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[h1][center][color=00aeef]The Conduit[/color][/center][/h1]
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Jim Evanston paced his office thoughtfully, small sparks arcing through the air. It wasn't his official office at Evanston Metal Recycling. Nor was it his backup office at The Hatchery. This was [u]his[/u] office, 200 feet underground, walls of solid cement, and somehow managing to be both luxuriant and utilitarian at the same time. The foot thick steel door was covered to look like handsome oak wood, and the walls painted a serene white.

The massive oak desk dominated the room, Jim's favorite throne-like iron desk chair stationed firmly behind it. Bookshelves towered on either side, backed to the walls. A painting of some famous imperial ruler or another backed the wall behind his desk. It changed on a regular basis. Today it was Otto Von Bismarck. Various other trophies and fancy objects sat on pedestals or displays around the room. A pottery fragment sat quietly in the back, alone on a bland wooden pillar. But the most eye catching thing in the room was the man pacing it. A handsome, sharp, face, short black hair, a rather unnerving trench coat and boots. But the electrical sparks were what gave him his emphasis.

Jim was concerned. He wasn't worried yet, but he was concerned. One of the gangs bordering his territory had recently undergone a total re-haul. The slimy old bastard in charge had been murdered, and a young woman had taken his place. The human trafficking in the district had dropped dramatically, but now he had to worry about theft. He didn't have much that would greatly concern him if it was stolen, but he'd prefer to keep everything where it was. There were also repeated reports of standalone superhumans making a mess across the city, and he wouldn't stand for unorganized mess-making.

A rushed knock pounded against his door. [color=00aeef]"Come in,"[/color] he shouted, in order to be heard through the door, slightly annoyed he was being interrupted. His 3rd in command, Thomas Constantine, stepped into the room, the door slamming behind him. Constantine was a thin man, with a thick brown beard to match his deep eyes. He was Canadian, but spoke like the American he had become. Constantine had an ability, a rather weak one, but he was able to break any lock, mechanical, electrical, or even password. This made him a remarkable asset for gathering money, and Constantine owed Jim his live anyway.

Constantine spoke quickly, obviously upset. [color=6ecff6]"Sir, it's Sabre, his guys are getting raided, and he's out of commission to stop them."[/color] Jim swore. The Sabre was one of his arms dealers, the man didn't have an ability, he just liked the nickname. If Sabre got taken down, he'd lose an important connection. He had no idea if the gang that replaced Sabre would respect the authority of the Conduit.

[color=00aeef]"I'll deal with it."[/color] Jim said, walking out the doorway. Constantine rushed after him.

[color=6ecff6]"You, sir? Shouldn't we just dispatch Henson and his boys?"[/color] Constantine asked, nervously. [color=6ecff6]"You could be hurt."[/color]

Jim laughed. [color=00aeef]"Henson is too lighthanded for this. I'll deal with it. I'll be fine Constantine."[/color] Jim pushed the button to shut the elevator doors, Constantine's protests drowned out by the shutting iron plates. Constantine was a good friend, but he worried too much. Jim cracked his knuckles. He'd solve the problem.

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[b]Industrial District, Northwest[/b]
Jim stepped out of the car. The old black jeep had served him well as an undercover car. If he had taken the Mustang, he would've stood out much more. He stepped over to the electrical transformer he had intentionally stopped by. Running electrical energy to force his muscles to react, he tore the metal cover off of the box. He rubbed his arm. That always hurt a bit. He grabbed the two massive cable lines running through the box and flexed his "muscle" for lack of a better term. The box hummed and sparked as he absorbed the energy running through it. The lights on the block went out. He grinned.

As Jim stepped into the firefight, he was amazed at the remarkably poor job the Sabre's men were doing. They were being absolutely demolished, and the raiders didn't even have to fight that hard. The Sabre's men were terrible at finding cover. He shook his head. Shoddy training could take down a gang just as easily as another gang could. He flexed his fingers and gestured as a bolt of lightning snaked out and fried one of the raiders from behind. The scream was muffled by the helmet. Several men turned to him, but they were all dead before they could let off a shot.

He walked around casually, zapping any man who tried to shoot him. He was stopped by a man obviously scared, pointing a rifle at him. Jim smiled sarcastically. The man fired. In a split instant, Jim did several things at once. A very thin bolt shot out and hit the bullet, not just stopping it, but sending it back towards the man. At the same time, he spun a finger, triggering a small electromagnetic impulse which flipped the bullet around. The bullet thudded into the man who had shot it a second later. Jim frowned. Now it was messy...

The last man dropped his gun and threw his hands up in the air. Jim walked up to him, putting a hand on the man's shoulder. He forced the man to his knees. [color=00aeef]"Do you know how many amps are needed to kill a man? It can be as low as 0.2, just to put your heart out of commission. Of course, if the voltage is higher, it's going to kill you a lot quicker. But, I could just run 1 whole Amp through you and you'd be completely fried. Poof, dead."[/color] Jim grinned, wickedly. He pulled the helmet off the man's head. The fellow was very German in appearance, blonde hair and blue eyes. [color=00aeef]"But I'm not a sadist, I'm a businessman. I want you to give whoever sent you a message. Nobody does ANYTHING in my territory without my say so, got it? And, just to prove I'm serious..."[/color] Jim flexed his "muscle" again, and the man screamed as he rapidly aged, Jim training the electrical energy stored as youth within the man.

A man of about 70 sat on the ground in front of him. Jim clicked his tongue and turned and walked away. [color=00aeef]"Don't forget! Nobody messes with the Conduit!"[/color]