[b] South Side, Chicago [/b]

The sun shown down brightly upon the streets of one of Chicago’s seedier neighborhoods. The streets were poorly maintained, and trash littered each side. The sidewalks were covered in the remains of beer bottles and cigarette packages. The houses that lined these rundown streets weren't any better. Broken windows, boarded up doors, ferocious dogs guarding the few houses that looked as if they hadn’t been broken into yet. Shady looking people gathered on every street corner, dressed in baggy and dirty clothes. Many of them smelled of alcohol and drugs and smoke. The few cars in driveways and on the sides of the roads all shared the same features: broken windows, dents littering the chassis, and missing radios.

In short, it wasn't a very nice place.

Atop the roof of one of numerous apartment buildings stood the only man in this godforsaken part of the city who still had an ounce of good in his heart. This man was dressed in black, except for the red hoodie that adorned his chest. On the streets, people were calling him [i] Supercell. [/i] Aban could do without the pompous names and the fancy getups, but Malachi had insisted that the League would appreciate it. So Aban took upon himself the name and a disguise. Over the months that he has worked South Side, he’s learned to love it. The men respected the alter ego; if not respected, then they feared it. Fear was something Aban could not have given them without the costume and the name and the theatrics.

Today, Aban Ali Sahar was on the lookout. He was trying to think of something he could do to really get the League’s attention. Busting a few ribs and breaking some noses was a start, but Supercell had already earned as much respect as he could beating up gangsters and small time drug dealers. No, he needed to hit the criminal underbelly of Chicago where it really hurt. But Aban had no idea where that was. So he stood on the roof of an apartment building, wearing his costume, hoping for some sort of sign.

Aban was thrust from his thoughts by the sound of a trash can banging in an alley below. That was odd. The local homeless knew to stay out of this area: the gangs weren’t exactly hospitable of uninvited guests. Supercell stepped to the edge of the roof, looking down. What he saw was a man depositing an orange jumpsuit, in favor of an oversize brown coat. Now, that was very strange. Who owned an orange jumpsuit like that? Then it hit Aban: he’d heard of a prison breakout earlier. Cook County Jail wasn't too far from Aban’s location, so it could make sense that a prisoner had made it out this far. It seemed fate had decided to smile upon Aban today. Reaching into his pocket, Supercell removed his brass knuckles and slid them onto his hands. Aban dropped his backpack onto the roof, before jumping off the side of the roof. Supercell grabbed onto the fire escape to keep himself from falling and breaking his ankles. He then swung into the fire escape, sliding down the ladders until he reached the bottom and his boots hit the pavement.

The escaped prisoner glanced over at the sound, and a look of surprise crossed his face: he obviously wasn't expecting someone dressed like Aban to appear out of no where.”You are coming with me.” Supercell said in an even, authoritative tone. His accent was very heavy, and quite noticeable.”Like hell I am!” The prisoner exclaimed, tossing a ball of fire at Supercell before turned on his heels and running for the other end of the alley. Aban rolled to the ground, narrowly avoiding being turned into a roasted turkey. Supercell went with the roll, jumping up to his feet and pursuing his target on foot. He reached out to the clouds above, and they began to move after the pyrokinetic villain. The man turned back around, sending another blast of fire in Supercell’s direction. This one was fired with far less precision, allowing Aban to jump off the wall and continue moving after the prisoner, with little loss of momentum. [i] Man, that move was cool. [/i] Aban thought idly as he gave chase.

The pyro stopped as he turned a corner and found himself at a dead end. He whipped around, finding himself staring into Supercell’s blank mask.”I’ll fry you!” He yelled, before sending another fireball at Supercell, who avoided it as he had the other two. Luckily, this guy’s projectiles were rather slow. The clouds above began to turn gray, and pour rain down upon the metahumans. The prisoner cursed under his breath, and Supercell knew he had him. Aban ran at the villain, full speed, jumping into the air a few inches and landing a brass knuckled punch to the man’s nose.nose. Supercell quickly followed it up with two jabs at the man’s lower abdomen, before uppercutting him in the throat. The pyro, obviously not used to relying on his fists for defense, stumbled backwards, dazed and bloodied. He raised his fists, throwing a massive hay-maker with his right hand, in a bid to take Supercell down quickly. Aban saw the wind-up, and successfully predicted where he should dodge to avoid being hit. He moved fluidly, using the momentum from the dodge to put some power behind a roundhouse kick with his left leg. The pyro was flung back into the alley wall, and slid down it to the ground. It was obvious he was slipping out of consciousness.

Supercell approached the downed prisoner slowly, each step careful and soft. Upon reaching the prisoner, he dug his fingers into the man’s bald head and slammed his face into the pavement.”Nighty night, glowstick.” Supercell said, a touch disappointed that no one else heard his amazing line. Aban picked the man up and threw him over his shoulders, before turning on his heels and walking back down the alley.”Maybe the League’ll want this guy..” He said to himself. It was then that he decided he’d approach the League with a gift: an escaped convict, and hope that they would let him join. Aban retrieved his things, and made his way towards League Headquarters.

[b] Outside League Headquarters [/b]

Supercell jogged up the stretch of sidewalk towards the two bruisers guarding the large doors to the building that housed the largest superhuman organization on the planet. He stopped a few feet in front of them, before taking the man off his shoulders and setting him on the ground. He quickly opened his backpack and removed the man’s jumpsuit, before tossing that down on top of the unconscious fellow. Aban then removed the piece of black cloth that hid his identity, and took his hood off his head as well. Finally, he removed the glove from his right hand, reaching it out towards the two guards.

“Aban Ali Sahar, at your service. I found this man in South Side wearing that jumpsuit; figured he was a baddy, and took him in. He’s a metahuman, by the way. Pyrokinetic. I’d like to talk to your superiors about perhaps joining your organization. Is that alright?”