It had been a long and tiresome day - and it was only Wednesday; he still had to survive through two more days in this downright stupid and boring job as a journalist in a small newspaper! Steve grumbled under his own breath as he made his way up the stairs to his rundown apartment that, while not completely in ruins (yet), wasn’t that well kept - but, he reminded himself, at least the rent was rather cheap for a location close to town.
As he made his way to his dark wooden door to his apartment he withdrew a metal key and unlocked the door. The well-known odour of his own apartment went up his nostrils: a mix of overdue laundry, dust and day old pizza. He didn’t even stop a second to ponder over this smell, he had already gotten use to it years ago - he wasn’t much of a sanitary-kind of guy after all and as such it didn’t bother him that much. As he moved through his apartment his goal was becoming clear: his cabinet where he held all of his liquor, now it is important to note that Steve wasn’t a drunk, he had never thrown a drunk-fit nor annoyed anyone while under the influence of alcohol, he was, however, a man that enjoyed a glass or two of whiskey. 
The wooden door to the cabinet swung open and a bottle of 15-year old Greenore was withdrawn from one of the shelves together with a heavy whiskey glass. Steve let his body collapse heavily against the old leather couch he had had since he moved in too many years ago, poured himself a glass of the dark liquor and turn on the television - it was one of the usual mass-produced American shows that was on at the moment. 
Steve did not, however, get a chance to finish his first glass of whiskey. No, from the shadows of the room a high pitched voice spoke out, sending a wave of electricity up his spine, causing his hand to jolt with surprise.

“Now now, Steve” the female voice spoke out in a cold tone, “do you really think you have the right to enjoy a glass of whiskey after all you’ve done?”

Steve didn’t even have the strength to scream as all the energy in his body seemed to have been drained the instance the cold voice had started speaking, yet somehow even in the state of shock he was in the coward known as Steve managed to utter a single question.

“W-who are you!?” he stammered in the direction of the shadowy figure in the corner of his dark room, however, the only answer that he received was a wicked white grin.

“Now that is a good question” Evelyn finally answered through her grin, “however, it is completely unnecessary: you’re not going to get any use of that information”

She said, her tone still held a cold edge to it as she stepped out of the shadows into the dim light of the television that now showed a woman in tears, most likely after having received some amazing gift from the show’s producers - you know; the usual boring American television tricks to garner more views, however none in that specific room payed much attention to the wonders that occurred in the television next to them. Instead Evelyn started speaking before the guy in front of her could get a chance to respond.

“And do you know why, Steve Narvik?” she said, this time her cold voice was accompanied by a pair of piercingly cold eyes, “it is quite simple actually. You, Steve Narvik - that is indeed your name, isn’t it? Steve Narvik, 36 years old, writer at Los Angeles supernatural newspaper, no next of kin-” she spoke in a monotone voice as she was reading it from a report, but as she opened to her mouth again to speak it had taken on a much fiercer tone.

“- and wanted to 3 murders on meta-humans. Do you have any last words in your own defence, Mr. Narvik?”

Steve Narvik’s brain didn’t catch onto what the woman in front of him had said until a few seconds after the voice had reached his ears. She knew his secret - but how? He was sure that he had hidden every trace of him, they shouldn’t be able to find any evidence linking the murders to him…

“W-what are you talking about!?” he suddenly screamed, fear seemed to have taken over his brain, making him look for desperate ways out of this situation. “I-I haven’t killed anyone!”

“Denying it won’t change anything, Mr. Narvik” Evelyn spoke coldly, taking one step closer to the murderer in front of her, “I am not here to judge whether you have indeed done any of these things, I am simply here to perform the verdict of your sentence”

A sudden realisation wen’t through Steve’s mind, he couldn’t argue himself out of this situation, that much was clear. The person in front of him wasn’t your go-to cop, no she was definitely something [i]else[/i]. 

“you’re a ‘hero’, aren’t you?” he blurted out without thinking as the answer came to him.

“Well aren’t you a clever one…” Evelyn replied with an ice cold voice, stripped of any form of surprise or humour: just pure stern sarcasm. Without waiting any further she took a step forward, she needed to end this - it had already taken far too long already…

“F-fuck you!” Steve yelled, taking a step back as he summoned a flame from his hand, “I won’t let you do anything to me! You will be just another one of my ‘trophies’!” 
With that he launched himself forward towards the person in front of him, but before his flaming hand could reach her she disappeared - however before his slow brain could understand what had happened he felt the touch of a hand on his right shoulder from behind.

“Steve Narvik, murderer of 3 people - and a level E meta-human” Evelyn commented, “do you really think you could ever stand a chance against me?”

Her cold tone was now as cold as ice, the sheer difference in power was apparent even in her posture - and the realisation of their difference had also taken root in the person in front of her: she could see the terror within his eyes as the knowledge of this being the last moments of his miserable life echoed through his mind. 

“P-please…!” Steve begged, however he couldn’t speak any further. He felt how all of the energy within him drained, he couldn’t even stand up any longer as the strength in his leg-muscles disappeared. he fell to his knees and with one last horror-filled look at the woman behind him she collapsed onto his dirty floor.

Evelyn looked down at the body in front of her, with a sigh she closed her eyes and used her right hand to rub her neck, she could feel how the energy she had just absorbed erupted inside of her, however she was apparently not allowed to enjoy the feeling of utter empowerment for long as the noise of vibrations echoed from her right pocket. She reached down to grab her phone, turning it on she saw a message from HQ:

'Valentine Caro has agreed to consider negotiations. He has requested protection during this period of deliberation. For this purpose, in addition to your other responsibilities, you have been tasked with guarding Caro. Please report to the LAPD HQ for further instructions.’

“Oh for Christ sake,” she mumbled annoyed under her breath, “and here I had just hoped for a small vacation…”

However she didn’t wait long: with one last look at the man she had just murdered she turned around and reached for glass full of the dark liquid. Raising the cold glass to her lips she enjoyed a sip of the dark liquor before she simply disappeared, leaving the glass of whiskey hanging in mid air for the briefest of moments before it realised that it did not, however, have the ability to fly, sending it crashing downwards towards its doom.

Evelyn jumped out of the clean air in the middle of LAPD HQ, using her regular way of entering a room instead of walking in through the doors as most people would. She quickly scanned the room, noticing her fellow ‘heroes’ and the surroundings. It seemed to be your standard police headquarters, nothing special - that is, other than the group of meta-humans in the middle of the room: Connor, Adrian and Rozalia. With a crooked grin she joined the group of her fellow meta-humans, giving each of them a nod of respect before she opened her mouth.

“Well I see I am not the first for once, eh?” she grinned widely.