[b]Pacific Point 7:23 AM[/b] Rabbit Motors, by all accounts, was thoroughly uninteresting. The shipping company delivered big industrial goods throughout Southern California and Nevada, and that was really the only thing that anyone ever thought about the place, if they thought about it at all. That was a shame too, seeing as the Waterfront warehouse was pretty good real estate. Secure perimeter, plenty of space for storage, and a nice tall office complex that overlooked most of the surrounding buildings. It was a good place for a warehouse, and after the owner's son was killed in the Chinatown incident thanks to people like War-Pulse, it turned out to be a really good base for the Hounds of Humanity. More importantly, it had a nice secure basement area that was good for holding prisoners. That was all that Jordan Fletcher could discern other than how long she had been here, and frankly she was beginning to lose track of that latter fact. It was easier to remember how many times she had been dragged out of the dark, cold room she was being held in; five times, including this one. “Get up,” one of the black armored goons barked at her. “Like I really have a choice?” Jordan replied as the soldiers all but dragged her out of the caged area. Her voice was still discernable at least, even if it was so hoarse and shaky. She wondered how long it would be before she didn’t even recognize herself. She winced as the familiar sensation of blinding light struck her. “Straight to Ling with this one, right?” “Nope, the old Gargoyle wants another crack at her.” Jordan tried to come up with a snarky comeback but gave up halfway through. Wasn’t worth what little energy she still had. She instead waited out the usual haze of sound and movement before a door slammed and Jordan felt herself being tossed into a chair, a pair of handcuffs clamping across her wrists behind her. “Heh, again with the cuffs,” Jordan murmured. “You must be a real perv, Gargy.” She flicked her eyes upward to catch the familiar face staring over her, just as tall, stony, and imposing as ever. She heard him called Krauss before as well, but between the graying hair and his almost gothic features, he really did look like a gargoyle. “I’m surprised you are so amiable,” the Gargoyle remarked acidly. “I should remind Ling to cut rations again.” Jordan said nothing as the Gargoyle started to pace around her, like a vulture circling a dying animal. “I do not want to do this anymore, Miss Fletcher. You’re a fine young woman. Strong, pure-blooded, passionate…” “…man, you are a creep...” “But sadly, you betrayed us,” the Gargoyle continued right over the top of Jordan’s snark. “Betrayed your entire race when you threw your lot in with the muties and the aliens. I wanted to offer you a position in our organization before we found out about your little ‘scheme’...” “What a shame…if only I didn’t have so much of that pesky human decency.” “Voyager is not human!” the Gargoyle snapped, forcing Jordan to recoil as his spit flecked across her face. “Neither is Icon or Lyger or any of those other so-called superheroes! They are genetic aberrations and a plague upon our society, suitable only for annihilation!” “You know my Granddad got a medal for plugging idiots like you.” The Gargoyle backhanded her for that comment, nearly knocking her out of the seat. “And if you don’t want to join the metahuman scum in the ground, I suggest you cooperate. Starting with telling me what I want to know.” Of course they were still asking about Riley, Jordan thought bitterly as she remembered the breath catching in her throat when they dragged in the weird box that the half-alien had arrived in, still stamped with the black anvil of Darrow. She covered her tracks so thoroughly to keep Riley safe from the freaks at Darrow, even going so far as to beg Martel not to reveal her existence to anyone, and the Hounds managed to dig up every bit of information she tried to bury. They even had the receipt for the new suit she commissioned for her, and now they had the very woman that kept her sheltered for so long. Jordan tried to brace herself for what was to come, expecting them to torture her for Riley’s location, every detail about her powers and weaknesses, even the details of the facility where she had been hiding. She braced herself for everything they could have possibly wanted, except for… “Your mutant smuggling ring cannot hide forever,” the Gargoyle snarled. “I want to know everything you know about your contacts, starting with this Zhanya character. How do you know her?” “I don’t fucking know any Zhanyas,” Jordan said through gritted teeth, her bemusement at the sheer absurdity of the Gargoyle’s theory long gone at this point. “Voyager just showed up in the box. Ask Darrow who she is, not me.” Her captor, predictably, was not convinced by this statement, which he expressed by backhanding Jordan again, this time with enough force to knock her to the ground. Jordan grunted in pain as she landed on her already bruised shoulder, forcing her eyes to tear up. “This will keep going so long as you keep hiding the evidence, Fletcher,” the Gargoyle stated plainly, cracking his knuckles as he circled around her. Jordan stared up into the dark pitiless eyes of the commander, took a deep breath, and spat on his impeccably shined boots as he paced close enough. “Bite me.” ----- This place gave Yavor the creeps. Why couldn’t he ever be assigned to deliver stuff to places that didn’t look like it belonged to the mob, he wondered. The dour-faced goons standing with their arms crossed and glaring daggers at him and the other students certainly didn’t help that image either. “Why are we even delivering to Rabbit Motors,” one of the other students hauling crates complained, echoing his sentiments exactly. “Come to think of it, WHAT are we delivering?” “Uh, good question,” Yavor said, pondering some of the barrels being lifted as he made his way to a fresh stack of crates. “Maybe the boss knows, has anyone asked her?” “Good luck with that,” came a somewhat unfamiliar voice coming around the side of the truck. “Durante gets anal if you ask her what she had for lunch. Paranoid old wingnut.“ Yavor looked up and saw it belonged to one of the other girls in the institute. He recognized the strand of blue dyed hair. “Oh hi, Megan,” Yavor said with a smile. “I didn’t know you worked today.” “Well, no I -umf- don’t,” she said, grunting as she struggled to lift the crate with Yavor. “Maddy asked me to cover for her though, so here I am.” Yavor frowned. “That’s the second time this week. I hope she’s okay.” “Yeah, me too,” Megan empathized. “She seemed a little shaken since she got back from the hospital, maybe the shooting is still sticking with her a little…” Yavor yelped out in surprise as Megan suddenly stopped in her tracks, nearly forcing him to lose his grip on the heavy box. He opened his mouth to retort before he caught Megan’s expression of stunned realization. Following her gaze, Yavor craned his neck to get a look at whatever she spotted. Nothing much, apart from a few of the goons getting into an argument with a friend of theirs who just showed up. “Someone you know?” Yavor said, a hint of resentment in his tone for her nearly making him drop the box. “Huh?” Megan replied, still sounding distant. “Oh…yeah, sorta. Just someone I saw at…Logans’.” “Logans’? That cheesy nightclub? I didn’t know you went there.” “Hey, if you know the right people…?” The rest of the delivery passed without incident after that, although Megan seemed to be a little quieter after the incident with the box. As some of the senior interns sorted out the final details with the goon squad outside, Yavor climbed into the cab of the truck where Megan was furiously texting something. “Hey Yavor, the address of this place is 445, right?” “Uh, yeah,” he replied, taken aback by the sudden questioning. “Is this about your friend from Logans’?” Megan simply smiled, a devious look in her eye as she thought of how Fangs would react when 'Reisen' recognized one of the Hounds of Humanity goons from the night they escaped the bar. “Something like that.”