Scarface nodded along with Jero's words. He was again dividing his attention between the team and his earpiece. He jutted a finger for one of the men in suits to write down whatever Dave reported to her from the boy's mind. He dealed microscopic nods to those who left, and relaxed his straitened stance as more of them disappeared. The boy was still mumbling out words of confusion and fear, flailing at Dave's initial attempt until held still by a orcish bodyguard. His mind was about the same, chaotic, panicked, it contained no memories of the presiding events. His most recent one went thusly, complete with visuals. 'I'm walking home from school. All of a sudden my head starts hurting, and my body freezes up. I start going down a alley that was on the way home. I'm alone and my feet are moving without me controlling them. I try using my font to force it away, it doesn't work. My head hurts even more now, everything starts twisting and melding together. I'm at the end of the alley and this, thing, fades in. I know it's called The Unseen King, but I've never heard of it. I feel like screaming, like vomiting, but I can't open my mouth. I know The King has big plans for me to serve as it's messenger, but it hasn't said anything. My body goes numb as The King reaches out to me, then I black out.' No other memories were of note, just the simple life of psychic fronted fifteen year old. The kid kept asking Dave if he was done from the second his started to the molment he finished, then continued to request he be sent home. Eventually he was taken away protesting by the police. The traffic was terrible. The internet became inundated with fear and anger. More popular stances were that it was stupid to have such a open event, all gifted were freaks and failures in some way, or the fact the team couldn't defend their own boss proved they couldn't defend a entire city. The last of these was the most supported, and while there was a inkling of optimism for the group it was stifled quickly. The moon trailed the sky, shops were broken into, a arson attempt was prevented, and the sun rose. The Center of Defense was tall and glassy, it was attached to the police station, shifting from fancy to functional in a few feet. The team were told to take the back entrance of the station, it was closer to their facilities anyway. The door was locked for whatever reason, and only after the last member arrived would it creek open. It was Mark the human janitor, he was a asshole. "Didn't go as well as you thought it was gonna huh?" He squeeked while peering from the cracked open door, widely smirking. He was grabbed from the head and shoved away, "Fuck off Mark." Scarface flung the door open, he was clearly sleep deprived and his suit was a mess. "Mrm, the Vi- fuck. The Minister will see you in his office." The police office was a mess. Littered with papers and half-sleeping officers. Those lucid enough met the team with either jealous glares or nods of varying respect. The Center was a bit nicer, the suits put more effort into looking awake and pretending they didn't hate the team for sleeping when they could not. Valk's office had been cleared, it was now just gutted and blank with a desk in the middle. A newspaper hid whoever was in his big chair, a thin tower of smoke and pale, boney fingers all that could be seen of them. The headline read: 'DEATH OF VALK MORIDIN MARKS ROCKY START FOR GIFTED TEAM.' A unfamiliar voice crawled up from the paper, "Rocky doesn't begin to cover it. That was fucking horrendous."