[b]Finch[/b]

The aforementioned bird themed criminal found out the news when he was busy shopping, as the radio switched to emergency reports of the attack ongoing rather than the music that it had been playing before. He couldn't really blame them for that, breaking news was important after all. 

"Persistent aren't they," he muttered to himself as he walked up to the register, where a small television gave some picture of what was going on. If it was related then these guys really did not get a hint did they? If they were going against the High again, or whatever. 

Then his day got a whole lot worse. It came in over the audio from the attack, via whomever was just crazy enough to actually get close to the guy, and he had to do his best to keep from paling a bit. "Oh you've got to be fucking kidding me," he muttered to himself. There was no way that guy was talking about him, right? Yet there were too many details for it to be a coincidence, and he felt a growing sensation in the pit of his stomach that indicated he was in for a bad time. On the one hand, if he didn't listen and these guys found him, the guy who could disintegrate everything around him probably wouldn't be merciful. On the other hand, actually answering would put him squarely on the High's radar, and as anyone could tell you that was the bad sort of place to be. 

Well, he was quite clearly coerced right? Besides, one could make the case that what he did didn't actually matter, since if they knew that this would happen then the High would have prevented it. He couldn't claim to understand the thoughts of the almighty that ruled here, but there were some things that he did know.

After a few moments of thought he turned around, and began to put away the groceries that he had been prepared to buy. Something told him that those were not going to last through the trip.

[hr]

It took him a bit to get to where the man was, but he was very direct in doing so once he had donned his outfit. Stepping into sight, he walked to about the edge of where the destructive bubble was while holding a dagger made of glass in his left hand. "I can see you're the original type," he called out to try and make himself heard over the debris. "Why don't you add some tweeting while you're at it?"

Clearly he was here though, and he waited cautious for some idea of what he was supposed to do to pay off this debt to his mysterious friends. What could he do that they needed him for? He'd find out soon, he supposed.

[@Old Amsterdam]