[center][b]Pheonix[/b][/center]

In a gloomy alley nestled between a skyscraper and an old granite bank walked a man clad in all black, clearly 'Ninja' clothing. A bit of an absurd sight to say the least, but Michael Regel thought it was a cool idea, and it wasn't a good idea to say otherwise. The man in shadows strolled down the alleyway, running his hands along the granite as he sought his mark, taking his sweet time as music blared through his earbuds. A hunched over homeless man grumbled at the shadow as it passed his cardboard home, but it paid him no attention.

Michael had little attention to give to the man he could've ended up as the song sang, 'Burn baby burn...' A bit of an old song in terms of lyrics, but old wasn't always bad. The shadow stopped suddenly, having found his target. Michael positioned his side to the wall, planted his feet firmly on the ground, and swung his left arm back. Flames roared from his palm, became contained in a small whirling inferno, then condensed into a bright white-hot beam of plasma, a shard of the Sun itself. Pheonix gripped the beam easily with both hands, and then, in one fluent movement, threw his body forward, piercing the wall with the sword. He worked quickly, using his body weight to cut laterally across the wall, severing the alarm lines, before relaxing and dissipating the beam.

Pheonix casually started walking out of the alleyway, digging inside his clothing for something. His hands closed around it. Suddenly, the shade threw the homeless man a hundred dollar bill, and then it was gone, leaving an astonished old veteran to comprehend the strange sight he had just seen.

Not long after, Michael appeared around a corner, laying eyes on his brother clearly starting to lose his shit, "Ey man, it's done, piece of cake. Now for the real fun, time to rob this bitch." Pheonix chuckled and forcefully smacked his brother on the shoulder.

[center][b]The Executioner[/b][/center]

Five armed guards employed by the Tower had spent a few hours preparing to transfer a simple briefcase, loading up an armored truck. Unfortunately, they had been instructed to wait for someone, someone who was running late. "Where the fuck is this ass hole?" shouted Damion, a beast of a man and the appointed leader of this particular group. He stood at the back of the truck, pacing as he waited. The guard didn't like being late because then his ass got chewed out because he was in charge.

"Kind of pointless to ask, don't you think, boss?" remarked Phil, a much smaller man who sat in the back of the truck, and a bit of a smart ass. Damion glared at him and continued to pace, thumping his AR-15 rifle that they had all been assigned. Management clearly wanted this suitcase delivered.

Rodrigo laughed, taking a drag on a joint as he leaned against the nearby wall, "Relax Damion, this shit'll get done soon enough." He blew out a cloud of strongly scented smoke and brought the lit joint back up to his mouth. Only an armored fist snatched it as he began to take another drag, an incredibly deep voice saying, "You know weed is illegal..."

The hispanic man suddenly became pale as he took in the enormous armored hulk of a man standing next to him. The beast made Damion look like a small fry with his armored suit, shotgun over his back, rifle in his hand, multiple bandoliers and webbing with a ridiculous amount of ammo and grenades on them, "Uh... Yeah... It's not weed, man. Promise."

"You our escort? Where the fuck have you been?!" roared Damion, who clearly possessed more balls than brains. The behemoth slowly moved his armored head to look at the boss, "Some thugs sidetracked me..." He pulled out a 30 round magazine from his webbing, letting Damion see it was now empty. The boss finally got the picture and gulped as the hulk ordered, "Now, stop fucking getting high when on-mission, and get in the goddamned truck. You incompetent fucks should've already been good to go when I got here, no wonder they hired me for this job." He threw the joint to the ground and slammed his boot onto it.

They were rolling out within ten seconds, the walking tank sitting in the back with Damion, Rodrigo, and Phil. Henry and Flannigan took up the driver and passenger seats. Sheepishly, Phil asked, "So... What should we call you?"

"The Executioner."

[center][b]Officer Collins[/b][/center]

Elizabeth Collins was having an incredibly boring day, one that was only starting to get worse. Little did she know it was about to get very interesting, but until then, she was running on a treadmill in sweatpants and a t-shirt at one of the city's gyms. This would've been a normal sight, only she was taking the time to literally lift weights mentally. Multiple hundred pound weights floated up and down around her as she ran, training her mind to focus, trying to push herself further and further.

It would've been easier if she didn't have to listen to her sister complain. The sibling was rambling about the boyfriend she'd broken up with and thrown out again, her voice going through the earbuds in Collins's ears, "Uh huh. Worthless. Right. Justified. Of course, Emily. Yes..." Elizabeth rolled her eyes and turned the treadmill up a few miles per hour. Her sister tended to be a drama queen, something she had no interest in dealing with. But family was family, "No, I'm listening. Yes. Why wouldn't I be? Okay. Yes, he was such an ass hole... Lazy, yes." What she would've given to just hang up on her.

A particularly ballsy Alpha Male decided to walk in front of her and start showing off how much he could lift, clearing believing he was being subtle despite smiling at her as he sat down on the bench. He wrapped his hands around the bar, and pushed. It didn't budge. The ripped guy put all his strength into it, and still the damn thing wouldn't move. Elizabeth giggled a bit, saying loudly, "Better luck next time big shot," humiliating the man further as he quickly retreated elsewhere into the gym.

"What? No, I wasn't talking to you. Ugh, no, I wa- Look let's just talk about Finn again alright?"