The camera pans across New York City. We all know what it looks like, but the camera is getting paid by the frame and it knows how to milk the investors without getting scolded. It's a quality camera. It knows its job. It makes New York look quite stunning in its sparkling snow-coated splendor. It's been doing this a long time. It could remember when that building was just bare beams and hard hats and lunch pails. Good times.

The camera slows. It dreaded this next bit.

Soon it pans over a familiar skyscraper, bearing a familiar Media Logo. The music swells in a somber manner. The camera blinks.

---

"He... handled that last one well." The woman admitted, her voice faltering briefly over the word 'handled' through clenched teeth. "So far he's kept up his slogan. Every job ends with a 'Picture Perfect Finish'. His dedication to maintaining a high standard continues to be documented in the analysis reports."

At this juncture in her dialogue, her hand lifts itself as if it had not realized it had received the instruction to do so and slowly brushed a stray strand of violet hair out of her eyes and over her ear. Task completed, the hand then gracefully descended back to her waist where it clasped with its twin companion in a professional manner.

"Furthermore, his popularity continues to rise steadily. He is favorably viewed on all platforms he maintains accounts on. His powers appear stable, though his confidence grows with each success. It is my proposal that we advance with Stage Three plans ahead of schedule."

She already knew approval would be met; The Overseer had already personally instructed her to go ahead with Stage Three, this meeting was merely a formality for the Investors.

"Let us test the bounds of his confidence."

---

"Check it, this place is Il Cortile, one of the most well known eateries in Lower Manhattan. Ya boy made a reservation for tonight months ago; they get packed in the holidays and it's the only way to guarantee a seat."

The red haired man was done up well tonight; his typical modern techwear had been spruced up to adapt to the fine establishment he was attending without sacrificing his distinctive style or the high-cost function of the unique clothing aesthetic. Propped on his table was a high end camera, standing on a tripod and aimed at Sullivan as he made an effort of playing to the device.

"It's not the most expensive place in the City by far- but that stuff ain't my vibe to begin with. I'd rather be in comfortable, familiar, places like this when I go out with you guys." He flashes that million dollar smile at the camera. Mentally advising himself to remember to do an aesthetic speedup of this part in post, he allows himself to relax and browse the menu.

Time passes, and soon he checks his watch as he senses a notification incoming. His eyes briefly peruse the scrolling text. His eyes widen.

Call Me - Sally

It was the first message he'd received from her in months. He reached over and turned the camera off. He pulled out his phone and was already dialing her number on it as he stepped away from the table. By the time he stepped outside, the dial tone was heavy in his ear.

I'm sorry, but your call can't be connected at this time. Hang up and try again later.

His eyes widened again, staring at the phone. He squints. Full bars. Bill paid. He looks up; there was a cellphone tower right there, on that rooftop. After a few more suspicious glances between his phone and the tower, he flipped back to his texts and began typing;

Hey what's u

His thumbs hovered over the screen. He was briefly frozen, his brows furrowing deeply as he scanned the recent texts. There was no sign of the one he'd just received just now. He stuffed his phone into its secure pocket and lifted his arm to look at the Watch once more, tapping at its screen;

It, too, had zero indication of having received any such notification. He didn't have much time to ponder this strange occurrence, though. A sound made his head whip up and forget his situation immediately. He was soon sprinting down the sidewalk, weaving between people with hasty apologies as he pushed through the steadily increasing bulk of onlookers.

Someone had just called for Help. There was screaming. How could he not run to the rescue?

---

The scene where Picture Perfect arrived was one of pure chaos. A car had crashed- but that wasn't even the tip of the iceberg. A fire Hydrant nearby was erupting nearby, four door sedan haphazardly parked atop it. There were pedestrians arrayed around the scene in varying states of injury. In the distance, police cars raced up the streets. Picture Perfect skidded to a halt as he burst through the throng of the crowd and onto the scene-

Coming to a stop face to face with the barrel of an assault rifle aimed by a ski-mask wearing man who seemed just as surprised to see Picture Perfect as Picture Perfect was to see a fully automatic firearm aimed at his face. Neither man moved. Picture Perfect eased into a smile.

"Robbery, eh?"

This was always the moment panic gripped someone's eyes. When they realized they couldn't move. Picture Perfect slowly swiveled his head, surveying the scene; four men, ski masks, duffel bags, hard cash falling out of the car as the other three scrambled to their feet and broke their dazes. The car had halfway hit the brickwork of the building, halfway thrown itself into the glasswork of a storefront, and in classic New York Style nobody was bothering to leave.

"Bad choice. Those bills are marked, dude, and even worse you didn't even pick a good suit to get arrested in. Really, man, you gotta style if you're gonna try to take the shortcut to fame and fortune- Is he really wearing sandals in December? Guys come ON!"

---

"Target on scene. High risk scenario going as projected, target's presence already neutralized threat of collateral damage and excess injury. Target's capability known as 'Flash Mob' growing more confident with each interaction. Comfort level with firearms increasing, no longer exhibiting the same wariness target once did. All in all, Show Stopper is right; bastard's getting more confident."

The figure was standing in a conveniently shadowy spot, secluded in an empty for-rent office space that had been abandoned to the yule-tide vacations of its inhabitants. Briefly a scarred face is lit by a match being struck and brought to light a cigarette, the dull glow of the quiet flame and the ember-burn of the cigarette granting a shadowed hollowness to the face of the man. A deep breath, an exhalation of smoke.

"I vote we just kill 'im now and save ourselves the headache later. If we keep watching him grow he'll eventually-"

The voice that crackled through the earpiece was clear, concise, and brokered no discussion;

"He is not to die. He is to be studied. His power is Project Mastermind. We must see him grow, for his growth is ours. Stay on task."

The man fell silent at those words. Gloved hands tightened briefly, the one holding the box of matches relaxing and tossing the item lazily into the air and catching it. The sound of cardboard smacking leather thudded into the air thrice before he grunted and slid the matches into a winter coat's pocket. His now free hands then occupied themselves with the task at hand.

He took up a controller, and peered into its viewing screen. Another exhalation of smoke briefly obscured the camera feed of a drone, flying through the air and weaving between buildings. It was following a pair of cop cars, speeding through the streets...

---

Picture Perfect dusted his hands, standing triumphantly in front of a heap consisting of four would-be-robbers and their, in his eyes, excessive firearms. High threat robberies like this were a rarity, and privately he was thankful he'd been on the scene to stop it-

But openly, he threw his hands out wide and beamed at the onlookers as they applauded.

"Another day, another problem solved- that's just the way I like it!" He declared with a laugh as he performed a little celebratory jig. "Can you believe these guys? The rest of us work hard to make ends meet and get on camera and they decide to take the shortcut to their fifteen minutes-"

He guffaws comically as he swaggers towards their wrecked vehicle, the water pressure beginning to subside slowly and steadily lessen the cascade of water raining over the area. He confidently reached into the back seat of the vehicle and hefted out the large duffel bag of hard cash, hoisting it above his head in one hand to show it off to the crowd.

"This is gonna go right back where it-"

Sullivan blinked. He wiggled his fingers. There was supposed to be a bag there. He frowned and risked looking up, somewhat perturbed as to why he no longer felt there was a large bag of money in his hand. Alas, when he looked up there was indeed no longer a large bag of money in his hand. He wiggled his fingers again, then shielded his eyes quite unnecessarily- years of physical habits died hard- and turned to gaze off where a majority of the audience had turned to look.

"What- Is that- Really?" He expressed incredulously.

A drone- a sizable one, at that- had suddenly swooped in and hooked the duffel bag straight from his outstretched hand. He grit his teeth privately and locked onto the device in his gaze, following it with ease as it soared upwards and away- but it was too far. He couldn't sense the strange grip he could impose on things. He couldn't stop it. It was too fast, too far.

For the first time in a long time, Sullivan was at a loss for words. It was a strange sensation to him. The loss of the audience's attention and adoration was tangible. It was heavy. It made his mouth dry faster than a carton of salty crackers ever could. Licking his lips to whet them and buy himself a social moment alike, his mind raced.

This was, as far as his public career was concerned, decidedly not a 'picture perfect' finish. But Sullivan was a scrappy man and not one to take this insult anything besides 'in stride'.

Whirling back around to the crowd in an explosive display of energy he pointed towards a bystander who was holding up their phone-

"Yo! Did you get that on video- please tell me you did! That was straight fiiiiiiiire! I need to see it again."

And just like that he swung what was building into an embarrassing last-minute failure of showboating into a social event he was a part of rather than victim to. Sidling up to the person as he watched the video on their phone and charismatically ingratiated himself with the nearby citizenry, Sullivan's eyes memorized the drone in this video.

Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice-- you can't fool me again.

"Bruh, send this in to my website. I can already feel it, this one's gonna be a hit."