Enough time had passed to let the heat on the back of Roland's neck cool to a mere blister. Sure, he was still wanted by multiple agents. But , really, how many others who walked the streets weren't as well? Generally, unless you just happen to be in the right/wrong place at the right/wrong time, cops generally kept their blinder covered eyes straight ahead. He had returned to the City with a new set of papers and alias, same old face though.
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Sitting on the bench across the street from Faust Pharmaceuticals, he had watched the building for most of the day. Having opted not to inform his boss he had returned, Roland thought he'd just haunt the old spots to see if anything of interested floated to the surface. Nothing as of that day. Dressed in a pair of jeans and a white button up, most of the day had been trips to Starbucks and finalizing some new arrangements.

The old safehouses were all considered compromised. He had no new known aliases or addresses, so he had settled on using his funds to procure a small studio apartment. It was on the top floor of a building which seemed to house mostly elderly folk, leaving him to his many devices usually. One more vente latte and he was heading back. It appeared only directly entering the Sanctuary would work, possibly.

Jorge sighed with contempt as he rubbed his sore, reddened eyes and leaned out his driver’s side window and yelled into the Starbucks intercom one more time.

“No, not a venti red eye! I said I just wanted a SMALL BLACK COFFEE!!” Jorge sighed heavily as he clenched the steering wheel and tried hard not to half leap out of the car and smash the intercom to bits.

For far, for the past hour, he had been reading Mutant Wanted posters and going over old and last updated files in order to keep up with the mass of mutant criminals he would have to deal with now that he lived in New York. Ever since the incident with Meld, a mutant terrorist he had known nothing about, Jorge had decided to make it his personal mission to catch up with all the wanted and dangerous criminals that were still considered to be active and uncaught. As he glanced at the nest of Xeroxed files that sat on his passenger car seat, he could only shake his head at the swimming feeling that occurred in the back of his head. Too files without coffee but try as he might to remedy that situations, the gateway to hell known as Starbucks was not cooperating.

“Fine sir!” came as sharp, crackly voice through the speakers. “Tall plain coffee! Would you like any milk in that?”

Jorge growled as he forced himself to stay in his seat. Slowly he replied a simple no and saw the price ring up on the screen. His eye twitched as he drove up to the window, grabbed his coffee, paid the ferryman to hell, then drove off without a look back. He calmed as he drove off, pulling up to a stop light and took a small sip of his hot coffee. The surge of caffeine was all he needed to keep going for the rest of the day and he was glad to have it.

While at the light, he reached over and picked up another file and saw the name of the wanted criminal. So far that man had evaded arrest in New York city, as well as being listed in Interpol. Jorge had to admit that he was somewhat impressed that the man had managed to evade custody, but then again, he was a mutant or he would not be on the MRC’s most wanted lists. Jorge casually glanced at the photo of the man before he looked up to see if traffic had moved yet. But as he did, his eye for some reason rested on a single individual.

Jorge watched him for the longest time and glanced at the copied file in his hand. Immediately his mind compared the two images and he had to stop.

“Are you kidding me?” was all he could tell himself as he watched the man closely and realized he indeed was the same person in the file in his hand.

Too much coffee. Besides the residual taint in the back of his throat, Roland was noticing a bit of jittered hypersensitivity, with lights being brighter, sounds more crisp. fine and dandy on a job, but just tooling around it was more of an irritation than anything. Nothing was going to occur today, so why not just call it and go home to work on new avenues of opportunity? Standing and stretching, his first instinct was to call a taxi, but usually opportunity came knocking in person. His feet carried him down the sidewalk.

Hands in pockets, he perused the various vendor wares along the streets, not particularly thinking about anything. He was determined to keep an even pace about things this time, lay low. There was no reason to hide, but that didn't mean he should go back to heists in broad daylight. Stealth and silence had worked best for him in the past, so it would work well again. He just lacked the compunction to drop a problem where he found it if the heat was around the corner anymore. time to start playing the game smart again. he was over the ego bruising of being outed. His actions then had only made things worse for him in the long run.

Central Park's subway terminal was the closest connection to his new place and with it looming, he decided to head that way. Less visibility, both literally and due to the hundreds of other passengers below, meant less chances of getting pinched. Smart. Not fast and loose. It was a daily exercise in self control, but the means always justified the ends.

It has to be him…. Jorge thought to himself as he slowly pulled his car around and began to casually on the same side of the street as he saw the man walk through.

The odds had to be astronomical that this was the same man but he looked exactly like the man in the picture he was holding. Then again, mistakes like this have been made before, not only by other hypothetical detectives, but he himself. Mistaken identity could be a problem to clear up and tended not only to get the accusing officer in trouble, but whole departments get dragged through the mud as well. It was a tough call to make because if he were wrong, this man could sue everyone. If he were right though….

Jorge sighed as pulled his car onto the side of and parked. The man was still in sight but the detective needed to make a decision now. Call it in or let the man go? Jorge eyed his cell phone but in the end, caution won out over his needed to bring a criminal in. He had to make sure.

Before the man was gone from sight, Jorge pulled the first page from the copied file and stuffed it into his pocket. He then quickly hopped out of his car and jogged down the sidewalk after the man. He did not want to see suspicious so Jorge slowed down to a casual walk the second he was reacquainted with the man in question. He seemed to be walking just as nonchalantly. If he was the mutant in question, he obviously was trying to keep attention away from him. Then again, he really could just be an ordinary guy out on a stroll.

The file page hidden in his pocket, Jorge continued on as calmly as possible. He glanced over every now and then and made sure the suspect was still in front, before he glanced off to the side. He tried to keep his attention on others, people who passed by, joggers, screaming kids, people with pets, but all the while, out of the corner of his eye, he kept the man in sight. He just needed some type of confirmation, something to prove that this was or was not the man.

Part of him prayed he wasn’t…

If he was though, well, that other part of him reprimanded himself for not calling back up first.

The Park's expanse was not nearly as green as usual, with winter on its way. There were still plenty of conifers to spice things up, but it just wasn't as lush as it had been a few mere months ago. It seemed change was in the air everywhere he looked. For once, he thought that going with the flow might be a good idea. He joined the flow of the herd that piled into the descending stariway to the subway terminal. A little bumping, but still fairly civil. As he passed a clock on the wall, he saw why. It was no getting on to the evening and most were on their way home from work or wherever normal people went.

There was one of those musician types standing at the landing as the stairs turned to enter the terminal proper. He had a guitar case open at his feet for tips, jingling his jangle for the passersby. He was in the middle of a mediocre rendition of 'Rocky Mountain High' when it seemed that something put his tune in the trash. His foot reactively flipped the case shut andh e was already setting about to closing up shop. Roland turned the corner and stopped, leaning against the wall, as people continued to look at their shoes and pass by.

He would have passed it off, but the manner in which he hid his deeds and the look in his eye was as obvious as a brown four-door sedan cruising your neighborhood. Cops. maybe a beat cop, maybe not. A grey haired man passing by with too much in tucked under his arm was relieved of the weight of a copy of The Village Voice, Roland's deft fingers allowing it to slide free of his arm crook and be opened. A nice physical barrier which also returned him to an average person.

A few steps taken down toward the terminal and an easy lean into the corner of wall junctions and Roland was ready to spy the details. Were it a beat cop and he would fold the Voice under his own arm and move on. If not, well, if not all sorts of things could occur. Perhaps a plain clothes doing his chores or going elsewhere. With Roland, there was always the chance that someone was tailing him. Cops had a funny way of believing that wanted criminals weren't allowed to walk the street in broad daylight.

Into the subway? Jorge thought to himself as he watched if target disappear down those steps and into the blackness of the opening below.

The detective had had his experiences with the subway when he first came to New York. If it were not for a very sweet girl who decided to take the time to help him, he doubted he would have ever found his way around. But thankfully navigating that madness did not last for long. Before he knew it, his car, whom his sister had insisted on driving out to him, had finally arrived. Now he rarely road the subway anymore and part of him was glad for it. Unfortunately they were cramped, enclosed and full of pushy shouting people, and all those elements combined did not make for a happy detective. Especially one who was licensed to carry a gun.

He shook the thoughts away as he decided to delve in. He could not risk the thought that maybe this man was indeed the same. The problem was that the subway was enclosed. If anything went south, there were would little escape for him, but at the same time, several others could be put at risk.

His footsteps resounded as he stepped down, passed by several people and stuck with the flow of those who descended. When he got to the bottom though, he caught a sight out of the corner of his eye. There was a man who seemed to be frantic to stow all his stuff. At first Jorge wondered about this, then he tilted his head when his memory caught up with the face.

The man’s name was Frankie. He was a one of those sidewalk musicians but the problem was that he was also a mutant. He could mentally lift change from people’s pockets and pull them into his guitar case. It was a pretty simply power and did no harm, but the problem occurred when he pulled a rare coin from a collector’s pocket. MRC had to investigate that one and Jorge was the one who found him. Frankie was belligerent in that first meeting, to the point that the detective had to threaten him with arrest if he did not pack up and move on.

It appeared that the detective left an impression on him. Unfortunately, this was a really bad time for it. He did not need attention drawn to him so he passed by without giving Frankie more than a tilt of his head. A warning to him that he needed to step out.

Jorge did not look back but instead moved towards one of the subway maps on the wall and pretended to look it over and attempted to find some fictional destination. At the same time, he remained close to the exit, and still cast and occasional glance. So far he could not see the man. He only spied the occasional elderly man, parents with their kid, college students, and a few people reading newspapers. Jorge ground his teeth. He hated the idea of losing this man.

Where are you? he thought to himself as he turned back to the map, but still kept his eyes moving in case the suspect reappeared.