[center][h1][color=00ff8b]Jaunt:[/color]
[color=dodgerblue]Denver Streets[/color][/h1][/center]
Furnace panicked, instantly reacting to Jaunt's presence with hostility, before backing off. The baton struck his shoulder hard, but the armor there protected him from any damage. It wouldn't even bruise. Instinctively Jaunt shifted his hand closer to the gun in his holster, but he thought better of it, and moved both of his hands in front of his chest. A peaceful gesture, surely. Furnace apologized immediately, explaining how prior events led to him being 'on edge.' Jaunt nodded. an exaggerated motion due to the weight of the equipment affixed to his head. The young hero mentioned the wiki, and Jaunt smiled under his gas mask. There was a lot of information on the wiki that was untrue, especially concerning Jaunt. According to the wiki, Jaunt's teleports were torturous, making you feel as if you were being torn apart from the inside out. A young woman in a domino mask asked his business, seemingly not surprised by his sudden (literal) appearance. Furnace added on his two cents, claiming Jaunt was a soldier of fortune, and if he had a target on that roof that they were under his protection. 

A small distorted laugh bubbled out of Jaunt, as he looked at the heroes present. None of them had a price on their head, yet. He very seriously doubted that anyone beside Furnace was on the local cape's radars. Furnace's attention had shifted past Jaunt, and the cape looked behind his back to see the creature had returned. Now that it was closer, he could tell his earlier thought about it being Lovecraftian was anything but off base. At least he hadn't gone insane upon seeing it. The green clad cape Jaunt didn't know the name of suggested it was friendly, and Jaunt sighed loudly. No wonder independent capes suffered such extreme casualties, if this idiot was the average, 50% of them were even more idiotic than her. Jaunt turned around and took a couple steps in the opposite direction of the creature.

A loud text message sound emanated from his pocket, and the intimidating figure of Jaunt quickly checked the message. A bounty for. . . Holy shit. The Russian Mafia was offering a bounty of two-hundred-million dollars for the capture of a young girl. The message had been sent en masse to other mercenaries similar to Jaunt. He had a few moral objections, but Jesus two-hundred-million was a fuck ton. That was 100 years of high class living. Jaunt slipped the phone back into his pocket, and looked back at the current threat. He considered leaving, but decided finding out what this creature was was more important.