Welcome to The Edge (Dart)

Zero pulled up to the Nightclub, with considerably less security than when he left. The sun was starting to rise as he sauntered into the nearly empty club, some patrons sitting at the bar. Zero went to join them, nodding at the bartender. Zero pulled out his phone and began to send a message, Yo, Hugh, meet me at The Edge. There's something I'd like to discuss. As he looked up, his vodka cran was already in front of him, he then spun the barstool around, leaning against the bar as he waited.

Short notice was the only notice Kris seemed to give. Pix had stared at the text for about a minute thinking up excuses. Excuses that Kris wouldn't see as lacking. But in the end decided his resources were best spent acquiescing to him on this occasion. He had to contribute at some point. Lately he'd taken to outsourcing some of his minor roles to the lower gang members, but under the strict implication that he would be auditing them.

He wouldn't be. He didn't have time for that. But the deterrent to do it properly was there.

Hugh closed his laptop screen on a due project he'd been failing to find references for, and grabbed his jacket. He was now at that age where he could drink, and often found himself doing so with his fellow students. Be that those at the college or those of the academy. But there was always that nagging doubt that he would betray himself in his cups, so he never partook if he wasn't socially obligated to. Pix entered the bar.

From his position by the door he could see Kris. Yet instead of going over he took out his phone again and typed a short text, Hey, Kris, meet me by the table next to the door. There's something you'd like to discuss. He slumped into the seat.

Zero rolled his eyes, grabbed his drink, and walked over to Pix. Pix had been getting more and more distant, not just from the Runners, but from Kris himself. Zero smelled of the fire from Nightmare burning and his clothes were drenched. Each step he took, his designer shoes made a loud schlop noise. "It's been a long night, but Nightmare is taken care of, and Tony isn't an issue anymore. But there were these Metas, kids but show a lot of potential. Also a big guy that controls fire. All suitable assets for our family. If you have time, I'd like you to look into them, I heard the name Jack." Zero sat down and looked around, it was more dead than usual, "Who was managing last night?"

Kris looked a little worse for wear. Hugh didn't ask. He'd much rather infer his compatriot's night. A whiff of smoke. That walk. This was an after action report.

They didn't even say hello anymore. More business than personal. Pix had forgotten that the Nightmare push was tonight. Yikes. He reminded himself the idea had been to try and incorporate the newcomers into their rent system. Assuming they weren't working under the auspices of a big player already. By the sounds of it - they were. Or they did something else rash.

On the other hand, a presence of metahumans always complicated the situation. The brief descriptors were shallow enough that Hugh grimaced and bit back a retort on how common 'Jack's were in Russia. Kris probably wasn't in the mood for it.

The mob boss asked him to take care of the info matter. If he had time... "Yeah. Can do. I'll... If Tony's decided to take a long walk off a short pier, his staff will be scrambling to find work. Maybe I can get security footage out of one of them. That's a start." He didn't think Nightmare would go under. Someone would pick it up. But it would have shaky days for a while. And someone would look to jump ship.

He glanced up from his revere at Kris' next question, "Erm. Chalmsley. The Brit." Chalmsley had an impeccable accent. Sounded very professional. He wasn't. A little too quick to cut people off. Too stingy with his pouring. Short with people, "Sounded like a quiet night to me. No problems."

Zero sighed and took a long drink before staring into the glass, "I slipped up, Hugh. Tony had some sort of... hallucinogenic in the vents. He released it to the crowds. I just busted in there, demanding money. Am I getting slow?" Zero looked at Hugh, his oldest friend, and shook his head. He looked over his club, it seemed as though it were as stagnant as his plans. "I'm sick of busting heads, I want a challenge. Like the Titans, ya know? This has gotten too easy, it's making me slip." He leaned back, "What do you think?"

Pix found Kristof's candidness disturbing, and a little discomforting. The war veteran had always been a very dependable leader. If he was admitting to fault it suggested it really bothered him. His friend answered the first query with a deflective, "You literally increase speed with energy, Kris." Knowing that wasn't what he was getting at.

When Kris had finished his thought Hugh had taken a salt shaker and was messing with the screw top, "Too easy? It's generally a good idea to reduce adversity in this industry, not court it." He looked up from what he was doing. If Kristof was getting twitchy, it was probably best not to bury the issue. "When HIVE bit off more than it could chew, it got dismantled. Systematically. I'm not saying we don't find you someone to butt heads with. I'd just rather we pick 'em wisely."

Two young lads entered the bar through the doorway behind Pix's seat. He didn't see that they were uniform in facial feature. Brothers, if not, identical twins. One had his hair slicked back and wore an open dress shirt. The other had his hair trimmed short and wore a cloak over one shoulder, covering half of an otherwise unassuming garb.

Pix turned to obverse them as he kept speaking, "Maybe the metas we're looking into will refuse us. Metas are a challenge. Right?"

The two young men went straight to the bar. The barman looked at them doubtfully and uttered the sacred words. Two IDs were presented which seemed to satisfy. The short-haired brother who carried himself a little straighter did the talking, "I see a white wine on the wall behind you I'm partial too. But first. We're here about a number."

"Number?"

He took a seat, "You know what number. Let's not bandy words. Where's the owner?" Meanwhile the second guy had turned around and noticed their table. His eyes scanned over Hugh and Kris.

Kris sighed, and smiled a little bit, "Of course, you're right. I'm just used to more at stake, I guess. It's an adjustment thing, I'm sure." Kris had watched the two walk in, identical features minus some minor differences, clothes and hair cuts. But bone structure, height, that was identical. He overheard them asking for a number. Wow. Couldn't just say "Hey, we wanna talk to Zero!" He looked at Pix and rolled his eyes, "If you two are here about Nightmare, trying to avenge your boss, it'd be best if you two walked right back out that door." He spun in his seat to look at them, resting a hand under his chin, the other was behind his back, holding his pistol.

It wasn't uncommon for thugs to try and stand up to him, "You killed my boss, friend, boyfriend, girlfriend." But it always played out the same, first they demanded to see Zero, then Zero gave them a warning, they'd laugh, yell, make a dramatic speech, pull a gun, and attempt to attack Zero. Normally over in about 3 seconds with the assailant or assailants on the ground, smoking hole between their eyes. He didn't see these twins in the club, but he was ready for anything.

There was no laugh, but it sure seemed the guy with the swept hair wanted to express one, the way his cheeks set and his lips quirked. Neither did he pull a gun from his pocket, but a nail file, which he twirled around an index finger. His duplicate shifted himself more slowly, regarding them at first with affrontment, and then understanding.

"We have no standing in this town with Nightmare, the Mariachi Corsairs, HIVE, Black Tom, or even the petty interests. We've just arrived. This is entirely cordial."

The guy with the nail file walked over to their table and shoved a fifth chair into a gap, choosing to sit upon it. He looked over his shoulder and waved the speaker who vacated his stool to join them. Upon closer inspection Pix could see plenty of nicks and bruises on the first. His clothes smelt a little past worn and his nails were dirty. The other lad who came to join them was more immaculately turned out, like he cared how he came across.

He paused at the empty seat next to Kris, "May I?"

"Sit down, Narc." Said the other carelessly, before he clicked his fingers and gestured to the barman to serve something. Hugh stood up abruptly, thinking this was a little too cosy for his civilian identity.

"No, please. Join us. You want I should send someone else out for these two?" Pix asked. The man behind the bar had taken down a bottle of wine but was waiting on Kris' decision to see if it was on the house or on their head.

Kristoff put the gun on back in his waistband, looking at the twins, he motioned them to sit at the table, and motioned to the bartender to bring the bottle. This was on the house, as long as the twins stayed in line. He looked at Pix, moving his head in a fashion to say sit back down, "I'll deal with this personally. They have been looking for me after all."

He turned his attention to the twins, pulling his right ankle on his left knee, sitting more relaxed, he didn't speak for a moment as he sized them up. The waiter walked over with 4 glasses, filling them about half way. Kris took one and took a sip, "Ah, Chateau Palmer, 2014. A personal favorite of mine. You know, in 2014 I was overseas, fighting in Syria. A taskforce of metas, met some good people during my time in that desert..."

He then chuckled, as if bringing him back from his daydream as the waiter gave the rest of their table their glasses. "Thank you, Charles. So what can we do for you... Huh, I've completely forgotten my manners, I'm Zero, this is my associate and long time friend, Hugh. And you are...?"

"I'm Narcissus." Said the cleanshaven one, "The 'c' is fricative." He shot a look at his twin as he said this who rolled his eyes.

"Marley. But you can call me President. It's much the same these days." Marley stashed his nail file in a sleeve and tipped his glass back. He grimaced at the taste and set it down, "Let's not beat around the bush. Tell him."

"We represent a group of men such as ourselves. A society. The Happily Ever After Club. I'm acting Secretary." Narcissus held his glass beneath his nose, "The President and I facilitate all relocations of the Club where required. We've deemed it necessary to base in Jump for the foreseeable future. Having taken scope of the land - we understand you are who we must pay dividends to."

Pix didn't like the implications of that, "Our ears weren't burning. Who's been talking?"

"You'd be surprised." He sampled the wine, swilling it in his mouth.

For new guys, it sure sounded like they knew a little too much about the area.

Zero leaned back, looking between the two, grinning to himself, "So you say you've done some recon about this area, you obviously know more about myself than Tony did." He finished his glass and set it down, the waiter immediately filling it back up. "What have you found out? I will waive your first month if there's anything of use." Zero was more interested in what they knew than flexing his muscle at them.

Narcissus looked to the other for input, and if Marley gave some Pix didn't catch it. Marley was tracing his finger over a scratched epitaph of a long gone diner. The more talkative twin took on a pensive look as he sorted through his facts.

"I see. Acte non verba... Hmm. Well you've an interest in upcoming trouble, no doubt. There is a corp named Hades, but has no Greek roots. They specialise in creative surgeries. The type that render a person beyond human. Demi-god like. I believe because it is absurd. One of their lost slaves is hiding in your city. Calls himself 'Wraith'. Should this corp realise it, they shall seek to reclaim him."

Pix was familiar with Hades Corp. An industry that seemed to straddle the line between corporate sponsored heroism and the straight up mercenary. Supposedly they were on the side of light. Not the type to use 'creative surgery' and 'slaves'.

"Then there's another corp, Herishaka, who have deep roots into the police ranks of your city. They ask for copies of every report that deals with cape activity. And they get them. It's related to their research and development division. You can see where that's going."

Pix knew what he wanted to ask, "Like Zero?"

"I get the impression they favour the more vulnerable."

Maybe 'Pix' was off their radar then. Hugh knew the level of awareness Narcissus was sharing suggested deep access. For a bit of recon, it seemed excessive. There was a chance these Clubbers could work for once of those organisations. And that they did have interest in Zero. Avenues to explore.

The sprite had a thought, "There's a big metahuman who controls fire currently in the city."

Narcissus paused, holding his glass under his chin before replying, "Orion Damon. Works for the local fire department. Criminal history." This was going to save Pix a night.

Kristoff motioned took a sip of his wine and lazily looked over the two of them, "And I suppose you're not giving away this information for free, what is it you hope to gain?"

He put the glass down, "If you want, I have a whole network of mercenaries. Thieves, assassins, body guards. I make a few calls, and whatever problem you have disappears."

He heard of both of these corps, who couldn't have. Herishaka had a massive Tower square in the middle of Jump, and Hades have been at a thorn in his side since they arrived. And it seems like they may be making moves. He began writing notes, what he knew about these corps, connecting it with what he was just told.

"We have an enemy or two." Narcissus confirmed, "We were hoping to mirage our operations under your blanket. So this works out. Do you know-"

"Perhaps," Marley spoke up, cutting through his Secretary, "It's best if we tell you what we're about first." He became more animated as he joined the conversation, a little bonhomie slipping into his expressions, "We're idealists, you see - dreamers to some. The Happily Ever After Club. That's not a name, that's a mission statement. Everyone who joins us is simply after a better end. A better hand than what they've been dealt. We're rewriting histories."

It sounded like vague and empty rhetoric, "That doesn't sound too rigorous a hiring practice. Anyone who's ever been dissatisfied."

"It's the most rigorous." Marley countered, "Few people know how their story ends. But everyone with us does. Because we were created. Look at the pair of us. Sharing the same genetic make-up and trying so desperately to stand out. Two different minds in identical bodies."

"Now who's beating around the bush?" Narcissus said.

"Careful." Marley's dire attention flashed to his twin for only a moment, "We're clones. All of us clones of a single miscreant. Who we escaped and are now in hiding from. But the kicker is none of us are him. Not in mind. We're all facsimiles. Of story book characters - if you can believe! And when you've got a book in hand saying how things must go, you've no stomach to listen to a selfish boy and his petty worldview. We exist to defy him."