Four men sat at a circular table at the back of a small restaurant in the quieter part of Modern City. A fifth empty chair at the table, cold from waiting for its occupant. The joint itself was closed to the public, these men having reserved it all to themselves for their meeting. One of them also 'convincing' the owner to not have any of the employees go to work when the meeting took place. The four figures were similarly dressed, suits of varying expensiveness. One of the men had a cigarette in his hand which he took a smoke of as unbeknownst to the group the fifth man entered the building through the side kitchen door flanked by two accomplices. Truthfully the two were nothing more than grunts, but reliable and trustworthy ones, the kind you'd like to have with you if the meeting went to hell.

The fifth player appeared in the dining room, his eyes scanning the room for moment until he found the table in the back. His two grunts flanking off to another table in which more of their type that had accompanied the other men were playing cards. As the man approached the table he felt the eyes of the four already seated glance up at him, one of them moving his lips to speak.

"Rocco, what took you so long? We've been sitting here twiddling our thumbs." One of them said, an older man, his hair gray, eyes honest.

"Traffic." The one the others figured to be Rocco replied as he took his seat in the empty chair, all five men at the table now, the meeting ready to commence.

"So, between the cops and the super freaks business has gotten a lot harder of late. Ever since that tanker sank those punks have been a thorn in our side. Getting involved in our deals, dragging people to the pigs. It's a mess." The cigarette smoking man at the table said, a pair of sunglasses over his face, he capped the words by putting out his cigarette in a nearby ashtray.

"What do they think they are? They've been reading too many of those comics, real life ain't anything like that stuff." Another man at the table replied, the youngest looking one there, his arms folded, a glass of whiskey in front of him.

"At least you can pay off the cops. Haven't been able to pay off the supermen, they're acting all heroic out of boredom I think." Another added.

"Now you all know that I have a shipment of guns coming into the port, but it's at risk with those freaks running around," The man who addressed Rocco pitched in, then glanced over at Rocco. "They've been giving you trouble too?"

"Yeah, but I think I have a plan for them." He said, his voice unusually calm like the topic of their conversation wasn't even an issue to him or his dealings.

"It's not that easy, Rocco, they're freaks, you can't just shoot them, some of them are so fast they dodge bullets, others don't even get hurt by them." The man who poised the question said, almost lecturing Rocco.

"Oh I know." 

"What does that mean?" The sunglasses wearing man asked, one eyebrow raised. Now was the time for Rocco to disappear.

"Experience of the personal type." Rocco said, then rose from his seat and changed form before the criminal's eyes, turning from a shorter, middle aged man with a thick goatee to a clean cut, almost pretty man of impeccable style. The four men all reacted in different ways, all forms of surprise at the act they had witnessed, one of which had rose to his feet, pointing a pistol at the shapeshifter.

"You're one of them! You're not Rocco, he's not one of those things. What the hell is going on? What did you do with him?" The man said as the shapeshifter gave him a glance, the others not yet having made a move, though another at the table had his hand on the revolver tucked inside of his jacket. The display had also drawn the attention of the other men in the room, their eyes set firmly on the table, some of them too clenching firearms, waiting for the signal from their bosses.

"Oh don't worry, he's fine, well, not dead, let's put it that way. You are right though, I am one of those things, but a more refined breed who sees the potential for my gifts. I wouldn't have let you bask in my presence if I didn't, you might have heard of me. The name's Melion." The shapeshifter said, having raised both arms to show he was not a threat.

"I say we put a bullet right in this guy's head, he can't possibly survive that." Another man at the table said, his gun drawn, he now out of his seat.

"By the pricking of my thumbs, something wicked this way comes." Melion said, his facial expression a straight one.

"The hell does that mean?"

"Those 'freaks' you were having a chat about? They know all about you all, maybe not me, I hope not me, but many of them want to stomp you out, see you in chains. I do not want that, I can help each of you, my powers allow me to become anyone I want, I could turn myself into the mayor and run the town in his place, the President and run the country, the possibilities are endless." Melion said, a smirk forming on his face.

"Why do you want to help us? What's in it for you?" One of them asked, one of them men still seated.

"Well, we share the same interests, I too do not like the others like me, they don't realize what they can accomplish. We can work something out, if not then I'll quietly leave and release Rocco back into your hands, you'll never hear a peep from my beautiful mouth again." Melion said, taking a seat once more, one of the men still with his gun pointed at the meta-human.

"I don't like it, what if he's working with the cops?" The man in shades asked the others.

"Would I have exposed myself if I was?" Melion asked back.

"He's not wrong. I never liked Rocco anyway, guy was an asshole." One of them said as two of the others nodded in agreement.

"We'll give it a shot, but you'll be watched like a fox. One bad move and you'll be 100 feet underwater with cinderblocks tied to your ankles."

"I assure you, I will be of the greatest assistance." Melion said with a smile, hiding more complicated intentions, unbeknownst to the gangsters.