[b]A Smiley Face In The Cobra’s Hood…[/b]

After the grand metahuman emergence in 2010, the CIA research division immediately went on the look for ways to be able to keep an eye on these dangerous individuals. Three years and half of work, 260 million dollars and a pack of dedicated mad scientists led to the invention of a MSPD (Metahuman Strategic Pursuit Device) also known as a ‘Tick’. The idea was to spread the Ticks around Los Angeles through a Zeppelin airship, hoping that eventually one might stick onto a metahuman. The Ticks would emit a stream of waves detectable by a special satellite set up in the sky. Not a well thought plan, but then again CIA wasn’t renowned for being good at anything. Their project got shut down, a lot of CIA employees were fired while the Agency itself resorted to their old ways; killing people to cover their fuck-ups. Although the mass production of the Ticks was cancelled, some of them made it to the black market. The satellite is still active because the government big shots can’t be arsed to send a crew to disable it in times of crisis such as these.

Jamal, the arms dealer Alec had gutted twenty minutes ago, somehow got his hands on three of these devices. Alec was aware of it for quite some time, but a catastrophe after another led to him rearranging his schedule more than once. Now that he was going to face Nightingale, he needed to make sure that if she did manage to escape from him, she wouldn’t go that far. He had faith in his abilities, but he wasn’t cocky enough to face two B-to-A ranked metahumans without a backup plan. He had previously gathered knowledge on the Ticks; they would activate the moment they touched a soft surface, such as a leather or cotton one, so sticking them on clothes would be the wisest idea. Also, the devices were called Ticks due to their incredibly small size. It was truly wondrous how a small device such that was capable of transmitting so much information.

The intel the MHRC contact so gladly provided Alec with marked a hideout in West Hollywood as the fire meta’s lair. The possibility that the whole thing might just be a set up crossed his mind a couple of times, but then again he managed his way out of a lot of traps. The MHRC guy was maybe a tad too eager to provide him with information, and making a phone call was too big a mistake for a merc of Elijah’s caliber, but there’s a fine line between analyzing and overthinking, a line which Miller avoided crossing. He parked his car a few feet away from the place, so as to not attract any unwanted attention. The engine turned off and moments later, a suited-up Alec came out of the car, a silver cigar box slightly visible in one of the suspender’s pouches. This was the first time in a long while that Alec was completely embracing his Lighthouse persona. It was already noon, so he didn’t look that silly wearing a black spec ops suit alongside a black mask. There were a lot of domestic animals, ranging from dogs to cats, but no human beings around, so Alec, or rather, Lighthouse, was safe from the public eye.

As a result of a devastating attack on their HQ, Lighthouse was not expecting any FBI agents in the area. That didn’t mean that they wouldn’t show up eventually, so he had to convince the duo to take their business elsewhere. Suddenly, quick flashes of dead bodies interrupted his steady progression towards the fugitive’s place. He stopped for a minute to recover himself. [i]“Could it be coming back?”[/i], the meta thought to himself. He was breathing heavily, like he just came out of a ring after wrestling a grizzly bear, only the grizzly bear in this case were his repressed memories. The brief scuffle with the gang may have triggered something that Alec wanted to be concealed.

Right as he got his shit together, the door leading to the cobra’s hood opened, and the cobra himself popped up. He spoke something in English, barely understandable if you never met a redneck before. In an effort to lure the man into a false sense of security, Alec responded in a deluge of sweet words;

“That thing…”, he paused for a second, pointing at the MRAP with his thumb “can save your life, but not if you keep standing at the door cracking jokes. Now escort the lady out of your place and let’s go. The FBI will be here any minute.”