Somewhere in Steel Canyon...

The men, although still dressed in their black Malta Group uniforms, were unmasked, their arms bound behind their backs, kneeling in a long line. Bruises, welts, burns, and blood still bore mute witness to the beating they had received at the hands of the heroes. The man in the black trenchcoat paced up down the line, stalking back and forth like a caged tiger.

"I hand them to you on a silver platter," he spat, his hands clenching and unclenching as though eager for a throat. "You had ample time to conceal yourselves among those stupid carnival folk. Extra weapons, extra ammunition, extra body armor. You were supposed to be more than a match for half those heroes. And you couldn't even take down ONE!?"

The man in the coat took the hat from his head and flung it across the room. He paused, composed himself with a deep breath, and ran a gloved hand over his head, smoothing down his hair. He walked up to one of the Malta Gunslingers and took a pistol from his shoulder-holster. He looked it over appraisingly.

"The Malta Group is supposed to be the best in Paragon City. The most feared. Most heroes panic at even the idea they're going against you or those 'Knives' ladies."

He looked up at the Gunslinger who did not meet his gaze. "But your reputation is undeserved," he said, pointing the pistol at the other man's head and pulling the trigger. With the air of a man walking up a shopping aisle, he moved up the line, putting a bullet into each man's head.

"Incompetent." *BANG* "Sloppy." *BANG* "Incapable." *BANG* "Stupid." *BANG* "Stupid, stupid, stupid!" He stopped when he realized he had emptied the clip and two remained. One of them let out an almost-imperceptible sigh of relief. "Looks like your lucky day, doesn't it?" the man with the gun sneered. "Maybe your fellows will see fit to come rescue you. Or you can work your way free of your bonds and report to your superiors."

He tossed the gun into a corner and whirled on a woman in the corner. "We're going," he barked at her. She nodded slowly, hefting her own, much more substantial gun. The two walked out of the Steel Canyon high-rise and crossed the street. A group of ruffians dressed in reds and browns waited there, many tossing fire-bombs from hand to hand. The man walked up to one wearing a demonic mask, pulled a wad of bills out of his pocket and slapped it into the Hellion's open hand. "Be thorough," the man in the coat told him.

With a shout and whooping, the Hellions descended on the building, rapidly setting it ablaze.

A young hero dressed in blues and whites landed nearby with the stagger-step of someone only recently taken to the air. He jogged up as the man in the coat pinned on his "David Nightstorm" Hero ID. "Hello, fellow hero!" the younger man announced, putting his fists to his hips. "Is it true we can earn badges by helping fight the fire?"

David turned to the hero, smiling at him in a friendly sort of way as his female companion moved around behind. "Yes, you can, young man!"

*BANG*

The hero slumped to the ground, a large hole burned through his skull. David laughed and dropped a business card marked with a simple silver crescent moon on the hero's body. "I'd see that you were buried with one, but that Vahzilok Reaper over there will probably just use you to upgrade his latest batch of zombies."

Styrm and the woman strolled up the street as she whistled tunelessly.

"Maybe I should have a word with Mr. Greene," he said to the woman. "We are running out of time."

She nodded. "The upgrades to your battle-suit are almost complete, my Lord," she said, picking off a stray Outcast.