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It took O'Toole approximately zero seconds to consider his options. Instantaneous transmission versus high speed rooftop leaping action via a genuine masked hero's assistance? Is that even a debate? Not for the henna haired harridan, it isn't; he hadn't had a good adrenaline surge since the shenanigans that went down at lunch today, and this was also an opportunity to get to know the zippy lady. Or so he thought.

"A'ight, not even a debate, see you in three minutes Wanderer." He gave the Magician a mock salute before turning towards Hi-Volt and extending a hand to her- Only to suddenly disappear in a blur of movement.

He thought he'd have a chance to talk. Well did he know the lesson that sudden acceleration is utter mayhem to the unprepared mind and stomach- but little did he comprehend her sheer speed when his decision was made.

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[h3]Jackpot and Wanderer[/h3]

Their moment of time together outside Joey Doug(h)'s Pizza (H)ole extends into a moment of time suddenly in the midst of Crocheron Park, Wanderer's portal depositing them instantaneously beside a cozy park bench overlooking Little Neck Bay, on the inward side of the cross island parkway. Traffic is a deadlock, as it always is and always will be, but at the same time whenever one looks away they find themselves suddenly faced with a new wall of cars. New York, what do you want?

The atmosphere of the park is tense; the air feels heavy and dense; the night time clouds continue their downfall of snow, layering the environment in a strange silence. It wasn't the silence of lack of sound; it was the all-encompassing silence of dulled noise and nefarious deeds, the silence pervasive in places where sinister tasks were completed, the crushing silence of snow falling over the world.

And yet there was noise; night time life of the park. The distant lights of Saint Mary's Children's Hospital loomed importantly; almost knowingly. The noise manifested into sound, into language, into the frantic calls of concerned people. Despite their relative isolation and conversational privacy, the park was alive with the footfalls and flashlights of searching foot patrolmen of the NYPD- and yet, somehow even more significantly, an intensely frazzled and frizzy haired middle aged woman wearing nurse's scrubs and pushing around an empty wheelchair somehow instills itself with a dreadful purpose in their minds. The perceptions of these superheroes was not enhanced in any way; heroes just know what they're looking for.

A grizzled man, mustachioed and wearing a longer detective's coat than the other officers, seemed to be deep in conversation with the woman and taking notes in an oldschool handheld notepad, his pen falling and rising as if conducting the chaotic, terrifying, silence of the night as he took her statements.

By the time Wanderer and Jackpot's conversation wanes and privacy is discarded, their approach would herald them with overheard clues;

"...It was the strangest thing, almost like something out of a movie- I can't believe it happened like that! I was bringing Gabriel out, she wanted to see the snow and be in the park, it's the least I could do for her on a night like tonight. Her treatment is painful, and I'm really all she has..."

"Ma'am, keep to the relevant facts." The man guided her back.

"Sorry, sorry, I just get so worked up thinking about-"

His hand came out and silenced her with a grasp to her shoulder, his greying mustache rising and falling with the nod of his head.

"I understand. This is difficult. We're searching for the vehicle now; let me run it back from the top. You came out here with the girl, bringing her out here just to see the snow and be in it. She was wheelchair bound. You're her designated caretaker at the hospital. She asked you to let her rest by the river and go get her a hot dog, and when you turned back you saw her being carried into a car."

The woman nods, her hands clasping over her mouth as she looks increasingly distraught.

"The men- there were two men. They were wearing fine suits, nice suits, pinstripe things. Almost like they stepped out of a mobster movie."

The cop looks, frankly, astounded at that detail and makes a note.

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Hi-Volt's movement was like jumping out of an airplane and into a high wind atmospheric event. At least, that was the closest memory of relevance that her dashing pace carried O'Toole's mind. The wind tearing at his skin, his eyes watering at the blur of colors and the speed assaulting his senses, the sudden jerk of electrical energy that pulsed through him- through Hi-Volt. It was enough to make him briefly hysterical;

"WHOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO-"

Many a pedestrian was stunned to hear this sound at this time of year; at the speeds Hi-Volt and Picture Perfect were moving, his rallying cry of adrenaline sounded more like the buzz of a mosquito than anything. A mosquito that plagued a hundred people in the span of a minute, the electrical surge of Hi-Volt's jumps carrying them across rooftops and ever towards Crocheron Park.

Soon, however, they come to a startling halt. Picture Perfect's body tensing into stillness in the blink of an eye- the exact blink, mind you, that met the pause of Hi-Volt's movements after a jump planted them onto a rooftop overlooking Crocheron Park.

Soon his hand wriggled. His fingers separating themselves from Hi-Volt's grip. Then his arm moved, allowing her arm freedom.

Then he collapsed, his grip dissipating from her entirely as he dropped to his knees, gasping for breath on the edge of the rooftop.

Then his lunch was coming up- No, wait, that was dinner. New York Streets are familiar with this phenomenon; just not the height from which the vomit occurred. He was a seasoned thrill-seeker, however, and somehow he made retching seem almost dignified as he brushed his mouth off and suddenly slammed his face into a small snow-pile nearby, scrubbing at himself frantically before surging back to his feet.

"WHOOOOOOOOOOOO YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH--"

His laughter rolled out as he turned back to Hi-Volt.

"Now [b]THAT[/b] is travelling in style!"

Nothing can keep this man down for long, his personality almost entirely summarized by the words 'overbearing' and 'Endless'.

From this vantage point, and to Hi-Volt's particularly fast mind specifically, the movements of the flashlights down in the park were clear and easy patterns to discern. Standard patrol routes, but hastily put together and with gaps. Gaps her mind could discern easily; places of shadow lingering in the silence of the snow, filled with potential dread purpose, but also potentially red herrings. The car was the defining clue they had, after all, and this area was where it was last seen.

A quick survey of the area would return that the traffic was slow- but as in all things, with an ebbing and flowing pattern. There was, realistically, only a small area such a car could have gotten in the few minutes since the alert was first declared. An area she could quickly formulate. An area that comprised only the few blocks around Crocheron, on the Queens side of the Parkway.

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