Vincent sat on a rooftop near this bar where a decent sized group was congregating, rumor held it in the Big Apple's underground that the bar owner had intel on this white coat Syndicate asshats. Though a sad question was, was it safe to go in? After pretty much nuking a portion of Grand Central no doubt someone heard about it. If they did, he just hoped noone saw him, he did all he could to remain out of sight after that incident, and now he was faced with a VERY tough choice: risk it for the info, or don't and be left in the dark. He rather liked the idea of knowing these new threats, so as quick and quietly he descended to the streets below, and moved to the bar. With each step he thought, thought about how he easily killed those people. How weak they were, and how devolved they seemed under the purifying wrath of his flames.

Each person he roasted that day was just a human, a weak, pathetic, devolved creature not meant for the times ahead. He saw it clear as the morning sun during the winter. The age of man was done, and the age of Conduits was beginning. The Syndicate saw this and in fear have retaliated, thinking they have a hope. A hope of defeating a superior being trying to be benevolent to the mongrels. Even with all the generosity of the Conduits, humans still try to hurt them, and make them feel lesser than they actually are. The equality people speak of is a lie, An illusion that now has allowed the Syndicate to wage war. Once again, humans seek to eliminate their superiors. Once again they were at risk, but this time, they will lose. This time, the superior beings will NOT lose their focus and they WILL take what is rightfully theirs. This thought ended as he entered the bar and tried his best to sit alone. All he wanted was info, not a social life.