The Jersey Devil slid slowly through the air vents, snaking his thin fit form as quietly as possible. He would stop, laying comfortably over the vent to the VIP room and watching. As the the group arrived, he would make his replies in soft whispers, grateful that his mask would muffle responses hopefully enough to keep from getting overheard. The mission impossible song playing faintly in the background. *Got eyes on the target. Count about six guards inside. All melee, no guns on them that I see. Will wait for yalls signal*

His hope and plan, was when things got into place, he could use his boots to bust him out of the vent, and try to swing straight at the big bad guy. Give him a nice pounce.... God he even described his attacks like a cat. He really was cat man. He didn't even Like cats.... then something dawned on him... *Hey... uh... the guys here are taking pills... didn't you say that dust stuff gave them superpowers?*