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GM Monday, October 28 12:30 PM Six patients. Addicts, junkies, casual users. Whatever they tried to say, they'd all done whatever it had been. Drugs were bad enough, tainted drugs were even worst. He had four patients who had a bad reaction. The symptoms were consistent; Intense vertigo, hallucinations, vomiting and tremors. They shook uncontrollably, could not walk, seemed barely lucid, and could keep nothing down. When questioned, all four of them pointed out to something they'd gotten their hands on. Some new, cheap source. Probably tainted, but he did not know by what. He knew better than to assume he could keep the streets completely clean. Tainted drugs, though, drugs that could potentially kill on one dose? That he could probably take care of. But not as Tyrone Mendoza, not as a doctor. No, he would need to do something a little more drastic. With that in mind, he suited up. ------Meanwhile------ Jackie. He was about sixteen maybe seventeen, a friendly kid who was probably destined to end up dead in an alleyway. It wasn't fair, though. He was smart, good looking, and had a ready smile. When asked where he came from, he always redirected the conversation. He couldn't keep himself clean. Now he was sixteen or seventeen and laying in a bed in the back of some free clinic. Shaking and vomiting, barely able to tell who anyone was. The rumor was someone had put tainted drugs on the street.

GM 29th October, 21:00 on the dot... The man was dressed in unremarkable black casual clothes but even someone with casual military knowledge would know he was equipped well. Guns, explosives, night vision goggles and all sorts of equipment lay to either side of him. He was operating out of a van, unmarked, with a license plate that, if one was to hazard a guess, was probably ripped off or falsified. The guy was a professional. He was atop a rooftop, using binoculars to scan a building in the distance. "Hmmm" he murmured to himself, and stood up, satisfied. With military precision, he packed away his guns, explosives and gadgets into a plain duffel bag and slung it over his shoulder. For all his planning, he could not have planned for the unexpected. Three youths approached him as he slung his bag into the van. Thee youths from the Fens. They were tough, they were tough, and they wore the colours and clothes of a local gang. A glint, and a knife came out.

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