[sup][h1][center][img]https://www.superheldenfilme.net/wp-content/uploads/2019/08/marvelcharakter-prowler-hobiebrown.jpg[/img][/center][b][center][color=darkmagenta] H O R N E T[/color]
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[color=slategray]Hobie held at the windowsill, waiting for the silhouette to pass within, signalling his safe entry.  The claws of the Hornet suit more than supporting his weight, as he leant to.

Tombstone.  When people thought of organised crime in New York, they'd typically think of something like the Maggia, the 'old guard' mobsters.  Maybe even Hammerhead and where the old guard meets the new guard.  Few people thought more of Tombstone than a jumped up gang-banger, but the truth was far from this.

Few people considered Alonzo Lincoln with the true notoriety of what he achieved.  The man ruled the Bronx with an iron fist - well, not that Iron Fist - and managed to achieve it with a level of organisation that both kept him distant from most direct action, but held a reputation that suggested he could hold his own should that direct action find its way to his doorstep.  And an inferiority complex to many of the other 'bosses' of New York that saw him more than eager to show he could do so.

...which was why Hobie had no intention whatsoever of going to his doorstep.

Even in the powered Hornet suit, Hobie didn't really want his sub-six foot frame testing his mettle against a 6'7" monster of a man with legit superhuman strength.

No... much better to be snooping around the home of the seven and a half foot man with just regular seven and a half foot man strength...

Which is why he now found himself hanging off the side of this building waiting for Big Ben Donovan, the man who the Maggia would refer to as Tombstone's 'consigliere'.

But don't say that to the man, though...  Few people hold greater disdain for the 'old guard' than the former member who learned just where a black man's ceiling was within the organisation.

Ben Donovan became a self-taught jailhouse lawyer after the mob abandoned him when he got caught on a job turned bad.  Imposing figure aside, he'd always been someone who relied on his smarts and the former figure causing people to underestimate the latter.  Tombstone saw his potential and put him to good use, as they eyed Harlem and then opening opportunities in the Bronx as the Maggia began to lose their hold.

Donovan's great work even saw him 'given' his own territory where the sum total of profits from those areas found their way to his own pockets.  A privilege from Lincoln not matched by anyone.  Such was the trust and privilege bestowed upon him.

So Hobie was confident that if there was anything Tombstone knew whatsoever which WAS on record, it would be within the computer and files that were just on the other side of the window he now clung to, waiting for the large man to leave.

He watched on as the silhouette's form raised an arm to its ear, presumably answering a call, and made its way to the front door.

Hobie waited though.  He didn't want to be wrong about it, with the nature of the man in question.

Hobie considered the window that stood in his way and slid a device underneath.  With a quick blast of air, the lock mechanism on the other side swung across, and he lifted the pane to grant himself access.  He quickly placed a hose to the other side of the locking mechanism, always planning for a quick safe exit, before sitting at the computer and pulling a hack-and-crack USB device of his own creation in the port.

It would take a short while for his device to 'work its magic' and not wasting it, he started to thumb his way through an accordian folder of paper files, putting a small flashlight in his mouth as he scanned the documentation, hoping he'd know what he was looking for when his eyes fell upon it.

His thumb hit a fine, fibrous paper - a carbon copy sheet for a logistics contractor.  Working for Roxxon.

A truck manifest.

[i]What do you want with a truck?[/i]

The hack-and-crack had done its job and the computer had now loaded to desktop, waiting for his digital search to begin.  But Hobie felt confident he was holding something important.

It was a secure armoured truck, fitted for handling and transporting potentially dangerous chemicals.

Which was not something usual for Tombstone and his group to have an interest in, even with as varied and diverse a set of interests as they had.

He searched through the manifest over the various container contents.  Most were coded.

But Hobie had spent his time bouncing around a lot of these factories over the years.  And whilst garbled and seemingly unintelligible he knew that quite often these "codes" weren't terribly complex or even different from the actual known acronyms of their substances.  Just mixed in with other information.

As he held the carbon paper to the light he could see a large thumbprint shine through from the flashlight's work.  He checked the line item above the smudged print.  There were a number of identically named containers throughout, through and below the smudge.  Over two dozen in total.


Container: AS78MGHRXX


Roxxon's own owners code was easy enough to see through...

MGH.

[i]What are you guys looking for..?  Some new hot drug?  Methamphe--  Mari--  Morph-- no.  What are you looking to start pushing on the street that's MGH--?  oh...  Oh no.[/i]

As the answer slowly turned itself over in Hobie's own head, and he thought about the impact it would have on the various turf wars that swung between heated and dormant across the city, and the literal power injection could have on violence citywide.

Hobie quickly shut the computer down again, confident theat he'd already found exactly what he'd come looking for.  He returned the accordian folder to it's previous resting place. And moved the seat back how it had been.

Stepping back out the window, he pulled the pane down once more, and with a single blast of air, locked the window once more and pulled the hose out from underneath the window, before pushing off of the wall and gliding to a nearby rooftop.

[i]Mutant Growth Hormone.  That's it, isn't it?  That's what got y'all acting stir crazy.  Whoever controls those canisters is gonna control the city.  And you'd do just about anything to be that one...[/i]

The truck manifest had been for that day.  He seemed to remember hearing something about an armoured truck being attacked today - but had dismissed it as probably just a bank or payroll run some minor newjack cape or cowl had tried to jump.  The next wannabe Shocker or Ringer.

Now he felt the anxiety beneath his mask as he realised it was probably related to this.

[i]So did you get it?  Or if not, who did?[/i]

Because Hobie knew, a truck like this, especially not running through Tombstone's own turf, was probably on far more people's radar than just his.

Hobie stepped off the rooftop and started his glide home, intermittently firing fresh jets of air for renewed lift on his flight.

The next person stepping to one of his brothers on their way home from work might be pumped full of enough superpowered juice to snap a bat like a toothpick.

There was only one person to go to with this next, and even then it was probably beyond his weight class.

Big bro.

Abe would need to be told.

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