[hr][h1][i][color=Gray]Quentin Taylor[/color][/i][/h1][sub][@Mr Allen J][/sub][hr]

Unlike quite a few people, Quentin hadn’t managed to avoid work despite recent events. Most of the places where he got contracted out to - corporate sites, public events and local nightlife outlets - had stepped up security in an effort to deter troublemakers from causing a scene on their premises, leaving him with no shortage of shift-work. It had left him feeling somewhat bored by it all;  half of the time he spent standing watch close to a doorway whilst others (like right now) he’d be sat in an office monitoring the CCTV feed and making the occasional call over the radio about one thing or another.

‘Oh well,’ he’d mused ‘At least I’m getting overtime pay for this.’ And it was bringing in more than the ‘other job’ as of late, something that his contact, an Americanised immigrant from the Eastern Bloc by the name of Lyosha, hadn’t brought him anything else worthwhile to the table for quite some time, due in part to the fact that people were becoming a little more cautious in light of things - the likes of the Fiends were always bad for business.

As he downed another gulp of his cool beverage in the AC-supplied office, Quentin sank back in his chair and watched the security footage as time flew past, dwelling on the conversation he'd had with Reed a couple days back. Eventually his shift was done for the evening, earning him a couple of hours to relax back home before he bedded down for the night.

The drive home was steady, if a little drawn out thanks to traffic. Verthaven never slept after all. When he finally made it home, the first thing he did after pulling into the garage was to head upatairs to the spare room, unlock the unassuming storage cabinet in the corner and check the antiquated celllphone inside for anything noteworthy. Never hurt to check after all. A couple key clicks later, he found a simple message printed in bold across the screen.

[i]"MISSED CALL - L"[/i]

Quentin immediately recognised the caller's ID, prompting him to dial it back. The dial tone chimed for a brief moment before transitioning into the droning tune that frustrated many when left unanswered. Fortunately, the call was picked up and after a brief moment of silence was followed by a familiar voice at the other end.

[b]"Speaking."[/b] Lyosha's voice bore an accent that was nigh indistinguishable from any born-and-raised Verthaven dweller's save for a couple hints here and there of his slavic origins. 

[b]"L, got your missed call. Problem?"[/b] Quentin inquired.

[b]"Can't talk here. Need to speak with you in person, ideally today."[/b] Lyosha sounded 

Sighing, Quentin asked yet again [b]"Is it that urgent?"[/b]

[b]"I wouldn't have called if it were otherwise."[/b]

[b]"Fine. I'll see you at the usual spot."[/b] He relented, his final suggestion reaffirmed with a simple "Yeah" on the other end of the phone before he cut off the call. Switching off the phone, he stuck it back in the corner of the cabinet and locked up before heading back out. 

This time, he took his motorbike for a cruise through the downtown area before arriving at an autoshop. The front entrance was all dark, locked and barred, yet Quentin knew that Lyosha kept a key for the backdoor wedged behind the [i]"FIRE EXIT"[/i] marker.

Letting himself in, he stepped into the dim lighting of the autoshop and glanced around for any sign of Lyosha, just before he barrel of a revolver was pressed against the back of his head, taking full advantage of his distracted state.

Heartbreaker leaned in and whispered into his ear. [b]"Hey... don't move, and put your hands where I can see 'em, heh."[/b] She grinned ear-to-ear like a fool. 

Heavy footsteps coming up stairs, approaching fast, signalled the arrival of the titanic Nemesis, who was standing in the doorway, with his glowing red eyes shining through the darkness.

Heartbreaker turned her head back towards Nemesis then went back to Quentin, pressing the gun against his head even harder.

[b]"Alright, let me tell you what's going to happen,"[/b] She started off, [b]"Your pal? Yeah, he set you up. You see, someone with [i]your[/i] talents is needed by our organization. So, we're going to take you back to our little base, and use you for our... projects. You'll help us begin a new age of super science and all that nonsense."[/b]

She giggled for a second. [b]"And don't feel bad about your bud screwing you over. One of our guys is probably tearing him piece by piece as we speak. Loose ends, and that jazz."[/b]

[b]"Yeah, that's reassuring.."[/b] Quentin finally retorted below bated breath as he raised his hands, his entire body stiffening as he felt the barrel pressing against the back of his skull. These people meant business, that he was certain of at the least. [b]"So, what the fuck do you expect from me?" [/b]

[b]"Your little... power swapping trick."[/b] Heartbreaker chuckled, before she turned back to Nemesis. "Now, Nemesis,.would you do the honors?"

The Nemesis started walking up, and pulled a syringe out of his coat, and jagged Quentin in the neck with it. Pushing all the contents inside. Within a few moments, everything would go dark for him.

Some time later, Quentin would awaken inside the Hands of Science base, strapped to a chair. The first thing he'd see is Berlioz staring right at him.

[b]"Good, you're awake."[/b] He said, [b]"You're our newest asset, Quentin Taylor. You're going to be doing much work for us... before we ship you off to our associates. Now, your job will be switching powers between test subjects whenever neccessary... say if someone is about to die due to our "projects", and we have someone who's in perfect shape. You'll transfer powers from the dying one, to the healthy one. Do you understand?"[/b]

Quentin initially remained silent, a scathing glare fixated on his captor. Eventually he spoke up, muted contempt in his tone, [b]"And what exactly do I stand to gain from this... "association" with your little snuff project?"[/b]

[b]"Absolutely nothing."[/b] Berlioz laughed, his voice gruff, he added, [b]"Only we will profit... the [i]Hands of Science[/i] will greatly benefit from this."[/b]

Quentin had no answer for that, save for the scathing glare he'd displayed for the duration of their conversation. This guy sounded like a fucking Bond villain, all clichés included, yet this wasn't a film and he had no intention of being reminded of his mortality. 

Instead, he clenched his jaw and awaited his fate.