The TV lit up the room with another politician spout more crap about his kind. "In an age of prosperity, the only thing holding us back from a truly strong economy is the crimes of these people, these "families" of people, vigilantes with abilities described by the layperson as "Super powers." There is no one but God who should be able to do what they do, and I, for one, am perfectly in favor of this act, the Parahuman Registration and Reeducation Act, and I urge all people, my opponents included, to-"

"I can't believe this." said the man who turned off the tv. "All the work that the heroes have done for this nation, and what's happening? They're being turned into outlaws."

"True, dad," said Will, "These prejudices run deep, though. It's the least you can do to fight them in Congress, where it should be fought."

"And I expect you to fight it in the streets, y'know, since your mother won't let me out anymore."

Will smiled. His father was the source of his power, and here he was, growing old and growing fat just like every other man in congress. Will, on the otherhand, was young and strong, waiting for a chance to cut loose. A chance he got every night when he left his house under cover of darkness to use his powers.

His was the line of the fourth child of the ancient magician, and his powers, like all other descendents of that child, were powers of sound. He hadn't discovered as many uses as his father, but he could stand up amongst the other heroes of his generation and fight. That's what mattered. When the families went to war like this, all non-combative powers were forced to ally with stronger families in order to stay alive.

He was happy that his power meant that his family was free of those alliances.

He went to his room and threw on his normal 'Night' clothes- A hooded sweatshirt, jeans, running shoes, biker gloves, and a bandana he tied over the lower half of his face. Then it was a simple matter to sneak out, climb a tree and jump the gate around his families estate.

"Out into the night, out into the fight. One shall stand, and more shall fall, which bloodline is truest of all?" he sung to himself. It was the song written by his ancestors in the last war four hundred years ago. He hoped that it was a good omen.

John glanced over towards the bar where a man was sitting. The man, looked like a businessman that had just gotten off work and was pouring down some stiff drinks to wash the long day away. There were 2 others, one had gone to the restroom a moment ago, the other sitting at a table, sprawled out on a chair with some bottles in front of him - Completely and totally drunk. That one's not gonna notice a thing. The only real reason he was still waiting was because of the bartender. Such a familiar face couldn't be made to disappear as easily as the white collar man he had never seen before. The suit looked up at the TV as some congressman spouted off at at press conference.

"...the only thing holding us back from a truly strong economy is the crimes of these people, these 'families' of people, vigilantes with abilities described by the layperson as 'Super powers.' There is no one but God who should be able to do what they do, and I, for one, am perfectly in favor of this act, the Parahuman Registration and Reeducation Act, and I urge all people... "

The man shook his head speaking to the bartender, " Not like its gonna change a damn thing when it does pass, only get more of us normal people killed by those things." At least the fighting had not gotten bad in downtown. Well, an entire apartment complex had completely burned out a few weeks back, killing a few dozen in the flames. Yeah it was bad, but easily could have been so much worse. Of course, none of that mattered at the moment.

The barman looked up at the TV for a second, responding with a short "I hear ya" before continuing what he was doing.

Just as the suit stood and started pulling out a few bills, John discretely stood and walked out the door, pulling out a pack of cigarettes as he walked. Once outside he lit one and leaned against the wall next to the door, looking out across the night-time downtown street, waiting for the man to come out. He went over what was about to happen in his head, Follow him for a little ways, stab him, take the cash, toss the body in a dumpster. Simple really, considering he had done it before.

A few moments later the man opened the door and stepped outside, stretching out his arms and yawning a little. The man turned and started stagger-walking down the sidewalk, completely unaware of John standing there. This is always so easy. he thought to himself as he put out the cigarette under his foot and started following the man. Clearly that guy was drunk as hell, just barely able to walk and having to use the walls as support sometimes. After about a block, the man stopped, with a hand against the wall supporting him. A moment later, he sort of fell into the small alleyway between the buildings. John hurried up his pace a bit, hearing what sounded like the man puking in the alleyway. As he neared the corner, he pulled out his knife and darted into the alley.

He stopped dead in his tracks, looking around at the empty alley. He must have gone down that way, he thought, seeing a side passage not too far into the alley. He turned that corner and came to a dead end. Nothing but closed dumpsters, locked doors, and trash on the ground. Where the hell did that guy go? he thought turning around in confusion. Before he could even blink, something sharp pierced through his throat, cutting off any means of speech. A moment later, everything faded...

---

Mike pulled the knife from the man's throat and started cleaning it off on the would-be mugger's clothes, shaking his head a little. "Tonight just wasn't your night dude. You should have paid more attention to what I was drinking - it was soda, not alcohol, in case you're wondering." He gave a crooked smile glancing at the face still-bleeding corpse. "But then, telling you now won't help you any will it? Unless... You're not one of those people that can survive this kind of death, are you?" He stopped for a moment, staring into the lifeless eyes that were so similar to all those before as if waiting for the dead mugger to answer the question.

"Not one for talkin eh? I can understand that," he finished cleaning the knife as he continued talking to the corpse. "Not like it really matters does it. You'll have already forgotten what I look like by the time you recover, if at all, and will never find me anyways." He slid the knife back into its hiding place in his jacket, turned around and headed back out the alley to the street in the direction of the safehouse. His completely fake 'drunk' stumbling down the sidewalk was almost second nature to him. He was just another drunk walking home late at night, completely ignored and forgotten by any that happened to see him. The only people that would not ignore him would be those that knew who he was, and those people you could count on one hand.

Will made it downtown in what may be record time from his place. He loved it downtown.. The buildings, the people, but mostly, the noise. It amped his powers to have so much ambient noise.

However, what he didn't expect was to find a dozen homeless guys following him. It was dangerous to mug a person these days... If they were powered, the mugger, more often than not, died as the result.

But it's alright. Singers, as his clan was called, have always been good at hiding.

He masked his footsteps, keeping the sound dulled below what a human could here, and dodged around other people. The sounds in the city hid him perfectly.

So did the streets.

Which he was lost in. Getting away from that crowd, he found himself in an alleyway. It was dark in here, and he didn't know where it led. He walked down it a bit before-

"Oof!"

He tripped. His hands, after lifting himself back up, moved back to the roadblock, and were surprised to feel something soft... Like a corpse.

"Oh shit." He whispered, turning away from it and jogging. "We're all gonna be blamed for this one."

Mike closed his apartment door behind himself, tossing his keys onto a nearby table. He picked up the remote that was lying on the same table and turned on the TV, stretching out his arms for a moment. Just more worthless news. he thought to himself. He still always checked though, every now and then there was something worthwhile to see. Still listening to the TV, he laid back on the bed, staring at the ceiling.

And then the weatherman came on. So much for anything interesting.

Mike flipped off the TV, tossing the remote back on the table next to his keys on his way to the bathroom. Staring at himself in the mirror, he leaned against the sink with his hands. A moment later, his face blurred and his clothing with it. An empty face with colorless empty eyes, a non-descript mouth on an equally featureless face, no hair to speak of attached to a completely featureless and genderless body soon was staring back. Blank was the best way to describe him. Who will I be tonight... Who will I be... he thought to himself for a moment staring into his empty eyes. Soon, light blue eyes were staring at him from a middle-aged, unscarred face with combed back dark brown hair. A second later, he was dressed in a black button shirt, thin brown coat, and jeans. That’ll do. Robert ‘locked’ his features into place, stepping back from the mirror.

Robert moved back into the other room and pulled a cabinet drawer completely out of the cabinet under the TV. He reached behind where the drawer had come out of and pulled out a holstered pistol, a police badge, the same officer’s wallet, and a knife he had made himself, setting all of the items next to the TV. He slid the drawer back into place and strapped the holstered 9mm to his chest so that the pistol was near the left side of his waist; he slid the wallet/badge into his jeans pocket and the knife into a hidden, but easily reachable, pocket. He grabbed his keys and turned off the lights on his way out.

---

Like so many nights before, he had nothing to do. No real purpose ever since his employers conveniently forgot about his existence. So he found himself back at the alley where the dead mugger still lay. Although, this time he was across the street acting like he was talking to someone on a pay phone while leaning against the wall next to it.

Eventually some kid turned away from the crowds into the alleyway just to come jogging back out of it. He defiantly took a wrong turn, Robert thought in passing, finishing up his fake conversation and hanging up the phone. Usually it took longer for a body to be found, especially in a dead-end alleyway like that one. Since the body was discovered so soon, he needed to know if he was being watched - he really did not want to know why they would tell him they were watching him. It could be dumb luck. But just in case, he needed to know for sure...

Robert casually crossed the street and started following the kid. Keeping up the pace of the kid and making it look like nothing was hard to do, but doable - at least the kid wasn’t running...

Using every skill he'd picked up in three years of street runs, Will moved through the crowd. he appeared under very few lights, and he didn't make a sound - no breathing or footsteps could be heard coming from him. His lips moved wordlessly, soundlessly, contemplating the fact that he'd found a body. He thought about calling his father, but what if his mother answered?

Secrets suck.

He continued moving, until he noticed that his feet were making noise. Impossible! My powers working...

Better safe than sorry.

The night life was just starting up. It didn't take much to clear most of the street. A siren in the distance. Simple power aided ventriloquism. He ducked away with a couple of guys in an alley, picking a spot not too far from the entrance.