Yawn. Procedure, procedure. Today Noel wasn't running down a rogue mutant. She was gum-shoeing with a gaggle of feds at a potential crime scene. Munitions cartel. Arms dealers. International weapons trafficking. Noel rolled her head around to loosen her shoulders. That was all very interesting to hear, but it didn't explain why they needed her to take a road trip to suburbia in a van with a couple sweaty evidence goons.

"What exactly do you mean pivotal hinge in several cases?"

"We think we're going to find some sensitive material in a house on Effington Avenue."

"Effington?"

"Yup."

"Sooo a modern housewife in Queens that lives on eff you street is in cahoots with international weapons dealers?"

"Had to get the money for the pool somehow." The driver shrugged. He didn't seem to take offense at her less than believing tone. He might believe it to be true, but as one of the peons he could very well have been misinformed.

"That is why we need you. If we find what we think we're going to find out here it's likely to make a scene."

"Ruh-heally!?" Noel folded her arms behind her head and slouched in the middle seat. The tech next to her collected his kit closer to his body. If they were sending just a tech van then they'd cleared the house as inactive or abandoned. So essentially... this was going to be a cake walk.

Noel unfolded herself out of the van and smoothed her jacket by tugging at the lapels and sleeves. No need to look rumpled to those that would remember her. Latex gloves and evidence sacks ready, the techs got in the front door of a painfully ordinary looking abode. If they so much as found a crumple of receipt here they were going to rain hell down on some very bad people.

That was the idea anyway.

Noel waited out on the porch with her hand on her wrist in that casual 'I might just be hired muscle' kind of way. There was nothing to see here.

"Holy Mother of Pearl!"

Or... maybe there was.

Roland looked over the arsenal. most of it was still packed, thankfully. He had suspected that when he began mingling with mutants, he would need heavier firepower. Not the case at all, as it seemed. Most mutants he had met wanted to talk and express themselves more than fight. It made his job easier. Nonetheless, the sheer volume of the weapons needed to be scaled back. Especially with one of his older dealers under investigation by the U.N. Most people probably blamed Roland. His sudden appearance on the scene again couldn't help the subtlety that most of the war traders relied on.

A small tone and a blue light flashing turned his eyes upward. He knew the feds were looking at this location, but he hadn't expected their efficiency, expecting at least another day instead. He suspected that the eggs frying in the kitchen were not going to be a good indicator of his absence. Stepping over to a small cluster of CCTV monitors. He turned one on that said USPS. Outside a small pinhole sized eye came to life, set in the back of the mailbox, facing the front of the house. Evidence hounds. Probably only armed with small arms, if they were armed at all. The main point of interest was the woman standing at ease behind them.

Roland left his guns downstairs. They still expected a human, so he had that edge. He might even be able to talk them out of the house. If not, there was an alternate course of action. After moving the boxes and old bicycle back into place at the bottom of the stairs, he walked up them, listening as the sounds of the door opening and feet entering welcomed him. An exclamation rang out, no doubt as they heard and smelled the sizzling protein. The same feet made their skittering way out to the porch again, though it sounded as if the door wasn't closed behind them. Probably not armed. Roland straightened his apron over his shirt and pants, opening the door as if in surprise.

His neck poked his head through the opening,. No commands to freeze. They must have been outside reporting to the lead hound. Who did she report to? Matter of time. Roland returned to the kitchen, seasoning the omelet and placing a plate on the table. The table was in view of the door, he and the rest of the kitchen were not. He decided the best course of action would be to stand in the open, spatula in hand, a look of feigned surprise painting his features.

"Dispatch, we've got a squatter at 1138 Effington Avenue."

She was already on the phone by the time people were filtering back into the house on high alert. They'd seen evidence that there was life on Effington Avenue and now they were going to fan out and find it. Before they had backup.

Except that there was no fanning required. Where there had been no one moments before, now stood a man in apron and spatula. Noel hoped that it really was a squatter and not the principle owner of the house.

"Freeze." "Stop what you're doing." "Put your hands where I can see them."

These were definitely men unused to active field duty. They were uneasy as colts and all had weapons drawn. At least they weren't standing in each other's crossfire.

Noel didn't pull her gun after she had finished with her phone. There were enough to go around. Instead she pulled out the heavy blue paper of the search warrant from the inside pocket of her front left breast pocket. Her suit neatly concealed her own fire arm. "Do you live here or know one Orlando Turpitt?" Their search warrant was made out for the owner of the property. That did not necessarily mean it was this man.

"Dispatch, we've got a squatter at 1138 Effington Avenue."

Squatter. That was a good one. They more than likely were expecting no one or Orlando himself. Today was a good day for them. Guns came out from amateur holsters and commands flew at him like birdseed on the wedding day. Roland overlooked those commands, as he was already complying to them. " I'm frozen. My hands are in plain sight. Miss, could you ask these men to put their guns down? I don't think I'll be maiming anyone with a spatula. I'd rather not drop it either, since I don't believe in the five second rule." He only spoke to her. His eyes were only focused on her. He could see the fear in the eyes of cronies.

She reached into her jacket, pulling something out. They didn't look like the hit squad type, so Roland remained where he stood. The omelet started to smell a bit overdone. Hopefully they would allow him to take it off the eye before it was inedible. " No, I don't live here. I do know Orlando, though. It's his house after all. I'm sure you know that, though. May I see your warrant? Might I also get my omelet before it burns? You are all welcome to follow me into the kitchen and point your guns at me there too. Point them at me while I eat, if you like."

It was such a good omelet too.

This guy was good. He made words like chocolate with too much cacao. Not bad, just not enough sugar.

"And what is your relationship with Orlando to be staying at his house?" It was a pretty dodge, though, to vaguely know the owner. "We're going to have to have you wait outside while we search the place. Grab your omelette and please tell me you have some identification on you."

She held out the warrant still. If he wanted it, he could come get it on his way out. Noel watched his actions with mild disinterest and did not call off the nerds with guns. If this place was as bad as they said, that mean friend of Orlando was the man himself or some dope too dumb to know what he was squatting on.

"Chauncy, go with him. The rest of you ease off. You look like you're going to shoot someone." Uneasy chuckles all around. There wasn't supposed to be anyone here and so they were ill equipped if this was the man.

Lord, let it not be the man.

"And what is your relationship with Orlando to be staying at his house?" Ignored. The warrant was for Orlando. That's who she was looking for. If she wanted some information from him, she had better arrest him. Roland suspected she was well versed on rights but he was unsure if she would stick to the letter of the law or bend it just enough to slip something through. Americans liked to do that.

"We're going to have to have you wait outside while we search the place. Grab your omelet and please tell me you have some identification on you." She was persistent. Roland liked that in women in general, but not so much when they wore badges and were speaking to him."Chauncy, go with him. The rest of you ease off. You look like you're going to shoot someone." As if these little junior rangers would do such a thing. If even one pulled the trigger, it would most likely be due to a reflex, a hiccup of fear that took many lives. His eyes slid to Chauncy, who kept his gun at a downward angle as he stepped toward Roland. His eyes darted around like a little bird as he approached what he knew was Death. Whether or not their fearless leader knew it, some mechanism in their tiny little brainwashed brains told them. Instinct told them.

Roland stepped into the kitchen with Chauncy in tow, listening as the other little birds began to move around in the living room. Just a matter of time before they decided they should go into the basement. Roland slid the spatula beneath the browning omelet, his face already turning down into a sneer. Overcooked. He let out a small sigh of disappointment. Their lives could have lasted five minutes longer. Too bad. He turned the stove off and stepped on the the little pedal that opened the trash can's lid, the ruined breakfast sliding into its maw.

The sunlight coming through the kitchen window pointed Chauncy's amateur stance and told of his general direction. Roland put the skillet in the sink and ran some water in it, the pop and sizzle of the metal's anger agreeing with his own rising emotion. Turning back around, Chauncy had raised his gun slightly in anticipation of Roland's hands being occupied.They weren't and the gun lowered a bit. Roland grinned. " Chauncy? You have the safety on. Just in case you think you need to pull the trigger." The lad's head dipped, the gun turning slightly as he looked at the little button incredulously. The moment of misdirection carried Roland's own glance to the block containing the kitchen knives.

When their eyes met again, Chauncy's gun was pointed at the floor, a look of concern in his eyes. Roland whispered to him, " It'll be our secret."He winked at the poor kid who smiled back. The older man had a secret too and it was in his waistband behind the apron now. he stepped in front of Chauncy, giving him some spine back as he headed toward the door. He snatched the warrant from ...Noel's.. hand as he stepped out onto the porch. He stood with his back to them, reading the deftly organized warrant.

His eyes had seen hundreds of them. He was interested mostly in the principal, the issuers, the instructions and the judge's signature. He'd have a heart to heart with her down the road. For now, he would comply and play the hostile subject.

He took the warrant from her hand. She let him read it before she bothered to badger him about identification. He had side stepped enough. Back up was on the way. The nerds were having a field day pretending to be real officers. They swept the house room by room giving a verbal confirmation with each all clear.

"Upstairs, all clear."

Noel watched him go straight to the second page, half way through where the Judge's name was printed rather than his signature at the bottom. Most people went straight for the signature. As if they would recognize it or that it proved in some way that it was real. Not this guy.

"Ground floor, all clear."

She took half a step back. "How did you say you knew the principle exactly?"

"Basement... Guys. You gotta see this."

Finished with the warrant, Roland handed it back to Chauncy. His eyes looked up and down the street. He had picked this location primarily for the high number of shutins or foreclosed properties. There was absolutely no one in sight, save for the occasional car, rubbernecking at the scene. Once the drivers' eyes met Roland's, they tended to move along. The houses on either side were vacant. One was also Roland's though its only purpose in life was to provide a basement to connect to the one beneath them. The one that he could hear was being discovered currently. The other residents had been driven off, thanks to an invasion of Brazilian termites that Roland had infested the home with. The same termites could very well be in this house, but considering that it was only a large storage unit, there wasn't much need for it soon.

It seemed as good a time as any to get to it. Roland's head shifted to the left, as if he was hearing the question offered by Noel, who was undoubtedly connecting the dots. Chauncy looked at him, his eyebrows furrowing as he suspected some kind of event was commencing. And it was. With a glance, the gun in the young agent's unfastened holster was in his hand. In the time it took for Chauncy to gasp, much less react, Roland was behind him. To Noel, " I think my identity is clear. Let's go inside, shall we?" He was unsure if she would attempt a shot over Chauncy's shoulder, so Roland kept a tight grip on his collar, pulling him up slightly, edging him toward Noel.

"Augh!" Noel started to put her hands to her aching head and leaking nose, but there was something in the way.

The contraption in her hands felt like a lump of iron. It was dangerous, but for the life of her she couldn't quite grasp what made it so. (And it must have been her life on the line because her pulse was hammering.) Her instincts were telling her to throw it away, and far away, so she did. Immediately she felt better.

The gun flew past the hostage situation in front of her. Now there was nothing that she had that was very dangerous on her person except pepper spray. She had to take a moment to reorient herself to the situation. Somewhere in there the aggressor, Orlando freaking Turpitt, had closed a lot of the distance between them. It was take a step back or risk that angry expression.

OR get out the spray and hose hostage and bad man both. Noel was sure the victim would rather red eyes over death. So she choose option C. Hose them both and maybe Chauncy would be able to get away.

How did it get this desperate?

Stop. Rewind.

Noel pulled her gun, but he had his instantaneously. Actually... that looked like standard issue. She tightened her two handed grip and looked him in the eye. He had the look of a man who would do it. He would kill them all.

Suck.

Well, there was only one way to guarantee he wouldn't be shooting anyone tonight. That meant she'd be saying goodbye to her gun soon enough.

The memorymancer looked deep into Orlando's eyes. Deep, deep and deeper until her pupils began to shake.

Forget everything you know about guns.
What they do.
What they're for.
How to use them.

Chauncy did not seem to want to move. An older, wiser officer would actually move along, using his own body to block the vision between them and exploit an opening. It was as if he thought that if he moved slow enough he wouldn't have to go inside. He stopped short, though. Completely stopped. Roland would have given him a hard shoulder but he stopped as well. A gun flew by and landed on the porch. It skidded across the wood planks and fell over into the hedges lining the front of the house. The two men actually both turned their heads and looked. Roland even let go of Chauncy enough in the chaos for Noel's eyes to meet his own.

But then. Then something happened. A hiss of compressed air, releasing what must have been mace or some other kind of deterrent spray arced over the pair. Being where he was behind the other, he took less of it, though he got a particular gout of the stuff in his right eye. He looked back up at Noel. Her eyes became dark pools. Pools of hypnotic bliss. Chauncy was released immediately, but time seemed to slow down to a grinding crawl. His hand became heavy as the staring contest continued. He heard a thump as something fell from his hand. He looked down at it. What was that? It looked like something else. His head tilted as he examined it further. It seemed to be very important. Something he needed. Whatever the case, time quickly rebounded as it seemed Chauncy grew half a pair and attempted to capitalize on the situation. The boy had reached down and picked up whatever it was that had fallen on the porch. He was now holding it and pointing it at Roland, though the latter doubted the former could shoot much of anything with his eyes nearly swollen shut.

"Freeze!!!" Roland looked in his direction, but he was still studying the metallic item in his hand. He wanted it, so it appeared back in Roland's hand. Maybe it was some kind of bludgeon and Noel was trying to throw it at him. It didn't look very aerodynamic, though. It was very odd. In a fluid motion, Roland stepped into Chauncy and hit him beneath the jaw, a small yelp coming from the younger man. It just didn't seem to have the weight of a blackjack. What an odd device. It seemed to be a waste of time, so he threw it into the hedges as well. Blood poured from the other man's mouth, his posture one of being bent over. Now he was looking at something. Teeth.

Whatever that thing was, Roland was acutely aware of the kitchen knife beneath the apron. He looked down into it , seeing it in his waistband. It appeared in his hand. The free hand caught the belt of the other man and hauled him inside, his weight a battering ram to Noel. The door slammed shut behind him as he listened to feet moving about the house. No time for love, Doctor Jones. The knife went cleanly across Chauncy's neck, removing his interest in teeth and pain. Stepping over Noel, he slammed the basement door shut, securely locking it. He removed the apron, tossing it aside as he approached her. " It's not Orlando Turpitt. It's Roland Pruitt." The spray can was still in her hand, so it came to his. He looked at it through his one good eye and then turned it back toward her, giving her a good dose of her own medicine.

Police issue pepper spray held enough liquid for perhaps a dozen one second spray uses. Or in this case, one big long hose toward the enemy and his hostage. If the hostage was disabled and useless, the aggressor would leave him alone, right? Wrong. Chauncy picked up the thing Orlando had dropped and turned it back on him. And then... it was gone. Or. No it was in Orlando's hand. He had a power over things. Stupid mutants always seemed to be at the bottom of villainy around New York.

Chauncy was no baseball. When his weight hit Noel, she wasn't going to catch him. She got bowled over by him. He was in a sad state. Why hadn't he run when she'd given him the opportunity? Stupid macho man. Noel landed first and then cushioned Chauncy. Not on purpose. It left her with absolutely no air left in her body. At least it felt that way. She tried to curl in on herself, but there were arms and legs in the way. God, nothing disabled like a good, solid hit to the gut.

Now they were both going to die. Maybe everyone in this house. This man was Roland Pruitt and that was honest as as the day was long.

Hot, thick liquid oozed through her clothing layers. "Chauncy?" She hated that sound in her voice. That little bit of fright that made any woman, no matter how strong or hard, sound like a little girl. Her hands were at his neck, but there wasn't much to save.

Wait... where had the pepper spray from her hand gone?

"EVERYBODY OUT!" Was a good sentiment, but her timing was poor. Roland squeezed out the last few seconds worth of pepper spray in her face. Some was wasted on Chauncy, but enough got in her eyes and mouth that she reconsidered her thoughts on what the best incapacitation methods were.

"EVERYBODY OUT!"

It was a good sentiment. Bring the lambs to the slaughter. Roland wouldn't need to go looking for them since he was between them and the door. His eye burned madly, the residual fluids on it making the other sting. Perhaps a full, well placed gout would have incapacitated him and made him easy to deal with. The missed attempt only threw a big rock at a hornet's nest. The first one was completely unaware, taking a deep stab to the stomach, the knife twisting and pulling free. Roland crouched low as the second seen pulled one of the bludgeons. The knife left his hand as he ducked behind that oen and it reappeared in the other, sinking into the back of its neck, just below the skull.

At that point he disappeared from sight as he disappeared behind the wall where the steps ascended to the second floor. There were sounds of shuffling, grunts of opposition and then, ultimately, silence. Roland stepped over the bodies and put the bloody knife next to the upstairs bathroom sink, turning on the water and splashing his face with it, trying to relieve some of the irritation and burning from the spray. Once he was finished, or as finished as he was going to be, he picked it back up and made his way downstairs.

Her body said curl up. Her eyes watered, mouth and throat burned, stomach upheaved. Her ears said that her people were taking it to the face and she needed to get out of dodge. Shaking hands pushed Chauncy's shell off her person. It looked like she'd been shot or dipped into red paint. It was so... cheerful looking through her watered down gaze.

Out. She needed out. Something was pounding at the basement door. Her imagination made it into something worse than it actually was, no doubt.

Noel scrabbled at the front door handle. Her hands were wet and red and it took her longer than it should have to realize that Roland had locked the dead bolt. Stupid. Stupid. She was acting like such a woman right now. Noel stopped and took a nice deep breath... that caused her to hack and cough through the burning.

Screw it.

She flung open the front door and ran. Her phone was in her hand like magic. Not quite Roland speed, but close enough. 911 Emergency Dispatch was going to be sick of her soon if they weren't already.

She was running and she was't sure where. She couldn't involve another household, not that any around here looked particularly inviting. "Emergency. Effington Avenue. Track the phone." Then she did something she never thought she would. She threw her phone into a mess of what appeared to be blackberry bushes. Nice and thorny.

And then she ran some more.

Not much reason to be subtle with a houseful of dead officers. Surveying the scene in the living room, it appeared there was one less body. The open door laughed at the situation. As Roland stepped that direction, he heard a muffled pounding at the basement door. His head turned at the origin of the sound, his sleeve wiping residue from the side of his face, his eye still leaking. Stepping to the portal, the key turned in the lock and the door swung open. One of the cronies was on a phone. Unfortunate, but not too important. " --all dead. She's running? then who...." The phone left the victim's hand, entering Roland's. He looked down at it and held it out toward the unfortunate, flashing the blade in the half light of the kitchen. The office could record the last moments of its life.

Phone closed and in pocket. Knife gripped firmly in hand. Roland walked out the front door, surveying the scene. Looking down, there was a convenient spatter of Chauncy blood trailing down the steps and heading up the block. His smile opened like a Revelation seal. His pace was even. There was little reason to run, though his legs pushed the beat up from 4/4 to 8/4. It had been some time since he wanted to hurt someone. usually it just came as a hazard to those who became obstacles. Noel's face was clearly burned into his retinas, burning as furiously as the irritant behind his right eyelid. Someone came out on their porch to see what was going on. One look at the man walking by with a bloody knife sent them scurrying back into their hole.

Rounding the corner, he saw her. She was slowing, her pace a mere trot. The fire in her lungs must have been torturous. Torturous He approved of that word. His pace did not slow,however. Like a man casually grabbing a bag of groceries, Roland caught a healthy handful of hair from behind and dragged her into the space between the buildings. It was a bit narrow to be called an alley, but their bodies fit in it. He slammed her cheek against the wall, there, turning her arm up and inward behind her back, far beyond the point of saying Uncle. His body pressed against hers from behind,not allowing her an inch of recourse. The knife, covered with her friends, appeared in her vision. He leaned his lips close to her exposed ear. "Now. Tell me precisely why you are seeking me out. Lie once and I'll dislocate your shoulder. Lie twice and..." He chuckled, a cold tinny sound. "Don't lie twice."

Today's message brought to you by the Public Safety Department of New York City. If there is a man chasing after you with bloody knife in hand and the intent to kill: run. No matter how much it burns.

Noel vowed to buy a treadmill after this. If there was an after this.
There's a reason why hair pulling is an act preserved for cat fights and killers. Sensory nerve fibers wrap around the base of each hair follicle. These fibers are so sensitive that even just bending the hair stimulates the nerve endings allowing a person to feel that the hair has been moved. Hair remains a sensitive touch receptor and should not be yanked without undue ruthlessness.

The memorymancer wheezed as she was suddenly pulled of of her feet. The angle was wrong for her arms, they instinctively flew to the man's hands in an attempt to lessen the ripping feeling on her scalp. Her feet kicked at anything worth kicking. Toes, knees, shins. That probably made her easier to drag, but if she had to get up close and personal with some cheap siding she was going to get some cheap shots in to Roland Pruitt's knees first.

When he chicken winged her, the cheap shots were over. It was an incapacitating hold that made kicking impossible because of the angle. Her choices were stay still and possibly get her throat cut or move, break her own arm and THEN get her throat cut.

Needless to say she was pissed. If her choices were get scared or get pissed she would wrap the warm mantle of anger on everytime.

"You know why we're here. We only came for the toys. If we'd known you were here we would have brought an adapted or five."

Roland was in luck. Noel didn't care to add the taste of garbage to the burning sensation in her mouth.