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Neon Exposure. (IC)


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A name was something to go off, they could certainly ask around and work their way up to find the guy.  They could also try their luck, at trying to trace the money back to its source of origin, but Omen wasn't about to go home to use his computer for that which left looking far from inconspicuous in costume to find a civilian network to do so.  Of course they had a potent source of information squealing in front of them to go off at the moment.  It seemed so far at least, that Ambrose wanted to use this man as a distraction most likely so he could get away with doing something else at the time either that or he was just a test subject.  Narrowing his own eyes behind his domino mask Omen leaned in closer.  "You skipped one.  So let me reiterate the expediency I would like this information.  How does Ambrose contact you for these jobs if you're not just chatting it up over a beer?  There has to be some method of contact if he's keeping a close enough eye on the result for you not to get caught."

 

 

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And then the man smiled, wincing slightly at the pain the express lanced through him.  "Kiddo, I am just demoing a weapon.  That's it.  The reporters cover it, and suddenly people are buying it.  I don't ask where Ambrose gets it, or how he finds me.  I have feelers out there to get jobs and money, that's it.  I don't question how he finds me, or why he chooses me.  All I know is talking to him nets me one hundred and fifty gees before I do anything."  He snorted a little bit and closed his eyes.  

 

"Mind not standing too close?  You gave me a grade three concussion, and I am nauseous."

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Omen complied with the request and leaned back a moment before shifting to stand up.  Making his way around he would walk behind the man pulling out a set of handcuffs with which he could proceed to attempt to bind him up.  "Well, it's starting to sound like you have very little information of use.  And since I feel bad for knocking you around, least I can do is help you get nice and comfortable before letting the police know where to look for you.  Can't say I'm that torn up about ending our repartee."  

 

Seeing it as good any of an opportunity to take advantage of the fact that he was teaming with a telepath during this interrogation, Omen attempted to try and steer the conversation by thinking.  So assuming you can hear me I'm assuming this Ambrose guy is the same as the Horatio you're looking?  The whole testing Advanced tech where the news can see sounds like the m.o. you were looking for.  And this guy described it to a tee frankly I wish Advanced tech meant less insta fire powers and more simple trigger pulling.  Either way we crashed the party quick enough to stop the advertisement before it began I'd like to think.

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GM

 

"That's the point kiddo.  If I don't know anythin' people like your buddy can't crawl in my head and find out anything.  Thanks for being an adult about this and not smacking me around more... and, huh, don't let me sleep, right?"  He didn't seem particularly made, his complexion off, likely from the stress of the blow to the head.  He turned a little and leaned against the boxes.  Sighing softly, closing his eyes, and humming lightly, to try and keep himself away.

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Errant did not look at the man, he didn't need to know he was there.  His eyes were elsewhere, looking for... something.  It was likely the telepath was paranoid, or something else.  But then he knew what evil lurked in the hearts of men, yadda, yadda.

 

Yes.  Or he works for him.  Or all the names are fake, which is pretty common  This man is less... cruel compared to others.  So we are lucky there.  Still seems too easy.

 

A note of Errant paranoia, or suspicious nature, burbled through in that meeting of thoughts, before the telepathy snatched it away from invading Omen's thoughts.  It was a strange sensation, not upsetting, more like the telepath let a word slip out in a normal conversation.

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If felt as if something was left unsaid.  Actually, Omen was left wondering if things could be left unsaid in a conversation that didn't involve any verbal communication to begin.  He hadn't read a handbook on the customs and courtesies of telepathic conversations.  He did know he wasn't going to pursue that line of questioning as he didn't actually have anything to go on other than the hanging feeling left by what the domino masked hero could only describe as a pause at best.  "If you don't want to sleep then keep talking away.  Have you heard of anyone else being hired out by this Ambrose guy?  Not that I think there's a thug chatroom or anything.  I'm about to call the cops with your location I'm sure they'll love to keep you awake for questioning and booking don't worry."

 

Well I wouldn't say it's easy yet.  Thinking about it we haven't made any real progress really.  Just a lead to chase after.  But if there's a chance that we're letting something slip through the cracks we can try and approach it from other avenues.  Like trying to figure out what the stuff he injected himself with is made up of in the first place.  

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GM

 

The guy lifted his head and shrugged.  "I've worked with other people for him.  Some crazy bastards too.  I mean, whatever.  I've seen stuff in the news that I know are his stuff.  I imagine he is trying to horn in on F.C. because if one of his little weapons can take down a hero, well... there goes the money, huh?" He almost laughed, but then groaned at the pounding in his head, and the throbbing, his eyes shuttering closed then.  "I hope this is your stupid stick and not some side effect from the stuff."

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Separation helps control flow of information.  That control is how he avoids getting caught, despite being high profile.  The problem is that this is the third of his men I've helped stop.  If he is trying to use F.C. as a place for greater spread... then he is likely going to escalate after this.  Three relatively unsuccessful attempts?  He has to recoup his costs somehow...

 

There was worry there, not that it conveyed to Errant's body language in any way, shape, or form.  Arms folding across his chest as his head turned to look at the man prattle on.

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Erick caught sight of what their guest was intending and promptly decided he would have none of that.  Leaning forward Omen would come up from behind the man's head and begin to whisper into his ear channeling his imposing father as best as he could.  "I'd like to think I've been a patient man so far.  But if I so much as see a spark I will reach for my stun rod and you will find yourself well acquainted with how many volts the human body can take.  No amount of money will be worth fretting over after that.  The concussion was me being generous, this will just be me being thorough.  If you want to test your luck go ahead."  Narrowing his eyes behind his domino mask he continued to loom over their captive goon confident he'd back down when pressed on the matter.

 

Erick's attention returned to the mental communication that was so rudely interrupted by the frightened escape attempt.  Hm I see so you think he's going to retaliate to the consistent cut into his profit margin?  Sounds like a reasonable conclusion to come to.  I'd rather not be on the defensive in response to a theoretical threat.  It'd be ideal if we could get to your friend before he acts again in that case.

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Errant frowned behind his mask, and he folded his arms across his chest as he turned his gaze to Omen while he threatened the man.  "You are going to stop. Now."  He said it levelly, in that deadpan fashion one would expect from him.  But in that connection connection Omen had with him, it was a lot more, it was an ocean wave crashing down onto the man, overwhelming, drowning, before it twisted and coiled about, changing form and function to coils that pervaded and gripped at his mind, holding the man then.  He turned his head and he looked down at him.

 

It will be a retaliation and advertisement.  My... interactions with him are limited, but his mind is... grey, and flat.  It wont be personal.  But I have a grip on his mind now...

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GM

 

Now the telepath had been referring to the empowered goon on the ground, and he was still working up to escape, not that he was noticed he was pushing himself to his feet right as Errant's grip tightened.  Thrashing against hold, it only seemed to tighten down around him, like a pitbull squashing resistance by clenching down on it's jaws.  He started to say something, but it became a snarl as he glared up at them both.

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