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The rotting, putrid body of what was previously known as Mr. Shrike now lay at the feet of The Cowl, bubbling audibly as his muscle and bone degraded into a putrid mass of guts and liquid. He had barely made it into the doorway before this thing followed him, delivering his cryptic message before collapsing to the floor. The door guards gasped and tried not to vomit, a few of the guests who were near one of the factory doors were either shrieking in terror or had fainted. Of course, at this point nobody knew it was Mr. Shrike, or even anyone they could recognize, but the idea that someone infiltrated The Cowl's welcome home party and delivered a biohazard wrapped in a message was enough to cause panic to the guests who could either see it or hear it deeper into the factory.

However, The Cowl simply took a step towards the melting flesh, letting out a unsettling, amused chuckle at the sight, kneeling down to get a better look at it. 

"Well, it's nice to know someone out there considers me enough of a threat to give me my first welcome home present." He mused, surveying the damage. "I haven't been forgotten, it seems." His gaze shifted to a few thugs nearby, collectively jumping at his glance. "Get the Hazmat Suits and get this cleaned up, this was a factory at one point, they should be nearby."

As he rose to his feet, Wesson stepped to his side, gun drawn and pointing at the flesh puddle now oozing onto the carpet. "The Cancer...the name sounds familiar."

"It should, dear Wesson." The Cowl responded, placing his hands behind his back and leaving the scene. "I suppose one could call him metahuman as well, though he predates this new metahuman crisis...and myself in terms of this city's criminal organizations. He leads a group called the Crew, while not as well-known in the underworld as our esteemed organization or groups like the Cyning Family, they are not the type of group to be underestimated." 

"You've...met them before?"

"Hah, met them? Wesson, they were the first to reject my offers for partnership. I sent them a emissary, they sent me his body in pieces...they are a very paranoid bunch. They probably think I'm back in town to take them down...poor fool..."

"So...how do we respond?"

The Cowl paused for a moment at the question, halting in his tracks to consider the option laid before him. A few seconds passed, before The Cowl responded in a surprisingly delightful tone.

"Well, I suppose if they want a fight, we can oblige...for now, I want you to send The Cancer a fruit basket."

"A...what?"

"A fruit basket, apples, bananas, oranges, grapes...the works." The Cowl chuckled as he spoke, beginning to ascend a large series of staircases, moving through the scattered crowds of partygoers that parted as soon as his presence was known, their faces struck with awe. "Add a 'thank you' note to thank him for his generous warning."

"I...I'll get right on it..."

"Good," The Cowl stated, stopping short of the large office situated at the top of the factory, with windows looking into what used to be the production room. He gave the guards covering the room a look, and they scooted aside for him. The Cowl turned to Wesson one last time, finishing his sentence. "I have a Syndicate to address now, do you have any other questions?"

"A few." Wesson replied. "But we can talk more after."

"Very well." The Cowl said. "Then I will leave you to it." 

And with that, he passed the mighty armored guards, gliding into the office to a few more guards inside, with Wesson trailing in behind. The Cowl passed by the desk, looking out the window to the party going on below, his eyes surveying the guests who had dared to make their appearance. The party itself was a mixture between a refined, graceful gathering and a rave, an odd amalgamation between those of the upper class and those of lesser fortune. There were all sorts of people attending, from millionare playboys, esteemed members of high society to common gangsters, pimps, and prostitutes. The sheer variety would astound most outsiders, but this was who the Cowl drew in, the people in this building owed the Cowl their very livelihoods, many of the public official's representatives attending knew they had to attend on risk of losing their funding, but many seemed to be enjoying the more risky activities offered at the party. There was music, dancing, drinks, drugs, a celebration of their current wealth and power, all thanks to the Cowl.

And yet everything came to a stop once The Cowl spoke into the microphone, carrying his smooth, charismatic voice to the ears below.

"My friends! It has been too long!" The Cowl spoke to a small cheer at his very voice. "Too long since I walked the streets of Lost Haven with you! Too long since I've enjoyed the sights and sounds of this little island on the coast of Maine. Too long since I have shared a drink with those I call our brothers and sisters!"

Another cheer from the crowd, pleased with the beginnings of The Cowl's speech.

"However, this is not a time for celebration, nor is it a time for reminiscence." His voice dropped to a baritone as he spoke, his original cheery voice fluctuating to a serious flat tone. "No, this is a time of far greater importance to our organization, as it is a time for action." As he spoke, he grabbed one of the papers from his desk, staring at it as he spoke into the microphone. "As many of you have become increasingly aware, Lost Haven is changing...altering under its own urban mantle, it no longer is a city of cops and gangsters...no, this city is changing to become a city of capes, a city of tights, a city of superpowers, demons, and forces many cannot comprehend."

At his speech, many below began to boo at the mention of superhumans and demons, many probably still sore from the events of 'D-Day'.

"No no no, calm yourselves, my brothers and sisters!" The Cowl assured them, his silky voice calming their ire. "This is not the end of our operations as we know it, nor is it the end of the Shroud Syndicate. This is merely...an alteration, a change, a test of our resolve. In order to exist in this new city, we must not remain stagnant in our approach, or we will risk loosing this city to men like The Cancer, who actually just gave me a very lovely welcome home present, as many of you are aware."

Another boo at the mention of The Crew's leader. It looked like a few were aware of this man.

"No, if The Shroud Syndicate is to continue its operations here in Lost Haven, then we must adapt, we must change and evolve for this new city. The superhuman intrusion is not a destroyer of our way of life...it is an opportunity for greatness! A new arms race, a new market that we, The Shroud Syndicate, should jump on without haste! After all, who are we if not opportunists? We are the whispers on the backs of politicans, we are the hands that feed the hungry and the poor with the goods we take from those in excess. In every shadowy alley on Earth, we exist, on every continent we sow the seeds of great network! We are the Shroud Syndicate, and we take what we want!"

A rousing cheer from the men below, approving of The Cowl's short speech.

"So we will take this superhuman market by storm, and we will show every metahuman in this city that The Shroud Syndicate is not a organization to be trifled with! So enojy this party! Enjoy the people, the food, the drink, the drugs, whatever you are into! For tonight is the last celebration we will be doing for a long, long time. We start tomorrow, and we will sink back into the shadows of this City, manipulating what needs to be done to secure out position. There is much work to be done, ladies and gentlemen, and I trust each and every one of you to pull through, as you trust me to lead you into a new tomorrow!"

And with another rousing cheer, The Cowl placed his microphone back on the desk and walked out of the office.

"Excellent speech, sir." Wesson said, trailing behind the Cowl's graceful pace once more as he passed by the door guards. "Will you be attending the party?"

"No, I won't." The Cowl responded. "I have no time for celebration, gather a handful of men and prepare to leave to a the compound. If that corpse made it here, The Cancer and Crew may know this party exists, and I'm not going to be caught with my pants down here."

"But the guests?"

"Are all very good at self-preservation, and the men here will be sure to give any intruders a hell of a fight, one not worth the resources if I'm not here to be killed." He then motioned to the building. "Also, once the party is over, destroy the factory."

"Sir?"

"I don't need it, and we don't need any outside forces thinking we use this thing as a base. Tomorrow the others may begin work, but we start tonight. On the fruit basket, I need you to give the Cancer a number."

"A what?"

"A phone number, I'd like to speak with him personally, see if he is dead set on this war between us." The Cowl hurried out of the building back to the nearby car. "Then I will begin preparations for giving these 'heroes' a taste of what this city can [i]really[/i] offer."

"As you wish, boss."