"A psychopathic mutant? Really?" The zealot deadpanned, as they turned their steps towards the latest installment of this goose chase. "Go figure."

This morning, the kid seemed less annoying. More focused. Or maybe, just maybe, he wanted to kick this precog's ass just as much as Rupert did. There was only so long you could get jerked around by mutant kind before you wanted to kill something; maybe other mutants weren't immune to that feeling, either. Especially the weak ones: the ones who might as well be human, except for the aspirin addiction and the gloves.

Rupert mulled over Fisher's descriptions as they walked. It wasn't much; a small apartment? That could be any place that catered to the 99%-crowd. 'Not run down' did rule out a few neighborhoods, at least. Since he knew for a fact that young Simon did not own his own place—he'd been living at home, while commuting to college, right up until he snapped—that left a disturbingly wide swath of the city.

More disturbing still was the way he was catering to Tyler's power, for the express purpose of dragging the both of them along on this. Why?

They arrived at the address. Sooner or later, they'd find out exactly what the precog was getting out of their involvement in all this. Rupert could only hope it was just a matter of psychopathic jollies; there were a lot worse things a freak like this could set them up for.

"Yes, really...." Ty replied dryly. This guy was such a jackass, but he had to put up with him. This precog was dangling Ty's life from a string, in front of Rupert's face, and for that, Ty had to do whatever he had to do. He wasn't one for being played with.

But when they reached the apartment, and Ty opened the door and stepped inside, he would find the game had just begun. The redhead could see a shadow of someone sitting in the kitchen area, waiting for them, it seemed.

"Sonofa..." Ty whispered, frozen at what he saw once he was close enough to the table. The figure in the chair was dead. Fastened to the dining chair in such a way that made him seem seated, waiting. In his hand was a bottle, wrapped in a piece of paper. Gathering himself, Ty stepped forward, taking the bottle from the corpse's hand.

"Mother--....What did I tell you. Aspirin..." Ty said bitterly as he unwrapped the note.

The good news, gentlemen, is that you made it right on time. However, we've still got a long road ahead. Don't worry. I knew you two would need more meds, so I went through the trouble so you won't have to.[/color]

As before, Ty removed his glove, using his power on the note. But this time, the vision wasn't like the others. It was still clear, and he could see Simon in the background. Smiling this time, shaking his head. On the note next to the page...So predictable...Try again, Fishy-boy~

Grumbling, Ty used his power on the aspirin.

~There we go. You do learn! Now...you are nearing the end of this little game, and are alive, for now. Not far from here is a certain abandoned storefront--I'm pretty sure you know the one. That is where the real fun begins. Oh? You don't want to? I'm sure your sister Chloe--or should I say Butterfly--would find it in her best interest if you went.

By the way. Don't you know popping aspirin all the time like that is bad for you?~

Ty's face turned beet red, eyes lowering into a glare as he put the gloves back on. He threw the aspirin bottle on the floor and stormed out, ignoring the headache and brushing past Rupert.

"Follow me. We're nabbing this sonofabitch...and we're doing it today..." he growled, shoving the crumpled note into his pocket.

"Aspirin," Rupert agreed, giving the bottle, and the note wrapped around it, one cursory glance before turning his attention to the rest of the apartment.

There was no sign of forced entry. No broken windows, like at his sister's place; the lock on the door hadn't been forced, either. He'd probably been just let in, by the dead man tied to the chair. What was family for, right?

Rupert picked up the dropped bottle in the kid's wake, and slipped it into his pocket. He picked up a rag hanging over the faucet in the kitchen, and casually whipped down the doorknob on his way out, and any other spots he'd seen the psychometrist touch after those gloves had come off. The rag went into his pocket with the aspirin, as he casually exited the building; when they were a few blocks away, it would just as casually go into a trash can.

"I like the attitude change, kid," Rupert said, catching up with the mutant. "Care to enlighten me as to the source?"

"The source is the bastard we're hunting," Ty hissed. "We're getting close. We have to be. That was the last victim on the list.We're going to an abandoned store-front. Fully furnished, but dead as a ghost town. We're getting closer on his trail. In fact...I think I recognize the room. As soon as I see the sorry ****** he's mine."

He cracked his knuckles, storming down the alley and not even looking at Rupert. The storefront in question was at least five miles away, but he kept walking. Maybe he was that pissed, or maybe he didn't care. Then again, Ty wasn't exactly what one would call rational.

Then again, when you mess with Ty's loved ones, you awaken something in the kid that is best left under the surface.

Between the hissing, the cursing, and the knuckle cracking, it wasn’t hard to tell that things had gotten personal. Even more personal then they’d already been; the last shreds of the kid’s cavalier attitude had died, the moment he’d touched the aspirin bottle rolling around in Rupert’s pocket. That, and the little fact that Tyler claimed to recognize where the precog was trying to lead them towards.

Not that this sudden bloodlust, directed in a proper mutant-wards direction, wasn’t just the epitome of heart-warming...

...But the zealot hooked a finger in the back of the kid’s shirt, and tugged him back. Heel, boy.

“ ‘Close’ like ‘a few minutes on foot,’ or ‘close’ like ‘a few minutes by car’?”

He was going to need the mutie to be a little more specific on what he’d seen, but that could wait. First things first: he’d already gotten more than his daily dose of exercise. He was trying to kill a mutant, not training for a triathlon: if they could drive, they were driving.

Ty flinched when Rupert grabbed the back of his shirt; the zealot damn near got punched in the face for that, but Ty's anger was channeled towards one person. So much so that until now, he hadn't fully thought through what he was doing. Wait...

"It's a place called Granny's Junk Drawer. Been out of business but still fully furnished. Maybe three to five miles from this spot. ****....we better take the car. Hope you can drive better than you can walk," Ty grumbled, changing course to the direction of the car.

His voice was still a growl, and he by no means had calmed down. Simon was still going to pay for what he'd done...no one messed with Ty's loved ones. They were his. And he didn't have a whole lot of people he could call loved ones.

The kid looked like he was going to punch him, for one just one moment. Whether he realized he still needed Rupert's help and held back, or whether it was for some other reason... that, only he could say. Rupert didn't flinch as he watched the restraint play out over the boy's face. He hoped—very sincerely hoped—that the kid had thought to himself Why, what a bad idea that would be. I'm going to keep my young adult testosterone surges to myself.

Hunting mutants could do things to a guy. Mutant killers, especially; and this was Tyler's first time. Rupert could understand that. But it was very important that Tyler Vincent Fisher not to lose sight of one basic fact.

Simon had killed five people. He was waiting for them, probably at the storefront.

Rupert had killed more. He was standing next to Tyler.

How well the kid learned that lesson was the difference between one mark on Rupert's tally at the end of today, or two. The kid could growl all he wanted, and make little immature snipes all he wanted: that was fine. That was just the precog under his skin talking. But Rupert sincerely hoped that he could keep his gloved mutie hands to himself.

Now. Onto what the kid had said.

" 'Granny's Junk Drawer'?" Rupert repeated, flatly. "That sure as hell better not be the name for an old bordello."

He didn't say much else until the car; it was clear that someone needed a timeout. He didn't say much as he turned the key, either, or pulled away from the curb; he only asked for a basic direction to get them started. If the kid was at all hesitant in putting on his seatbelt, he'd have made it clear that the car wasn't moving until that thing was buckled.

At the third traffic light, after turning down the volume on David Bowie's Five Years, he asked.

"Who's he threatening?"

The kid had said it himself: Simon was out of targets in his own family tree. There sure as hell weren't many people in this state that Rupert gave a damn about, and there'd been no note addressed to him. That left only one easy target, sitting next to him, wearing a seatbelt.

Climbing into the car and slamming the door, Ty quickly snapped on his seatbelt.He was still fueled by rage, and impatient to get to where they were going.

"It's an old curio and antiques shop on such-and-such avenue. When the owner died, the family just left it there. The deed, the rights to the building, they touched nothing. I went through this urban exploration phase, so I've been there once or twice."

Ty actually seemed to calm down. That is, until Rupert asked about who Simon threatened. "You don't care," he said flatly, not even looking at the man. "I'm just some punk mutant kid off the street. My problems, my life, none of that means a hill of **** to you. I know it, you know it. I'm only useful to you because of my mutation. All you need to know is that your buddy Simon gave me just as much--if not more--reason than you to see that he's dead." Ty glared out the window. If you lay one hand on my ****ing sister, I swear to everything holy....

"No," Rupert causally agreed. "Off the top of my head, I can't say I give a damn. I know it, and you know it. What I don't know—and what Simon does—is how much it's going to **** you up in this fight. Are you going to be able to think, or are you going to be trying to play the hero?"

The light changed. Rupert put on the gas; at the next intersection, he turned.

"Tyler. You need to be prepared for one possibility, here: that you won't be able to save this person. Every serial killer has a way in which they operate; things they always do the same. Things that make it not just a murder for them; things that make it fun. Part of Simon's is killing his victim before help can ever get there."

They might walk into this building, and find Tyler's loved one tied to a chair, their body still warm.

If that happened—if that was what was waiting for them---he needed Tyler to not be ****ing child about it. Children didn't make good backup.

Ty gave a laugh, realizing something. The laugh was one unlike any Ty had ever let pass out of his mouth. It was a dark, menacing sort of laugh. "He's just ****ing with me...he's a precog...he full well knows what she's capable of. Hell...moreso than I do. I think our little buddy just made a very crucial ****-up. First possibility is, he's bluffing, or he doesn't intend to kill her. If he does...well he's as good as dead, if not dead already. Either way...we have him." The post-cog grinned a sick, psychotic grin.

When the car stopped at the building, Ty took charge as he got out. "All you have to do is push the front door open and slide your way in. Behind the cashier-counter is a door. Behind that, stairs that lead to the apartment above. Meanwhile, I'm taking the scenic route, up the fire escape, through the window. We meet in the middle." At this, Ty closed the door, climbing his way up the fire escape behind the building. Opening the window, he found a note, which he opened to read.

Meanwhile, on the front door of the building was a similar note for Rupert. Which read:

So...it seems we are nearing the end of our little game. But there is still a lot of fun to be had. Then again, the best part of a close game is the bottom of the ninth inning, the fourth quarter, and the last set, hm?

Your friend's a bit off with the exact location, but you are close. All you have to do is follow the clues~

By the way, don't mind Tyler's aggressiveness. I just have the hots for his sister Now be a good little zealot and run inside. My notes should be easy to find. They're the only thing not covered in dust.

P.S. The hat still looks better on him. Just sayin.

Either 'she' had an invulnerability mutation, or Ty Fisher was in denial. Either way, Rupert let it stand. There either would or wouldn't be a dead body waiting for them at this place: he'd given the kid fair warning. If the kid wanted to rule out that possibility—to assume Simon was bluffing, or that the man had some reason to keep this girl alive—then Rupert would let him keep thinking that. Believing it, even; from the way he was smiling, and from that brief burst of laughter, it was clear he really did believe it.

God, the kid was young. It must be nice, to live in a world where people you cared about couldn't just die without a reason. Once a man left that world, there was no going back: that kind of naivety was brief, and beautiful.

"Sure, kid," the zealot said as he closed his car door. "Whatever you say." So the postcog wanted to pretend like he was in charge here? Why not. And why not go straight through the front door? Given the power they were up against, the fire escape wasn't any less transparent of an entry way. He briefly contemplated going around to the back, as the kid scrambled up his own route of choice, but decided against it: there really wasn't a point to playing hide and seek with a precog. They could have landed on the roof with a helicopter and a SWAT team, and it would have been just as easy for the psychopath to foresee.

Front door it was. At least that didn't require any more running.

He opened his note like a good little pawn, and read it with a certain detached interest. He learned three things: the precog liked over using baseball metaphors, the girl he'd threatened was Tyler's sister, and the psychopath had no fashion sense.

Mr. Fisher wasn't man enough for this hat. It might fit his head, but it wouldn't fit him until he had a little more experience under his belt.

Rupert opened the door, and went inside. He took in the scene at a glance: dusty trinkets, enough old blood on the floor for a double homicide, and his next note, sitting inside of an open trunk big enough to use as a coffin.

What a nice little store. Even nicer that it fit both Tyler and Simon's tastes. Rupert adjusted his hat, and went to pick up his next breadcrumb.

On the window ledge overlooking the fire escape, Tyler's own note read like this:

Sorry about your sister. As you know by now, it was a ruse to get you here. She's safe.

You're not.

And written in another time in place, on the page facing this one, were these words:

I saved your life last night, but the zealot is going to kill you today unless you kill him first. I'm not the cold blooded killer he wants you to think I am. He was a policeman while brutality against mutants was legal. When the Registration Camps opened, he became a Supervisor so he could hurt even more of us. When they closed, he started hunting us for sport.

I've killed, but so have you. Sometimes it's necessary.

There is a gun on top of the shelves to your right.

Kill him before he kills us both. Then we can talk.

Ty didn't believe his sister couldn't die. What he did believe was that if Simon killed her, if not dead he would be very miserable. Because...well if just a little bit of Chloe's blood numbed his hand for an hour...

Clearing his mind, Ty crawled into the window and opened his note. As the post-cog read his note from Simon, a grin spread across his face. He'd called the other mutant's bluff. Taking off his glove, he let his mutation work on the note, and for the most part, Ty shook his head. Ty knew about Rupert's killing. Everything his hat had seen, he'd seen. He was only working with Rupert because he felt he had to. But now the psycho was...

...Maybe he was right. For the most part. "Leave it to a pre-cog to give a man who can't shoot a gun..." he grumbled as he took the pistol off of the shelf. Wrapped around the barrel of the gun was another note.

----

Rupert's note was easily spotted in the trunk, as Simon had intended.

Nice little old store, isn't it? I remember going here as a little boy, every Saturday just to look at all the cool junk. But your friend, Tyler has a different connection to this place.

Your Fishy little buddy was into urban exploration a couple years back, that's how he found this place. But Tyler has a couple of secrets. He's more than just some street kid, looking for his place in the world. He learned to steal to survive. Picking pockets, breaking and entering...

He's even got a few kills under his belt. Most of them to save girls, but...this? This place is where Tyler Fisher killed his own Daddy.

On Tyler's note was drawn, with a hand clearly better suited to homicide than to art, a wobbly smilie face.

One floor up, the third door on the left. I'll be waiting. The precog had written, for the postcog's eyes alone.

If he steps into that room alive, we're both dead.

----

Rupert read his note with a certain detached air; he picked it up with one hand, and flicked it open with a thumb; his eyes traced back and forth below a sardonically arched eyebrow. His expression didn't change. When he was finished, he tucked the paper into his pocket.

The zealot took his gun out of its holster, and moved further into the building. The old wooden steps creaked as he joined the fatherless boy on the second floor.

Ty's hand held the gun awkwardly. He hated these damn things. Before starting up the stairs to the next floor, he put the gun in his coat pocket, shaking his head. "I should just do this my way..." he muttered.

But then again, a knife to a gunfight was never a great idea. So...he kept the gun.

He looked around the room. Wait...where was the...The second floor was an apartment. No sign of--wait.

On the door to what seemed to be a closet, was a note. The redhead opened it.

I knew you'd have trouble. The stairs are through this door. Oh by the way, I believe I owe you a story. You know what to do.

Ty sighed, opening the door and taking off his glove, using his power on the note.

The vision was very simple, and usual. Same notebook, same everything. But the note on the page was the simplest it had been. "Similar to how you got yours..."