[IC] Shadow of the Skyline

[OnlyThePie]

---

The Conduit

---

Jim Evanston paced his office thoughtfully, small sparks arcing through the air. It wasn't his official office at Evanston Metal Recycling. Nor was it his backup office at The Hatchery. This was his office, 200 feet underground, walls of solid cement, and somehow managing to be both luxuriant and utilitarian at the same time. The foot thick steel door was covered to look like handsome oak wood, and the walls painted a serene white.

The massive oak desk dominated the room, Jim's favorite throne-like iron desk chair stationed firmly behind it. Bookshelves towered on either side, backed to the walls. A painting of some famous imperial ruler or another backed the wall behind his desk. It changed on a regular basis. Today it was Otto Von Bismarck. Various other trophies and fancy objects sat on pedestals or displays around the room. A pottery fragment sat quietly in the back, alone on a bland wooden pillar. But the most eye catching thing in the room was the man pacing it. A handsome, sharp, face, short black hair, a rather unnerving trench coat and boots. But the electrical sparks were what gave him his emphasis.

Jim was concerned. He wasn't worried yet, but he was concerned. One of the gangs bordering his territory had recently undergone a total re-haul. The slimy old bastard in charge had been murdered, and a young woman had taken his place. The human trafficking in the district had dropped dramatically, but now he had to worry about theft. He didn't have much that would greatly concern him if it was stolen, but he'd prefer to keep everything where it was. There were also repeated reports of standalone superhumans making a mess across the city, and he wouldn't stand for unorganized mess-making.

A rushed knock pounded against his door. "Come in," he shouted, in order to be heard through the door, slightly annoyed he was being interrupted. His 3rd in command, Thomas Constantine, stepped into the room, the door slamming behind him. Constantine was a thin man, with a thick brown beard to match his deep eyes. He was Canadian, but spoke like the American he had become. Constantine had an ability, a rather weak one, but he was able to break any lock, mechanical, electrical, or even password. This made him a remarkable asset for gathering money, and Constantine owed Jim his live anyway.

Constantine spoke quickly, obviously upset. "Sir, it's Sabre, his guys are getting raided, and he's out of commission to stop them." Jim swore. The Sabre was one of his arms dealers, the man didn't have an ability, he just liked the nickname. If Sabre got taken down, he'd lose an important connection. He had no idea if the gang that replaced Sabre would respect the authority of the Conduit.

"I'll deal with it." Jim said, walking out the doorway. Constantine rushed after him.

"You, sir? Shouldn't we just dispatch Henson and his boys?" Constantine asked, nervously. "You could be hurt."

Jim laughed. "Henson is too lighthanded for this. I'll deal with it. I'll be fine Constantine." Jim pushed the button to shut the elevator doors, Constantine's protests drowned out by the shutting iron plates. Constantine was a good friend, but he worried too much. Jim cracked his knuckles. He'd solve the problem.

+++++

Industrial District, Northwest
Jim stepped out of the car. The old black jeep had served him well as an undercover car. If he had taken the Mustang, he would've stood out much more. He stepped over to the electrical transformer he had intentionally stopped by. Running electrical energy to force his muscles to react, he tore the metal cover off of the box. He rubbed his arm. That always hurt a bit. He grabbed the two massive cable lines running through the box and flexed his "muscle" for lack of a better term. The box hummed and sparked as he absorbed the energy running through it. The lights on the block went out. He grinned.

As Jim stepped into the firefight, he was amazed at the remarkably poor job the Sabre's men were doing. They were being absolutely demolished, and the raiders didn't even have to fight that hard. The Sabre's men were terrible at finding cover. He shook his head. Shoddy training could take down a gang just as easily as another gang could. He flexed his fingers and gestured as a bolt of lightning snaked out and fried one of the raiders from behind. The scream was muffled by the helmet. Several men turned to him, but they were all dead before they could let off a shot.

He walked around casually, zapping any man who tried to shoot him. He was stopped by a man obviously scared, pointing a rifle at him. Jim smiled sarcastically. The man fired. In a split instant, Jim did several things at once. A very thin bolt shot out and hit the bullet, not just stopping it, but sending it back towards the man. At the same time, he spun a finger, triggering a small electromagnetic impulse which flipped the bullet around. The bullet thudded into the man who had shot it a second later. Jim frowned. Now it was messy...

The last man dropped his gun and threw his hands up in the air. Jim walked up to him, putting a hand on the man's shoulder. He forced the man to his knees. "Do you know how many amps are needed to kill a man? It can be as low as 0.2, just to put your heart out of commission. Of course, if the voltage is higher, it's going to kill you a lot quicker. But, I could just run 1 whole Amp through you and you'd be completely fried. Poof, dead." Jim grinned, wickedly. He pulled the helmet off the man's head. The fellow was very German in appearance, blonde hair and blue eyes. "But I'm not a sadist, I'm a businessman. I want you to give whoever sent you a message. Nobody does ANYTHING in my territory without my say so, got it? And, just to prove I'm serious..." Jim flexed his "muscle" again, and the man screamed as he rapidly aged, Jim training the electrical energy stored as youth within the man.

A man of about 70 sat on the ground in front of him. Jim clicked his tongue and turned and walked away. "Don't forget! Nobody messes with the Conduit!"

[Athinar]

---

Aleksandr

---

Southeast Financial District, 12th Bank of Vale; 2120 Hours

The Bank of Vale was a very wealthy corporation. That was probably why their branches throughout the city had giant glass windows above their wide automatic doors. While stylistically impressive, and probably having security to keep it from being a liability, it was an architect's nightmare. Arch windows had been in effect for centuries, and had been successful means of viewing the outdoors, but when you make an arch progressively wider, it got progressively less stable, and it needed to be supported by other means, such as supports in the walls, and beams in the glass itself. Alek was here to cause some major property damage.

While the bank was preparing for closing time at 2130 hours, Alek was preparing to infiltrate the building. He'd have to move fast, but then again, that's what he was good at. Standing at the bus stop across the street, hood up, alone except for the patter of rain on the pavement, Alek pulled on his gloves, and slung the leather satchel containing some... less than legal stuff over his shoulder. Running across the empty street, he entered the building.

Most of the tellers had gone home, but there was a single light on in the lobby for the janitor and any customers who might need to go to the escalator, and a teller's window light was on upstairs. The guards were in the break room, preparing to leave, as this was the brief margin in which the guard changed to the night shift. Any guards just arriving were out back, parking, dutifully on schedule, so as long as a camera didn't catch his face, he was fine. The shadows obfuscated his head completely, so there was a little to zero chance anyone would successfully I.D. him.

Walking up the escalator, he stayed just outside the light from the teller's window, and headed over to the window, opening his satchel. Reaching inside, he pulled out the highly illegal, highly useful toys he had bought. Miniature plastic explosives, wired to a single detonator. Sticking it to the very corner of the window, he armed it by pushing a small black button on its miniature keypad. Walking along the observation deck to the other side of the glass portal, he placed another explosive on the window, and armed it. Just as the guards began to walk up the back stairs, Alek slid down the escalator rails, and ran out the door, across the street, and into an alley, pressing the button on the detonator.

With a shattering of glass, followed by a loud CRASH, the window of the bank shattered. The explosives didn't need to be large and powerful to obliterate a window like this. A frown on his face, Alek grinned with grim satisfaction as the expensive window, worth several million dollars, lay in pieces. However, he didn't have much time to soak it in, as the alarms sounded, a klaxon that alerted the whole neighborhood. Calling up his hidden reserve of speed, Alek ran at 30 MPH, quickly exiting the scene. Making his way to his neighborhood, Alek entered the apartment building, and nodding to the receptionist, entered the elevator.

Tonight was a successful run, even though he wasn't hired by anyone. Some things you just had to do, to stick it to those scum-sucking corporate parasites that hired Mongoose.

[FantasyChic]

---

Scarlet

---

Huh...

Scarlet paced the roof of her apartment complex as she gazed out to the city. She puffed in her cigarette and let it out slowly. While she did so she noticed everyday people walking by. The old lady who lived two doors down from her that had that yappy mutt that would bark every morning at 5 A.M. on the dot, the man who she was pretty sure was a pedophile, the Korean family that spoke no English when it came to rent, but whooped and hollared when the landlord left and spoke well enough to be college professors.

This was pretty great. She was surrounded by liars and cheats and generally not pleasant people.

She loved it.

She ran a hand through her long, red hair and took another puff of her cigarette. She flicked the empty step off the roof and started climbing down the fire escape. When she got to her window she climbed in and surveyed her apartment.

It wasn't the most beautiful in the residential district, it was small, but it fit her purpose. She wouldn't be here long. She sat at her counter top and opened the file she started. The hit was pretty easy, small time in her opinion. Vi said it was worth it and would make it worth her while if she grabbed it. The item in question was a ring owned by some gang member who was hiding out in a nearby house. She surveyed it and cased the place, noted entryways, exits. It would be simple. She would hit it later.

She turned on her police scanner to get updates on activity. She preferred if something happened far away from residential, the police presence would be away from her, making the grab that much easier.

Something blipped on the scanner and she turned it up to listen.

"Attention all units. There was a robbery at The Bank of Vale, all units respond immediately. Explosives used and caution is advised. Subject is said to still be in the area."

"What the actual hell?" she stated. Someone robbed the bank and it wasn't her. No. That wasn't how things went. Yeah she knew there were other thieves, but the use of explosives added a new spin on it. She stood up and turned the scanner off. She was beyond pissed.

Her phone ringed and she picked it up.

"Scarlet? guessing you heard about the bank?"

"Yeah. You believe this? Someone trying to come into my territory? They got another thing coming."

"I figured. Which is why I am putting the current grab on hold. The ring can wait, this is priority. The bank hit bothers me. I want you to figure out what happened and who did the grab. I'll leave what you do to them in your hands."

They hung up and Scarlet went into her room and took out her duffle bag that held her attire. Full leather and her mask. She tied her hair back and put on her gloves and boots.

It was time to get to work.

[Kharons Progeny]

---

Violetta

---

The woman sat crossed legged in an old wooden chair perched precariously on its hind legs as she flipped through the dead man’s papers. She couldn’t say much about him but at least his notes and list were accurate. Underneath the old wooden desk laid the unmoving figure of a man in his late 40’s rimmed glasses shattered upon his face, the bright cheerful nameplate on the desk named him the head defense attorney of the upper financial district. He was the one who the corrupt went to and paid handsomely for his services; smarter than he looked he kept the files and notes his clients gave him, notes on what gangs they had their hands in and what moves they had planned and executed. It seems that the good lord mayor had been accused three times of eliciting a young male streetwalker and had a temper when they wouldn’t listen, but of course that never hit the news. Viole could make good money off of this hit, or perhaps she would use it to secure her own little position on the ever changing surface of Vale City.

A short knock on the window drew her attention from the papers as her second in command, Varic sat perched on the window, a wicked grin plastered across his face. He was two years older than her and his hair had already started to grey, but he was loyal and was one of the best sharpshooters the young leader had seen around the industrial district.

”Well well well, to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Her good natured greeting was echoed with the window sliding up with a sharp scrap as he reported that the raid had finally started. She had learned about a possible raid on one of the arms dealers that was allowed to exist in the Conduit’s realm, and though she had little interest in the dispute, the prospect of seeing someone tangle with the Wire’s could be an interesting advantage for the new gangleader. Slamming the legs down with a small splat as it hit the pool of blood under her, she neatly jumped over the desk sauntering her way towards the window, spotting the sleek black charger idling under the fire escape.

”Let’s go then.”

The words followed her down as she easily made her way down to the car sliding over the hood and in threw the open driver’s window. The soft click of the seatbelt next to her was all she needed before she slammed on the gas, sliding the car out into traffic; she was too far away from her own turf for anyone to recognize the car easily maneuvering through the busy city streets, shifting and drifting down side roads, almost as if avoiding the main roads for a reason.

It wasn’t long before the woman was perched on a roof a few buildings away from the Sabre’s hideout, both her second and third in command standing behind her watching the poor excuse for a defense the men were putting up against the raiders. They were too well prepared and geared to be another gang trying to gain more turf, no this was something else, something much larger was at play.

”Seems like someone wanted to take out the Conduit’s weapon supplier…”

Viole tilted her head before whispering soft Russian to the small bird on her shoulder, returning her attention to the firefight below as the bird took off circling high in the air as if searching for something. The arrival of the jeep behind the attackers was a new twist, her eyebrow’s shooting up into her hair line as she watched the very man she was talking about exit the car and enter the fray. The sparks of electricity surrounding him only added to the allure as the three of them watched silently as he quickly turned the tide and issued a warning to the now decrepit old man.

”Ryker, see what you can find out about who arrange the raid.”

Though it was posed as a request, the young blonde standing behind her knew an order when he heard one. A slight tilt of his head and he was gone down the side of the building and off into the back streets to find his contacts and information brokers. He was rather young for a third in command, but his ability was a useful one, he could tell when someone was lying. At the age of 22 he had graduated The University of Vale City with a bachelor’s in psychology and a minor in criminal justice; he had every intention of become a police officer, and even entered the academy before he saw that corruption rested in the heart of it as well. He was a young depressed man haunting a dive bar when Viole found him, he was arguing with her second in command about how the city was damned and no one could make a difference. She listened to his argument chuckling loud enough to garner his attention before offering him a job to join her and make a difference on the dark side instead of trying to do it standing in the light. As he left so did she, motioning for her second to follow as well making her way closer to the scene moving from roof to roof not daring to get to close to the angry lightning man down there on the ground.

”When the idiot leaves, follow him.”

They both knew she was talking about the only surviving raider, after she had gained a vocal understanding from Varic she turned and disappear into the shadows making her way leisurely back towards her own office, the sound of sirens echoing through the abandoned buildings as they raced towards the city.

Tilting her head she was curious as to what that situation was about, but she had other pressing matters, and needed to gather a few things before she went and had a meeting with a certain mayor.

This was going to be a fun day, she could tell.

[The Narrator]

---

Adam

---

The room that Adam used as his main office would seem ridiculous too anyone who did not know what kind of creature he was. The walls had clearly not been renovated in a long time, the same with the floor. The ceiling was laughably high and the doors looked like one could drive a car through them without a problem. On nearly every wall of the room stood a bookshelf, filled to the brim. And in the middle of the room stood a gigantic iron chair, behind an equally over sized wooden table.

In that iron chair sat Adam. The grotesque being was reading On War by Carl von Clausewitz, partly to practice his German, partly because he liked the realistic vision the book had on strategy and war. His quiet reading session was promptly interrupted when one of his lieutenants entered. His name was Samuel Ischewsky, also most people called him pretty Sam. Which was ironic, since Sam had horrible burns on his face.

"Master Adam. There are a few things happening you should know.", the voice of the man was monotone and fittingly deep. "There are unproven reports of an attack on an armsdealer in the Territory of the Wires."

Adam looked up from the book, this could be interesting. "Now that is quite something. Who in their right mind would mess with the mightiest man of the industrial district? If the reports are true the goal was clearly too disrupt the arms trade in the region. And who would get profit out of that? Interesting news Samuel. Thank you.", Adams voice sounded surprisingly pleasant. It was an interesting bit of news, Adam knew so much. But how could he himself use this news? Clearly he should not let the defenses of the Rotten down. If someone had the balls to attack Jim Evanston on his home turf, someone just might attack the Rotten. He decided too keep it in mind.

"On other news Samuel, I want you to make contact with a woman in the residential district.", Adam stood up and towered over Samuel, and most likely every other human being. His gigantic paw of a left hand scratched his chin. "The name of the woman is Lucia Malena Scordia. She is quite young and lives in a mansion. I don't want you directly to contact here. Send someone with pleasant looks. She is supposedly a medium. Make a appointment with her.", Samuel nodded and turned around to leave. "Oh and Samuel? Please make it clear to her that the appointment is too be this week and not up for debate."

[Hekazu]

---

Samuel

---

He stared at the potted plant on the nearby desk. He had bought it mere twenty minutes ago but it was already starting to wilt away. A shame really, the fact he could never keep any house-plants, but now what was most annoying fact about it was that it would no longer provide quite as good a testing ground for what he had in mind. It would have to do though, it was not like he could ask someone to bring him a money tree (Crassula ovata) and not stay for a while afterwards. Come to think of it, he had always had one in his home. Guess that tradition was about to be broken.

"All right, let's try this again...", Samuel muttered and extended his right arm. "Shame I don't really remember how it went", he added to himself as he made a few grasping moves and attempted to summon the hazy-green weapon he had wielded against the gang before. He'd need to do it again, preferably the same as the last time too, or perhaps there was power in variety? Well, whatever it would end up as, he wanted it to appear. But it refused at first. He could feel his aura concentrating where he'd like it, but it did not manifest, or whatever he'd like to call it now. The plant started breaking records in the speed it turned brown, but just when Samuel was about to give up and let the plant die on its own, he could feel a bubbly sensation on his palm. It was there.

The plant was well beyond any use as a testing dummy, but at least he got the thing he had really wanted out of this, the confirmation he was actually able to replicate the behaviour. He had studied science, repeatability was highly desired in such a field. And he was the only one capable of researching what he could do. There had to be other people in the world that had something similar though, he kept thinking as he traced the cloudy shape of the whip-like weapon that had formed with the fingers of his left hand while keeping the handle in his right. What could they do? Probably something more useful.

Could he morph this thing? Samuel made some attempts at changing the shape of the weapon, but in the end it merely dissipated. Again he felt some tingling, this time in his spine. Strange, usually he could not feel his powers. This probably meant he should exercise caution if he ever thought of using it again. He'd forget though. He knew he would. Whatever the case, he'd need to think about the hostile takeover and his to-be outlaw persona. He couldn't be himself after all, the police might get to him or one of his friends could catch a glimpse and tell everyone. Neither would do him any good.

Perhaps he could just go full on PAYDAY gang on this; suit, mask and a gun. Made sense now that he thought about it. A darker suit though. And a white shirt. None of his flashier ties either, at least for the beginning. Which meant he'd need a new suit. Something cheap most likely. He stood up from his recliner and took the few necessary steps to reach his desk and sat down again. Blood rushed to and from his head and there was a brief moment of dizziness thanks to the inherited low blood-pressure, but the worst dimming of eyes happened only after he was down again. He'd need to be careful about that as a crimelord, he thought and chuckled. "Let's see what our friend Google has to tell about the stores nearby... Tomorrow will be the day, none will be open as long as the grocery store and even that closes in, what, five minutes." And he'd have to do something about that talking to self thing too.

[dreamingflowers]

---

Lucia Malena Scordia

---

Lucia was leaning against the walls of the hallway, her head resting against the concrete behind her. The Scordia mansion was immense with over six bedrooms, each with their own bathroom. There was a duplicate of nearly everything, two kitchens, two washing rooms, two living rooms. It looked like two houses had melted together and it was designed in such a way that it felt like one single home. In the center of the mansion were two long flights of stairs, leading to separate sections of the house. Every inch of the mansion was richly decorated with expensive paintings, vases and pieces of art. The floors were lined with thick hand woven rugs of the finest quality. Crystal, gold and silver chandeliers hung from the ceiling in nearly every room. The most beautiful one, made of all three materials combined could be admired in the foyer. The interior design harkened back to old fashion Italy, with wooden furnishing and warm deep colors.

For the last couple of months Lucia had become intimately familiar with the insides of the Scordia mansion. It was all she saw, every day. She had never spent so long cooped up inside. Some days it felt like the walls were closing in on her. Her work and the occasional visits of her loved ones were the only things which preserved her sanity. The young woman let out a deep breath and closed her eyes. Every day she woke up and got ready was a small victory, staying in bed wouldn't improve anything.

The doorbell rang loudly and a hand shot up to her chest, startled by the sudden sharp sound she tried to calm her breathing as she made her way to the door. She peaked through the tiny glass hole to see who was standing outside. It was Renato, a close friend of the Scordia family. Lucia studied his face through the peaking hole for a little longer before opening the door. He looked pensive as always, slightly stressed even. She pulled open the heavy set wooden doors and made way for the boy.

"Buongiorno Signora Lucia" Renato entered the Scordia mansion, smiling shyly at the young widow. Lucia leaned in to greet him with two kisses on the cheek which left the 13 year old with flushing cheeks.
“How was school Renato? Did you have lunch already?” Lucia asked while making her way to the kitchen in the left wing of the house. She glanced over her shoulder to check if he was following her. When they arrived in the kitchen Renato tentatively took a spot at the bar, he folded his hands together on the counter with an expectant look on his face.

“It was good and I had a sandwich this morning…..” He trailed off quietly. Renato scratched the back of his head and let his eyes wander about the kitchen. He really felt bad for Lucia, she was a really nice women and he wanted to help her. She was living all by herself in this huge house, a lonely widow.

“I’ll make you some pasta, I have some fresh tomatoes, it will be ready in a bit” Lucia said with her back turned to the young boy while she gathered the ingredients from the cupboards and the fridge. Cooking was relaxing to her and she liked to cook when she had people over, it reminded her of the days before her mother and husband passed away. People always came over to see Marco and when her mother was ill they came to see her too. Now that they were gone they had no reason to visit as often as they had.

Renato watched Lucia bustle about in the kitchen. Her wavy hair, smooth white skin and hourglass shaped body. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. He sighed wistfully, his chin leaning on his hand. After a while he lost himself in a beautiful fantasy , a daydream, one where Lucia could be with him.

The doorbell rang again and this time it was Renato who was startled, as if caught doing something bad. He jumped of the chair and ran through the hallway towards the door while he called to Lucia in the kitchen.

“I’ll get it Signora Scordia!”

When he reached the door he was slightly out of breath, he pulled open the heavy set doors with a grunt. Outside there was a man dressed in a sharp suit, probably a very expensive one. He was very handsome, fact which irked Renato, he didn’t need any competition for Lucia’s affections. The young boy had a slightly annoyed expression on his face and crossed his arms defensively.
“Yes, what do you want?” He asked trying to sound tough, his body tense and guarded.

[Thaddeus Dron]

The nightclub was simply electric. Music bombarded undulating shapes that appeared grotesque in the changing lights- dancing an ancient forbidden ritual to the gods of sex and greed. Colors of the rainbow beamed about the dance floor as the dj commanded the crowd like a priest in the pulpit. They prayed, they worshiped, they sinned. Their tithes were passed to drug dealers for little miracles that came in white packages, miracles they snorted and placed under their tongues. Their moans were pure rapture, and in the midst of it all they lived more than they ever could trapped in their office cages during the day, or in their shabby personas constructed for the amusement or the benefit of meaningless, faceless social constructs. They lived and died on the floor, in the euphoria that Prophet provided.

Prophet hated them all.

He sat on a couch with three women laid across him. Body parts at odd angles like a jigsaw puzzle, the man simply could not look even the slightest bit amused at his success. His sour demeanor was not like him- even the women currently dedicated to pleasing him shared nervous smiles with each other when they looked up from caressing him to his thunderheaded face. "Jazz." He spoke at a normal volume and his voice seemed to cut through the din of the club.

Immediately a tall, buxom black woman with obviously fake blond extensions was at his side. "Baby?" Her voice was honey, as was her skin tone. She was the type of beautiful painters tried to capture when thinking of the female form. The type of beautiful designers call "plus size" because her curves don't fit easily in expensive dresses. Everything about the woman, from her long luxurious lashes, to her tight green catsuit was calculated. Meant to drive a man wild. Meant to eat at the hearts of the weak-willed. Crafted and calculated to make men her pawns. All men except Prophet.

"I don't like the news today. Send word to Jim. The Conduit coming into the picture wasn't a mistake. He needed to flex his muscles. So, your job is to know why. I want to meet. The wheels turned over and over in the man's mind- why would the most powerful man in the city dispatch a ragtag gang himself? Was it to remind everyone of his power? If that was the case, he must have seen a reason to do so, which means he is in some way threatened, needing to show force to remind someone he still has it. Who would be that stupid?

The woman nodded to him and waited. She knew the man almost as well as he knew himself. The three women writhing about his body paid them no mind. Sure enough, after a few seconds of contemplation, he continued speaking: The bank robber wasn't a gang. You know that, not many others do. Find him. If the rumors are true, we can use a man of such talents. Chances are he's not involved with the late Sabre. If he is, we'll make the appropriate apologies ourselves. Get his description from.."

"He ain't no robber." She might have been the only woman in the world who could interrupt him in his own nightclub without repercussion. But it was because when she did it, it was valuable.

Confusion flashed across the man's face. "Say that shit again?" He shifted slightly and the women all got up in unison, and promptly went to find something else to do. "Nevermind. So he doesn't want money. That's even better. He wants to send a message, but left no calling card. Either he's an idiot or a genius. That means the man's got balls. I like it. Send him an invitation to a club." There were more things to talk about, but he was bored now. Leaning backward he watched a couple of women dancing from across the room he hadn't seen and shook his head. For a second, he missed his dog. Life would be much easier sitting at home, earning some stupid paycheck stamped with someone else's signature on it. Then again, death would be easier too, and Prophet was alive.

[Bluetommy]

The Boss

---

In a parking garage somewhere in the docks.

"You got the shit?" The man was slim, with sunglasses, and cropped hair, he was holding a briefcase and frowning, his voice was gravelly and harsh, with a thick Italian accent. Lance smiled, this was the guy. The other man was older, with black hair, streaks of grey going along it.

"Course I got the shit, you think I'm retarded?" The older man said, through gritted teeth. The younger man simply walked forwards, putting his finger firmly in the other man's chest. "Look, the only reason I'm dealing with you Vitanza fucks is because the don needs money to buy guns, and those guns are to kill YOU. So give me the material and go fuck yourself." He held out a hand, signaling for the older man to put the briefcase in his hand. The older man smirked and forcefully put the case in the other man's hand. He crossed his arms. "Check it, all there. Now your turn." He walked forwards until he was right in the younger man's face, still smirking.

The younger man opened the case with a face that looked like he was chewing on an imaginary cigar. The case was full of bags of coke, he picked up one of the bags, dropping the case gently, opening the bag as he stood back up. He took a sniff, as his eyes reopened his mouth opened into a wide smile, he chuckled for a second before closing the case and letting his arm fall loose. He walked up to the elder man, lifting up his hand with the other briefcase in it.

The elder man grabbed it slowly, before yanking it away, his arm swinging to the side haphazardly. He glared at the younger man before opening the case, full of money, he looked it over, checking all of the stacks. While he was doing this, the younger man smiled, opening his jacket, grabbing a pistol from the inside. He pulled it back, making a noise. The older man's eyes widened and he dropped the case, reaching into his jacket with legs spread.

A gunshot rang out.

The elder man's head tipped back, before returning into it's original position, a bullet hole had torn through his forehead, blood ran down his face, before his eyes rolled back and he slapped into the ground. The younger man walked over slowly, his arms swinging, smirking. He stared at the corpse, as blood began to stain the ground. Lifting the gun, biting his lip, he fired a few more rounds into the body, it bounced with each hit. The man's face turned more and more into one of anger as he shot. He lowered the smoking gun, walking over to the dropped briefcase.

Lance stood up slowly, holding a tommy gun, walking into the middle of the lot from his wing position, he shouted angrily."HEY! ASSHOLE!" The young man turned quickly, swinging his left arm out of the way, firing two shots into Lance's chest. Lance took two steps back, holding his chest with a shaky hand. He then smiled and laughed maniacally. He stood back up, feet together, and finished laughing with a Glasgow grin.

"Oh... what a comedian, you must know of the unkillable Lance Vitanza?" The man's face turned from one of shock into one of fear. His hands shook, and he dropped his gun. He ran behind a car, hiding on all fours. Lance still smiled, walking slowly, following. He held the gun at his hip, and opened fire.

Bullets bounced off of the car, leaving holes all over the front. After a near full clip, the car exploded. Flaming debris went everywhere, standing still in the middle, was Lance. He lifted the barrel of his gun over his shoulder, still smiling. "I'd consider that a declaration of war." Lance walked towards the exit, the dead body of his adversary still burning and twitching.

[OnlyThePie]

---

The Conduit

---

Jim walked into the main hall of The Hub, the slang name for his base of operations, and made a beeline straight for Pyotr Radskov, his technical specialist. The man was a whiz with technology, completely independent of any ability he might possess. The short little Russian grinned at Jim as he approached. "What do you need boss? Somebody steal some money? Lose a bet?" Pyotr winked pronouncedly. Jim wanted to kill the man, but he was too good to get rid of. He frowned and a spark jumped.

"Somebody was watching my little demonstration last night. Find out who." Pyotr nodded, catching the impatience in Jim's tone. Scuttled off to do his job. Jim turned and marched towards his office. He overrode the code that most of his "employees" would have to put in to get into his office and stepped through the doorway. Richard Noldor leaned against Jim's desk, flipping through a heavy, leather bound book. Richard was the only man Jim would ever allow to do such a thing, because he was the only man Jim trusted enough to give him free reign. Mr. Noldor was the number two, and he was damn good at his job.

Richard glanced up. "Oh good, you're back. I've got a double deal for you today." Richard smiled wickedly. Jim noticed he had bent the metal in the table. Jim would have to fix that. Richard's superhuman trait allowed him to make any metal as malleable as a piece of silly putty, a handy trick, but Richard was shit at controlling it. Richard closed the book and held it up. "First, I think I finally tracked down another shard. It should be in the park, right near the water." Jim grinned. "Second, one of the bosses in the Political district wants to speak with you, some guy named Prophet. Should I put you through?"

Jim considered carefully. Finally, he nodded. "Alright Rich, set it up. Also, I want you to contact the leader of old Malikane's gang, the young one. Tell her I've got a business proposition for her. I'm going out to the park to get that shard, so hold my calls." He laughed. It was an old joke between them. Neither of them had ever gotten any calls. Jim walked back out of his office, Richard following. Hopefully nobody would get in his way again.

---

Jim walked in the park, his trademark trench-coat lacking in order to blend in. Instead he wore a plain leather jacket and a T-shirt, complete with aviator sunglasses and jeans. Sometimes it was nice to travel in relaxed clothing. He walked down to the waters edge, looking at the odd almost-lake the island formed between the park and political districts. He gazed among the sand, looking for the signs of the strange force that had given him his powers.

Part way down the beach, he came across what he was looking for. A rock with an odd, curvy burn in it projected out from the base of a small cliff. Jim lay his hand over it, and then jolted it with electricity. The face of the cliff slid away in a spot, and Jim grinned. He stepped through the hole into a cave. The room was pretty bare, just a roughly circular rock cave, a single shaft of light, and a raised lump of rock with a pottery shard jabbing out of it. He cautiously crossed the cave, making sure it wasn't trapped. At the pedestal, he grabbed and lifted the shard out of the rock, like the sword in the stone. There was a rumbling, and Jim turned and ran for the entrance. He slid, just missing the slamming shut of the door. When he looked back, the marked rock was gone. Eerie.

He looked down at the pottery shard in his hand. The strange jagged markings covered this piece just like the last. He smiled. He walked back up the park and got back in his mustang. The all-black car purred happily, and he drove it home as fast as it could go, just for fun. He returned to his office, and placed the shard next to his original, on the pedestal next to his bookshelf. The pieces vibrated, and his eyes widened ever so slightly as they clicked together, and were suddenly one. Now he had an arched piece of pottery probably 9 inches long. He nodded curiously. He would have to find the rest.

[Athinar]

---

Aleksandr

---

Alek walked into his spacious, modern apartment, with a large window and a lovely view of the city's skyline, and set his satchel on the couch, and moved to the window, taking in the night sky. After all these years, Vale city's skyline at night was still as beautiful as ever. However, Alek turned away, grabbing the remote to his television, and turned it on. Flopping down on his couch, nudging off the satchel, Alek flipped to the news channel. It was always good to see what normal society said about the criminal underground.

---

...And we're live at the scene, Bill, where a baffling crime has happened at the 12th Bank of Vale City. As you can see behind me, the large window, characteristic of each branch of the Bank of Vale, has been completely shattered, by a mysterious vandal. The only damage to the bank was to the window, the vault and safe deposit boxes remaining untouched. It's still unclear who the main suspect is, this early in the investigation, but authorities are suspecting that this is the work of one of the various gangs in the Financial District, who aborted a robbery, after the quick response of security on-site. This has been a Vale City First Alert, from VNN, your Vale City News Network.

---

Shaking his head, and turning off the television, Alek grinned. Those idiots had no idea of who actually had attacked the bank. Eh. Fit his purposes perfectly. Anonymity was better than notoriety, at least outside the underground.

His thoughtful contemplation was interrupted by the vibrating of his phone. Pulling it out of his right pocket, he looked at the caller ID. It was a certain "Oshea Ennius." Searching his memory, he tried to remember anyone named Oshea. Hmmm... wait, Oshea, the one guy from college? While they had been friends, they weren't exactly close, or even in the same department. Alek was in Engineering, and Oshea was in Creative Arts. Accepting the call, Alek said, "Hello?"

A ragged, breathy voice came over the phone's tiny speaker. "Alek. This is Oshie. I'm-" His voice broke off in a long string of curses in Greek, and coughing. "I'm dying. I know we weren't that close, in college, and I don't know what you do now, but... I don't expect you to avenge me, but there is this guy... He's insane. He made me sick. I'm only telling you this, because I think that you're the only person I know who might be able do something about him. He's a menace, and his name is Blackburn." Oshie's voice trailed off into a hacking cough, and then a clatter as the line went dead.

Alek looked at his phone with mild surprise. This was new. People from college trying to enlist his help, before they died? Not all too common. However, he couldn't be too wary of this guy, 'Blackburn'. Oshea lived in the Port District, a ways away from Alek's apartment. However, if he was going to hit the 15th Bank of Vale, which was in the Port District... Hm. It could be a problem, later on, when-

Alek's train of thought broke off when he saw something strange, off of the reflection of his television. A dark figure, crouching on the rooftop of the building across the street, which was shorter than Alek's own apartment building. Making no sudden movements, he pushed a button on his phone, activating the proximity alarms for his apartment. If anyone entered, he would know.

[Bluetommy]

Vitanza family gym, 12:00 AM

"Whew, what a workout." Lance sat down in the middle of the gym, which had been absolutely destroyed around him, dumbbells thrown through walls, exercise padding torn to bits, paint peeling off of the walls. Due to his healing factor, Lance could work out for hours and gain results instantly, every session improved his weight in muscle by at least a pound, and he could afford to try new things that normal humans could not, he'd impaled himself accidentally more times than he could count.

Breathing deeply, Lance clenched his fist tightly, then began to cough, he coughed again and again, until it eventually devolved into a wheeze. Then it stopped. Lance stood up slowly, frowning, and hiccuped. His lungs had been hurt sometime during the training, every time he had to regenerate them he suffocated. He held his heart as a wave of pain shot through his ribs, he clenched his teeth so hard he accidentally bit his tongue off, it grew back an instant later, but the pain in his chest didn't stop, his eyes bulged, it was the worst pain.

Cancer? No, it would have been seen then, Heart attack? Not as common as he got them, Virus? No known virus had these symptoms. He was dying, with no way to stop it. The pain subsided, but Lance's eyes remained bloodshot, in a pure rage, he slammed his fist into a nearby wall, it cracked under his fist, as did his knuckles, but they healed, as usual. Lance hated not being able to stop something, all his life he had been in control, but now, he was dying, and there was nothing he could do about it.

He was dying, with no way to save himself,
He was dying, with no cure in sight,
He was dying....

Dying...

[The Narrator]

---

Adam

---

“Yes, what do you want?”
Jonathan did not expect a small boy to open the door, but he did not seem to mind. Jonathan was a professional. He was the voice of Adam. Most people actually believed the gigantic, deformed and cunning gang leader to be an urban myth. Adam rarely spoke to large groups and the only business meetings he did personally was the ones were it was essential. For all other occasions there was Jonathan Wielder. A studied psychologist and a natural talker, Jonathan was quickly discovered by Adam to be perfect for the job. Now he was standing in front of the boy in his grey, Italian tailored suit, 27 years of age and nearly too handsome.
"Good day young man. I want to see Ms. Scordia.", he did not wait for the boys response but pushed him softly aside too walk into the kitchen from where he heard sounds and smelled delicious Italian cosine. When he entered the kitchen he spotted the woman. Jonathan immediately noticed her beauty. She looked like she just broke free from the painting of an old master. He stopped just a short moment before he, gathered his mind again. If he would mix business with pleasure Adam would personally rip him apart, Jonathan had seen that enough times already.
"Good day, Madam. I would love to have a moment of your time.", as she turned around he continued to talk. "I pardon interrupting you with your cooking and apologize for bursting into your kitchen uninvited. You must know my employer values etiquette and manners very highly. I am here to schedule a meeting between you and my employer. My employer is a very busy man and he apologizes deeply for not being able to come personally. He is in dire need of your abilities and would like to set the date for the meeting this week, if possible even today.", Jonathan said what he had too say and smiled at the young widow...

---

At the same time in the Ghetto of the residential district Adam was busy. He was trying to figure out a way to expand his territory. He himself would have bad cards trying to do it. But perhaps someone else could take territory outside the Ghetto? He should keep his eyes open.
There was however another problem. His information system inside the residential district was just incredible. But outside of it, it was just too slow.
"I might have too outsource a bit.", Adam stared at one of his bookshelf's, Paradise Lost, Ulysses, A brief History of Time and Death of a Salesman were standing next too each other, unsorted and mostly in a bad condition. "Samuel, send someone to Bishop. Inform him the Rotten are willing to make a deal."

[Thaddeus Dron]

---

Prophet

---

The figure on his roof was particularly bored. She'd been standing there for the past twenty minutes waiting for the lug to show- and in her heart of hearts she just knew she was better than waiting for some damned man in the dark. When she finally saw the man she wasted no time. The dark trench she was told to wear ("don't attract no damn attention till he sees you," Prophet said.. nevermind why) fluttered to the ground and the woman stood scantily clothed- sparkling like a beacon of light for Alek alone. She motioned toward the alley below seductively, and with that, darted back into the building, presumably heading down to the alley to meet with him. It was clear, even from a distance that the woman's outfit left little to the imagination and even less room to hide something malignant. She was a beautiful specimen, cream-colored skin, dark hair in wild curls along her head, and what little she wore suggested supple curves- muscled curves in the right places. Even her lips held a secretive, seductive smile. It was gone in a flash, though.. inciting him downstairs to the alley.

What would he do? How could he respond to the woman?

---

"Jim! Listen, you and I have a common interest in this city. Tell me a way we can work together, and we'll meet and get something done. You know my people are around, I got wind of your issue with the used-to-be crew causing you trouble. You would have known a week earlier they were plotting on Sabre if we talked more. That way you wouldn't have had to leave your signature burned all over the streets. Think about it- come to a club, have a drink, take a load off and lets talk a little business, hmm?" Seated in his office, Prophet placed the phone back on the receiver and waited. This was how business was done- back and forth, messages with implications that could be taken this or that way. Truth of the the matter was simple: Prophet wasn't focused on the Conduit, so the attack could not have been predicted- but he knew damn well that if Conduit allowed Prophet's network some access.. the man would be protected from scrubs like that. Conduit flexing his muscles was dangerous for any lesser gang: it meant the man was either hungry or scared, and Prophet decided to ferret out which as soon as possible. If the man was hungry, he could be useful. If he was scared, he was vulnerable. Either way, the game would be played.

---

The backroom of the club was smokey, and Prophet was irritable. Two men lounged in his back ViP room, crowded by a slew of women whose intentions were far from scrupulous. The stench of alcohol, sweat and weedsmoke permeated the area, and when it was at it's apex, Prophet decided to make his way from the back to the ViP. He put on a mock-smile. "I suppose things are to your liking, yes councilman? The ladies, the liquor?" He hated sounding like a god-damned serving boy, but when in Rome.. use a trojan horse.

The councilman in question's eyes swam in and out of focus before he could respond. "Oh.. oh yes Vincent, this is just.." Just then one of the women in the room (responding to a signal from Prophet) came and sat on the councilman's lap. "Lovely.. yes.. Mmm" Skin on skin happened, the sound of a zipper. "Oh God.." The councilman murmured.

"Our redevelopment deal then... that'll go just as smoothly.." His smile was the grin of a snake.. or maybe the Devil himself. It was in the man to have him killed just as well-- and by the same woman, no less. She as a ruthless as she was forward. For now, he nodded just slightly, and she continued- pressing him.. touching him further.

"Yes.. yes.. I'll.. yes of course. I.. "

"Don't try to say anything- You've got other things to worry about now. Finish up there, and we'll talk about payment. And.. Bernie... A pause for effect as the woman squeezed down onto him... "Take your time." It was too easy.. even though he hated making himself out to be less than he was- being effective was the most important thing. He needed to be productive in this time. Expanding his territory was paramount, especially now when other groups were making plays for strength.

[FantasyChic]

---

Scarlet

---

It was chilly, but the adrenaline surge going through her kept her as warm as her leather ensemble. The bank was far, but not too far as she made good time getting there. The police were already there when she arrived. They cordoned off the scene and she could see the damage done from the bomb.

She noticed a reporter from a news station. It took them no time to come for an exclusive. She jumped down a nearby alleyway and listened in.

...And we're live at the scene, Bill, where a baffling crime has happened at the 12th Bank of Vale City. As you can see behind me, the large window, characteristic of each branch of the Bank of Vale, has been completely shattered, by a mysterious vandal. The only damage to the bank was to the window, the vault and safe deposit boxes remaining untouched. It's still unclear who the main suspect is, this early in the investigation, but authorities are suspecting that this is the work of one of the various gangs in the Financial District, who aborted a robbery, after the quick response of security on-site. This has been a Vale City First Alert, from VNN, your Vale City News Network.

"What kind of robber only blows up a window?" she thought to herself. At that instant an officer passed by the alleyway. The officer stopped and double-backed towards the alley entrance and saw an empty hallway. He continued on his way.

She became visible again. Too close, a masked, leather-wearing woman would certainly be questioned after a supposed break-in.

Then it hit her. "It wasn't a robbery. There is no signs of it except a blown up bank. No whoever did this either wanted to make it look like a robbery from the outside....or did it to send a message."

She moved away and climbed up to the roof again and pulled out her cell and called Vi. "It's me. I don't think this is a robbery. It looks like it, but only the outside of the bank is blown up."

"Interesting. This still leaves a bad taste in my mouth. Still interested in finding out who did it?"

"I never stopped being interested. I was going to hit this bank in a week or so. Now they will up the security and make it a hell of a lot harder. Well...I say hard, but it would just be a few more days of preparation. I don't have time for that. So yeah, I'm taking this bastard down. I'm going to have to contact someone who may know. A crime boss."

"Be careful. The gangs around here are not ones to mess with.

"Noted."

With that, Scarlet set off towards gang territory. She knew just who to ask.

[Athinar]

---

Aleksandr

---

Alek viewed the obvious ploy with raised eyebrows. The woman, while beautiful, was clearly placed there to lure him out. While Alek would certainly go and see what she wanted with him, he wouldn't go unprepared. Leisurely getting off the couch, and stretching, he sauntered over to his desk, and pulled open the only drawer. Within, a .40 caliber, 9-shot Glock 27 pistol, with two clips beside it. Chambering one of the clips, and stuffing the other in a pant pocket, Alek hid the pistol inside his jacket, the firearm's small size leading to its' easy concealment.

Pushing the drawer shut once more, he walked to the door of his apartment, and left the proximity alarms on. If they thought that they could break in while he was distracted, they (whomever they were,) were wrong. Exiting to the hallway, he headed to the elevator. Pushing the button, the twin metal doors slid open, and Alek stepped inside. Pushing the button to the level fifteen floors below, Alek waited in the elevator. Thinking of what could possibly be going on.

---

When he reached the lobby, the receptionist gave him an odd look, but the woman didn't say anything. Probably because Alek paid her to keep her mouth shut, if questioned. As the automatic glass doors parted before him, Alek began scanning the street, looking for threats. When he found none, he jogged across the street, breath creating fog, that hung in the air. Approaching the alley, he made sure his Glock 27 was in such a position as to be drawn quickly, as he didn't trust anyone who put a half-naked attractive woman on a rooftop below his window.

When he reached the back of the alley, where the woman was certain to be waiting, he would gaze at her, appreciating the view, but then say, "A bit chilly to be wearing that, or rather, not wearing much at all, don't you think?"

[Kharons Progeny]

---

Violetta

---

The young leader lay in the center of her barren apartment staring up at the wall behind her, a large sprawling map of the city staring back at her. The red ink was an addition she had added over the years, scribbles and circles detailing gang lines, places of interest, previous hits, future hits, possible hits, back alleys, hide outs, anything that would give her an edge over someone else.

Her slender face was contorted in a slight furrow as she mused over the night’s event and the information that had been reported back to her.

’Something big is coming, I wonder if the city is ready for it..’

The attack on the Sabre.

The attack on the Bank.

The addition to bills by bought politicians.

New Gangs and strange powers.

Something’s coming.

The she spent night with the mayor was rather revealing, granted he wasn’t very receptive when he found the young woman lounging in his chair. He almost made it to the door before a paper chain snaked its way around his throat yanking him back down in front of the desk. Soon enough he was babbling, begging, whimpering about politicians spending their waking hours at the Prophet’s club, that some man with old money had moved in wanting to turn the industrial district into a new steel yard, that some of the congressman had endorsed him with weapons and the soldiers to be fodder for the assault, he didn’t have a name unfortunately, but the information about Prophet trying to pull strings was a curious tidbit that she was currently chewing over wondering what the strange man’s game was, they had a few run ins in the past few years being in the same line of work but she had not dealt with him personally always letters and messengers.

Ryker’s report gave little else to tell her about this strange new player, only he bought his way into favor with a few off the other small gangs hoping to amass a small following to help with his plans of expansion, a dark puppet master. At least there was no mention of him having some strange ability, as for the surviving raider, a phone call and a bullet ended his life before he made his way out of the district.

It was troubling to say the least.

This information swirled around her head, a journal lying next to her with it written out in questions and thoughts, some lines crossed out as if she was trying to solve a puzzle without all the pieces. Sighing in frustration Viole sat up shaking her head as she stretched the soft popping of her spine drawing a content smile from her before acknowledging the man standing by patiently leaning against the broken window as moon and street light filtered through illuminating the dirty floor.

”Troubling yourself over needless things again, Miss?”

His soft cool voice broke the silence as he smirked slightly before offering her a hand up, a firm grip and a slight tug had her standing close to the man as she took a small step back shrugging slightly dusting her clothes off as she retrieved her journal placing it back into the small inner pocket of her jacket.

”I hardly believe you came here to jeer at me. What’s the word?”

She scoffed slightly tossing a broken pencil playfully at him before turning to observe the word outside her window, the city seems so quiet during the day as if the rest of the world help its breath in anticipation for the night to explode into existence.

”The Conduit has a business proposal, though what it is I don’t know.”

Viole shoot him a look of disbelief before raising her eyebrow slightly musing over this new information, what she did to draw his attention, she wasn’t sure but it was best not to ignore him that much she knew besides perhaps she could gain more out of it then he was willing to offer. Also she needed a way to not become a pawn in the larger game at hand; perhaps this was her way to do so.

”Tell him we’d be happy to meet with him at his early convenience, just not in that underground bunker of his.”

A soft smirk flickered across her face before she motioned for him to be gone turning to look over her map wondering just how to spend her day, perhaps she go see what she could find out about their new friend.

The soft thunk of rotting wood echoed as a knife pierced a small port at the edge of the Industrial District, no other sound or whisper of a person was left in the room. It’s hard metal gleaming happily in the light, almost in a friendly hello.

[dreamingflowers]

---

Lucia Malena Scordia

---

After the strikingly handsome psychologist turned to enter the Scordia mansion Renato scowled at his back inconspicuously. He followed the man into the kitchen, planning to stay in his shadow at all times. His plan was foiled when Lucia beckoned him to the kitchen table with a plate of freshly cooked pasta pomodori. No matter how hard he willed himself to not be swayed by Lucia and her food it couldn't be helped. In the end he took the plate with a grateful smile and went to eat reluctantly, leaving Lucia and the visitor to their business. He wanted to finish his plate quickly so he could listen in. Renato was wolfing down the spaghetti as if he hadn't eaten in weeks.

Lucia gestured for the man to follow her to a room next to the kitchen, it was too small to be an office and didn't seem to hold any particular purpose. At least not one easily detected by the regular eye. The young woman took a seat and offered a seat to her visitor with a polite smile.
"Please sit, we can schedule an appointment, perhaps even today"
There was something about this man Lucia found off putting, she couldn't put her finger on it. Although it may even be her own paranoia, since she hadn't been the picture of mental health for the past couple of months. Without any visible warning Lucia allowed her auric vision to deepen her perception of her environment. The first thing she saw was a spiky cloud of red energy with a streak of muddy brown outside of the room. It indicated anger and jealousy, both emotions coming from Renato who was looking through the keyhole, trying to catch a glimpse of what was going on. Lucia wasn't shocked at this, she'd used her powers in Renato's company before out of worry. He was often very pensive and not much of a talker.

She focused on the man sitting on the other side of the desk, opposite of her. His aura appeared to be very controlled with even shapes of solid color. He was definitely someone who had taught himself control. Lucia was curious to know what kind of information these people expected to get from her. In the end she would decided what she wanted to share.

[Hekazu]

---

Samuel

---

As Samuel's fingers danced on the keyboard, a familiar pling-sound rang from the speakers on low volume. He had received a message it seemed. Did you hear?, the message began. Wasn't this quite intriguing. The rest of the message provided a link to Vale City news article, something he immediately set his browser working on. If this was yet one other of those "ten ways to yadda yadda" -lists these guys sometimes sent his way as a joke... Nope. This was something completely different. There had been an attack to the Vale City bank, not even as much as a robbery. Just an attack. Samuel couldn't help but scratch his head. Whatever the hell this person ore these people wanted to prove was lost on him. Apparently they were capable of triggering alarms and clearing out. Sounded like a failure to him, but if he had to muster a wild guess this was far from a failure. Would he even fit into the criminal life? He'd probably need to learn some things before immediately taking over, but that shouldn't take long.

"Well that was an interesting read", he both confessed out loud and replied to the sender. Good ol' KKE keeping him up to the times. He pushed this matter off his mind and returned to the creation of his alternate self, the Samuel that would roam the underground networks of this city. He'd need a name, but before that he needed the outfit. The cheap suit to start with was a no-brainer, if he was going to go with the suit and mask look he needed those two things and he couldn't just go and blow all his money on the suit. What about the mask then? It was not like he would just have one sturdy enough... Maybe he'd go with the classic hockey goalie? It could get a few snickers and snide remarks out of people at first, but they'd learn to respect him, oh they would.

Then to the point of actually getting them... well, the suit would be easy enough to acquire, the search yielded many results and he would only have to omit the one place he frequented for his usual attire, and another search confirmed that there were sports stores all over Vale City that stocked hockey gear. He would likely need to purchase the whole set to not attract suspicion... Yeah, he'd do that. Besides the kneepads could prove quite comfortable compared to kneeling without any protection, and going low in a firefight was always advantageous. He was really going to do this wasn't he? Well, in a little over eight hours from now, he'd start for real.

[The Narrator]

---

Adam

---

"Excellent Miss Scordia. I can assure you my employer will be very grateful for your flexibility.", Jonathan was trying how fast he could get the appointment. Adam rewarded success very highly, talented people could rise incredibly quick in the Rotten. Failure on the other hand often ended with Adam ripping you apart. "Miss Scordia, I know it is very impolite to ask but my employer really want's to find a lost family member. Would you be willing to join me in the car on the drive back? I assure you your pay will be exceeding your expectations.", he smiled winningly. If he would be able to bring the medium to Adam in less than an hour he would surely be praised and rewarded...

---

"Listen, I don't care if Bishop is occupied... He will most likely want to hear what I have to say alright?", Samuel was speaking calmly but slightly angered into the telephone, "He is gonna call me back? Who do you think I work for? But alright... Yes the Rotten want to make a deal... Okay good bye."
Just as Samuel was hanging up Adam walked into the room. The members of the Rotten sitting in the leisure room of the apartment complex, or the Grave Yard as some of the Rotten called it, immediately saluted Adam. Samuel looked up to the gangleader and gave his report, "Prophet will hopefully call back. Also there is this interesting act of terrorism you might want to take a look at."
Adam nodded. "I have already heard of it, The Bank of Vale. Somebody knew his handiwork it seems. Perhaps we should try to find out how. But all at a given time."