bags back into the cart.
"Oh, of course." The host spoke, placing the last bag tightly, and pulled out her check book.
"UH, MA'AM, we don't take checks."
"Shit." Isaac muttered, the host speaking too.

The host pulled out a small platinum card with the phrase inscribed on it "Big heart, big hair, tease it to Jesus!" with a woman dressed from the 1960's with a massive beehive hairdo. Isaac sighed, and handed the card to the clerk.

The clerk made a loud annoyed noise, "We don't accept that card."
"You gotta be fu--, ok." The host spat as the host shuffled through the small card pocket. They were all the same brand.

"MA'AM, you're holdin' up the line." The clerk hissed
The host locked eyes with the clerk, "Then fuck you."

The host grabbed the cart and dashed for the door. As the manager began to step in-front of the cart, Isaac made the host grab the bible out of the purse and threw it as hard as the host could at the manager, hitting him square in the nose. The host ran past with the cart yelling "JESUS FORGIVES BITCH."

And continued to bolt down the road to where Isaac had first infected the host.
There's gotta be a car near by. OH, damn, keys.
Isaac quickly dug into the purse, whipped out keys, and honked the horn. After finding the car in a small parking lot, a family size mini-van, the host slid the car door open and tossed bags.

"Ma'am." A stern voice spoke from behind the host, and the host turned to see a man wearing a "Park Mall Security" badge.
"Yes?"
"You wouldn't happen to know about an assault at a local clothing store, wouldya?"
"Whaaa? Me? I don't know any-" The host then punched the security guard in the throat and pushed him out of the way.

The host sat in the car, revved the engine, and peeled out of the small parking lot, leaving the guard staggering up and catching his breath. Driving down the road, Isaac noticed a small polaroid of the host, with a Yorkie and Chihuahua snuggled close, almost suffocating under a wool jacket.

Almost 45 minutes later, a loud honk pierced the calm desert morning, and the sound of rocks and pebbles flying across burning rubber and a peel out of a mini-van.

Isaac slowly got out of his tent and rubbed his eyes, nudging his foot on Ryan's tent and patting Louis on the shoulder, yawning,
"Clothes are down the road."

The ratty ass old Lincoln made for, surprisingly, quite a comfortable sleeping arrangement. That is, until some fucking soccer mom cunt in a mini-van tore past him, spraying the car with gravel and filling the air with dust. Not exactly an ideal alarm clock. Still, the Lincoln was the closest he'd been to sleeping inside for quite a while, so he muttered a few curses under his breath, of course, but all in all, he'd slept well. He was grateful for being out of reach of the elements, if only for a moment.

He had followed his dirt road of choice for quite a while, but the momentary jolt of energy the snap decision afforded him wore off quickly. In all fairness, he was about to fall asleep at the wheel before the explosion inspired him to take an unplanned (and frankly, rather impulsive) turn onto some desolate, fucked up "road" that probably didn't even have a name. He pondered his rash decision for a bit, wondering if his impulse had led him to some sort of--

"I need a goddamn cigarette," he said aloud, his subconscious rudely interrupting his musings. The car smelled like smoke, but he was unsure if it was the previous owners habit or the engine. Come to think of it, after boosting the ride, he hadn't really even thought to inspect the vehicle. He threw open the center console, revealing quite conveniently exactly what he was after. Not his preferred brand, but fuck it. Lighting something on fire and inhaling what happens is obviously not going to yield positive results, regardless. He rolled down the window (manually, piece of shit), pulled a zippo out of his jacket pocket, lit the cigarette, and continued his investigation of the center console.

Fuck yeah. A flask. He took a sip. Whiskey. Double fuck yeah. And a wad of cash, all Benjamins, that he didn't even bother to count.

The fuck is a dealer doing in this piece of shit? he thought. Wait...if it's a dealer, then...

He opened the glove compartment to find a fully loaded, solid black .45 revolver, and a SHIT ton of bullets. Fucking score. Not that he needed a gun, really, but...the cowboy his childhood imagined him to be had always wanted one. Just call me Maxwell, he thought. He pointed the weapon at no-one, menacingly, and ran through a few of his childhood hero's most memorable lines:

"Imps!"

"Pussyfootin'!"

As he chuckled to himself, suddenly the soccer mom tore past again, going the opposite direction, and looking VERY confused. He'd finished the cigarette, so he rolled the window back up (manually, piece of shit) to escape the dust cloud.

"Fuckin' crazy ass bitch. The fuck is so important this early?"

His childlike revelry having been spoiled for the moment, he took another swig of the flask, coaxed the Lincoln into starting again, and continued down his path from the night before. He drove for quite a ways, listening to some whack-ass mix-tape the previous owner undoubtedly got at a gas station for a couple bucks and a joint. It was terrible, but even so, catchy. You know, in that sort of ironic "this-is-the-worst-attempt-at-witty-lyricism-I've-ever-heard-but-it-will-hopefully-at-the-very-least-make-for-a-semi-humorous-reference-later-winky-face" kind of way.

And then, there they were. The tents. Fuck. He hadn't thought ahead this far.

But they were there, waiting, undeniably present.

So what to do, presently, about these...present...

...tents?...

"Your getting pretty good at this," Ryan laughed, as he grabbed one of the bags from Issac, "Hope your equally good at guessing sizes."

"There's over six hundred dollars worth of clothes here," Issac snorted, "If you can't find your size you can go bare assed."

"Ha-Ha." He replied, monotone, as he began digging through the bag. "What the fuck is this?" Ryan pulled out a pale pink shirt with a large print of a Kitten wearing sunglasses, popping a wheelie on a crotch rocket.

Issac smiled, "Yeah I thought you might like that."

Ryan rolled his eyes as his two friends laughed hysterically. "Funny."

He had started stuffing the shirt back into the bag when he noticed a crummy looking car stopped a short distance from there campsite. He turned to Issac.

"What did you have that one bring?"

Isaac replaced his dust covered shirt with a sleeveless hoodie with a zipper, wearing a black tank top underneath, and a new pair of loose fitting pants with its complementary belt.

"What did you have that one bring?" Ryan spoke up
"Hm?" Isaac looked at Ryan, then to an old, ragged car rumbling down the highway, and turning towards them. Isaac's eyes widened.

"I didn't." Isaac spoke with a grim tone, quickly lurching for the two bags Ryan and Isaac had and tossed them into Ryan's tent. Isaac spun towards Louis, and he responded with tossing his bag in his tent.

"Doesn't look like cops."
"No, not cops, but could be far worse." Isaac mumbled, "Just in-case, we may need a cover. Louis, think you could do a smokescreen if we need it?"

I could just control the guy, Isaac thought, but if I caused this, maybe I should tone it down afterwards.

Louis had been digging around the clothes for a while before deciding on what he wished to wear. He had managed to produce a nice pair of jeans that were designed to look worn, a t-shirt with a the smallest imposing logo, brand new shoes that felt like heaven on his aching feet, and a lightweight hooded jacket. He was just putting on the finishing touches to his new outfit when his mates pointed out a beat-up whip. Louis thought nothing of it until he heard the concern in Isaac's voice.

"A smoke bomb? I could just detonate the car, if necessary..." He trailed off as the trio watched the car closely, waiting for the tiniest of reasons to defend themselves. "... Here's the plan. If they're after me, the two of you are my hostages, clear? No sense in us all getting sent to prison."

He had to force his mind passed the strange prospect that this was some bizarre hippie three-some, as all three of the gentlemen he saw were struggling to get clothes on as he switched the engine off. As he remembered the true purpose of his arrival, however, he also remembered that these could very well be dangerous men. Therefore, he kicked himself mentally once again for not having thought this through.

The fuck was he supposed to say?

Hey, I was just in the area and heard explosions, so I'm here for the party?

I come in peace? Take me to your leader?

Got any...chips?

These folks obviously weren't expecting company, and were even more obviously adamantly opposed to it. But this was it. He was here, and there wasn't a shot in hell he was just gonna drive off back where he came from. He hadn't seen any abilities used thus far, but that was caution on their side, most likely. However, if he just stepped out of the car and started psycho-tossing shit and these WEREN'T the authors of the explosions, then what?

He grabbed the revolver, just for good measure, and shoved it in the back of his jeans. And he stepped out of the car. He decided to just play it cool. He sat down on the hood, lit another cigarette. Took a long drag.

"Boys, I think we need to talk. Cigarette?"

Louis sighed. Not a cop. Don't blow the car up. Talk your way through this first. Finishing the final touches of straightening out his clothes, Louis walked tentatively towards the stranger. He offered out the cigarette and Louis chuckled to himself. "I'm not sure I should be anywhere near hot coals. Listen, man. I don't know what you were expecting to find out here; we're just out camping for a few days. You know, enjoying the weather." His lie was apparent, Louis wasn't very quick with fibs. He glanced back to his two...

friends? Acquaintances...? friends.

...friends in hopes of someone coming to bail him out of his horrid attempt at a farce.

"Hell, I'll take a smoke!" Ryan chimed, as he reached for the cigarette that hung out from the box in the mans hand. He hadn't had a cigarette in days. He hadn't so much as thought of them, what with all that was happening as of late, and the idea of one now became almost a need more than a want. The rather homely looking man in front of them seemed to observe him closely as Ryan instinctively searched his pocket for a lighter, and for some reason everyone seemed to turn their attention to him. When Ryan realized this he quit fumbling in his pockets and just let the cigarette hang, unlit, from his lips. The attention of the group switched back to the stranger before them, who flicked open a zippo and struck the flint.

"Jesus," the man growled, "You want me to smoke it for ya too?!"

He held the flame out and Ryan shrugged and leaned in to light his cigarette, and nodded a 'thank you'. The man closed the zippo and stuffed it back in his pocket. Leaning back against the hood of his car, he turned back to Louis.

"Camping huh?"

Louis shrugged off-handedly. It was the best lie he could come up with on the spot. Admittedly, it was a fairly transparent lie at that. No one in their right mind drives out into the dunes to camp when the beach isn't far off. He watched as the two exchanged looks over their cigarettes. What a weird way to bond. Louis thought to himself, wondering if it would be risking too much to attempt this ritual of nicotine addicted bonding. Thinking back to the explosive capabilities of his abilities, he again talked himself out of the idea.

"You can stick around and talk, if you want," Louis began, "but we've been out here quite some time and were getting ready to scrounge up a meal. You'll have to have this conversation while we cook." It was a baited lead. One that the man couldn't possibly guess. If anything happens while we're chatting over a fire, I should be able to use my abilities by using the fire as a sort of catalyst... It was a plan. Admittedly, not a great one, but far less transparent than his earlier fib.