A heavily armored car sped through the streets amidst the wreckage of Davenport. The city had clearly seen better days; evidence of the battle five days prior lay all around. Buildings were in various stages of disrepair, and broken glass and rubble littered many of the roads. One block the car passed by had been utterly annihilated. The car soon screeched to a halt. The driver, a figure clad almost entirely in black, turned to look at what lay in the back seat: a sniper rifle, a large duffel bag full of ammunition, a belt covered with various types of grenades, and a few first aid kits. Despite his arsenal of back-up weapons the man was a bit hesitant to leave the safety of his armored Camaro; if what he had heard about this city was true, there were more metahumans gathered here than anywhere else he'd ever heard of. He shook off these concerns with a resolute grunt and exited the car. Anyone watching the man would likely find him suspect. He wore a black pinstriped suit with matching pants and shoes, a black derby hat, a heavy looking dark overcoat that reached his lower legs, and a charcoal-colored mask that concealed all but his eyes. His name was Odest, but no one called him that anymore. The few who knew of him referred to him as The Rambler. Rambler walked down the street at a brisk pace, looking for anyone suspicious or otherworldly. If he was going to figure out who or what this 'Calamity' was that supposedly caused the Davenport incident, he would need to find someone who knew what was going on. After a few fruitless minutes of surveying he came upon a cemetery. Hushed voices and wails of grief filled the air as multiple funeral processions were being carried out. "Unfortunate," Rambler muttered to himself. He considered using his ability to listen in on some conversations and maybe find out who was behind these killings. He refrained, deciding to give the bereaved their due respect. At least for the moment. Rambler stood near the entrance of the cemetery with his arms crossed and waited.