[NedWTH]

Charlotte, North Carolina was a terrible city to be an outsider in. If one did not have an inherent sense of the inner workings of the cities substructure, one would almost immediately find oneself horribly and hopelessly lost. Such was the case with one Harrison Blanch, a college student from upstate New York who happened to moonlight as an underling in a rather noteworthy crime family from the Empire State. While being a peon for an illegal crime monarchy wasn’t exactly the most glamorous thing in the world, the delivery jobs they gave him were easy and they kept him in beer money. Of course, they were only easy if they didn’t involve getting lost downtown for two hours in a third rate metropolis that had delusions of grandeur.

By the grace of whatever God there may be, Harrison stumbled across the address he was looking for by shear force of luck. Thanking the divine coincidences that be, Harrison shot out of his car and through the nearest door to the warehouse he could get to. Hours of aimless driving had not improved his manners any. Besides that, he really had to pee.

The warehouse was almost completely barren, abandoned for some time it seemed. This didn’t surprise Harrison any as most business deals were made in the places that had been deemed unfit for legitimate enterprise these days. Harrison walked about aimlessly looking from one patch of empty concrete to another for either a someone or a restroom. After a few minutes of this he called out “Anyone here? Can we hurry this up cause I’m tired as hell and I really gotta take a leak? Hello?”

Behind him, in a voice that sounded entirely too much like a sledgehammer being dragged across rain soaked pavement, came the reply.

“Hi. Name’s Zeke. You must be my Four o’clock. Your late, city boy.”

Harrison turned around and saw a grotesque figure of a man sitting behind him. How had he not seen him before? The man was bald, pale, smoking a cigarette, and every exposed inch of flesh was covered in horrendous scars of every shape and size. Wrapped around the scars was a designer suit complete with a solid green tie.

“Anyway, shall we get this over with? Places and people, you know?” the man chuckled back at him with cold blue eyes and a stark white grin of teeth.

“Yeah I got the stuf-“

“Don’t scream college boy. Its rather undignified.”

“Wha-“

With an untold horror, Harrison watched as the man called Zeke produced a switchblade from his coat pocket, flicked it open, and stuck it fully through to the hilt into his other wrist. Harrison screamed.

The man’s eyes clouded over with a blood red haze and he let out a shriek of laughter as he leapt upon Harrison’s chest. A hail of fists with the force of boulders in an avalanche rained down upon the boy’s midsection. When every inch of his torso was crying out with an unspeakable pain, Harrison barely had the strength to whimper as he watched the man put the horribly scarred hands on his head.

With an effort most would only use to crumple a piece of paper, Ezekiel Marks turned Harrison Blanch’s head into little more than a wet pile of meat on a cold stone backdrop. Zeke stood up and lit a new cigarette. He had to call the mafia boss and tell him that New York’s finest wouldn’t get any more info out of this little frat boy. As the adrenaline surged its way through the last of his veins, Zeke briefly wondered if there was anything more than killing stoolies for the mob in store for him. Something a bit more thrilling and rewarding, perhaps?

Speaking of rewards, the boy’s car was still outside with it’s glorious cargo. It was going to be a fun night….

[NedWTH]

Three days later, Zeke woke up in concrete cell with a steel bar door.

"Ugh. What a headache....." Zeke groggily rose from the floor and realised that he was not wearing the wonderful suit he had been. Instead, there was only an orange jumpsuit in its place.
"Excuse me," he said to an officer on the other side of the cell door.
"Oh god!" She exclaimed. "Your awake."
"Where am I?" He asked.
"Charlotte Metro Police Holding," The officer replied. "A lot of people have a lot of questions to ask you. You might want to call your attourney if you have one."
"Now why would I want to do that?"
"There was a kid with a crushed head lying next to your bloodsoaked body when we found you two days ago. Blood tests confirm the blood on you body to be both his and yours. In yours we also found massive amounts of methampethimine and risidual amounts of cocaine and PCP. Your in a lot of s***. Call a lawyer."
Zeke smiled. It had been a good night if he didn't remeber the boys in blue showing up. "Where's my suit?"
"What?"
"Give me my suit, and I will explain everything."
"No can do. Suits locked up as evidence."
"In that case...." Zeke walked over to the nearest wall of the cell and slammed his forehead into it as hard as he could. A rush of disorienting pain gave way to empowerment and clairity. His eyes burned red and he turned back to face the shocked officer.
Bending the bars open and stepping into the hall, Zeke was on her in an instant, snapping her neck noisily.
Other officers saw what had happend. Some ran to raise the alarms, others ran to stop him.
Zeke grabbed the dead womans sidearm and shot himself in the foot. More pain, more power. He raced down the hall, smashing one man's face with his fist, ripping anothers arm clean from its socket and forcing it down the throat of a third. Withen two minutes, ten men lay dead in the hall, each more greusome than the last.
Alarms rang out. Pandemonium raced through the building. Zeke waited and noticed that one of the dead officers had a pack of cigarettes sticking out of his pants pocket. Grabbing one, dissapointed that it wasn't menthol, and lighting it up, Zeke waited for the calvery to arrive. When they did, he put the smoke out on his tounge and screamed with laughter.

This was fun.

[NedWTH]

That night on the news, they said that thirty officers and fifty seven bystanders lay dead in the morgue with double that critically injured in the hospital.

No one knew what became of the killer, whom the news said must have been on amazing amounts of stimulants such as PCP to pull off the attack, but everyone remembered what he looked eyes. Everyone remembers the bloodred eyes.

Zeke never did get his suit back.

[NedWTH]

The phone hadn't rang in since the scene at the police station. Apparently, laying low had its disadvantages.

Zeke was busying himself thumbing through the local paper he had aquired a few days ago....aquired along with the house, the food, and the dead family of four stinking up the bedrooms. Good thing the couch was comfortable. And, for now at least, the cable was free. The TV hummed along in the background...Zeke wasn't really paying attention.

Something was going on in the world, something Zeke hadn't noticed or had noticed but was too hazed out to remember. There were strange little stories popping up all over the place...Philly, Chicago, Miami, San Diego....seemed the world was falling apart and there was little to no explination for why. To Zeke, a humble psychopathic mountain boy, everything looked too disconnected to be actually disconnected. He had seen this kind of thing before, but it had never looked this big.

It looked like a cover up. Cover ups were dangerous, busy, violent...maybe he needed to be a part of it. maybe he needed to get in touch with these people...could be fun, at least to find them.

Maybe...he should take out a personal add.

[NedWTH]

The following appeared in every major newspaper in america, in the job listings section of classified adds, on Thursday morning, Oct. 25:

"I know your reading, and this crap costs money, so I'll get right to it. I have some exceptional abilities that I neither can nor want to explain. I've seen stories around the country indicating that I am not alone but there are those who would like me to believe I am. To those, I'd like to help, but first I gotta see what your made of. Tomorrow, I'm going to do something atrocious. Come to sweep me under the rug, you'll have a friend. Ignore me, suffer. It's incredibly simple, it's incredibly easy, it's incredibly going to happen in Greensboro. See ya then, lover. Oh, and if there are any out there with above-average senses of justice who happen to be in the neighborhood on Friday, why do drop on by. I'd love shake your hands....Toodles.

-Ezekiel Marks"

[NedWTH]

Zeke had always had an affinity for explosions. They were big, exciting, and usually more than a couple of people had bad days after they happend.

"A little more tape and.....viola!" he whispered to himself in the dark.

Giggling a little at how easy it had been to get in, he moved on to his next destination around the corner. Every single stress point had to be hit....which meant a lot of work on his part and a lot of staying up late. Hence, setting everything up the night before the night before. There wasn't much worry of discovery. He had done a few of these kinds of things before, sometimes setting everything up weeks in advance, and had never been caught yet.

"Speaking of getting caught....." Zeke mumbled as he let himself slump against the nearest painted cinder block wall. Why was he so hell bent on finding these people? They obviously weren't that good, if he had been able to find so much information on them. They must be relatively new to this whole thing....much less organized than what he thought to begin with. Still, it was a big task to deal with, and he loved a challange. Plus....why shouldn't what he was be kept secret? Who the hell else deserved to know?

Ah well. Little late now for doubt. He started taping down the next explosive and giggled again at how easy this was. Security was too lazy around here.

But then again, what kind of sick bastard would do anything horrible to an elementary school?

[Ikin]

OOC: Can Zeke be knocked out by tranquilizers?

Meanwhile, WFG and Luke Walden were sitting in a black, unmarked car in Charlotte, heading for Greensboro. WFG had a newpaper in his lap, He took out the classified adds and threw the section to Luke. "Read the top one."
Luke read it with a sense of dread on in his eyes. "What's he going to do?"
"He's planting a bomb at an elementary school. Yes, elementary," WFG added, seeing Luke's expression of fear.
The car drove on in silence until they reached Greensboro. It stopped on a busy street, and Luke, WFG, and another man stepped out. He handed Luke a wire, who tucked it into his ear and threaded it down his shirt. "This is for you to talk with us. Obviously, you will be able to hear us without it."
"OK, you know the plan, right?" asked WFG.
"Yeah."
"We'll be hiding near you, in case Ezekiel attacks," The third man added. "Which is likely."
Together, all three walked into the school. WFG and the other man near the bleachers, while Luke pretended to aimlessly wander around. Finally, he located Zeke slumped against a wall.
"Found him," Luke whispered into the earpiece.
"Alright, good. Approach him," WFG replied without speaking into the earpiece.
"Hi," Luke said to Zeke.

[NedWTH]

OOC: I was wondering when someone would pick up on that! Yes, absolutely! I had always envisioned it as more of a nullifying effect if he's "hyped up", but when he's normal they knock him out just like everyone else.

BIC:
His eyes popped open and seemed to regard the new figure as if he were some strange new toy. Wordlessly and slowly he rose, back pressed firmly against the wall the whole way up. As he stood he lit a new cigarette and inhaled it deeply for a few moments before launching off the wall and into a calm speech not three inches from his company's face.

"Some people say I'm crazy. Some people say I'm bad. I'm not though, you know? I'm just a normal guy who is really good at doing bad things." A few seconds passed and just as Luke started to speak, Zeke started laughing. "Just kidding with you friend, just a joke. Name's Zeke. Pleasure, I'm sure. Now then, who in hell's spitoon are you?"

[Ikin]

"I'm Luke. I saw your ad in the paper. I can do something!"

[NedWTH]

"That a fact? What might that be? Exceptionally gifted at being a buzzkill?" Zeke laughed again and turned down the hall, his back to Luke.
"Let me tell you what I do. I hurt people for a price. The bigger the price, the bigger the hurt. It's a fun job. This -" he motioned around indistictly with his hand " -was a hobby. An art project if you will. The fires, the bodies, the wounded community at large, it was to be a wonderful representation of innocence destroyed and the frail security we live our lives in. I was even going to break into interpretive dance. It would have been beautiful." A small not of saddness crept into the man's voice.

"Ah well, best laid plans and all." He snapped back around grinning ear to ear but never changing the calm tone of his voice. "Tell me, boy, what is it you do and why are you doing it here?"