[h1][img]http://i1383.photobucket.com/albums/ah281/Q-C0ntinuum/BlessedWraith%20Weaver%20-%20Copy_zps7aq7ebmi.jpg[/img] BlessedWrath (Weaver)[/h1]
[h2]Samantha Cole - An Undisclosed Location​[/h2]
Sam's head swam. She felt displaced; like she was between worlds. There was a distinct sensation of consciousness, but coupled with the absolute inability to act or move...even to speak. It was a terrifying sensation.

Sleep Paralysis.

The words floated through her mind as if casually intersecting with her reality, from another plane. Still...it seemed fitting. This was a problem she'd encountered only as a bystander, during group therapy. Still, that memory did not comfort her. In her transitional state, she could not see where she was, could not get up and flee...she could only wait for what came next.

Muffled voices rose from nearby; presumably an adjoining room. They sounded angry. She did not have time to wonder about the cause before two pops tore through her. The sound was nothing like the movies; it was surreal, terrifying. It was violent and brutal. It was uncaring and unapologetic. There was no preparation for it.

Still unable to move, Sam perceived the sensation of motion. The voices continued, though she could only speculate as to what they were saying. They no longer sounded angry. They sounded...pleased.
​
Hours Later
​
"Just keep an eye on her. I don't pay you to agree with me."

"Yes, sir, Mr. Mantovani. She won't get past me."

"You better make sure she doesn't. You don't want to end up like Jimmy."

Sam stirred, prompting the attention of her gracious hosts. She made two adult males -one in some kind of suit- but that was all she could determine. The sedative was still coursing through her bloodstream, which made it difficult to decipher any specific details. One of them had mentioned a name, but...it all started slipping away. She battled the drugs to stay awake, but there was more to it than that; there was another fight going on, and she couldn't be sure what it was she was struggling against.

There was a brief silence, during which Sam felt sure she was being studied. At the end of it, the taller man bent down over her and grasped her chin. She felt two fingers prying open one of her eyelids. She could feel her eyes rolling about in her head, and couldn't make them focus on anything; brief glimpses were all she managed.

"Your boys used too much. I told them I needed a variable-dosage delivery system."

"Sorry, boss. The place we ripped them off from..."

"I'm not interested. Fix the problem."

He let her go and turned to face his accomplice. It was the tone in his voice that she remembered. It was cold, heartless. It was menacing.

"If she dies, there will be a lot of new openings in my organization. Get me?"

"Y-yes, sir."
​
[h2]Masaru[/h2]
Masaru prowled the docks, in search of his connection. A light burned in the window of a trailer, beside a docked freighter. No legitimate business had any claim on this late hour, so he advanced.

There was a line of grubby-looking drifters queued up to the door of this temporary office. Masaru noted at least four wearing gang colors, two with suspicious-looking bulges in their clothing, and a guard who absolutely showed no shame about carrying. This had to be the place.

After a short introduction and a search for weapons, Masaru was admitted entry. He tried not to think about the two men who were caught trying to enter without disarming. A too-well-dressed man sat behind a scavenged desk and eyed him as he sat down.

"What brings you to my office?"

"I looking for honest work." Masaru offered meekly.

The man smiled, but it was for nothing innocent. Masaru gave off the vibe of a fresh mark. One more immigrant who wanted to bring his family over to 'the new world', and could be exploited every step of the way.

"Any skills?"

"Yes," Masaru answered quickly. "I very good at physical job. Can lift many pounds."

"Excellent. Mark will show you to your new assignment after a brief background check."

Masaru knew what that meant. They wanted to know if he had any family; any loved ones who would notice if he went missing. He only hoped that his contacts with the Reformers had managed to properly obfuscate his public record in such a way as he couldn't be identified by these small-time gangers.

People like these worked for someone. The man behind the desk was not in charge; Masaru knew that. He was a glorified door-man, who was allowed the great privilege of believing himself to be important. No...to get to the man in charge would require inside access...which was exactly what he was about to achieve.
​
[h2]Samantha Cole[/h2]
Sam finally awoke in a cold, damp room. She could hear practically nothing, which meant isolation from the city or insulation from sound. Odd, that that thought would cross her mind in such a situation, but she buried it for the moment.

A quick look around the room revealed the interior of an abandoned warehouse; same as before. It appeared as though Mantovani's men were not terribly original when it came to hideouts.

"Or," Sam allowed herself to think. "This isn't a hideout at all, but just a place to get rid of people who know too much."

As she acclimated herself to the idea of conscious thought, she became aware of a small point of minor discomfort on her left arm, near the crook of her elbow. She angled her head to take a look and managed to discover the clear signs of a needle. Whether it had been an injection or a blood sample was not clear, but she noted that the person responsible had taken the time to patch it up with some clear, reinforced tape and a gauze swab.

"Not your average dope dealer, then..."

Just at that moment, one of the doors opened. It was a loud, unpleasant sound; cold and industrial. She heard the same heel-toe click of fine Italian leather as Mantovani approached.

"Well, well..." Mantovani breathed. "Look who's finally awake."

Sam's brain tore itself in half over whether to scream at him or keep her mouth shut. Mantovani flashed that asinine, flagrant grin and circled around, taking his time with his words.

"It occurs to me," he offered, as he made his way around the back of her chair, leaving her field of vision. "That we really only have one thing in common."

"Yeah, what's that?" Sam couldn't help but blurt out.

Heel-toe, heel-toe, heel-toe, round to the other side, Mantovani made his way back into her peripheral vision. He was holding something. It looked like a small tube.

"Usually, when somebody has something I want, I just take it. You'll notice I have already done that." Mantovani pointed at her left arm. "But there's a little more at stake than just this." The little tube could be seen more clearly now. It contained a red liquid.

"If you were anyone else, you'd already be dead. I don't like to drag things out. But...I just had to know..."

"He's got my blood." Sam's heart skipped a beat.

"Now you have a choice to make." Mantovani waggled the little tube in front of her. "Now that I have this...I don't really need you anymore, do I?"

"...no." Sam whispered. She knew it was true. Even if all he could gain by her blood sample was confirmation of the serum, that would still give him targets to acquire. If he managed to prove that Supers were real, he would never stop coming after them; Reformers or TSP did not matter.

"It's like this," Mantovani intoned, with a casualness behind that deadly-serious tone that did not sit well at all with Sam. "You get the same deal as they did in The Old Days. Silver or Lead."

"Silver or lead?"

"Yeah." Mantovani beamed. "You work with me, you get the silver. You fuck with me, you get the lead. Got it?"

As if to punctuate his point, he pulled his handgun from his jacket and flicked off the safety. Just past him, Sam could see two men struggling with the obvious corpse of a long-dead man. The door almost obscured them, but she still saw it.

Mantovani waved the gun in a circular motion, as if to indicate impatience. "Sooo..."

"Fine." Sam grated. "Ask your questions."