Until today, I had never realized how sheltered my life was. Yes, I had known there were individuals out there that were less fortunate than myself, but I had never been exposed to them before. Even the less fortunate at school didn't seem to be that bad off from my point of view, but I was viewing them in the school environment. Today, I saw the environment they must've lived in and I was shocked that people could live that way. I still have a hard time imagining what their life must've been like growing up living like dogs sometimes. Makes my problems seem a little insignificant, as I'm sure any one of them would love to trade places with me, as I have the power to do something about my life. The power of my mind.

Jarred glanced around the street he was standing on. The houses that lined the street were rundown, yet people were expected to live in them. These houses were not well maintained, with broken fences surrounding them & graffiti all over the place. Every house had bars on the windows, the inhabitants inside prisoners to the environment they lived in.

Jarred pulled out a piece of paper in his black trenchcoat & read it again. It was a file on a Jordan Jackson, who had originated in this neighborhood. He looked down at the home address on the paper and the address on the house in front of him. It was a perfect match.

He doubted Jarred was actually here. The PCU would no doubt have this house under surveillance and have probably checked here a few times. Pulling up the collar on his trenchcoat, he continued to walk down the street, barely noticing the bum sitting under the tree that he almost tripped over, who had a bottle in a paper bag.

Jarred continued down the street, glancing at the corner grocery market that had a gang of African Americans standing in front of it. They glanced over at Jarred as he approached, their eyes making it clear he was not welcome here. Jarred wasn't fazed by it, as he wasn't here to make friends.

He walked up to the gang, mostly teenagers, around the ages of 14 through 16. One of the boys stepped in front on Jarred while the rest surrounded him. He glanced at all of them through his black sunglasses, sizing each one up for combat worthiness. They looked experienced at fighting in street brawls, some of them having the scars to prove it, but they were all undisciplined. He was not concerned.

He looked at the one in front of him. His eyes were glaring at Jarred, trying to penetrate into Jarred's eyes, to put the fear of God into Jarred's soul. If he could see Jarred's eyes, he would know what true fear was.

"Perhaps you boys could be of help to me?" Jarred asked.

The teenagers looked at each other and gave big hearty laughs. Jarred was not deterred.

"I'm looking for someone. Perhaps you can help me find him?" Jarred continued.

The one in front of him, who had to be close to 6'3" looked down on Jarred and gave an amused grin.

"And who would that be?" he asked.

"Jordan Jackson," responded Jarred.

At the sound of the name, the boys tensed up, some of them reaching into their pockets, probably preparing to draw knives. Bingo, thought Jarred. It looks like he found some of Jordan's friends.

"We don't take well to people asking questions about one of our brothers. Why don't you move along now."

Jarred knew they had no intention of letting him go. They were trying to lure him into a false sense of security before they attacked him from…he sidestepped as one of the guys behind him jabbed his knife at Jarred. Jarred spun around and punched the boy who had attacked him, sending him to the ground. He glanced at the other five guys, all of them had knives drawn.

"You were warned," the big guy said as he stepped forward.

Jarred reached into his trenchcoat and quickly drew his two katanas. He quickly slipped into a defensive posture, his swords at ready before him.

"If you guys want to bring pointy things into this, I'm game," Jarred calmly stated, with a big smile across his face that would unnerve even the toughest of fighters.

The young toughs looked at each other, the bravado they had a moment ago fading away into oblivion. They started backing away.

"It's cool. We were only kidding. See," the big guy said, as he laid his knife down on the ground.

Jarred eyed them carefully as he brought his swords down to his side, leaving himself deceptively open. He looked at the big guy as he rose again, hands still up where Jarred could see them. He took casual glances at the other, as they had just dropped their knives to the ground. He turned his attention back to the big guy, as he seemed to be the leader.

"Now, where can I find Jordan Jackson?" Jarred repeated calmly, yet coldly.

The big guy looked at each of his comrades before responding.

"I don't know, man. He hasn't been around here in months," the big guy said nervously.

Jarred eyed him carefully, also taking note of the movement in the corner of his eye. One of the gang members was going for another weapon. He wasn't concern.

"Sherry," he said.

From out of the grocery market, Sherry Stonewall darted out at inhuman speeds, and quickly grabbed the guy who was making a move. She lifted him up with one hand as his gun fell to the ground below him. Before any of the gang members could reach for it, the gun flew up off the ground towards the grocery market and into the hands of Terry Stonewall, who was now standing in the doorway. The gang members looked at each other; not believing the sight their eyes had just exposed them to.

"Now, one last time, where is Jordan Jackson?" Jarred asked again in the same tone he asked the last two times.

The big guy, who was trying to back away, shook his head.

"I don't know, I swear."

Jarred looked over at Terry, who was focused on the young man. She looked over at Jarred and nodded her head.

"Ok, I believe you. Have you heard from Jordan recently?"

The big guy shook his head. Jarred glanced over at Terry who was also shaking her head. Jarred turned back to the big guy and raised his sword.

"I don't believe you," he said in a cold, stern voice.

Jarred's sword was aimed at the big guy's throat, the blade was steady in Jarred's hands. The big guy stopped in his tracks as Jarred approached him. A couple of the gang members started to creep towards Jarred, but Sherry whistled at them. The stopped and looked at her as she shook her head with a condescending smile on her face.

"Now, I'm starting to get annoyed by having to ask questions multiple times," Jarred continued, "so I'm going to ask one more time. Have you heard from Jordan recently?"

The big guy nodded his head.

"Good," Jarred calmly continued. "What did he tell you?"

The big guy gulped before he responded.

"He…needs supplies and asked me to deliver them to a certain location at a certain time."

Jarred glances over at Terry who nodded her head. Jarred turned back to the big guy.

"When and where?"

The big guy hesitated for a moment, before Jarred brought his sword tip a bit closer.

"Up at the Hollywood sign around 9pm tonight," he blurted out real fast.

Jarred glanced again over at Terry who nodded.

"You've been a very good boy," Jarred calmly spoke. "Sorry to have to do this."

The big guy's eyes widen in terror as Jarred poised himself to launch an attack. Terry glanced over at the big guy and focused her will on him, lashing out with her mental strength. The big guy grabbed his head in pain and collapsed. The other gang members looked at each other confused. Terry knocked each one out one by one with her mental powers. Jarred relaxed his body as the last one fell.

"Well done, you two," Jarred commented.

Terry smiled at the compliment, blushing slightly while Sherry shrugged and started carrying the gang members over to a nearby-parked van. There, she tied them up and laid them down in the back.

"That should keep them out of the way and prevent them from warning Jordan," Jarred said.

Jarred looked around to see who had witnessed their little display. His eyes fell on the bum he had almost tripped over a few minutes ago. He seemed to be cringing in fear of Jarred, as if his life was in danger. Jarred stared at him for a few moments, letting him know that he could be back to take care of him as well. Yet, something seemed off about him, but Jarred couldn't place it. Must be the paranoia talking to him. He then turned back to the sisters.

"We need to prepare for tonight," Jarred stated as he got into the driver's seat.

The girls nodded and got in as well. Jarred started up the van and drove off.

The bum looked up from under his hat as the van drove away. He took down the make and the license plate number as it pulled away. It looked to be an old black GMC van with California license plates 1QRT208. Not standard for a PCU operation, as they tend to have the latest model of cars. But, from his point of view, it was a strange operation.

For one, Silent Death was operating without the backup of Silent Death squad. From what he had remembered, Silent Death Squad operated in numbers, yet he hadn't spotted any of the others around. In some sense, that gave him some relief, as he knew if they were in the area in force, he wouldn't stand a chance. But then, they weren't here to find him. They were looking for Jordan.

Alan casually got up, putting a stumble in his step as he moved down the street. Just make it look natural. How would a drunken bum move? This question went through his mind as he moved, mindful of the performance he was giving. He had no idea if he had an audience of if anyone was paying attention, but it was important that he maintain the part. If not, he could end up back where he was, as he knew too much to be allowed to remain free.

The most puzzling part of the operation was Silent Death's backup. They looked to be two teenaged girls. Paranormal girls, but girls none the less. Perhaps it was a training exercise in information extraction. Then why did they take the gang members with them? So they couldn't warn their target, Jordan. But, who were the girls?

One of them was simple; the one who had lifted one of the guys with one hand. While it had surprised him, he knew there was Paranormals out there with enhanced strength. In fact, it was a common ability to find manifested in a Paranormal. It was the other girl who intrigued him more. She seemed to have telepathic abilities, but she was without the glow. He had never heard of a telepath being without the glow, yet he knew she was one. After all, he used to be one, back before he lost the glow. That was when he was transferred into Military Ops.

But, that was a different life. He had a new one now. He was glad he decided to keep tabs of Jordan as best he can. He may be more trouble than he was worth at times, but the PCU was interested in him and he needed to find him and warn him. And fast.

As he started getting out of the neighborhood, Alan took the stumble out of his step and started walking at a brisk pace. How was he going to find Jordan on short notice? He knew at once where he had to go to find that answer. He noticed a taxi cab coming down the street. He was in a hurry and needed transportation. It may be risky, but it had been awhile so he may get away with it once.

Alan stepped out into the street and waved his hand as he yelled, "Taxi!"

Michael Lightstone confidently and briskly walked through the PCU Los Angeles Headquarters. His command. After so long being a grunt, he was finally given a command. It was his first step to greatness. Someday he would control the organization, getting it away from the old has-beens, like his father. The very thought of his father made him sick. So much power in his father that was wasted. He got a good deal of his father's strength, yet he was not on the same power level. Yet, what he lacked in power, he made up in training and brutality. He clenched his fist at the thought of that.

He also took satisfaction that everyone cleared out of his way at his approach. They were all afraid of him, as well they should be. He was a big man, close to 6'5" tall, but was very muscular. He wore his blond hair short, in tradition military style. His icy blue eyes could freeze the soul of any they looked at and often did. He knew he was better, better than most Paranormals even. The person that could beat him was rare, though unfortunately, they did exist. But, all will fall before him eventually.

He made his way through the base to a door marked Jeremy Leeson. He was probably here as he was always here whenever he wasn't on duty. And while Jeremy wasn't on duty, Michael was about to put him on duty. An opportunity has arisen that was too good to pass up. If he could pull this off, his star would rise in the organization and show he was better than some of the individuals above him. Because, where they failed, he would succeed.

Michael keyed open the door and it opened to reveal a big room. Jeremy had requested big quarters in the new base so he would have room to pursue his projects. Michael was personally against it, as he thought these pursuits of Jeremy were pointless, but he was overruled by Omega. He would make sure that Jeremy paid for going over his head one day, but he needed Jeremy's power right now.

Jeremy's room was pretty spacious. He had a bed in one corner, but most of the room was an art studio with various paintings all over the place in various stages of progress. The walls in the room were white with black scorch marks covering the far wall of the room. Over in the opposite corner, a auburn haired man whose hair was disheveled and wearing a white paint splattered jacket over a PCU uniform, stood looking over a painting of a golden Californian sunset over the Pacific horizon. He looked up at Michael and his face went sour from the sight.

"I need you for a hunt," Michael stated with a sadistic smile on his face.

Jeremy's face soured further at that.

"I must obey," he stated glumly, as he started to take off the white jacket.

Michael walked over to the painting Jeremy was working on and looked it over. Michael didn't know the first thing about art, but he did love pushing his second in command's buttons. He didn't ask for Jeremy, he was stuck with him. Probably somebody's sick idea of a joke. He just does his job and then goes to his quarters to paint. It's how he got the nickname "Painter". But, he didn't love his work and didn't strive to improve himself or to be the best. Like Michael did. The only thing he had going for him was his powers, and Jeremy acted like it’s a curse rather than the blessing it was. But, he knew how to get Jeremy's motor running, like he needed it now.

Michael rolled his hand into a fist and punched a hole into the painting Jeremy was working on. Jeremy turned around and saw the hole in his painting, his face going ashen at the sight of it. Michael turned and walked back over to the door and opened it, ignoring the rage building in Jeremy's face. He turned back to Jeremy at the door.

"Be ready to move out in an hour," he said before walking out, the door closing behind him.

Jeremy dropped to his knees before the now ruined painting, tears welling in his eyes. He sat there for a minute sobbing, his hands starting to gain a golden glow to them. He then let out a giant scream of rage as he shot his hand towards the far wall. A golden lance of energy shot out of his arm shooting through the air, hitting the far wall and adding another black scorch mark to the wall.

Outside the door, Michael stood by for a moment, until he heard the scream coming from Jeremy's room. He then smiled and walked away, preparing for the mission he had ahead.