[h2]Chris Lange: A Denver Nightclub[/h2]
A cold wind whipped against Chris's hoodie, cutting through it like a hot knife cuts air. She had been standing in line to enter this club for a while now, her head facing down, with a dull grey purse  resting comfortably against her hip. The light hung above her at a sharp angle and shadowed her face well, but she wasn't taking any chances; The demon mask rested against her face comfortably, a secondary measure. It wouldn't matter when she got to the bouncer. Chris lifted her head slightly, locking onto an older woman's face as she walked to the back of the line for the club. Chris memorized details as quickly as possible. Sharp cheek bones, purple lip gloss, a thick forehead, she locked onto all the shallow details and kept the face in her head. The older woman didn't even notice, and the person in front of Chris entered the club. The young girl stepped forward, slipping a blank slip of plastic out of her pocket, and offered it to the man with her head down. He reached out, and the second Chris's fingers brushed his hand his world was slightly changed.

He saw her lean back, taking her hand away and looking up at him. The face on the 'ID' she handed him matched hers. She was middle aged, with makeup that exaggerated a few of her best qualities. He also noticed her height, but it matched the valid ID. Plenty of girls were shorter than her so he waved her through with a gruff greeting. In actuality as soon as their hands touched, she had grabbed his wrist, and held it there. He tried to move it to his face to see the white piece of plastic better under the light, but it was a slow movement that she didn't allow him to make. She hid this action from the woman behind her with her body, blocking the view well enough. He was certain he had inspected the ID regardless of the truth of the situation. She took back her slip of plastic, and let her fingers stay on his wrist lightly as she walked past him, before letting go once she was behind his back. He would have a movement of confusion and dizziness as the illusion faded, the positioning of his body being slightly different than a moment ago, but she doubted he would think about it too long. Hoped more than doubted actually.

Now she was gliding, giddy with excitement as she slipped her mask off in the entrance way to the club, and slipped it into her bag. Strobe lights flashed high above her, and it was intoxicating. The dance floor was filled with people, every one of them inches from each other. This was what she could do with her power, go anywhere she wanted, and be anyone she wanted. She scooted the edge of the dance floor, and sat down on one of the many couches that outlined the room. Drunk couples, and strangers alike were pressed against each other aplenty, but she chose an empty couch instead of interrupting any of the one night stands. A glass was on the table that each of these couches had, with what looked like a small amount of whiskey in the bottom. Chris took a small drink, trying her best to seem natural, which was kind of working for once. The drink was disgusting Chris realized and coughed a bit. Smooth.

[h2]Celia Clarke: Denver Streets[/h2]

Decoy took his sweet time, but Celia forgave him regardless. His response was vastly disappointing, and the steel wall of his encrypted database didn't allow her further entry. She took her time responding, and expected Decoy to be more disappointed in her response than she was in him. She didn't pull up anymore files, or check any other resources on the interface platform that her minor operating system was using, but instead sent a message back.

[color=yellow]c17:[/color] That's quite a shame; you're either lying or useless in this regard. I don't know which is worse, honestly. Thank you for your help.

That message was the lest sent before she went completely silent, essentially leaving the chatroom. She hopped off the fly along with G4M3R and Artificer, and listened to their leader speak as she leaned over the edge of the west side of building. Celia considered the drop for a second, before looking back at the gathered parahumans. She considered the situation closely, wondering what the best plan of attack would be for the group. It was quite a difficult calculation, and there were too many unknowns to evaluate every single option. Celia would prefer to attack from the ground floor, with a teammate, while the others went from roof down. IT would trap their prey if done correctly, but she felt like suggesting a plan like that might overstep her boundaries as a new member. Instead she settled for sitting on the edge of the roof precariously, and watching her teammates come up with plans of their own.