[@FallenTrinity]

	Mrs. Pickles began by apologizing as he brushed himself off. [color=8dc73f]“Sorry, I’m not used to using mopeds…”[/color] when Jayce apologized for cursing relentlessly at him, Mrs. Pickles determined that they were even.

	The talk of the town? [color=8dc73f]“Yeah… that’s about right…”[/color] Mrs. Pickles scratched the back of his head, not sure how to feel about all of this attention. [color=8dc73f]“Look… I don’t know how I advanced through the ranks so quickly… I think there was a mis… hey, where did the guy in yellow go?”[/color]

	Sure enough, the man had vanished. Mrs. Pickles was about to say something, when he was cut off by a loud roar. The few pedestrians that were lingering nearby quickly ran away and hid. Suddenly, five men riding motorcycles rounded the corner. They were wearing black leather jackets, with bits of yellow on them. Mrs. Pickles quickly readied his hunting rifle as they approached.

	The five men were all wielding sawed-off shotguns, and didn’t look like they were in a great mood.

	“Why don’t you two back off,” one of them grunted, glaring at Mrs. Pickles. “What you just witnessed was simply… business…” 

	Mrs. Pickles didn’t have much to lose, so he showed a sudden surge in courage. [color=8dc73f]“Killing a co-worker seems like a little too much paperwork for a-”[/color]

[i]*BANG!*[/i]

	One of the men fired a shot near Mrs. Pickles. Not close enough to hit him, but it made him jump.

	The five motorcyclists chuckled. “You know,” said one. “Why don’t we just kill you two? Two less problems, eh?” The other four agreed, and then three immediately drove towards Mrs. Pickles as two drove towards Jayce.

	The first gang member to drive past Mrs. Pickles didn’t even bothering a shot, and just smacked him in the face with the butt of the gun. Mrs. Pickles brought his arms up to protect his face, and they took the brunt of the damage. 

	The next cyclist did the same thing, but hit Mrs. Pickles from behind, sending him sprawling to his stomach. Mrs. Pickles rolled onto his back, and was about to get up, but then felt pressure on his abdomen and chest and heard the roar of an engine and laughing in his ear. One of the gang members was slowly running over him with his motorcycle!

	Mrs. Pickles gasped for air as the motorcycle rolled over him. He felt his ribs straining. Mrs. Pickles grasped desperately at anything, and was only able to loosely grab the man’s shoe, but didn’t have the strength to hold onto it. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the thug drove off of Mrs. Pickles chest and spun around. 

	The three were going to leave him and work with the others to fight Jayce, but, shaking, Mrs. Pickles stood up. He reached towards his hunting rifle, but then one of the motorcyclists drove by and picked it up, but Mrs. Pickles grabbed onto the strap and tugged. The man was flung onto the pavement by this sudden movement, and landed on his head, rendering him unconscious.

	Mrs. Pickles grabbed his hunting rifle and fired a sloppy shot at one of the other two men. It connected, and the man fell to the ground, clutching a wound to his abdomen. Then, the final rider approached Mrs. Pickles. This was the one that had run him over and probably fractured his rib (thankfully, Pickles didn’t have any cracked ribs, just some serious bruises). Mrs. Pickles tried to ready his rifle again, but he was too late. The man was about to blast him away with his shotgun. It was over! And then, the man and his motorcycle suddenly fell to the ground.

	When Mrs. Pickles had been struggling to survive as the man sat on top of the hero with the motorcycle, he had accidentally grasped the man’s shoe and untied his shoelace. The shoelace got caught in the motorcycles shifter and the man had accidentally tipped the wrong way and pinned himself under his vehicle. Mrs. Pickles, bewildered, could do nothing but look at Jayce to see what progress the other hero had made fighting the two other motorcyclists.

[@Animal]

	Evan was lead to a room with a thin doctor who ran some simple, straightforward tests. Sort of like a hero specific check up. Afterwards, he was lead to a brilliant room with wonderfully carved tables. The room was clearly designed to hold at least three dozen people, but other than Evan the room remained silent for a good bit.

	Finally, a lone man entered, wearing a collared shirt and a plain suit that was clearly too small. He seemed ex-military, and had a pair of thick shades and muscles, but his belly stuck out just a little bit, revealing he had been putting on a pound or two. The man held a folder in his hands and looked inside. Then, he looked up at Evan. Even a blind man could have read that expression. That man was disappointed and angry.

	Suddenly, the man slammed the file down, making the table quake. If Evan looked closely, he could see the graying hairs on the man's head quivering from the impact. 

	He strode over to Evan and sat in the chair next to him.

	[color=7ea7d8]"So tell me... what do you know?"[/color] The man paused, as if he was going to give Evan an opportunity to speak, but then continued. [color=7ea7d8]"Because you should tell me everything. I want names. I want phone numbers. I want their mothers' names. Their mothers' phone numbers. I want their credit card information, birthday, pet's name, favorite place to buy baked goods, favorite color, whether not they eat pineapples on their pizza, the brand of mouthwash they use- every little detail that you can think of, because the information your holding from me could be the difference between me sending you to a cozy little prison cell for the next fourteen years or me just bashing your skull against this table and using your organs as jump ropes and your bones as tools to repair the table so that I can bash you skull against it one more time. Then, I'll take your brain and make it into soup. You know, the kind with little onions in it. Then, I'll take your heart and pin it on that wall, right over there! See that wall?"[/color] The man pointed at a water cooler that was resting in the corner of the room. [color=7ea7d8]"And do you know what I'm going to do to your skin?"[/color]

	Whatever the man was going to do to Evan's skin suddenly became unimportant as he changed the subject. [color=7ea7d8]"SO! I'll play nice if [i]you[/i] play nice. Do I make myself clear, kiddo?"[/color]

	Evan wasn't given a half of a chance to respond before the man spoke once more- [color=7ea7d8]"ISAIDDOIMAKEMYSELFCUHLEEEEEERRRR?!?!?"[/color] The man pounded on the table once more and then stared at Evan intently, waiting for a response. If Evan was paying attention, he would notice the man was cradling his bruised hand underneath of the table after smashing it against the table so much.