A Scripta

Degenerate looked across his desk at the man seated before him.  He looked every inch the stereotypical Wild West gunfighter, even down to the holsters at his hips with two revolvers stuck in them.  He even took the nomenclature of a gunfighter, and called himself Bandit.  Degenerate could easily go into his mind to find out his real name, but when he had skirted him once, he found that it was a confusing mess and jumble of everything from what he had for dinner three years ago to the best way to skin cats.  It constantly shifted, and Degenerate could find no logic in it, so he left it alone.

However, the man could hold a basic conversation, which intrigued Degenerate like it did right now.  Bandit wore a mask in his presence, which didn't bother Degenerate.  Degenerate began, "My men have been telling me someone's been snooping around to try and find me."

"Yeah, I hear that.  Some hero in the D."

"I know who he is."  He passed over a sketch to Bandit.  It was a sketch of Jack Whitney because Degenerate had passed his image on to an excellent sketch artist who then reproduced this.  He passed another sketch to Bandit.  "And he was with him."

"Seen him," he pointed to Jack.  "Never seen him."  He pointed to the red-haired English kid who was with him.

"Pass this out to your men.  I want them to keep an eye out for them."

"And if they find them?"

"Do what you can to bring them to me.  Try and keep them alive, I like to use them.  This one uses mind control and telekinesis."

"People can't be normal," Bandit muttered, and took the two pictures.  "What about this guy?"

"I have no idea.  I don't know anything about him."  Degenerate frowned to himself - when he attempted to get into that man's head, he couldn't latch onto anything, it was like he wasn't even there. 

"Okay, we'll haunt the D."

"I'm working on getting more information about him right now."  He wondered about his contact with Arachnos, whether or not she had been found out.  She hadn't contacted him yet this week and he wondered.  Not worried.

Bandit got up.  "Do you care what condition he's in when we bring him to you?"

"He's a mutant, and I want his powers dampened.  You have ways of doing that, don't you?"

"Sure we do," he said with a smile.  "It'll cost you more."

Degenerate pulled out an envelope and slid it across the desk.  "Will that do?"

Bandit picked it up and quickly skimmed the money in the envelope.  He nodded, then turned on his heel and left the office.

Degenerate sat back.  If this man didn't work, there were always others.