When Cyra landed on the rooftop of an apartment complex, she sighed. She had no way of contacting Virote at all. It had been a full month and a half now. Thats how long she hadn't seen or heard from Virote. She had kept her eyes on the news. The media loved to hear about mutant deathsand report them, from anyone and anywhere. They also liked to show pictures, Cyra was disgusted by all of it.

Yes, she was a mutant herself, any babe born of a syndicate member had to be tested at birth. It was found in her genes and Virote's, his was bit more useful though. She shook her head and looked around, it was dusk and made the area a bit harder to see. And to spot things, like those dratted robots. She had finished folding up her glider wings finally and had stuffed them in a small bag. That then went it her backpack. She yawned and sat down, she wasn't too sure of where to go to next. She needed to talk to someone who could help her, where to find them though was the ultimate problem.

There was a reason that running up and down stairs wasn’t recommended for stabbing victims, particularly stabbing victims with lumps of scar tissue sitting in their lungs. That reason was the wheezing. The desperate, I’m-starving-my-body-of-oxygen wheezing. That’s why Rupert wasn’t running up and down stairs: he was sedately walking.

He was still wheezing, though. Since the building was seven stories tall, and since he’d started on the first floor, he reasoned that most people would be. Granted that they wouldn’t sound like they were dying, but wheezing, yes; yes, they would be wheezing. He pushed open the door to the roof, and promptly collapsed against the wall on the outside and slid down to a sitting position. Frigid winter air at eight floors up hit his face with claws outstretched. It felt beautiful to the racing pulse in his neck. He wheezed out a refreshed laugh. Now this, friends, was how a man could take his mind off of a bad day’s work. Nearly killing himself with simple exercise. Right. Somehow, he didn’t think he’d be telling his doctor about this one.

Slowly, he opened his eyes. Closed his eyes. Opened his eyes again, groaned, and wheezed. There was a woman sitting on the roof already. That would be fine, if she wasn’t a petite Asian woman that he’d never seen around the building before. And she was wearing form-fitting black clothes. That might actually be quite the nice view, if she didn’t also have a dagger sheathed at her hip. Everything still might be all right, until he factored in his recent luck to this situtation.

He wheezed another laugh. This one didn’t sound quite as refreshed. He pointed at her, and didn’t bother to stand up. It hardly seemed worth it. Suspicious knife-totting woman on a rooftop. Right. “Ten bucks says you’re a mutant, I’m about to get my life threatened, and you’re going to spend the night sleeping in my apartment.” He wheezed to get his breath back, and let his head hit against the back of the wall. “I am living in a badly scripted soap opera. I swear. What are you, some sort of ninja assassin tomb raider come to exact vengeance for your imprisoned lover?” He rubbed at his temples, and kept wheezing. Screw dogs: oxygen was a man’s best friend.

Cyra paused in her thoughts as the rooftop door was banged open and a young man collapsed near it. He laughed and wheezed, then laughed again before speaking. Cyra frowned who the heck was this guy and was he a mind reader or something? Cyra turned slowly, "Yes I am a mutant, and no I won't threaten your life." She paused and grinned slyly, "At this point though, I do believe you are threatening your own life. You happen to be wheezing rather horribly."

She frowned, "And yes, my lover is imprisioned in the camps." She moved extremely fast and was right next to Rupert when she spoke again. "And if you really must know, nah, you don't need to know." She smiled sweetly, "Are you part of the resistance, Mr. ??"

He offered his hand up to her, still not bothering to stand. He did grin, though. The story of his life was just too much of a comedy: how could he not be a happy, grinning little camper? “Kelley. Rupert Kelley, Miss...?”

“You didn’t deny the mutant thing,” he observed candidly, “so that was one for three. We’ve still got time for the life-threatening and the apartment-sleeping, so I might just be three for three, yet. To answer your question:” And to ignore that comment about how he was threatening his own life, while he was at it. Not to mention her little speed show. Honestly? He wasn't too impressed. “I’m a very round-about part of the Resistance. Are you?” Wouldn’t it just be unfathomably fantastic if those freaks actually contacted him? That would make him just chipperly cheerful.

He kept wheezing. Okay, he could admit it: the stairs? Not a good idea.

Cyra chuckled and grabbed Rupert's hand, pulling him up. "Cyra is my name, Rupert. I would love to be part of the resistance." She looked up at him now, "You have no way of contacting the resistance party I take it?"

He’d intended the hand for shaking, actually, but now it was going up, and up he went with it. He wobbled uncertainly on his feet, wheezing anew. There had been a reason he’d been sitting down. It involved not being ready to stand. He leaned against the wall, and tried to look like the kind of tough guy who didn’t pass out from idiocy-induced oxygen depravation.

“I’m afraid you’re talking to the wrong person, Miss Cyra. They contact me: I don’t contact them.” He mulled it over for a second. Actually, he did have a way of contacting them. A way every bit as round-about as his own involvement. The question was: did he hate her enough to share it with her? “If you’re truly desperate, I have one contact with them. He’s... something. I could give you his phone number, if you’d like, but I’ll warn you in advance: his power is to give commands.” That was rather a lot of consecutive sentences: he paused for a good wheezing. “As an added bonus, he’s the sort of idiot who almost got two other mutants, himself, and me arrested because he was throwing a tantrum in the middle of my apartment. Scared my puppy, broke my table, and killed my potted plant, not to mention shouted so loud they could hear it up here. I’m not sure the rational parts of the Resistance are even working with him. I know I sure won’t. But I,” he spread his arms out to the sides, “am but a lowly peon whose opinions counts for,” wheeze, “naught.”

Cyra snorted, "I highly doubt you are considered lowly, Sir." She sighed, "Unfortunately I must say yes that I do need to contact this person. As much as it sounds like I wouldn't want to do that." She contemplated him then spoke slowly, "Why would someone like you be helping out mutants? From the way you talk, you aren't one, so why help us?" Cyra was curious as to who this other person was, they sounded violent though. Nothing she hadnt dealt with before. She sighed, "Rupert, did you know of anyone that was in the camps that went by the name Shrapnel? He would be of asian descent as well." She sighed, "Might you have any clue where the resistance is located? The hq perhaps?"

"I highly doubt you are considered lowly, Sir."

He highly doubted she knew him worth beans.

"Unfortunately I must say yes that I do need to contact this person. As much as it sounds like I wouldn't want to do that."

Rupert nodded simply, scrounged in his coat pocket for a certain crumpled slip of paper, and handed it over to her. On it was written the phone number of Naveed. He hadn’t even glanced at it. He really just had the one coat; it was no surprise, then, that this self-same black dress coat which was beginning to look rather worn, particularly under the arms and on the cuffs, was precisely the same one he’d put on after obligingly breaking his own coffee table with his back. It had also pressed itself against an alley wall with him at King Pharmaceuticals, and witnessed a few well-advised—and one very, very ill-advised—shootings. Actually, he was pretty sure that it had seen his college graduation. It might be time for a new coat. It wasn’t like the camps weren’t paying him out the rear to smoothly sit back and write everything the guard’s did off as necessary evils committed to subdue the evil muties.

"Why would someone like you be helping out mutants? From the way you talk, you aren't one, so why help us?"

On that note: “Guilt complex,” he answered simply, and matter-of-factly. “Really, really big guilt complex.”

"Rupert, did you know of anyone that was in the camps that went by the name Shrapnel? He would be of Asian descent as well." Rupert’s breath briefly caught in his throat. This was a very bad idea, given that he’d needed the breath in question. A cough and much wheezing followed. "Might you have any clue where the resistance is located? The hq perhaps?"

He held up a stalling finger to hold off any more questions while he got his breath back. “Shrapnel. Yes, Shrapnel was at the camps, up until a few days ago: your boy staged a two-man breakout, and good for him. Since he hasn’t been back to visit, I can only assume he hooked up with the Resistance somehow.” A few more wheezes, but they weren’t quite as desperate. It was official: he was getting his breath back. Slow and steady. “To answer that other set of questions: not a chance. I’m not the most trusted member of the Resistance.”

Cyra nodded with satisfaction, "He got out, that's good." She contemplated for a few moments before taking the little piece of crumpled paper from Rupert. "Thank you Rupert. I am curious however as to why the guilt complex." She smirked slightly, "I suppose that isn't my business though." Cyra sighed, "Might you have any idea where they might go if they can't contact anyone in the resistance? Some sort of safe place perhaps?"

Cyra looked over the rooftop and out into the dusky night. "This place, New York, United States of America even, it is more dangerous then my own country. It is sad that a place of freedom is worth nothing because you are different. You are hated and feared, it doesn't make any sense to me at all really. But then again, what does in this crazy world?"

She turned back to Rupert, "My apologies, I was thinking outloud. What do you think I should do now, member of the resistance?"

"He got out, that's good."

You, Cyra, do not sound surprised. Come to think of it, you didn’t sound all that concerned earlier, either.

"Thank you Rupert. I am curious however as to why the guilt complex."

That, Cyra, is no business of either you or your smirk.

"I suppose that isn't my business though."

Rupert gave her a look that showed his frank agreement.

"Might you have any idea where they might go if they can't contact anyone in the resistance? Some sort of safe place perhaps?"

“I’m not quite sure you’re grasping the ‘lowly peon’ and ‘not the most trusted member’ concepts,” Rupert said, by way of reply. His breath was almost entirely back. Interestingly, so was his dry cynicism. Apparently his helpful replies had been linked to oxygen deprivation. Well, learn new things everyday.

"This place, New York, United States of America even, it is more dangerous then my own country.” Now we get the idealistic rooftop speech, as narrated by our heroine in black. Apparently his cynicism was coming with its own narration, tonight. “It is sad that a place of freedom is worth nothing because you are different.” Right, right. Well spoken. Heartfelt: we’ll only have to do three more takes of that, from different angles. Next cue card. “You are hated and feared, it doesn't make any sense to me at all really. But then again, what does in this crazy world?"

Rupert watched her for a moment as she cut her dramatic rooftop pose, gazing out over the darkening city. Her scpheal about the obvious incongruities of the situation might just—possibly, mercifully—be over with. He was just breathing a sigh of relief when she turned to face him. He straightened up, almost guiltily.

"My apologies, I was thinking outloud. What do you think I should do now, member of the resistance?"

First off, you could call me by my name. The cutesy title isn’t doing it for me. “I haven’t a clue.” He said honestly. “You’ve got my only way of contacting the Resistance in your hand. It’s on you, from here out. So. What are you going to do?”

Cyra's eyes glinted, "Rupert, what I am going to do is kill anyone that gets im my way. That's what was done in Asia, those stupid humans that thought they could repress us." She grinned evilly, "I am also going to find Shrapnel and the rest of the resistance." She eyed Rupert with a tad bit of mischief in her eyes, "Anything else I should know perhaps? Like say, oh I don't know your profession."

A cold shiver ran up his spine as the freak spoke. There were reasons that it had taken the shooting of his own lover for him to rethink his own stance on mutants. One of those reasons was standing in front of him, right this moment. She and the atrocities of nature like her were the reason Congress had passed the law that was keeping tamer mutants like Raina locked away in that damn camp. If he had a stun gun and a collar, he might just try to take her down.

That, however, would be very stupid. He was working on his chronic stupidity. Now seemed as excellent a time as any to practice thinking before he acted. He counted to ten, and then he turned around, and opened the door back into the building. His voice was pleasantly composed. “This conversation is over. Goodnight, Ms. Cyra.” He did not wish her luck: he wished her imprisonment and the hell that she’d earned. Murdering freak.

"Well then Rupert goodnight. But think on this, mutants would have stayed low and yes there are a few violent ones, we would have left humans alone. They attacked first, we defending and are fighting back." She looked directly at Rupert and a walked a few paces towards him, "I'll let you in an a little secret Rupert. I may be a mutant but my powers are latent. Meaning, I am merely human." Bombshell she knew but she wanted to see his reaction.

Rupert stood with one hand on the banister trailing down to the seventh floor. He was having trouble breathing again.

"...We would have left humans alone.”

No. You wouldn’t have. He clutched at his side, where an ugly scar lived.

“They attacked first...”

No. We didn’t. He closed his eyes, hoping that the blackness would wash away the sudden red.

“...we defending and are fighting back."

My fucking ass you are. There had been so much blood on his partner’s neck: he’d never seen someone die that way, before. All he’d been able to do was stand there, in the noiseless chaos. It had taken him the longest time to realize that he was bleeding, too.

The metal of the banister was frigid. He clenched his hand around it, grounding himself in the frost. When he eased his eyes back open, the woman was closer to him than she had been. Too close. His breath wheezed out raggedly as he turned just his eyes to watch her.

"I'll let you in on a little secret Rupert. I may be a mutant but my powers are latent. Meaning, I am merely human."

His mind was still next to the wall, watching, but his body was moving: he watched his arm come up in a reckless fist, aiming straight for the murdering freak’s face. If it hit, she wouldn’t be getting up anytime soon. If it didn’t, well, he’d see. Odd that he was moving so fast—it felt like he was just standing still.

He wasn’t really trying to punch the freak, was he? Huh. He’d been doing so good, for a minute or so there. Oh well. At least this one deserved it.

Cyra caught Rupert's punch with ease. "Rupert, that would have hurt you know." She tilted her head slightly, "Friends of yours were killed by mutants first before all this happened, weren't they?" She lowered her hand with Rupert's fist still in it and sighed. "Rupert, I have no desire to hurt you, even though I am an assassin." She shrugged, "I don't like killing people. A good percentage of the people I have killed were other assassins, people that didn't belong in power. People like that Rupert."

Cyra stopped speaking abruptly, "And I have no clue why I am explaining myself to you. But, not all of us are bad. What would you have said to me if I was just a normal human looking to help the resistance?" She let go of Rupert's fist with a small look of 'don't do it again', she crossed her arms and waited patiently.