Target: Roman DeLay

[Brad]

<Brad> It's a cold night in Salem. The sky is clear, but the waning moon doesn't shed a great deal of light on the city, especially not its darker corners. But it's calm, with no bitter wind blowing in. The ripples and waves of Salem harbor lap gently and quietly, almost serenely. Three men stand on one of the many wharfs dotting the growing metropolis' wharf district. What was once just a tourist destination for New Englanders interested in the witch trials has become a bustling port of commerce, and one private wharf sees much more commerce than most. The three men, identical to the last detail, including the finely tailored clothes and overcoat each is wearing, watch the low tide. The man in the center lights a cigarette, the brief glow of a Zippo illuminating his face before darkness overtakes it once more. He takes a long drag, and exhales smoke into the cold, calm night air. Tucked under one arm appears to be a flat, metal and plastic rectangle. A laptop of some kind, by the look of it. He doesn't look particularly pleased to be standing out in the cold. It's too early for this kind of shit, but circumstances demand action. He looks over at the two identical men flanking him for a moment, and then back at the sea. He's waiting for something, or someone.

<Brad> It's not much long after when a fourth party joins the trio on the waterfront. He's a man of middling height, no taller than 5'9", with shaggy looking black hair that comes down just over his ears. It's one of those stylishly deliberate cuts, the haircut-that-looks-like-you-need-a-haircut-but-it's-supposed-to sort of things. He can't be older than 25, and his odd, completely black eyes scan his surroundings as he walks toward the trio at a liesurely pace. He casts a glance at the two men flanking the one smoking the cigarette, and frowns slightly. "You know it creeps me the fuck out when you do this." The man in the middle, as well as his triplets, turn to look at the arrival. He quickly tosses his cigarette into the bay, and narrows his eyes. "Watch it, Dusk." He says, his voice taking a tone of authoritative menace. He's not a particularly imposing man himself, standing just an inch taller than the man that addressed him and his copies. He looks back out to sea, as the two men flanking him step towards him. There's a brief shimmering as they merge back into his form, and he lets out a weird sort of hissing noise. "Faggy name. What happened to Blackout? I liked Blackout. Dusk sounds like a girl's name." Riot lights up another cigarette, and takes a drag. Dusk ignores the commentary about his chosen nomenclature, and crosses his arms over his chest. "Somebody copyrighted Blackout. None of us want that fuckin' lawsuit."

<Brad> "Christ." Riot says, biting back a laugh at that comment. He shakes his head, and takes another drag off his cigarette. He flicks some ash away from the tip, and then moves over to his car, a nice, nondescript black sedan. He sets the laptop on the flat of the trunk, and then looks back over to Dusk. "You're really scared of a fuckin' lawsuit." The other man shrugs, and starts talking again. "Blitz likes the n-" Riot cuts him off, practically storming over to the black-haired youth, and jabs him in the chest with his finger. "Is Blitz your fuckin' boss now? I don't give a shit what Blitz likes. You work for me, asshole. You understand that? Do you fucking understand that? Yes or no." Dusk is taken aback, and looks suitably admonished by the tirade. "Yes."He mumbles, hands tucked in the pockets of the black leather jacket he wears. "That's right. So don't fucking tell me what Blitz does or doesn't like, because I absolutely do not give a FUCK." Riot straightens up again, and calms down. "Where the fuck is Cottonmouth? I told him to meet us here half a goddamn hour ago." As if in answer to that question, there's a rattling from one of the nearby drainage grates.

<Brad> The thing that quite literally slithers from that grate is barely human. It's a mutant, to be sure, but it's far more serpent than man. It squeezes its way out of the grate, black, scaly skin shining in the dim light. The body contorts in ways that are just wrong for any kind of human form, but sure enough it has a torso, arms, legs, as well as a long neck, and a powerful looking tail. "Got... dissstracted." The creature hisses at his boss, yellow eyes almost glowing as they reflect the dim light around them. "Well don't fucking get disssstracted, you fucking moron." Riot says, before tossing his cigarette butt away. "If I tell you to be here, I fucking expect you to be here. Undersssssssstood?" His tone takes on a mocking cadence of the snake-man's hissing speech. It seems to anger the creature, and it hisses viciously. "Oh don't you get pissy with me, reptile. You don't want me telling the boss you can't be fuckin' bothered to show up on time." Reptilian eyes narrow, and that rasping, hissing voice comes forth again. "I'm not... afraid.. of him." At that, Riot laughs. He shakes his head and moves over to the back of his car, to open up the laptop he'd left resting there. "That's because you're an idiot. You remember Leatherneck?"

<Brad> Cottonmouth thinks for a moment, trying to remember. "He wasss... the alligator guy? I thought he... moved to Florida." Riot laughs again as he boots up the laptop, and beckons Dusk over. Dusk seems uneasy around the snake man, and doesn't need to be asked twice to move away from him. "Moved to fuckin' Florida. That's hilarious." Riot shakes his head again and looks over at Cottonmouth. "He got greedy. Started pulling some jobs on his own, without telling the boss. You know what happened to him?" The snakeman shakes his head dumbly. "No..." Riot continues. "Boss called him in. Fucker thought he was invincible, you know? Them big jaws and shit, chomp chomp. Boss talked to him for a little while, didn't like what he was hearing. Then he ripped those big jaws clear off his fuckin' head. I saw it, I was there. I heard he keeps them in his fucking den like a goddamn trophy. So think about THAT the next time you fuckin' get disssstracted."

<Brad> "Now both of you shut up, and pay the fuck attention." Riot says sharply as the laptop finishes the boot sequence. He manipulates the touchpad for a moment, bringing up a few images, displayed alongside eachother. "We didn't get a whole lot from the security cams, most of it's blurry as shit, or too degraded to make out. Even Glitch can't sift through that much garbage. But we got this." An image is enhanced on the screen, one of the trio that had robbed the bank, the Junkie. It's a clear image of his face, even though the other two have their backs to the camera. "Either of you know this walking corpse?" Riot asks of the two underlings he's brought with him for this. "Never ssseen him." Cottonmouth replies, forked tongue darting out for a moment. Dusk shakes his head. "Nope." Riot nods, and turns back to the computer, blowing the image up fullscreen. He holds the laptop out so both Cottonmouth and Dusk can get a good, long look at his face. "Well then, let's start kicking over some fucking rocks, and seeing what slime crawls out, shall we?"

<Brad> "Glitch, what can you tell me about this piece of shit?" Riot directs, oddly enough, toward the laptop itself. The image on the screen starts go fuzzy, and then breaks up completely into a cascade of green garbage text. The garbage text swirls on screen, and then slowly coalesces into a facsimile of a human face. "NNNNaaaME is RrrrR0Oman D3D3D3DeLay. MMmmM444Ansfield." Riot nods, and looks back at the small crew he's gathered. He'd chosen these two, because despite their overall lack of intelligence, they're two of his more discreet accomplices. "You heard the man. We're going to find some fucker named Roman DeLay, and we're going to bring him in." He takes a moment to cast a pointed look at Cottonmouth. "Alive." Dusk and Cottonmouth both nod, and give each other a brief look. It's barely a moment later that the snake dives back for one of the drainage grates, squeezing and contorting his way through. Dusk looks back at Riot for a moment, and then simply melts down into the darkness. They had a target, and they'll bring him in, come hell or high water. Once the two of them are gone, Riot dials out on his cell phone. "Yes." Comes the voice on the other end. "We're on it. May take some time, but we've got a fix on one of these guys." "Good. I would very much like to have a chat with him." "Oh, don't worry, boss. We'll make sure he's nice and talkative for you." "Good." The line goes dead, and Riot returns the phone to his pocket. He closes his eyes, and his body starts to separate and split once more. Soon, ten identical duplicates of himself stand before him.

<Brad> "You heard the man. Find Roman DeLay. Bring him back." The duplicates nod in a kind of hive-mind agreement, and then start dispersing. Riot, the original anyway, gets back in his car, and starts the engine. "It is way too early for this bullshit." He says, before driving off.