[u][b][i]SOME TIME AGO - LOWER WEST SIDE, EMPIRE CITY[/i][/b][/u]

[i]It doesn't matter if you're a cop or PI, the rules are the same - You don't get anywhere without a lead.[/i]

Carter always seemed to go through waves. Sometimes, he really felt like he was making a difference, like when he saved the kid from a burning building last week. That was a clear good.

And then, there was the flipside - Dealing with the dealers all across the Lower West. Drug traffic had no moral compass, no code. It simply went to wherever the money was. The issue at hand now, though, was that that money was becoming more and more difficult for the common folks to get hold of.

With more organized crime hustling in on the area, legitimate businesses were having to face rather a rather simple choice.

Pay protection, or pack up.

[i]As if these people ever really have a choice in the matter.[/i]

Over the past year, there had been quite a few rumblings in the underground - The don of the Castelvatrano Family had been killed, and there were rumors that a newcomer was pulling the strings, though the name hadn't really been circulated much, yet.

It was obvious that the organization was somewhat neutered for a bit, which offered too many of these minor crew leaders a chance to "prove themselves."

[i]Little Lords looking for the Kingship, it seems.[/i]

Tonight, Carter was just on patrol. He'd heard on the scanners that there had been several homicides in this area over the past couple of weeks which on their own, wouldn't have been too surprising. It was the similarities of the murders, however, that started Carter on making some connections.

Almost always slit throats, put on display. Message killings. The victims almost all had connections to organized crime, which meant that someone was either cleaning house or looking to show off. But Carter wasn't exactly concerned with the murder victims themselves. Wrong begets wrong, after all.

[i]The problem is, even criminals have families.[/i]

Whomever was responsible was performing these murders in private homes. They were terrorizing families on purpose - And that was something that could not be allowed.

Carter looked up at the night sky as a couple raindrops fell onto his head. It was going to be a wet night. Standing on the roof, he reached down and hefted his helmet before pulling it onto his head. A couple button pushes later, his internal displays popped up, giving him a readout of police scans in the area. Nothing yet.

[i]Wait for it...[/i]

The shout echoed out of the building just below him.

"You fuck! Who the [i]fuck[/i] hits people with a bar stool!?"

Carter looked over the edge to see a smaller man barrel out of a red-light bar's back door, obviously in a hurry. He was moving fast, but kept checking over his shoulder, as if a monster was following.

Then the door opened a second time. Carter recognized the red symbol on the man's chest immediately.

[i]Reverb[/i].

This guy had been on the police radar for months, and the underground world even longer - a wild-card crazy who no one could really pin down the loyalties on. He was young, Carter guessed just past twenty. And it was clear he was plenty angry, possibly from the particularly nasty gash on his arm.

[i]The risks of a skin-tight suit, I guess.[/i]

Reverb took off out the door, sprinting after the man that had left the bar earlier. He ran at full speed, but Carter noticed that his quarry had actually ducked into an alley just out of sight. The red-and-black vigilante looked like he would sprint right by.

[i]It would be a shame if these two missed each other.[/i]

With the use of his heavy grapple, Carter ziplined across the street. He noticed that Reverb's prey was backing away from the street, apparently hoping not to be seen by the maniac in tights. Carter was getting close, and leaped from the zipline, landing with a roll, and grinding to a halt directly behind the man.

His boots slid on the alley gravel before he stopped, and stood, at least two feet taller than his new conversational companion.

"Good evening," said the man in the helmet. "You seem to have lost your way."