Whyte retained his dark baseball cap. The faded Lakers jersey he wore left his pale; tattooed arms exposed. He didn't mind showing skin every now and then. Besides, he doubted the cops knew what he looked like without sleeves, seeing as they didn't book him when they arrested him the last month. In his hand was a white bag filled with consumables.

He definitely didn't get the money to buy them from Boss. No, the gang leader was as tightfisted as ever. Speaking of which, Whyte touched the back pocket of his skinny jeans and felt the roll of cash safely tucked away. At least, Buddy left him with some good advice before he went ahead to get himself killed.

What was the kid thinking trying to rape a girl in broad daylight?

He just started his investigation; sneaking to the scene of the crime and all, when an aged man with a bushy moustache; wearing a coat and hat, told all the officers on ground to return to the precinct. What puzzled Whyte was the presence of a grown agent of The COSP there. He thought all the agents were dead or something.

Hours later, the police department put out a statement, explaining that Buddy attempted to rape some 16-year-old girl in an alley but he was stopped by a passerby. He was killed in the scuffle though. So, with the testimony of the 16-year-old girl and the passerby; coupled with the M. E's report, the investigation was closed.

And so was Whyte's investigation...

He had not seen Boss since the police statement but he bet the man was seething. The icy-eyed man subtly wondered if the gang leader was hoping for Buddy to have been offed by a rival gang. Because the way he declared war with zero evidence was pretty sus.

Whyte shook his head to clear his thoughts. They weren't his... The leader of the rival gang's words was getting to him.

Earlier that day; as he made his way to the Red Bishop's base, he was picked up by an adequate looking car. In it was the leader of Nexus; one of the more prominent gangs in Crestville City, and a man he had met once; at the McKing Power plant two months ago. hat kept his thinning white hair hidden, he had two dark spots on his sunken cheeks, and his wrinkled skin had lost most of its once vibrant color.

"Santa Claus, you look well for a wanted man," the old leader said to him with humor in his voice. Whyte knew that as far high as hierarchy in the lower district went, the man was at the summit. Not wanting to make an enemy of the powerful man, he indulged him.

"A man's gotta survive, right?" he replied with a dry smile. The old man chuckled and slapped his lap lightly. The car wasn't driving anywhere. It was just parked by the side of the street.

"Definitely, Santa. Definitely... You know, I took a liking to you from the time we met at the power plant. You've got guts... and spirit. I like a guy with guts and spirit."

Whyte said nothing. He waited patiently for the upheld gang leader to continue.

"When your face was all over the news, I tried to find you, you know? Had my boys search high'n'low for ya. They came up empty; obviously," the old man paused to catch his breath. Seemed like his lungs weren't what they used to be if the wheezing sound it made meant anything. It didn't help that he had a lit cigar in his grasp. The smoke was starting to choke up the vehicle but Whyte didn't complain.

"Now, imagine my surprise when I heard you were rolling with Boss and the Red Bishop. I mean, I know Boss is opportunistic but I didn't think you were that desperate," the leader of Nexus took a long drag of his big brown cigar, giving Whyte time to reply.

"Like I said, a man's gotta survive, right?"

The old man nodded in understanding and said, "Damn straight. But isn't it about time you stop surviving and start living?"

The formerly white-haired man sighed in relief internally. The old man finally got to the point. He was getting tired of kissing the powerful man's ass.

"With all due respect, I'm pretty comfortable where I am, at the moment, sir," Whyte replied with a small respectful smile. The old man smoked his cigar and made an "o" with his mouth, puffing smoke out slowly.

"Boy, you don't know what comfort is, do ya? Look... I know Boss, knew him since he was a whiny kid in diapers. And I know he ain't got a shred of leadership in his being." Whyte couldn't help but agree with the man. He didn't visibly show it, of course. "When you demanded to see me and the other capó, I knew then and there you a smart kid. So, why are you still with Boss?"

"I'm not a deserter," he replied calmly, "Boss gave me a place in his ranks when I had nothing and I won't abandon him."

The leader of Nexus stared at him intently. His dark eyes showed years and years of cunning wisdom and experience. He would have been a force to be reckoned with in his prime.

"You're loyal...That's beautiful. But, is Boss loyal to you?"

That question took Whyte aback. He had done so well, keeping his face devoid of any emotion; until then. Confusion was evident in his eyes.

"What?" he asked.

"Is Boss loyal to you? It's a simple question, really," the wizened leader leaned slowly against the door and stared out the window.

"Well... yeah."

"Really?"

"Of course."

The old man chuckled and nodded his head. "Then show me your tattoo rank." He noticed the hesitation of Whyte and he pressed on, "If you can show me your tattoo rank, I'll let you go right here, right now."

Whyte shook his head and chuckled lowly. It seemed the old man did his homework. It also looked like the old man really wanted him, but he had to play his cards right, so he wouldn't seem desperate.

"Okay... so, maybe you're right, Boss isn't loyal to me. Why should I join Nexus?" He needed to know if the old man only wanted him because of the plan he pitched to him at the power plant months ago.

"If you're worried I only want you because of that plan of yours, then you're mistaken. I want you because you're a real asset, and Nexus could use a guy like you. I could use a guy like you."

As Whyte pondered on the words of the old man, he tapped the man in the driver's seat. Said man handed the leader of Nexus an envelope. He reached into it and removed five rolls of cash.

He gave them to Whyte with a small smile and said, "You look malnourished. Go buy yourself something good to eat. And don't think I'm bribing you or anything. Just think about what I said, okay? I'll be in touch..."

Which was why he had a white bag filled with foodstuff. Come to think of it, the bag was starting to feel lighter. He looked down and chuckled to himself. The white bag had been swapped for another one. This one was filled with paper and hair.

The lower district was never safe, was it?

The pale man scanned the area and caught a redhead girl darting into a corner, a white bag in hand; his white bag. With a sigh, he dropped the garbage and followed the girl.

«»

Eliot tapped his steering wheel and moved his body occasionally to the electronic beats blaring loudly from the speakers of his car. He slowly stepped on the brakes as the traffic light turned red. He looked at the three kids in the backseat through his rearview mirror.

The two who followed him to the morgue looked a bit pale and shaken; in the case of the boy, paler. Guess it wasn't the same as seeing dead bodies in the movies. Who knew?

"So uh, Agent Eliot?" It was the other boy; the blond one with loads of cash in his name.

"I told you, call me Eliot, Magnus," he replied in a smooth voice. He bit his bottom lip and jerked his head forward continually, as the drop arrived in the song.

"Okay... Eliot, since you're our teacher and all, when do you plan on teaching us melee combat and all that?"

He snickered before he burst out laughing. Horns blared behind them because the traffic lights were green. "Yeah, yeah," he yelled at the vehicles behind his, before he stepped on the accelerator. "Now, what were you saying about melee combat?"

Out of the three kids, he didn't expect Milton to be the one to ask about learning how to fight. His money was on the dark-haired boy from the second he saw him.

"When are you gonna teach us? We are training to be agents, aren't we?"

He couldn't exactly blame the kid for asking. It was probably what The COSP Academy taught them. They were too inclined on physical combat and utilization of abilities. Pointless stuff...

"Oh, uh, sure, yeah. I'll teach you guys melee combat. In fact, I'll teach you immediately we get back, if Troy and Juliet can brief me on Vera," the dark-blond agent looked at them through the rearview mirror and saw them snap out of their daze.

"Brief you?" the redhead girl asked. "What do you mean?"

He sighed and rolled his eyes in a bored manner. Why were kids so slow nowadays? "I mean, tell me what you picked up on Vera. What you noticed about her... something," he explained.

Agent Eliot watched the two kids go deep in thought, trying to answer his question. When they looked up, he saw in their eyes that they had nothing. He groaned like an angsty teenager and said, "Really? You didn't notice how she reeked of cats? How she kept ogling me every chance she got?"

"So? What does that have to do with anything?" the dark-haired boy asked, slightly irritated. He noticed the other two kids nodding in agreement.

Wow... he had a lot of reprogramming to do on the kids.

"It has everything to do with anything, dumdum. It shows that she's single. Probably hasn't gotten laid in months too. When you musketeers master the art of reading people in mere seconds, you'll understand that there are things way stronger than melee combat," the dark-blond man explained, his eyes on the road ahead.

"Okay...so tomorrow?"

Eliot rose an eyebrow and his fists tightened slightly around the steering wheel. "They're under your protection, El. You can't kill them," he muttered to himself over and over till he calmed down. He took a deep breath and he reverted back to his lax, cool self.

"How many languages do you kids speak?" he asked them, catching them by surprise. Before any of them could reply, he asked another question, "Can any of you sign? Do you know Morse code? Do you have your own spy network? Do you know how to make a spy network?"

Getting nothing as a response, he clicked his tongue and stepped on the brakes. All he could see ahead of him was a line of cars on the highway.

One thing he definitely didn't miss, was rush hour...

«»

Dr. Roberts sat patiently and waited for the bald man before her; separated by a coffee table, to say something. They had been like that for some time and it was all because she asked him a question.

"What are you afraid of?"

The man had called her the day before, asking to schedule a session with her. She had met him in his office at Crestville Junior High two months back and he seemed troubled. So, she dropped her card with him, and she was glad he called. His situation had worsened since then.

His eyes were shifty; his palms were sweaty. Sometimes, they'd start shaking violently. She bet if she checked his pulse, it'd be racing. His posture was hunched over and his eyes were to the ground. Any good therapist would see all these tells from a mile away.

"Hypothetically... if you knew something bad about a presumed good person, and this person would go to any lengths, to make sure this bad thing doesn't get out... what would you do?" he finally asked, clasping his hands together firmly.

Dr. Roberts leaned into her chair and kept her hands on the armrest. Was that it? Was he afraid for his life? Was he in mortal danger?
Since they just started their sessions, she didn't want to seem too invasive and intense. So, she answered his hypothetical question.

"I'd go to the cops."

The bald principal shook his head and added, "You can't go to the cops."

The psychotherapist rose an eyebrow at this. The question was starting to seem shady. "Principal Matthews, is your life in danger?"

The man looked away and refused to answer her. He suddenly found the coffee table interesting to stare at.

"Okay, hypothetically speaking, is your life in danger?" she reframed the question. Maybe he'd answer because of that. He definitely wasn't as tough as Michael. Slowly, he nodded his bald head, his hands still clasped together.

"Then, I think you know that your life is very important. If this person hasn't killed anyone, I think you should just let it go," she advised.

"But what if someone else's life is in danger? I can't let that person get hurt. God wouldn't forgive me if I turned a blind eye!" the bald principal retorted immediately. Dr. Roberts noticed how fiery he got when he stated that someone else was involved. Principal Matthews had a complex.

"Principal Matthews... what you just exhibited is savior's complex. You feel the need to save anyone you believe to be in danger, not caring about your own life," she explained in a calm tone. She was going to be in her office for a while...