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Jordan drove into Cincinnati with the windows rolled down, letting the early evening air whip through the car. The city skyline loomed in the distance, the fading sunlight casting shadows across the buildings. He felt the familiar mix of adrenaline and anticipation build in his chest. This wasn't Brockton Bay - he didn't have the same kind of intel or backup here. But he had his powers, his wits, and he had Tattletale on speed dial. That would have to be enough.

He drove for a few more miles before pulling into a secluded alley on the outskirts of the city, his eyes constantly scanning his surroundings. The car he was driving - a beat-up sedan he had stolen a few towns after leaving Stafford - had served its purpose, but now it was time to ditch it. He parked behind a dumpster, ensuring the car was hidden from casual street view, then grabbed his backpack from the passenger seat and got out. He left the keys in the ignition - no point in making things difficult for whoever came along next. He chuckled darkly at the thought of some poor sap stealing a car that was at some point likely to be linked to him.

The PRT hadn't officially spread the word on him yet. But he figured it was only a matter of time. Hence why his uniform was in his backpack and he was in civvies. Because they'd be looking eventually for Apex, not little 'ol Jordan.

He took a moment to stretch his legs and adjust the straps of his backpack. He was in decent shape, but sitting in a car for hours made his muscles stiff. He'd been driving for nearly two days straight, stopping only for quick rests and to switch vehicles. He could feel the exhaustion weighing on him, but he couldn't afford to slow down. He needed that flying brute's power, something that would give him the durability to stand up to bigger threats. His powers were impressive, but he was still too vulnerable in his mind.

Cincinnati had a new villain in town, a flying brute, perfect for his purposes. Both for his powers giving him a good 2 for 1 deal - and for the fact he wasn't tied to a gang yet, which meant Jordan wouldn't have to fight through other capes to get at him.

He walked to the end of the alley, blending into the shadows as he moved, making sure no one noticed him. Cincinnati was a big city, but it wasn't the kind of place where a stranger of his size and look could walk around without drawing attention. He needed to be careful, to move quickly and quietly. He found a busier street and blended in with the pedestrian traffic, keeping his head down and his senses alert.

Finding a quiet side street, he settled down in a corner, and dialed a number on one of the burner phones he had picked up at a truck stop along the way. The phone rang twice before Tattletale picked up. He could almost hear her smirk through the line.

"I'm in Cincinnati," Jordan said, getting straight to the point before she could smug too much at him. "Have you pulled up the info on the underworld here yet?"

Tattletale's voice came through clear, tinged with that familiar smugness. "Of course I have, boss. Did you doubt me? The place is a mess, like most big cities, but there's a method to the madness if one knows where to look."

Jordan could almost see her sitting back, probably with her feet up on a desk, enjoying herself. "Go on," He prompted with a sigh.

"Three main gangs operate here," Tattletale began, her voice taking on a more business-like tone. "First, there's the River Lords - pretentious, I know. They control most of the crime on the waterfront and handle a lot of the drug trade coming in by boat. They're rough, but not too organized - think petty criminals and small-time thugs who got lucky with some good supply lines and a bit of cape muscle to keep it. They wear a lot of blue, if you're looking to spot them. Their leader is a guy named Marco - minor brute powers, something with his skin being tougher than normal and stacking up the longer he fights, but not much else."

She paused, flipping through notes, intentionally dragging things out to make him ask. He just stood there silently waiting for her. Eventually she sighed, "Three more minor capes in the gang, small potatoes, hardly even worth the Protectorate's notice." She rambled off, before adding, "And you're no fun, boss."

"Sounds like a waste of time," Jordan muttered, internally discarding them as an option, completely disregarding her opinion, he was a load of fun, he just wasn't interested in verbal sparring with Tattletale. He wasn't an idiot.

He just held her hostage with a gun to her head to work for him… So okay, he was maybe a little bit of an idiot…

Whatever, he wasn't Coil, she wouldn't have the same reasons to betray him - not if he made it worth her while.

"Probably, yeah," Tattletale agreed, sounding amused, probably cold reading him even with his few words, fucking Thinkers. "Then you have the Queen City Syndicate. They're the old guard - run a lot of the more traditional crime - gambling, extortion, protection rackets. They've been around forever, so they've got connections, but they're not exactly looking to expand either, wary of too many capes bringing too much attention. They wear suits primarily, like some kind of wannabe gangsters who never grew out of the 1950s. Their leader's an older guy named Vito 'Vic' Lombardi, and he's more brains than brawn. No powers, just a hell of a lot of loyalty from his men and a well-earned reputation for brutality."

"Again, not what I'm looking for," Jordan said brusquely. He had no real lead on his target, so he needed an 'in' for the underworld, as his target was a villain and would at some point surely get involved.

"They have two capes as well, a blaster and a thinker, nothing too special, the blaster mostly does bodyguard work for Vic, and the thinker is behind their business schemes." Tattletale added.

"Very interesting." Jordan said in a manner that clearly said not. "I'm assuming since you're you, that means the one gang you waited until last to speak of - is the golden ticket?"

"Right," Tattletale continued, not missing a beat. "Which brings us to the third group, the Black Market Bandits. They handle smuggling, fencing, and all sorts of black-market activities. If it's illegal and can be sold, they're involved. They've got a lot of fingers in a lot of pies - guns, petty drugs, stolen goods, you name it. Their people are more open minded than the others, more likely to deal with outsiders if there's profit to be made."

"A little on the nose." Jordan said, amused, "The Black Market Bandits runs the black market… Any capes?"

"Just the one, again, strangely enough not the leader. One of his enforcers is a striker, half decent too. Quite literally has an explosive touch." Tattletale rattled off, giving off a vibe of praise me, praise me, see how good I did!

Jordan nodded to himself, absorbing the information, not getting drawn into Tattletales games, "And the flying brute?"

"Ah, yes," Tattletale said with a note of dissatisfaction at him for refusing to play. "Your target. He's not officially with any of the gangs yet, but he's been seen around the general vicinity of the Black Market Bandits a few times - whether a coincidence or not I don't have enough information for yet. Goes by the name Airstrike. He's still testing the waters from my read on the situation, seeing if this city's worth his time. From what I've gathered, he's got some decent powers - flight and the usual brute package, pretty top tier, although not quite on Alexandria's level - it's better than what you've got in terms of defense though boss."

Jordan hummed in thought. "I suppose it doesn't take much to be better than squishy." He acknowledged.

He had Shadow Stalkers power, sure. But if someone hit him before he was aware, that wouldn't help as much. Considering he'd already sniped a cape, he wasn't going to leave himself open like that.

Tattletale snickered briefly, "True enough. Anyway, if you're looking to get close to him, your best bet is through the Bandits. They're always moving merchandise in and out, and a solo villain like Airstrike would need to either buy or sell at some point. They control a lot of the black market trades here, so he'll likely pop up in their circles sooner or later."

"So, how do I get in with them?" Jordan asked, his voice steady, masking the anticipation building within him.

Flight was definitely something he'd been looking forward to ever since he realized what his power could do.

"Well," Tattletale drawled, clearly enjoying herself in her position of directing him, "There's a nightclub just outside Over-the-Rhine, called the Vault. The Bandits use it as a neutral ground for some of their deals and a general hang out area. The owner's a guy named Ricky Two-Times - don't ask, the story's stupid. He's likely your way to Airstrike. He likes his girls, his drink, and his money, not necessarily in that order. I'd start there. Be subtle, don't flash your power, and maybe show you're willing to play nice. You might get a meeting with one of their higher-ups and get a lead on Airstrike."

"Any reason why I can't just break in and check out what they know?" He asked, not being the most patient of men.

He could practically hear Tattletale rolling her eyes, "Because no matter how good you are, if you're not me, you'll always leave some sign you were there, and if they don't have any documentation on Airstrike, the gang will already be clamming up from the break in, and you've lost your chance."

"In other words, once I have confirmation, break in." He acknowledged, "I'll give you a call if I need you."

"Oh, but you always need me, I do so much good working long sweaty hours underneath you, boss..." She said flirtatiously, which he knew was fake, but it still momentarily sent his blood rushing.

Jordan could hear the smile in her voice, her enjoyment of the game evident. "Thanks," He said dryly, preparing to hang up. "I'll keep in touch."

"Is it because of my brilliant mind?" Tattletale asked teasingly, fishing for praise. "You know you love my insights."

Jordan snorted. "No, it's because your mind is swimming in filth, so you're right at home with these people." He fired back, given her a little of what she wanted. She had been good.

Tattletale gasped in mock offense. "Oh, you want to talk about filth? You want me to tell you what's in that dirty mind of yours?" She fired back playfully. "I mean bondage is a pretty vanilla villain thing, but that other thing… Kinky, boss. Very kinky."

He shook his head, smiling despite it all. "Don't bother. You already know I think you have a great ass." He shot out.

He hung up before she could respond, a grin spreading across his face. He knew he had probably annoyed her, not because of the ass comment, but because he'd cut her off before she could get the last word. That would get under her skin more than anything else.

She was pushing, testing how far she could get away with in terms of what she could say. In a way it was good. She didn't fear him enough to be afraid to open her mouth. He just needed to ensure she feared him enough not to backstab him, but not so much she'd risk it all just to get away. It was a delicate balance.

Pocketing the phone, Jordan started making his way through the city streets, heading toward Over-the-Rhine. The sun was setting, it was the perfect time to visit a nightclub. He pulled up the hood of his jacket, blending in with the crowd as he moved. He'd find this Ricky Two-Times, get in with the Bandits, and then track down Airstrike. He needed that power, needed the edge it would give him.

Also flight.

'Nuff said.

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The Vault was everything Jordan had expected from a nightclub frequented by criminals - a dark, smoky labyrinth filled with loud music, cheap liquor, and the low hum of illicit deals being made in every corner. Situated at the edge just on the outside of Over-the-Rhine, the club was not even really hiding its connection to the Black Market Bandits, a perfect place for him to embed himself and start sniffing around for information about Airstrike.

Of course he'd have to act a certain way, or he'd be fingered as a likely undercover cop. But Jordan had suffered a pretty stressful time since arriving in this universe - so he didn't mind taking a load off and enjoying himself as a way to fit in.

The entrance was marked by a single, heavy metal door with a neon sign above it, flickering intermittently. A thick, surly bouncer stood guard, his expression impassive as he nodded to the regulars and eyed the newcomers with suspicion. Jordan had no trouble getting in - he'd dressed the part - dark jeans, a leather jacket, and an air of indifference that suggested he was either there for a good time or for trouble, and he didn't much care which. Basically like all the other scum who scurried around.

The twenty he slipped the guy probably had something to do with it too.

Inside, the club was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of sweat, alcohol, and a hint of something else that Jordan suspected was more than just cheap perfume. Colored lights flashed across the room in time with the heavy bass of the music, illuminating the crowd in a kaleidoscope of reds, blues, and greens. People packed the dance floor, bodies moving in a frenetic rhythm, their faces a blur of excitement, intoxication, and sometimes desperation.

He made his way to the bar, slipping through the crowd with ease due to his size. It was early enough in the night that he could still get a decent spot, and he flagged down the bartender, a tattooed woman with piercings running up both ears and a no-nonsense look on her face. He ordered a whiskey neat, downing it quickly and ordering another. He needed to establish himself as a regular rough and tumble guy, someone who was willing to drink, to party, and to blend in with the underbelly of the city.

Over the next few days, Jordan spent nearly the entire night, every night, at The Vault. He nursed drinks, watched the flow of people in and out, and kept an ear out for any mention of Airstrike while showing no signs he was paying particular attention to anything but the girls gyrating on the dance floor. He danced with the girls who came up to him, offering easy smiles and a carefree attitude, and a lot more groping than what he'd do normally. He had to play the part convincingly.

The girls here were a mix - some locals looking for a good time, others clearly attracted to the danger and thrill that the club's patrons represented. Jordan danced with them, flirted, even took a few into the back rooms to cheers and knowing nods from the regulars - the rooms were available for 10 bucks an hour, and saw heavy use. He'd need to Lysol his everything when he was done in Cincinnati... It was all part of the act, creating a persona of a man who was here to have fun, maybe make some money, and didn't mind getting his hands dirty to do it.

It also got him laid for the first time in forever, something which did relax him for his role quite a bit. Even if he now and the problem that quite a few girls were eyeing him up every night like a piece of meat, circling him like sharks.

The back rooms were small and dingy, with peeling paint and threadbare furniture that had seen better days - as in heavily stained furniture... The scent of old sweat and vomit permeated the air - those were the only smells, he refused to categorize any others. Jordan would find a corner away from prying eyes, as clean as he could manage, and quite eagerly do what was expected of him, and then return to the main room, acting smug and brash, bragging about his 'conquest'.

Somehow that didn't actually turn the women off. He really didn't understand women. There were all types he supposed.

It wasn't unpleasant, except for the locale - some of the girls were quite pretty, and a few even had a wild charm that made the time pass quicker. But it wasn't what he wanted to be doing long term. This was a means to an end, and he kept his focus on that. The last thing he needed was some random crime groupie chick wanting to follow him home by the cock.

He made sure to drop hints here and there, letting people know he was looking for work. Subtle suggestions that he was willing to do whatever needed doing if it meant getting paid. He avoided talking too much about himself, giving away just enough to make him seem like another drifter looking for opportunity. The regulars started to recognize him, and slowly but surely, he began to feel the eyes of the gang's members on him. He played it cool, never making a direct approach, letting them come to him instead.

By the third night, he was starting to see some familiar faces - guys who were clearly part of the Black Market Bandits. They wore a certain air of authority and danger, and the other patrons gave them a wide berth. Jordan could see them watching him, evaluating. He made sure to keep his actions consistent, drinking enough to seem part of the scene, but not so much that he lost his edge, flirting and fucking just enough to seem like he was having a good time, but not enough to seem desperate.

It was around midnight on the fourth night when one of the gang members finally made a move. Jordan was leaning against the bar, nursing another whiskey, when a tall, lanky guy with a shaved head and a scar running down his cheek sidled up next to him. He didn't introduce himself, didn't even look at Jordan at first. He just stared straight ahead, his expression unreadable.

"You've been hanging around here a lot," The guy said after a moment, his voice low and rough, just audible over the music.

Jordan didn't turn his head, just nodded slightly. "Good drinks, good music, great pussy" He replied casually. "What's not to like?"

The guy snorted, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "You're looking for more than pussy," He said knowingly.

Jordan glanced over at him, his expression guarded. "Maybe," He said, keeping his voice neutral. "Depends on what's on offer."

The guy turned to face him then, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Jordan's face. "We got a job, nothing big," He said. "Some punks tagged one of our spots. We need someone to teach them a lesson, are you interested? A big guy like you… Easy, right?"

Jordan took a slow sip of his drink, considering the offer. He knew what this was - a test. They wanted to see if he was serious, if he was willing to get his hands dirty. It was a small job, a low-risk way for them to gauge his loyalty and capability. If he wasn't willing to get bloody, they wouldn't waste their time with him, or worse, think him a cop.

"I could do that," Jordan said finally, nodding. "Give me the details." He let loose a bloodthirsty grin, as if he'd been playing it cool, but now was excited to get to lay hands on someone.

The guy smirked and leaned in closer, lowering his voice. "They're down by the riverfront usually, the warehouse with the red chimney is their hangout. Shouldn't be hard to find. Just a bunch of kids, really, posers. Make an example out of them. Let people know not to mess with our territory."

Jordan nodded again, finishing his drink in one gulp. "Consider it done," He said, his tone firm, "Was wanting to get some exercise anyway."

The guy gave him a curt nod, then turned and melted back into the crowd, disappearing into the sea of bodies. Jordan watched him go for a moment, then set his glass down on the bar and pushed his way through the crowd, heading for the exit.

He stepped out into the cool night air, taking a deep breath and letting it fill his lungs. The streets were quieter now, the usual hustle and bustle having died down as the night wore on. He moved quickly, heading toward the riverfront, keeping to the shadows and making sure to avoid any unwanted attention. He knew this job was a test, and he needed to play it carefully. No powers, no flashy moves. Just a straightforward beatdown.

It took him about an hour to find the kids under the red chimney. They were loitering near the old warehouse, smoking and laughing, their voices carrying over the quiet of the night. They were young, probably no older than eighteen or nineteen, dressed in baggy clothes with the telltale signs of wannabe gang members. Jordan watched them from a distance for a few minutes, sizing them up. They were loud, careless, and clearly didn't expect any trouble. Perfect.

It would be an easy job, and thankfully not one where he needed to go as far as to kill them.

He approached them slowly, his footsteps silent on the pavement. When he was close enough, he stepped into the light, letting them see him. "Hey," He called out, his voice rough, a dark grin on his face.

He had no doubt he was being watched, having caught his tail immediately, and it wouldn't surprise him if the whole thing was being recorded either.

The kids turned, startled, their eyes wide with surprise. One of them, a scrawny kid with a backwards cap and a cigarette dangling from his lips, stepped forward. "Who the hell are you?" He demanded, trying to sound tough but failing miserably.

Jordan didn't answer. Instead, he moved forward with a quick, fluid motion, closing the distance between them in an instant. He grabbed the kid by the front of his shirt, lifting him off the ground with one hand and slamming him against the wall of the warehouse. The other kids froze, their expressions a mix of shock and fear.

"Just a message," Jordan said quietly, his voice cold and hard. "Stay out of the way and don't tag places you don't belong."

With that, he punched the kid, scrambling his brain before he turned on the others. They tried to scatter, but Jordan was faster. He grabbed another by the arm, twisting it behind his back and shoving him to the ground. The third kid took a swing at him, but Jordan easily dodged the punch, grabbing the kid's wrist and twisting it hard enough to make him cry out in pain.

He moved with a precision and efficiency that left no room for doubt. He didn't need to use his powers - he was more than capable of handling these kids with just his fists. He made sure to rough them up just enough to send a message, but not enough to cause any serious damage. When it was over, the kids were on the ground, groaning and clutching their injuries, bleeding, a few broken bones, their bravado shattered - but they were alive.

Jordan stood over them, his expression impassive. "Remember this," He said, his voice low and menacing. "Next time, it'll be worse."

He turned and walked away, leaving the kids behind as he headed back to The Vault. He took a roundabout route, making sure he wasn't being followed by anyone else. He'd noticed the tail earlier in the night, someone watching him from a distance, and he wasn't taking any chances on anyone else following him after that fight, the last thing he needed was the attention of another gang while he was busy with this one.

Back at the club, the atmosphere was much the same as when he left - loud music, flashing lights, and a crowd that seemed to thrive on the chaos. Jordan slipped back inside, nodding to the bouncer, who barely gave him a second glance. He made his way to the bar, his expression calm, as if nothing had happened. He ordered another drink, settling back against the counter and scanning the room.

He hadn't been back for more than a few minutes when the lanky guy with the scar from earlier sidled up to him again. He didn't say anything at first, just leaned against the bar next to Jordan and ordered a drink. Jordan waited, not wanting to seem too eager. He was just a guy who enjoyed a good fight.

Finally, the guy turned to him. "Heard you did a number on those punks," He said, his tone approving.

Jordan shrugged. "Just did what needed to be done."

The guy nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Good. We can use guys like you around here. People who know how to handle themselves."

Jordan took a sip of his drink, keeping his expression neutral. "You got more work?" he asked casually, as if it was a passing thought.

The guy chuckled. "Eager, aren't you? Yeah, there might be something. A shipment's coming in soon. We need a few extra hands to keep an eye on things. Nothing big, just guard work. You interested?"

Jordan nodded slowly, as if weighing his options. "I'm interested," He said finally.

The guy clapped him on the shoulder, grinning. "Good to hear. We'll be in touch. Just keep coming around, make yourself useful."

Jordan nodded again, finishing his drink in one gulp. "I'll be here," He replied.

The guy gave him a last nod before melting back into the crowd, leaving Jordan alone at the bar. He watched him go, his mind already spinning with possibilities. The job was another test, another way for them to gauge his loyalty and see what he was capable of. But it was also a step closer to finding Airstrike.

When Tattletale didn't have anything on the guy from what little she could dig up, you just had to do things the hard way. He was both new, and good at staying out of the spotlight, limiting Tattletales avenues to get a read on him.

Jordan spent the next few days maintaining his routine at The Vault. He kept his cover intact, drinking with the regulars, dancing with and fucking the girls, and making sure to keep his eyes and ears open for any mention of Airstrike. He couldn't afford to make any mistakes, couldn't afford to let his guard down.

Even with his powers, none of it would help if one of the guys thought him a cop or a snitch and suddenly shot him in the back of the head. So he couldn't allow himself to actually relax, only act like it.

It certainly made the sex interesting. Always watching that he wasn't about to get stabbed partway through, or that somebody wasn't going to be shooting him for messing with their girl or anything else that usually went on with gangs. Lucky for him, this wasn't a drug heavy gang, so he got away with only smoking marijuana, not needing to 'prove' himself by doing cocaine or anything crazy.

He noticed the gang members watching him more closely now that he had a foot in the door, their eyes following him as he moved through the club. They were sizing him up, deciding if he was worth bringing in deeper. Jordan made sure to give them no reason to doubt him. He played the part of the tough, carefree drifter perfectly, never showing his hand, never revealing his true intentions.

By the end of the week, he was starting to get restless. He hadn't heard a peep about Airstrike, and it was beginning to rankle. He knew he needed to be patient, to play this slow, but it wasn't in his nature. He wanted to move, to act. But he also knew that being hasty could blow his cover, and that would set him back even further.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

He considered calling Tattletale again, seeing if she'd come up with any more information. But he knew she'd only tell him to keep doing what he was doing. She'd have a smug smile on her face, enjoying the fact that he was stuck waiting for her to bail him out. And he couldn't deny that she was right. Moving too fast could ruin everything.

On the seventh night after he'd beaten up the posers, the guy with the scar approached him again, this time with a more serious expression. "Got something for you," He said, leaning close so Jordan could hear him over the music.

Jordan raised an eyebrow. "Yeah? What's that?"

The guy glanced around, making sure no one was listening. "The shipment I mentioned. It's coming in tomorrow night. We need a few guys to keep an eye on it, make sure nothing goes wrong. You in?"

Jordan nodded without hesitation. "I'm in."

The guy nodded back, a satisfied smile on his face. "Good. Be here tomorrow night, around eleven. We'll head out from here."

Jordan watched him go, a small smile tugging at his lips. He was in. Finally, he was making progress. He'd find out more about this shipment, get closer to the Black Market Bandits, and maybe, just maybe, he'd find a lead on Airstrike.

The Vault buzzed around him, but Jordan felt calm, his mind focused. He'd come to Cincinnati for a reason, and now it was time to see it through.

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The guard job had gone smoothly enough. He'd been assigned to oversee the delivery of a shipment to one of the Bandits' warehouses on the edge of town. The night was cold, the kind that bit into your skin, making every breath a visible puff in the air. Jordan stood by the loading dock, his eyes scanning the shadows, ears perked for any sound that didn't belong. He hadn't been assigned a prime spot to observe from, but he'd managed to catch a glimpse of what was being moved - crates upon crates of military-grade equipment. Assault rifles, high-capacity magazines, even a few RPGs. It was a significant haul, and not the kind of merchandise that just anyone could get their hands on.

Definitely not the level of shit these guys normally moved if they had to bring him in as well to watch over it. The amount of guys guarding this shipment was ridiculous. They really had used as many of their guys as they could just to make sure the shipment went through. It smelled like opportunity, like this was what he'd been looking for. With how nervous they were, and bringing him in, if even on the periphery, they needed all their guys, which told him cape.

Later, he'd called Tattletale to confirm. "Got a peek at the gear they were moving," He'd said, keeping his voice low as he spoke into the burner phone. "Looked like military-grade stuff. Pretty heavy for a small time operation."

Tattletale's voice crackled over the line, full of smug satisfaction. "That's because it wasn't just any operation. Airstrike pulled that job about a week ago. Snagged it off a shipment bound for some private militia abroad. Probably looking to make a quick buck out of it through the only people he knows in the black market."

Jordan had smiled at that. "So the Bandits do have contact with him, then?"

"Bingo," Tattletale had replied, clapping her hands slowly. "You're good to stop playing boss, I'm sure the girls will all cry when you disappear," She added wryly, snickering under her breath.

With that confirmation, Jordan knew he had to take the next step. The Vault was closed during the daylight hours, giving him the perfect opportunity to snoop around - this time in full uniform so the guy who'd partied with them for two weeks couldn't be tied to it. He used Shadow Stalker's power to slip through the locked windows on the second floor, climbing up from an alley he'd scoped that had a dud camera watching over it. His body stayed in that shadowy form, blending seamlessly with the darkness as he moved through the mostly empty club. The silence was almost oppressive, broken only by the soft hum of the refrigeration units behind the bar and the occasional creak of the building settling.

He moved quickly, making his way upstairs to the manager's office. The door was locked, but it took him only a moment to phase through, slipping inside without a sound. The office was a cramped, cluttered space, papers stacked haphazardly on the desk, a few empty liquor bottles lining the shelves. He began his search methodically, rifling through drawers, checking under papers, and flipping through files.

He found what he was looking for in a folder marked 'Special Contacts.' Inside was a series of notes, all handwritten, detailing various dealings the Black Market Bandits had with local capes, including Airstrike. There were mentions of payments, but nothing that gave a direct address or a way to contact him. Frustrated but undeterred, Jordan continued his search, knowing that anything could be useful.

He finally settled behind the desk and pulled out his burner phone, dialing Tattletale. Her voice was clear, tinged with that ever-present smugness.

"What's up, boss?" She asked, almost sing-song, knowing he was calling for help again.

"I'm in the office," He replied, keeping his voice low. "Found some papers, looks like they've done business with Airstrike, but no solid leads. Anything you can do from your end?"

"Put me on speaker," She instructed. "Let's see if we can get remote access to that computer. Not that I'm expecting much, but you never know."

Jordan placed the phone on the desk and followed Tattletale's instructions, accessing the computer and allowing her to remotely connect. The screen flickered as she worked her magic, her fingers flying over her keyboard back at their base.

"Anything?" He asked after a few minutes, watching the screen closely. It was really unlikely, considering the guy kept his computer password on a post it note on his desk, but one could hope. He had criminal dealings plainly there on paper in the file folder after all… Sure it was all in code words, but the kind anyone could easily figure out.

Writing about how much fish to send the cloak, was not a very good way to hide that he meant cash and cape…

"Not much," Tattletale replied, her voice still confident but tinged with impatience. "No self-respecting criminal keeps anything worth a damn on an unlocked or barely protected machine, but it looks like we've got some encrypted files. Could take a while to crack them, but I'll get there." She snorted suddenly, "100 bucks says he's just encrypted his porn."

"Keep at it," Jordan said. "I'll hang around and see if the boss turns up. Might be able to get more out of him." He chuckled briefly, "And no bet. If you're even thinking about it, it probably means you picked up on something about him that makes it true."

Hours later, with Tattletale having found nothing but porn, the sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway. Jordan tensed, quickly moving to the side of the room where he'd be hidden from view. He reached through his power pulling out a silenced pistol - another toy courtesy of Miss Militia's power. He watched the door handle turn, waiting.

The door creaked open, and a burly man in his late forties walked in. The man was dressed in a cheap suit, his hair slicked back in a greasy attempt at professionalism. His face was lined with stress and poorly concealed anger, his eyes scanning the room as if he knew something was off. Ricky with the silly moniker had some sense it seemed.

Jordan moved swiftly, stepping up next to him and pressing the gun to the side of his head, his other hand coming up to press a finger to his own lips in a silent command for silence when Ricky slowly glanced his way.

Jordan waited a moment, listening for the sound of the guard who'd brought him up leaving, soon enough he heard footsteps retreating down the hall, he gave it another few minutes before he spoke.

"Where can I find Airstrike?" He asked, his tone calm but with an edge that brooked no argument.

The boss swallowed hard, sweat beading on his forehead. "Who the fuck are you?" He demanded, his voice trembling slightly.

Jordan wasn't in the mood for games. He pressed the gun harder against the man's skull. "Where can I find Airstrike?" He repeated, his patience wearing thin. "I don't give two shits about your gang. Give me Airstrike, and I go away. Keep silent, and I go through you all one by one until someone gives me the answer."

The boss hesitated, his mind clearly racing as he weighed his options. Jordan could see the calculation in his eyes - the thought of dying here, in his own office, clearly not something he'd anticipated when he woke up this morning. After a moment, his shoulders slumped slightly, and he let out a shaky breath.

"Alright, alright," He said, his voice barely more than a whisper. "He's got a place - Hilton, downtown. Penthouse suite. That's all I know, I swear."

Jordan nodded, lifting the gun slightly but keeping it aimed at the man's head. He fished his burner phone out of his pocket, which was on an active call, letting Tattletale know what was happening.

"Is he telling the truth?" Jordan asked, his eyes never leaving the man in front of him.

On the other end of the line, Tattletale was silent for a moment, then replied, "Yeah, he's not lying. He's too scared too, he's practically pissing himself."

"Thank you for the confirmation," Jordan said, hanging up, and without another word, he pulled the trigger. The silencer muffled the shot, the sound barely more than a faint pop. Ricky crumpled to the ground, a look of shock frozen on his face. Jordan didn't give him a second glance as he moved to the window, slipping through in his shadow state as the window was alarmed.

He jumped and floated up to the next building over. Once on the roof, he paused to check his surroundings, ensuring no one had seen his exit. He was clear.

Jordan began to make his way across the rooftops, his mind focused on the task ahead. Airstrike was his next target, and now he had a location. The penthouse suite at the Hilton wasn't exactly what he'd expected, but it told him something important - Airstrike wasn't just some thug with a bit of power. He had money, resources, connections. That made him more dangerous, but also an easy target.

He wouldn't expect it. He would feel safe and comfortable. And as a brute, would be easy enough to bait if he felt safe.

As he moved through the city, the wind whipping against his face, Jordan felt a sense of purpose settle over him. He was getting closer. The days spent in the Vault, the drinking, the fighting, the women - it had all been leading to this. A chance to get what he needed.

A chance to get stronger.

Brute power get, then only one or two things… Then I'll be ready for Panacea, for the PRT and Protectorate, maybe even Cauldron…

----------------------------------------

Jordan found a suitable vantage point in a mostly abandoned office building across from the Hilton. He slipped through a broken window and climbed up the dimly lit stairwell to the roof. The old building creaked under his weight, and the faint smell of mildew and dust lingered in the air. Once on the roof, he crouched behind a rusty air conditioning unit, his eyes scanning the penthouse suite across the street.

The penthouse was luxurious, with floor-to-ceiling windows that gave a clear view inside. Jordan peered through the scope of his sniper rifle, easily called up with just a thought - watching as a man fitting Airstrike's general description moved about inside. The man was tall and muscular, with dark skin and close-cropped hair. He wore casual clothes - a gray t-shirt that stretched across his broad chest and dark jeans. Even in civilian attire, there was an unmistakable aura of ease about him, a certain arrogance in the way he moved, as if the world were his for the taking.

He looked like a villain even in civvies. The attitude was spot on. If the guy was white, he could have taken him for someone like Kaiser, easily.

Jordan observed closely, noting every detail. Airstrike seemed relaxed, confident in his safety. He was unaware that his every move was being monitored and that his life was about to end. If someone had found poor Ricky, no one had informed Airstrike. Jordan needed him out of that suite and onto the rooftop however. For that, he needed to provoke him.

He'd take advantage of how safe the man felt. How invincible he no doubt thought himself. As it was daytime, and he was awake, sneaking into the Hilton was risky, the guy could spot him and that would just make for more of a fight then he needed.

If he could get the guy to the roof, he could blind him and end him in five seconds. Luckily he had the perfect way to get his attention, while also making him feel like he wasn't under threat.

Feeling the weight of the sniper rifle in his hands. He adjusted the scope, lining up the crosshairs with Airstrike's broad chest. He took a deep breath, steadying his aim.

"Come on," Jordan muttered under his breath, his finger resting lightly on the trigger. "Give me your power, I'll make better use of it..."

He fired. The sniper rifle cracked loudly, the recoil jolting his shoulder slightly. Through the scope, he saw the bullet shatter the glass of the penthouse window, striking Airstrike directly in the chest. The bullet flattened against the brute's skin and fell to the floor, but the impact was enough to stagger him, more out of surprise than anything.

Airstrike flinched back, more surprised than hurt, and then his expression shifted to one of fury. He glared out of the broken window, scanning the buildings across the street. He was looking for Jordan, looking for the person who dared to attack him in his own home. Expecting a normal due to the gun. Exactly what Jordan wanted.

"Gotcha," Jordan whispered, a small grin spreading across his face. He immediately turned to shadow, his form dissolving into a black mist that clung to the shadows of the rooftop. He slid behind the massive air conditioning unit, pressing himself against the cold metal. He waited, listening to the wind and the distant sounds of the city below.

It didn't take long. Seconds later, he heard the rush of wind as Airstrike flew across the street, landing heavily on the rooftop with a loud thud. The force of his landing cracked the concrete beneath his feet, sending a few pebbles skittering across the surface. He stood there, chest heaving with anger, his eyes scanning the rooftop, his fists clenched.

"Come out!" Airstrike shouted, his voice a deep, commanding boom that echoed off the surrounding buildings. "You think you can take a shot at me and get away with it? Show yourself, coward!"

Jordan remained silent, hidden in the shadow of the air conditioning unit. He waited, watching as Airstrike's frustration grew, his muscles tensing as he prepared for a fight. He was the type to react violently to any challenge, confident in his brute strength and durability. Jordan could see it in his eyes - the arrogance, the certainty that whoever had dared to attack him would pay dearly.

Jordan smirked to himself, then activated Grue's power, unleashing a thick cloud of darkness that poured across the rooftop, enveloping Airstrike in an impenetrable black fog. Airstrike's eyes widened in surprise, and he stumbled back, disoriented by the sudden lack of sight.

"What the hell - " Airstrike muttered, his voice less sure now.

If he'd had any sense, he would have flown away, but Jordan was already going for him, so his fate was sealed.

Jordan moved quickly and quietly, circling behind him, his movements muffled by the thick darkness. His focus was sharp, every movement precise as he closed in on Airstrike.

Jordan struck, using Damsel's power, just as he got close to Airstrike, the beams of erase you taking the entire upper portion of his body out, going right through his brute rated body.

He didn't need the sight of the half destroyed body to know he'd win, because a headache split his head immediately. A grin spread across his face despite the pain, as he felt a new sensation - a lightness, a freedom. He focused, willing himself to rise, and felt his feet lift off the ground.

He was flying.

A rush of exhilaration filled him, and he shot upward, soaring into the sky above Cincinnati. He could feel the wind rushing past him, the city sprawling out beneath him like a grid of lights. He laughed aloud, the sound carried away by the wind. He didn't linger, knowing he needed to leave town before anyone could trace the commotion back to him.

Although he did have the sense to land and erase the rest of Airstrike, leaving no trace of his body behind. Although the damage to the roof would be noticeable either way.

He flew west afterwards, pushing himself faster and faster, a new sense of power coursing through him. He had the brute strength now, the durability, and the ability to fly. It wasn't Alexandria's invulnerability or Glory Girl's forcefield, but it was more than enough. He was becoming stronger, piece by piece, and there was nothing anyone could do to stop him.

As he soared above the city, the lights below slowly fading into the distance, Jordan couldn't help but smile. This was what he needed - a step closer to his ultimate goal. And he wasn't going to stop now. Not until he had everything he needed to protect his sister, to challenge even the greatest powers in the world if they dared to stand in his way.

He would take what he needed, and he would do whatever it took to get there.

----------------------------------------

Two days later, Colorado.

Jordan sat in the dingy motel room, the faint hum of the overhead ceiling fan doing little to move the stale, smoke-laden air. The room was the kind of place that begged for forgetfulness - faded floral wallpaper peeling from the walls, a cracked mirror above a sink that barely worked, and a mattress that sagged in the middle like a beaten-down fighter. He hadn't paid to be here. Instead, he'd used Shadow Stalker's powers to slip through the door of an empty room, becoming one with the darkness and stepping out the other side.

The less people knew about his comings and goings the better now… He'd caught the beginning of a news show on the way when he stopped for a snack at a gas station, and had decided to move more cautiously.

Now he sat on the edge of the bed, his hands loosely clasped, watching the flickering images on the old television. The screen's light cast harsh shadows across his face, deepening the lines of tension and thought. The news anchor's voice was a constant, droning background noise as she reported on the latest developments, her tone a mix of feigned empathy and professional detachment.

"...And in a shocking turn of events, the cape we now know as Apex, who had previously been identified as the villain Grue, has now been officially linked to the death of Miss Militia. The PRT's ongoing investigation suggests that Apex, a newly confirmed power thief capable of stealing other capes power through murder, may have been responsible for several other murders within Brockton Bay's cape community, including those of Grue and the Ward Shadow Stalker. With his abilities to both steal and combine powers, Apex is considered one of the most dangerous capes currently at large. Citizens are advised to avoid confrontation and report any sightings to local PRT authorities immediately."

Jordan grimaced, watching as the screen cut to footage of PRT agents standing outside a taped-off crime scene. There was no image of him - yet. But the word Apex flashed boldly across the screen, his crimes laid bare as he was run over the coals for all the chaos he had brought to Brockton Bay. The report continued, showing a montage of his suspected crimes - Grue barely shown as they focused on the picture of Shadow Stalker, a quick photo of Damsel of Distress flashed up as well, the dark alley where Miss Militia had met her end. All the while, the ticker at the bottom of the screen scrolled through words that only compounded his dread - Apex - Power Thief on the Loose - PRT Prioritizes Capture.

He had known this would happen. Had expected it any day. The second he'd killed Miss Militia, it was only a matter of time before the PRT put the pieces together with Watchdog at their command. Now, with the media feeding the public a diet of fear and speculation, the PRT's best thinkers were going to be even more focused, and almost exclusively on him, no doubt.

He doubted they had his civilian identity, they didn't even seem to have a description of his cape one. Just the name. So as long as he didn't don the uniform, their own retarded rules would keep him safe until he got the next step done.

Jordan ran a hand through his hair, his mind racing. He was almost strong enough to survive most threats now, but there was still one glaring weakness in his plan. He needed to be a blind spot to be above retaliation - a way to hide from the all-seeing eyes of the PRT and, more importantly, from Cauldron. The only blind spot he knew of that was actually possible for him to get was Mantellum, a Case 53 cape whose powers could disrupt Thinkers' abilities to see or sense anything in his vicinity. But finding Mantellum was a long shot - Case 53s were often hard to track, living on the fringes of society, and Mantellum was no different.

Jordan leaned back against the cracked headboard, staring blankly at the ceiling fan as it creaked above him. Did he even have a choice? Killing a Case 53 came with its own set of risks, not the least of which was that some part of their physical mutations might carry over when he took their power. The last thing he needed was to turn into some monstrous version of himself in a misguided attempt to shield his movements from Cauldron's prying eyes.

The news segment moved on to something else, but Jordan wasn't paying attention anymore. His mind was already on the next step. He had to call Tattletale. If anyone could help him locate Mantellum, it would be her. There would be signs, clues only she could pick up on. He reached into his pocket, pulling out a burner phone.

Just as he was about to dial, a sound at the side of the bed him made his blood run cold. The soft rustle of fabric, the near-silent creak of the worn floorboards. Instinctively, Jordan's body shifted into shadow form, blending seamlessly with the dark corners of the room as he slipped off the bed and backed away toward the wall. A lasgun, formed from Miss Militia's power, materialized in his hand, ready to fire.

He turned, and his heart sank as he saw her - fuckmothering Alexandria herself. She stood in the narrow space of the motel room, her presence dwarfing the shabby surroundings. She was an imposing figure, her black and gray costume clinging to a muscular frame that radiated power and authority. Her long, dark hair was tied back in a tight ponytail, and her sharp eyes, as dark as onyx, scanned the room with cold efficiency. Her cape, a dark, weightless fabric, fluttered slightly in a breeze that wasn't there. Her face was set in a hard, unyielding expression, her jaw tight, and her stance spoke of someone who was accustomed to being in control, who demanded obedience without question.

Jordan's mind raced. How had she found him? Was this the endgame already?

"I wouldn't bother with that," Alexandria said, her voice cool and commanding, with a slight edge of impatience. "It won't do you any good." She nodded towards the lasgun, her gaze unwavering.

Jordan's grip on the lasgun tightened, but he didn't lower it. "How did you find me?" He asked, his voice low and measured, masking the fear gnawing at the edges of his composure.

Alexandria didn't answer immediately. She took a step forward, her eyes never leaving his. "You can't hide from us, Apex," She said, the name sounding foreign and strange from her lips. "We've been watching you since Miss Militia's death. We know what you are, what you can do. And we won't let you get a blind spot, you won't be allowed to hide from us."

Jordan felt a cold chill run down his spine at her words. So, they knew. He'd suspected, but hearing it confirmed was a different thing entirely. They knew he was after Mantellum the second he made the choice. Contessa…

Alexandria eyed him, lips thin in almost a grimace, "However… We are willing to give you some… Leeway, if you cooperate."

"Leeway?" Jordan scoffed, trying to keep his voice steady, even as he felt the walls closing in around him. "You think I'm going to work with you, with a noose around my neck?"

Alexandria's eyes narrowed, her expression as harsh as ever. "You're a killer," She said bluntly. "You'll work however we say you'll work."

Jordan met her gaze, glaring back. "I'm not interested in being your puppet," He shot back. "I can agree to not go after a blind spot, but that's it. I'm not playing your game." Not like I have a fucking choice…

"This is us being nice," Alexandria replied, her tone harsh, unyielding. "You don't want to see what happens when we stop being nice." She hinted.

Jordan clenched his jaw, his mind racing with options, none of them good. "An ambush like this doesn't feel very nice," He retorted, trying to buy time to think.

Alexandria's lips curled into a cold smile, devoid of any real warmth. "We're leaving your sister alone," She said pointedly, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper. "That's us being nice."

Jordan froze, his heart pounding in his chest. A flash of anger, raw and uncontrolled, surged through him. "If you touch her…" He growled, his voice a low, threatening rumble. He might not be able to touch Contessa. But he could kill Alexandria.

If fucking Taylor could, he would. If nothing else he could nuke them both, right here, right now.

Alexandria held up a hand, cutting him off. "Whatever you believe, whatever knowledge you somehow have of us," She said, her eyes narrowing, "We're not the bad guys here. We won't touch her."

Jordan laughed bitterly, a hollow, mirthless sound. "Except if you have to stop playing nice, right?"

Alexandria didn't flinch, didn't react to the challenge in his tone. "Then don't make us do that," She replied simply.

Jordan's mind raced. Could he take her down before she could react? His shadow form was nearly invulnerable. But Alexandria wasn't stupid. She was one of the most dangerous capes alive for a reason. And if Cauldron was involved, if Contessa was pathing him, then this entire conversation was already mapped out.

There was no chance for him pulling a surprise attack here. Shadow Stalkers power could kill her. Damsel's power could perhaps do the same. Even Miss Militia's maybe… Depending on things. But it all didn't matter if she already knew it was coming.

Still, he could feel his blood boiling, the anger at being cornered, at being controlled, burning like a fire in his veins. He let his eyes drift over Alexandria, trying to gauge her reaction, to see if he could unsettle her, just a little. Let her know that he wasn't someone who could be caged. Let her read all the ways I could kill her off me, even if I can't use it, feel your invulnerability take a hit, bitch!

"Fine," He eventually spat out, the word bitter on his tongue. "What are the terms?"

Alexandria smiled again, that cold, calculating smile that never reached her eyes. "You'll participate in every Endbringer fight," She said, her tone almost conversational. "We're interested in seeing what your power combination can do. In return, we'll turn a blind eye to your little cohorts and your actions in Brockton Bay."

Jordan's eyes narrowed. "That's it?" He asked, dubious. He didn't exactly relish the idea of fighting Endbringers, but at least his power was suited to firing from afar. That was as safe as one could get in an Endbringer fight.

Except if they wanted him to use Damsel's power…

Alexandria's eyes were hard, her expression fully serious, as she added another term. "You're not allowed to kill Panacea," She continued. "Her future could still be useful, depending on how things work out."

God damn path and god damn Red Queen bullshit. With Sophia dead, that path can't still be viable, surely?

Although he wouldn't put it past Contessa to mind fuck Emma and some other kids to lock Taylor up on schedule.

Jordan clenched his fists, his anger bubbling up again at her words, at the possibility they would just keep the future the same at all costs. "You can't be serious," He said, his voice a low growl. "Panacea is the best shot I have at healing my sister. You're telling me I can't go after her?" Which means if I'd done that from the beginning… I would have had this discussion while still weak…

Alexandria's expression didn't change, her eyes cold and unyielding. "Her abilities have the potential to be valuable, and we're not willing to lose that. Find another way to heal your sister."

Jordan's lips curled into a sneer. "And where exactly do you suggest I find another healer with her skill set?" If there were plenty of them, I wouldn't have picked Panacea to begin with!

Alexandria shrugged, a casual gesture that seemed almost dismissive. "Bonesaw," She said matter-of-factly.

Jordan couldn't help the bitter laugh that escaped his lips. "The Slaughterhouse Nine? You don't even dare go near them, and you expect me to? You're out of your mind."

She tilted her head slightly, her expression never wavering. "It's an option," She replied coolly.

"No," Jordan said, his tone firm and final. He didn't want to entertain the idea, even if some part of his mind had already started to turn over the possibility. A hit and run on Bonesaw? It was a death wish, but if he was simply sniping her, maybe… No. Jack Slash and his whole schtick made any encounter with the Nine unpredictable, not to mention the Siberian.

The odds he'd actually take out Bonesaw with one shot, even if he managed to time Shadow Stalkers power to it, were minimal. The little bitch could probably walk off a hole in the head like it was simply Tuesday.

Alexandria raised an eyebrow, clearly reading the conflict in his expression. "Any other rules?" He asked, his patience wearing thin. He just wanted this conversation to be over and done with.

"Don't kill anyone as prominent as Miss Militia again on the hero's side, at least in the Protectorate or the Guild," She said." Or we'll have to come after you. You've already made a big enough mess."

Jordan rolled his eyes. He hadn't exactly planned on doing that again, at least not yet. "I can live with that… For now." He muttered.

Funny how they were leaving all the independent heroes and teams open for him to hunt. So good guys, huh? Fucking Cauldron.

Figuring it was worth a shot, he asked, "Any chance if I'm a good little boy, you'll give me access to the Birdcage?" Because that right there was what you'd call a game changer.

As long as the Fairy Queen didn't get him first.

Alexandria was quiet for a moment, her face inscrutable. She studied him with an intense gaze that seemed to see right through him, as if she were weighing his worth. "We'll see," She said finally. Then, without another word, she stepped back and disappeared into a shimmering portal that blinked into existence behind her.

The portal closed with a faint crackle, leaving Jordan alone in the motel room. He stood still for a long moment, the adrenaline from the encounter still pulsing through his veins, his thoughts a chaotic whirl.

"That's… Promising, at least," He muttered to himself, but the bitterness in his voice betrayed the frustration he felt. The idea of being dangled on a string by Cauldron - by the PRT - made his skin crawl. They were giving him a certain freedom, sure, but on their terms. He could almost see the leash around his neck, ready to yank tight the second he stepped out of line.

He dropped onto the edge of the bed again, letting out a long, slow breath. "Carte blanche to take over Brockton Bay," He whispered, "but no Panacea." That made healing his sister a whole lot more complicated. There were very few healers around, and even fewer who could work on brain injuries. And the fact that Alexandria had even mentioned Bonesaw… Was that supposed to be a serious suggestion, or was she trying to mess with his head?

His mind continued to race, replaying the conversation with Alexandria. Something she said nagged at him.

"If they're pathing me," He said out loud slowly, "Why didn't Alexandria know exactly what information I have or how I got it?"

Maybe Contessa was keeping her in the dark. Or maybe, just maybe, he wasn't as easily pathable as he thought. A small flicker of hope sparked inside him, a tiny kernel of thought that suggested he might have a way around their control. He'd have to test it. Carefully. Very carefully.

He sat there, in the dim light of the motel room, staring at the blank television screen as the implications of what had just happened settled over him. His path forward was unclear, and fraught with dangers. He needed to be smart, to outthink the people who were trying to cage him.

If they thought this was it… Well, he'd show them.

Carefully.

----------------------------------------

Cauldron meeting room,

Doctor Mother sat at the head of the table, her posture straight and her hands folded neatly in front of her. She wore a crisp, white lab coat that seemed more like a uniform than a necessity, a symbol of her place within the shadowy organization. Her face was impassive, her sharp features giving nothing away as she waited for Alexandria to arrive.

Beside her, Contessa sat with the same calm demeanor, her expression inscrutable behind her dark hair, which hung straight and perfect around her shoulders. She was dressed in her typical black suit, her legs crossed elegantly under the table, her eyes seemingly focused on some distant point beyond the walls of the room. She exuded an air of quiet confidence, as if everything was going according to a plan that only she could see.

A faint hum signaled the activation of the portal, and Alexandria stepped through, her tall, imposing figure instantly filling the space with a sense of tension and unease. She was still wearing her costume, the black and gray material clinging to her muscular frame, her cape billowing slightly from the residual energy of the portal. Her expression was tight, a mixture of frustration and concern etched across her features as she made her way to the table.

"He's on the leash," Alexandria said, not bothering with pleasantries. Her voice was sharp, cutting through the quiet of the room like a knife. "But I don't like this one bit."

Doctor Mother nodded, her expression remaining neutral. "It's a gamble," She admitted calmly, "But a necessary one."

Alexandria's eyes flicked over to Contessa, her brow furrowing with suspicion. "Why did you ask me to give him so much leeway?" She demanded. "He's a power thief, a murderer several times over, and now we're just letting him roam free?"

Contessa's gaze shifted to meet Alexandria's, her face as unreadable as ever. "He's an oddity," She said, her voice cool and measured. "I can't path him perfectly. His many powers, his many agents, seem to add variables that make pathing him difficult to the extreme. He's not a blind spot… Perhaps worse. Every time I look, I see a thousand different options ever changing."

Alexandria's frustration only deepened at Contessa's words. "Then why now?" She pressed, a chill running down her spine at the thought of another dangerous cape who could elude Contessa's abilities. "Why didn't we just take him in when we had the chance?"

Contessa remained calm, her gaze steady and unwavering. "I couldn't find a good path for that," She replied. "And with the difficulty pathing him, the moment he chose to go after a blind spot was one of the few clear points in all the paths. It was the best time to intervene, to make him think he was being predicted."

Doctor Mother leaned back in her chair, her hands tented in front of her as she considered Contessa's words. "So we use him against the Endbringers," She said slowly, her tone thoughtful. "And in the meantime, he'll believe we're always hanging over him, keeping him docile. As good a result as any," She concluded with a slight nod.

Alexandria frowned, crossing her arms over her chest. "I don't like this," She said, her voice tight with frustration. "I actually met him unlike you two, and although he's harder to read in that shadow state, he doesn't strike me as the kind of man who'll roll over and play dead just because we tell him to."

Contessa nodded, a small, almost imperceptible movement. "He's hard to see, but many times I see him biting back," She agreed.

"Then why?" Alexandria snapped, her patience wearing thin. "We could take him in right now, with some assistance to make sure he doesn't surprise one of us." She hated admitting to that, but she was well aware his power set could actually harm her.

Contessa's lips curled into a faint, enigmatic smile. "I see more paths where he is of great use," She replied simply.

Doctor Mother sighed softly, her gaze shifting between Contessa and Alexandria. "It's not the first gamble we've ever taken," She reminded Alexandria, her voice calm and steady. "You know as well as I do that we've taken risks before. This one is no different."

Alexandria's expression hardened, her jaw clenching as she considered Doctor Mother's words. "Yet this one might become stronger than we can handle if we're not careful," She warned, her voice low and tense.

"Hence limiting him to Brockton Bay," Doctor Mother said, her tone pragmatic. "It suits our project anyway now that Coil was chased out, and it means he will focus there. We can pluck him out when we need him for the Endbringers."

Alexandria gritted her teeth, her frustration evident. "Fine," She said tersely, her voice barely more than a growl. "But I'm not the one telling Keith," She warned. She knew the fact that the Protectorate wouldn't go all out after this power-stealing cape would be hard for Legend to swallow. They could give in-house reasons for their capes, stating they didn't want to feed more heroes into the man's power, but it wouldn't be an easy sell for Legend.

Contessa's gaze was steady, unflinching. "He'll listen to me," She said simply, her tone leaving no room for argument.

And that was that. The finality of Contessa's words hung in the air, a quiet but undeniable assertion of her control over the situation.

Alexandria looked at Contessa, her expression a mixture of frustration and resignation. "Tell me you know what you're doing," She said, her voice almost pleading, a rare crack in her normally unshakeable demeanor.

Contessa just looked back at her, her face calm and placid, her eyes giving nothing away. "Of course," She said, her tone smooth and confident. But behind that placid expression, there was an unsettling sense that even Contessa wasn't entirely sure of the path they were on.

Alexandria turned away, her frustration palpable in the tense set of her shoulders. She didn't trust this plan, didn't trust the risks they were taking. But for now, she had no choice but to follow the path laid out for them.

Doctor Mother watched her go, her expression calm and composed. "We've taken risks before," She repeated softly, almost to herself. "And we'll take them again. It's the only way to survive in this world going forward."

Contessa remained silent, her gaze distant as if she were already looking at a thousand different futures, each one a possibility, each one a gamble.

How interesting, she thought.

----------------------------------------

Two weeks later,

A portal opened in the base, making Mai and Lisa both jump back, even if they'd known it was coming.

Jordan stepped through, fiddling with his portal gun, the portal closing. "Man, this thing is finicky, only usable in places I've been, and it won't even do it for somewhere I've been once, I have to know the place intimately."

"Yes, imagine, your ten thousandth advantage over everyone else only half does what you want. Oh the horror." Lisa snarked, "Did you get your last target?"

He'd avoided her for the past two weeks, not wanting her to pick his brain while he was still ruminating about Cauldron, so she was fairly annoyed at him it seemed. Oh well.

Jordan nodded simply, "It wasn't a high priority one, but I sniped Rifle from the Red Hands while they were traveling through Colorado."

Lisa snickered, "You sniped the guy who's power makes him an expert sniper?"

Mai raised an eyebrow, "Maybe not flashy," She mused, "But that will come more in handy with your power set then many other powers would have."

"Also it's hilarious." Lisa insisted, slinging an arm around Mai, who gave her a tired look, but didn't fight it.

Jordan smiled wearily, "I'm glad to see you two getting along."

"You're back now, she's your responsibility again." Mai said bluntly, tossing the arm off her shoulders and immediately turning around and walking away.

"I'm not an unruly pet." Lisa said with a pout.

"You're right. Pets can be housebroken." Mai called out before disappearing down the hallway. "And don't make half the mess you do." The last dig barely reached them as she walked out of speaking range.

Jordan figured she'd learnt just as he did that it was best to just walk away if you wanted the last word with Tattletale.

"See how mean she is to me?" Lisa implored Jordan, her eyes wide. "You should do something about that…"

"I'll tell her good job later." He told her dryly, before moving on, eager to see what had changed in their base over the past month and some change.

It's good to be home…

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