Vicente was quiet as he let the man think. He knew it would be a difficult choice for him to make. After all, how many times were people given the opportunity to make this type of decision? How many were offered a chance to learn who they really were? Sure there were those fake faith sellers, those people who always attempted to act as if they knew the soul of everyone they came across. But of course that did not count Vicente, right? He was not some shyster trying to swindle Jorge out of his life savings for a guaranteed passage through the golden gates of Heaven.

No. He was nothing like that.

Then…why was Jorge giving him that look? Why was he taking so long to answer.

The humor of the situation definitely began to drain away from Vicente as he sat back against his barstool and waited for Jorge to answer. Judging by that slight grin that appeared on his face, Vicente could already tell the answer. And just the idea of it began to irritate him a bit.

He knew he should not judge the man for not believing…but sometimes it just really got to him.

It was then he finally replied after what seemed like an eternity of attempting to gather thoughts…

>> “Listen, thanks for the beer, man,”

Fool. Vicente growled in his thoughts. He could feel the rejection coming…

>> “But seriously, my life’s too busy for God or even a pantheon of Gods. But, like I said, no offense, thanks, but no thanks…”

Vicente nodded respectfully. He gave Jorge a quasi-friendly smile and replied. “So be it.” he said with a shrug, as if it really did not bother him in the least that the man had just said no. “Just thought I’d suggest since you looked interested. But come on,” he smirked as he reached over and patted Jorge on the shoulder in a brotherly way. “Let me go pay the tab and then I’ll walk you out.”

He did not even wait for a “yes” or “no” reply. He knew the man would wait, if only to continue to appear nice.

Slipping off his barstool and moving over to the register at the far side of the bar, Vicente nodded to the bartender as he pulled out a small roll of bills and paid for the drinks that had been consumed. As he waited for his change, he glanced off to the side, to a dark an dank corner of the room and spied an interesting sight. There was a group, maybe five or six of some tough looking men whom all were conversing quietly amongst themselves. They were a variety of thuggish looks but anyone could see that they were up to no good. Vicente, on the other hand, could also see that they were not the brightest…

Perfect. he thought and grinned to himself.

Maybe right now Jorge was reluctant. But then again…maybe he just needed to be tested. Maybe he just needed a little…incentive to truly tap into what the Warrior Spirit he held within him and learn what it wanted…

Jorge felt…odd. He didn’t know why but there seemed to be so much gravity to this conversation and to this man. He felt almost like he had just slapped Rafael in the face with his reply of “no thanks,” like he was taking that man’s religious beliefs and throwing it back into his face followed like a lob of spit. Obviously that was never Jorge’s intention but something in the man’s face just made him feel like he had said the wrong thing. But…what could he really say to fix it?

The detective merely sighed and shook his head. If he couldn’t fix it, he couldn’t fix it. But he was not going to suddenly join a new religion just because he felt bad.

He cautioned a glance to Rafael whom seemed to be digesting what he had just said. It was only after a couple of seconds and another sip of beer that the man smirked and patted Jorge on the shoulder…

>> “So be it…Just thought I’d suggest since you looked interested. But come on…Let me go pay the tab and then I’ll walk you out.”

“Alright,” Jorge said with a nod. He was ready to pull out his wallet but Rafael was gone already.

Jorge would have argued with the man that he should be paying the tab for the night. After all, it would have been the least he could have done. But that large man was already up on his feet and moving towards the cash register. The detective waved a “thanks” to him as he sat back on his barstool and grabbed his beer bottle. It was nearly empty now, maybe another swig or two left.

Waiting for the man to return, Jorge decided to finish the beer. He smirked a little to himself and shook his head as he whispered.

“Aztec? Really?”

Vicente just smirked as he stood in front of the table of thugs. He was out of the line of sight of Jorge, if anything the man would just think that he had went into the can before leaving. But there was something else being planned. As he stood before the table, he pulled a wad of money from his wallet and slapped down several one-hundred dollar bills, in a stack, onto the table for them to disperse amongst themselves. As he did so, he locked eyes with the obviously leader of this little group, all of which had the exact same tattoo of a diamond with snake fangs, on their person.

The bulky, cholo-looking man arched his pierced brown as he slowly reached fat hand over and picked up the stack of one-hundreds. Casually he shuffled the bills while his fellow lackeys all looked at him expectantly.

“Do we have a deal?” Vicente said with a grin.

The leader of the Diamondbacks, sighed as he casually tapped the stack of bills against his open palm and looked the man over once again. He was nibbling on his bottom lip before he finally reached up and brushed down this thick black mustache and goatee.

“Why should we trust you?” he snorted and shrugged. “If you got so much money to burn, what the hell makes you think we won’t just beat you down and take the rest of your cash?”

Vicente shrugged, his smile turning into a look of dangerous intention. “You can try, fat boy,” he smugly stood up straight while the rest of the man’s crew seemed on edge to attack. “But why do it here? You might as well take the $500 now, and then do as planned. If you want to take my wallet, you can go ahead and try when you meet us outside. Simple as that.” he crossed his massive arms over his chest. “You do it here, well, you sure you want to make such a public spectacle and involve the cops?”

The cholo narrowed his eyes and stood up, looking like he was getting ready to burst with rage. He glared daggers at Vicente while the rest of his crew began to stand and look just as dangerous. Vicente did not flinch though. He knew people and he knew greed. His plan would work out in the end. This was proven when the leader sucked his teeth, stuffed the money in his pocket before he shot a dangerous glare at Vicente.

“See you outside…pops.” He muttered. And with that, he and his crew exited out the back entrance.

Vicente smirked as he watched them leave. He knew people too well. With a turn of his heel, the old assassin headed back to the bar where Jorge was standing, slipping on his coat. He flashed him a grin and nodded.

“Sorry about that,” he said. “Had to hit the head. Ready?”

Once the man nodded Vicente lead him back outside and into the cool night air…

It seemed like quite awhile that Rafael was gone. After a minute or two, he glanced over to the cash register to see if there was some problem. He was absolutely fine with paying for himself, or even Rafael. He didn’t need to have his drink bought for him. But as he looked over he immediately spied that he was not there. Did he just attempt to save face and leave? Nah, Jorge doubted that was it. Glancing back to the seat that Rafael had occupied, he saw that his coat was still there.

The detective shrugged.

Maybe he just had to go to the bathroom, he thought. With a sigh he sat back in his seat and awaited.

It was only maybe another minute or so before he glanced over and spied the man heading back towards him. With a nod, Jorge stood up and slipped on his own coat. In doing so, handed Rafael his.

>> “Sorry about that….Had to hit the head. Ready?”

“Yeah, and don’t worry about it.” Jorge replied as he offered him a friendly smile. “Listen, thanks again for the beer. And…I’m sorry about earlier. I really didn’t mean to offend you.”

It was heartfelt and he meant it. Jorge was of the type of mind that it did not matter who or what you worshipped, but he was also not the type of person to be converted at the drop of a hat. Though he appreciated everyone who went out there and tried to bring a message of hope to those who were lost and without a path, such actions were simply lost upon him. Jorge really wasn’t looking for a new god. He had his closely held beliefs and that was that.

He shrugged slightly as he stepped out into the night.

The cool air of the night struck them like a slap to the face. It was sudden and it forced them to be wide awake. Maybe it was the transition from being in the stuffy indoors of the bar to the open night of the city outside. There was an obvious difference. Inside the bar the atmosphere was stuffy, thick, and had a scent about it which was a mixture of alcohol, staleness, and heat. But outside, the feeling was much freer. Vicente could feel the cool air as it ruffled through every strand of hair and brushed against his scarred skin. He was more awoke, more alert. Which was good…

…considering what was to be coming up.

>> “Listen, thanks again for the beer. And…I’m sorry about earlier. I really didn’t mean to offend you.”

Vicente shrugged as if it meant absolutely nothing to him. Jorge may have seemed to have made up his mind right now, he may have convinced himself that he has. But the truth of the matter is there was still a way to tap into that part of his soul that he refused to acknowledge. That part of his being that he did not accept. And if his plan worked, he would get to exactly see what Jorge was made of.

“Don’t worry about it,” Vicente grinned. “Like I said, it’s not for everyone. I started learning when I was a child. My father taught me this from birth so I did not have a chance to learn anything else. I’m sure that if I had had your upbringing, I probably would be acting in the exact same way.”

It was all very sensible sounding.

Vicente didn’t sound upset, or angry, or even disappointed that Jorge did not want to learn. As a matter of fact he really seemed as if it did not bother him in the least. Obviously this was only a cover. The older assassin had a way of masking his true emotions, of putting on the face of someone else who was more trustworthy and calm instead of some fanatic who had been jilted from trying to save someone’s soul. His appearance was relaxing, calm, and understanding.

He simply grinned as he nodded to the man.

“Like I said, it was no problem.” Vicente said and turned to lead Jorge through a shortcut to head back to the museum where the man’s car was parked.

But as they moved around the corner of another dark street, Vicente could already feel that heaviness in the air. He knew what was coming. He heard the shuffle of hidden footsteps, he could smell the cheap cologne wafting out from the shadows, but mostly he could feel the absolute greed that seemed to display itself with such unbridled passion. Those Diamondbacks decided to keep their word and keep them out here. How…fun…

As they walked, Vicente turned to make idle conversation with the man when suddenly he saw one form step out of the darkness. It was the leader. The large cholo with the pierced eyebrow and the smell of cigar smoke about him. The leader. He stepped out in front of them path, crossed his arms across his massive chest and nodded to the pair of older men.

Just like clockwork, Vicente grinned to himself.

“Hey! Old guys! Why don’t you, aahh, hold right there, eh?” the cholo grinned manically. “Don’t you know that there are tolls to passing these streets? You grandpas wanna pass? You gotta pay.”

Vicente smirked as he watched the rest of the crew emerge from the shadows and begin to surround them.

Perfect. he thought.

>> “Don’t worry about it…Like I said, it’s not for everyone. I started learning when I was a child. My father taught me this from birth so I did not have a chance to learn anything else. I’m sure that if I had had your upbringing, I probably would be acting in the exact same way…Like I said, it was no problem.” [/color]

Jorge nodded. He was glad. He did not really want to upset the man. Though they had just met, Jorge was not one to ever come across and unfeeling or close-minded to other people’s beliefs. He respected other people far too much for that. Thankfully, Rafael seemed fine with Jorge’s lacking interest in wanting to join his religion. Thank goodness for that, at least.

Letting the cool night air envelope him, the detective stuffed his hands into his coat pockets as he strolled through the streets, trying to make idle chat with the much taller and muscular man. But it seemed as if Rafael was distracted by something. He was answering in short, curt answers which was slightly different than how he was talking before. Jorge could easily pick up on the change. Maybe he did offend him after all?

The detective mentally sighed. So much for not offending anyone…

Instead resigning to walk in awkward silence, the detective cracked his neck to the side as they turned the corner that headed back to the museum, where he had left his car to be valet parked. He would apologize again once they got to the museum. It would not have been nice if this man’s last memory of him was of being a jerk.

But just as they stepped into the street, he caught those shifting movements, the twitch of shadows out of the corners of his eyes. It did not take long for him to realize that they were being surrounded by a small gang. He narrowed his eyes as he immediately recognized those tattoos…

“Diamondbacks…” he mumbled to himself.

>> “Hey! Old guys! Why don’t you, aahh, hold right there, eh? Don’t you know that there are tolls to passing these streets? You grandpas wanna pass? You gotta pay.”

Jorge ground his teeth as he glanced out of the corner of his eye to Rafael. The man did not seem to flinch at all as he wore a deadpan expression on his face. He showed absolutely no fear. Impressive but he did not want the man to act stupidly either.

Jorge nodded to the leader and spoke in a very serious tone. “You don’t want to be doing this, son. Trust me…”

The leader grinned as he brandished a large screwdriver. “No, you trust me. I want to be doing this. And I don’t mind driving this shank here right through your damn gut! Now…wallets…!”

This was not looking good. The man was obviously a hothead so the detective doubted that polite conversation was going to get him to listen. But on top of that was the fact that Rafael was standing right here next to him. He did not want an innocent bystander getting hurt. Shaking his head and grinding his teeth, Jorge nodded as he very slowly began to reach into his back pocket for his wallet. What was a few bucks?

But…apparently he was not quick enough…

“Old fart’s too slow!!” one of the men off to his right said as he suddenly charged forward, reared his fist back and aimed it directly for the side of the detective’s face.

That was all the detective needed…

The second the fist came close enough, Jorge turned fast, seized the arm and pulled it tightly across his attacker’s own throat and held him fast. The detective snarled slightly as he held his assailant fast in a grapple that would have proved nearly impossible for a professional to get out of. But that was all the rest of the crew required before they jumped into the fray…

Vicente smirked as he watched the display go down. The Diamondbacks were playing their role perfectly, not that he had expected anything less. He was sure that they were more than happy to jump this man that Vicente directed them towards, if only for the opportunity to get him by himself. Their eyes dances at the wad of bills that he had dropped down in front of them. They wanted to get their hands on the rest of that cash. Not that he was surprised. Though it would complicate matters some. He was still on his bloodless week before his cleansing ritual.

Still…that did not mean people could not be harmed. He’d just have to do it in such a way as they would not bleed.

Simple enough.

>> “You don’t want to be doing this, son. Trust me…”

>> “No, you trust me. I want to be doing this. And I don’t mind driving this shank here right through your damn gut! Now…wallets…!”

Vicente mentally grinned to himself. Jorge was not the type to back down. That was impressive. Even in the face of such odds, the man did not even so much as break a sweat. The assassin knew that this only confirmed some of his suspicions that Jorge that had warrior spirit, the same as he himself possessed. All he needed was for that damned fool to realize it! Hopefully these fools would not waste too much time on waiting for the money to show itself.

>> “Old fart’s too slow!!”

They didn’t disappoint. They waited for the first excuse to descend this into an all out brawl. They were really going to attempt to kill Jorge, judging by the rather insane look in their eyes. He smirked again. He was really hoping that he was not wrong about this man. Then he saw it. The swift movement, the use of his body to completely overtake his attacker and force him to submit to a stronger opponent. For a second Vicente thought the fight would end there, that the littler crew of fools would realize that they were in over their heads. But he was gleefully proven wrong…

Jorge caught one of the gang members in the guy with a well placed kick, while the one he held screamed and threatened to be let go! Jorge was not about to lose his grip from around the man’s throat though. He squeezed and squeezed until finally the man began to grow limp. He was not going to kill him, no, far from it. But that did not mean he could not knock the man out to at least disable him. Once he was down, Jorge jumped back as he stared at the first man he had kicked stand and recover his lost breath.

“Listen guys, trust me, you really don’t want to do t--OOFPH!”

He was cut off mid-sentence by the appearance of another man who shot forward and drove his fist straight into the side of Jorge’s face.

The detective groaned as pain shot across his cheek and nearly laid him out cold. Stumbling off to the side, he regained his footing just in time to see the man attempt to follow in with his punch. Luckily Jorge was not the type of man who could have been faked out twice. A twist of his hips at the last minute and the man ducked off to the side just in time to drive his knee into his attacker’s stomach and swipe down with both his hands an crunching onto his back.

The tangy taste of blood pooled at the corner of his lips. That last punch had been a doozey but he liked to think that he repaid that man in kind.

Unfortunately that was not the end of his troubles. Stepping back, he looked up to see that there were still at least three of the gang members left standing and at least two of them were armed: one with a knife, the other with a tire iron. Things were definitely not looking good in his favor as he backed away, his fists clenched. Damn him for not bringing his cell phone to call for back-up.

At that thought he looked up to see Rafael, the “friend” he had just meant at the museum standing off to the side, his arms crossed over his massive chest. The man was actually smirking as his gaze switched between both Jorge and the on-coming attackers. What the hell? Was this man insane?

“Rafael!! Are you crazy?!” Jorge shouted as he turned his attention back to the trio of on-comers. “Run and get help! Or at least help me!!”

“Can’t,” Vicente asked back with a perfectly innocent look and a shrug. “Because of my ‘crazy religion’ I’m not allowed to spill blood for the next week.” he smirked slightly. “My hands are tied.”

The tall and overly muscular man smirked again as he leaned back against the wall. He did not mean to make his statement sound as sarcastic as all that, but he took some pleasure in it. Besides, this was Jorge’s test, not his. He was enjoying watching the man fight, as well. He would not have spoiled that for the whole world. Every inch the man moved, every twist of his body, every kick, punch, all of it he studied and watched carefully.

He had a warrior’s spirit, all right. The man moved and fought as if it all came about second nature to him. Vicente had to admit that he was impressed.

Another smirked slid across his lips as he looked up to see one of the men suddenly charge at Jorge.

“Watch out for the one on the—“

“OOMPH!!!”

Vicente grinned as Jorge was tackled to the ground. What was going to happen next?

Jorge staggered back. He tried to reach for his badge, he wanted to pull the NYPD card so that these fools would not be stupid enough to keep trying to fight him, but he doubted that such a thing was going to work anyways. It appeared as if they truly wanted blood and he doubted that a simple flash of metal was really going to do the job. Instead, the detective dodged another blow and tried to appeal to Rafael for some kind of help in this madness…

…and he was blatantly shot down.

>> “Can’t…Because of my ‘crazy religion’ I’m not allowed to spill blood for the next week…My hands are tied.”

What?! the detective thought as he stepped away from another of the gang members swinging a crowbar at him.

Was the man serious? He was just going to stand back as these guys attempted to kill him? Was he insane? Jorge really began to doubt the mental capacity of a man who would blindly stand back and watch as another was nearly killed. But then again, that was a reality he had to deal with nearly every day while in the workplace. Too many times people stood back and did nothing while their neighbor’s house was robbed, while a stranger was being mugged in an alley. Gone as the comforting connections of brotherhood. It was a dog-eat-dog world.

>> “Watch out for the one on the—“[/color]

The breath all left Jorge in a single burst as another of the more lithe gang members suddenly charged, slipped through the detective’s defenses and rammed his shoulder directly into his stomach. Jorge grunted, loud, both in surprise and pain as he stumbled back and collided with the ground. The man on top of him, he reared his fist back as if he were ready to punch his face through the concrete but Jorge was faster than that. Suddenly leaning up, he slammed his forehead into the man’s nose and effectively broke it, sending him sprawling back with a choking gush of blood in his throat. The detective then managed to plant his foot onto the man’s chest and kick out, sending him flying back.

Taking the second to get up, Jorge sprang to his feet when another of the gang members flew at him, a broken bottle in his hand. The sharpened edges of the bottle glistened in the streetlamp’s light, momentarily blindly him with a riot of various green hues. But he knew he had to act.

Glass shrapnel aimed for his heart, Jorge waited until the last possible second when he suddenly sidestepped, wrapped his arm around his attacker’s which held the makeshift weapon, and twist it in such a way that the man screamed and dropped the bottle. Jorge then pulled in close, placed his leg around his attacked and shoved, sending him falling with an audible THUDD!![/b] onto the ground.

Then, as he looked up, he watched the leader of this gang storming directly up to the more passive looking Rafael…

Vicente smirked. And he smirked wide.

He was thoroughly enjoying this. He watched as Jorge fought his hardest, taking on more men at one time then most people can. That alone proved that he did have a warrior’s essence, he just needed to convince Jorge that by following his path, he would get to tap into it more thoroughly. But the man was pigheaded. He could already sense that in the way he fought, how he moved, how he refused to back down or admit defeat in the face of this overwhelming threat. Any other man would have been killed, but Jorge, no, Jorge was different.

All he needed was a bit of refinement and maybe, just maybe he might be able to rank up there with himself. At least that is what the old assassin thought. Maybe not surpass, but he could definitely give him a run for his money.

Vicente smirked at the thought. This man had to be a killer. Maybe a mercenary? Gun-for-hire? He had yet to ask the man about his job because he wanted to glean it upon his own. But something in his movements, in his fighting just sand out to him that this was a man who knew blood.

So again…he smirked.

Perfect.

“Yo! Gramps!!” a voice called out.

Vicente rolled his eyes as he turned his gaze to meet that of the angry leader of the diamondbacks. The man was storming up to him, looking as pissed as a riled up beehive. He held his screwdriver threateningly as he growled, spittle running down his cheek as he shouted at the man.

“You conned us! You didn’t say the man could fight!!” he growled as he stood before him, clenching his weapon threateningly.

Vicente shrugged as he eyed the man.

“Didn’t think he could,” he grinned. “Besides, I thought for sure that five could take on one. I haven’t thrown a single punch. Looks to me like you crew is just...pathetic…”

Red was all Vicente could see in the gang leader’s eyes. It was then that he raised his screwdriver, reared back the weapon and charged with all he had…

“Rafael!!”

Jorge watched as the gang leader brought up a screwdriver and looked ready to drive that damned thing straight into the man’s skull. Why was Rafael just standing there as if nothing were happening at all? It was absolutely insane! He needed to get to him. He needed to act fast and the only thing he could think of at the time was to use the mass of water that was pooling up near one of the gutters. With a growl the detective suddenly lashed out with his hand and summoned the water that gathered in the dip of the asphalt.

The water jumped at his command. It sloshed forward, swirling up into the air and snaked through until it floated near Jorge’s hand. But the detective was quickly to shoot his arm forward and send a mass of water flying directly at the gang leader.

The musky, dirty water flew in a solid jet that immediately struck the back of the man’s head and quickly enveloped around. Before the gang member knew it, water had formed a sphere around his cranium and seeped in through nostrils, ears and mouth, cutting him off from all oxygen.

He gasped in horror as he stumbled back, dropping the screwdriver while Rafael just watched on in mute and shocked silence.

Jorge, on the other hand was keeping a careful eye on the person he was incapacitating. After all, he didn’t want to kill him, he only wanted to disable him for the time being. That was why, the second Jorge saw the man fall to his knee that he dispersed the water with a flick of his hand. It flew it all directions and spilled to the ground with a loud SPLASH!![/b]

The gang leader gasped as he fell forward, holding himself up by his hands and knees…

Vicente snarled. He saw the world slow down. Before he knew it the spurned gang leader had come at him, pulled a screwdriver from his pocket and raised it high in order to drive it straight into his skull. But the assassin was quicker than that. Though he was still under and obligation to the gods to not shed any blood, he knew that he could disable the man without actually shedding any. But before he got a chance, he heard someone scream from far off in the distance…

>> “Rafael!!”

He paused, distracted by the voice and turned to see the Cervantes, the other man with the warrior’s spirit, holding his hand out to him. Before he knew it water seemed to come from nowhere. It splashed towards him from some unknown location before it fired itself directly at both him and his attacker. Vicente squinted his eyes, not wanting to get the full front of the blast of water, but before he knew it, the water had skidded past him and wrapped itself around his attacker!

Vicente staggered back as he watched the leader of the Diamondbacks gulp and struggle for air as water encased his head. The man stumbled away while both he and Jorge watched him before suddenly, Jorge, with a twist of his wrist, sent the water away. Did he actually do that? Did he really have control over the very waters?!

In awe, Vicente blinked and returned to reality as he spied his attacker struggling and sputtering for breath. He snarled. Suddenly he dashed forward and drove his knee directly into the man’s ribs, effectively driving the last bit of air from his body though, by no means, spilling any blood.

“ARRGH!!” the man gasped as he stumbled off to his side.

Vicente breathed heavily as he stood up straight and then turned his eyes onto Jorge.

“Care to explain what THAT was about?”

>> “Care to explain what THAT was about?”

Jorge blinked. He was still staring at the fallen body of the man whom Rafael had just sucker kicked into the ribs. He could not believe the power at which the man had driven his shin into the man’s flesh. One look at the man and Jorge knew that he was a powerhouse, but damn, there was something just so honed about it that the detective really did had a hard time placing his finger on it. It was as if this man was trained to do something like this.

But he quickly shook the thoughts away. He headed over to the fallen man and kicked the screw driver out of his hands.

A glance and Rafael was still standing there, his question hanging in the air as they simply stared at one another. Jorge was beginning to see something in his man that he had no notice before. A bloodlust that was really quite terrifying. He had a feeling that if he had not been there, then Rafael would have gladly killed these would be muggers without a second’s hesitation.

He finally sighed, though. Maybe he was just reading too much into all of this. So instead of dwelling, he leaned down to check the fallen man’s pulse to make sure that he was indeed still alive.

“This is New York, Rafael,” he said in an almost absent minded way. From his coat pocket he pulled his cellphone. “Think you would have seen someone with a special powers before…”

Jorge sighed as he dialed the number for the police station. Once his call was connected he stood up and gave Rafael the sign to hold on….

“Yes, this is Detective Cervantes with the MRC. A friend and I were just mugged down the street from the Natural History Museum by the Diamondbacks….yeah…”

Vicente stood back as he watched Jorge move to the body of the fallen man. What was he doing? He acted as if he were inspecting him and…he was ignoring his question. This only aggravated the assassin all the more but he said nothing. He would let the man do whatever he felt was necessary. Maybe he thought by checking out the fallen leader of the Diamondbacks he was allowing himself to cleanse his own soul by offering a chance to look sympathetic?

It was ridiculous. That was going to have to be one of the first things changed in Jorge if he ever hoped to embody the warrior spirit he possessed.

But he definitely had the potential…most definitely…

He crossed his arms over his massive chest as he watched Jorge continue to look over the body and then began to produce a cell phone from his pocket. Again, this only made the assassin roll his eyes. There was no need for this…care for his fellow man…

>> “This is New York, Rafael…Think you would have seen someone with a special powers before…”

He arched a brow. So…he was a mutant as well? And it was connected with the realm of Atlaua, the god of the waters. That mixed with his spirit only made him all the more deadly. Vicente definitely had to convince this man to undertake his own area of study. He simply--

>> “Yes, this is Detective Cervantes with the MRC. A friend and I were just mugged down the street from the Natural History Museum by the Diamondbacks….yeah…”

His breath caught in his throat. Very, very slowly Vicente raised his gaze and eyed Jorge all the more closely…

Detective? he thought.

“Detective?” he asked as if it were a horrible surprise. And it was…