[center][h1][color=ec008c]Ira Riese:[/color]
[color=dodgerblue]PRT HQ - Interrogation Room[/color][/h1]
[@BCTheEntity][@Lugubrious][@ProPro][@yoshua171][/center]
Protean lead the group calmly, with an expression that was hard to read. Eventually Ira fell to the back of the group, looking a bit crestfallen, a disappointing addition to her relatively antisocial nature. They arrived at a room used to interrogate various unsavory figures in the midst of an argument between the director and Decoy. After a bit the director explained what the current state of affairs was, giving just enough details to make Ira feel informed. Protean interjected at a part to add relevant information that some of the Wards may not have known offhand.

As the director finished, a young person entered the far side of the room, with quite a bit of ambiguity surrounding their gender among other parts of their identity. They flirted, and it almost seemed defensive to Ira, the kind of thing you'd do to hide real fear. At least, that was Ira's best guess.

The director noted that they were working under the assumption they were a shifter. Shifters, right, they could change their physical from. Everything from turning into animals, to replicating someone else's appearance. The directer also seemed offended by the use of the name Lovecraft, which seemed a bit strange to Ira. Then again, she had no idea who or what Lovecraft was.  A small conversation about assets unknown commenced between Protean and the Director, speaking of someone who had been hiding in a bomb shelter.

The young tinker hung on every word spoken, characteristically absorbed in anything relating to the Protecterate or more specifically powers. Then the director mentioned a lie detecting software, and Ira almost lost control. She wanted so badly to ask how it worked, what it used as a baseline, how quickly it could be calibrated, and every other relevant question under the sun. Ira seemed to be visibly strained, wanting very badly to speak up. When Protean suggested they individually interrogate the villain, Ira's hand shot up, and her mouth opened to speak. [color=#3068FF][b]"I'll go first! I mean I'll try if that's fine with you,"[/b][/color] She said, bouncing up and down in place with excitement. Her derangement was getting the best of her.

[center][h1][color=00ff8b]James Scott:[/color]
[color=00aeef]Denver Streets[/color] and later a Denver nightclub[/h1]
[@Eklispe][@Nattook][/center]
The city absorbed Jaunt, his brisk pace mixed with precise teleports, bringing him to his home quickly. The last jump, from the denser city, to his suburban home was a very long one. He collapsed to his knees, partially in shock from how painful it was. Standing back up was a slow, arduous movement, especially with all the body armor he was wearing. Jaunt was standing in a room that used to be a spare bedroom. He took off his gas mask first, unstringing it and placing it on the bed carefully. Next was his helmet, which he put next to the gas mask. Every piece of armor was put on and taken off in a specific way. When put on in the correct order, it provided maximum protection to a large variety of attacks.

Soon the entire costume lay on the bed, along with his phone and his various weaponry. The look in that woman's eyes flashed through his head again, the cold calculating nature of them. He almost died. Christ, and he thought he was losing his humanity, but nothing like that. A breath James didn't know he was holding escaped his lips, and he moved to open the closet. A rifle safe rested on the right hand corner of the closet, and Jaunt entered the 6 digit combination quickly. He swung open the empty safe, and slowly stored his costume within. He picked up his- no, Jaunt's cellphone. He sent a message to Lance, his only contact in Patriach's group, that was short and sweet. It explained his phone was compromised in a couple words. The implied meaning was that they would have to meet up and exchange new numbers within the next three days.

Now the phone was useless. He threw it onto the bed behind him, and looked back at his closet. James closed the safe, and picked a white t-shirt off of the hanger, slipping it on over his head, along with a pair of black pants. He had about thirty of that exact same outfit spread across his closet. Buying clothes was such a headache that James didn't do it anymore. One type of shirt, and one type of pants fit him just fine. He slipped his wallet off his dresser and into his back pocket, and grabbed the compromised phone off the bed.

The door to the guest bedroom opened with a loud squeak as the tall black man stepped out into the hallway. His heart ached a bit, just being in this place. A remnant of a different time and a different man. He had been less jaded. He walked to the living room, picking his keys off of the dining room table as he passed. Everywhere he looked, memories of his wife littered this house. It now lay undisturbed, the only thing having changed was the movement of all his things to the guest bedroom. James couldn't even sleep in his own damn room. Everything still smelled like her.

James unlocked and opened the front door, locking it again before closing it behind him. He opened the garage with his keys, moving past his wife's Subaru straight to his motorcycle. Christina had chided him so often for buying. There was an empty spot where he used to park his police cruiser, though it was clearly absent. He picked his motorcycle helmet off the workbench next to it, and strapped it on out of habit. The one condition for him buying it was to always wear a helmet, and so he did.

Within minutes he was at the nightclub that Lance and he almost always met up at. He would have to come here at least once for the next two days to try to catch Lance, unless the man wasn't busy today. He slipped the helmet off his head, and took the compromised phone out of his pocket. As long as it didn't have a battery it couldn't be tracked. He slipped the back cover of the blackberry off, and put its battery in his pocket before tossing it in the trashcan.

James moved past the bouncer with a nod, happy that he was on such good terms with the staff of the nightclub that he could skip the long line.  As he entered the club, he eyed the VIP area above the right side of the club. As he looked for Lance above, his eye caught movement below his eye line. There Lance was, talking to a very young girl with red hair and a green hoodie.

Anyone who got in James way was swiftly pushed aside as he approached the two, eying the girl's grey purse. It was bulging, though that wasn't too strange. Still for Lance to confront her. . . Was she a cape? James spoke up as he reached the table at the same time as a waitress who was refilling Lance's drink. [color=ed145b][b]"Little young for you Lance? Found a [i]mark?[/i][/b][/color] He asked, putting emphasis on their keyword for Parahumans when texting. James had to assume that Lance had already been here. Hell he probably hadn't even seen the text yet.

[center][h1][color=#20B2AA]Zach Kozel:[/color]
[color=#7f5200]Washing dishes,[/color] and later [color=00a99d]Sp[/color][color=yellow]Farce[/color]'s Apartment[/h1]
[@Banana][@Spiffy][/center]
The text dinged on Zach's phone just as he finished his day job. He pretty quickly figured out that the Twins had sent the text, and headed to the address. He arrived a bit late because he walked the entire way, choosing not to use public transportation out of paranoia. The streets around the apartment weren't very busy so he acted as naturally as possible as he approached the door.

He knocked quickly on the apartment door, his face visible through the peephole as he made sure no one was watching him. As he waited, a pizza guy walked up behind him, and gave him a friendly smile. He motioned to the soda, and explained how he had forgotten to grab it when delivering the pizza. Zach's mouth watered at the thought of pizza, and he knocked again, a bit faster this time.