[hr][i][h1][color=gray]Quentin Taylor[/color][/h1][/i][U][I]Somewhere in New Raygate[/I][/u]

Tony Waller was a metahuman with a history of criminal behaviour. Known primarily for being some dumb muscle who'd had enough competence to run his own little crew, he'd been the first one that Quentin had gone after when he'd learned of a connection to the Founding Families.

"You know what I'm after-"

"The hell I do, who the fuck do you think you are?" He wriggled against Quentin's grasp, but the RAVEN had him held in an arm lock, pressed against a wall in the back office of the autoshop.

"You saw my badge, right?" Quentin tightened his grip, pressing him further against the wall. "Better people than you have got in my way and been put down, one way or the other. I'll ask again, who paid you off?"

"Fuck you. I've got rights, where's your fucking warrant?" He looked ready to try and fight again, so Quentin drove his knee into the back of the man's leg. 

"There's your rights. There's your warrant. Don't stall me again or you'll regret it." With these kinds of people, Quentin understood that there was a need for force. Violence and intimidation were the only kind of language that they understood.

"... Bullshit. You're a RAVEN. Even your type have standards, so don't play the bad-cop shit on me."

"That's what you think?"

Quentin twisted his arm just a little further, just to cause s little more discomfort. The guy was built like a tank, but he'd had the element of surprise. 

"As far I'm concerned, you're dangerous. That means I can put you down if I need to. Besides, who will they believe?"

The man didn't deign to answer. Both of them knew why. "Good. Now, I'll ask again - your people were paid off. By who?"

"... There's some shit out there you don't [i]want[/i] to know. These people kept things really low key. Communicating by proxy, dead drop points and all - we never actuslly saw 'em, man! All we got was an address, orders and whatever tools they gave us to use..."

"And one of those locations?"

"I..." The words seemed to catch in his throat. Quentin heard a noise, then another voice. "Hey, the fuck is this?!"

He'd barely a second to react before one of Tony's boys was close enough to go at him with a tire iron. Shoving the would-be boss across to the side, Quentin ducked low as the guy swung for him with the iron, like a bad golfer, then grasped for his arm before he could strike again, driving a knee into the man's groin and wrenching the iron from his grasp with enough force it made him lose his footing and smash backwards into a filing cabinet.

"Come on, you fucking fed!" Tony's voice flared up again. [I]Shit[/I], was all he had time to think before he was blindsided and pinned to the floor, grasping for his neck.

"What kinda game are you playin', huh?!"

Quentin felt the man's meaty fingers tightening around his throat and scrabbled for something, anything, then the same metallic surface grazed his fingers.

"You fuckin' prick, you think you can just fuck with-"

Tony's voice lurched to a muffled grunt as bloody spittle and a few broken teeth spattered against the floor, the bloodied tire iron still in Quentin's grasp. The next time he slammed it against the would-be mobster's face, it made a sickening crunch. 

It took a couple more moments before Quentin regained his composure. [I]Two for the cells,[/I] he thought, though there might have been questions as to [i]why[/i] they'd turned up in such a state. If HQ knew how far he'd gone, a stern word might have been the least of his concerns.

That said, he'd had his reasons. The Founding Family were out there and any leads he could find, well... if Mei and thd others were out there getting results, he'd be doing the sane. Quentin was a lot of things, but if he'd picked up anything from the old man, it was a stubborn persistence. Grunting, he wasted no time in pulling out the cuffs.

"I'm getting too old for this shit."