by Chewy Walrus
Las Vegas, Nevada:
A skinny man in a trench coat and fedora leaned in a back alley of the Vegas Strip. It was always difficult to find a dark spot in a city so well lit with neon lights, but this time he managed. The man reached a gloved hand into his trench coat pocket, pulling out a sheet of paper. On the paper were sketches of two men as described by several eyewitnesses in a bar in Los Angeles. They were the two escaped metas by the names of Edulcore Cicciotto and Turner... just Turner.
The man glanced across the street at the place where, just seconds before, a gray Honda Civic with California plates crashed into the fountain outside the Mirage Hotel and Casino.
It was the same make and model that had been reported mere seconds ago over the police radio, which the shadowy figure had been listening in on through his earpiece.
And that could only mean one thing: Cicciotto and his friend weren't too far away. Taking a turn around a corner, the man adjusted his dark sunglasses, ensuring that his eyes were covered. Cramming his hands into his pockets, he walked in the opposite direction of the car accident.
He hadn't walked far when he saw a man in a trench coat meeting Turner's description walking away with a hooker at his side. A few feet away, Cicciotto cautiously approached another hooker in a leopard print shirt and pink pleather pants. Pressing a button on his earpiece, the man whispered toward his chest, "You got 'em?"
"Affirmative," a voice whispered into his ear through his earpiece.
"You take Turner, I'll tail Cicciotto," the man whispered through the microphone on his lapel.
"Roger that," the man's earpiece echoed. "Maintain radio silence. 2B02 out."
Agent 2B10 nodded as the quiet static began to hiss in his ear. He casually sidestepped into another dark alley and waited for the former Eurostar to make his move.