The Captain grabs you in the best approximation of a wrestling hold he can do on someone as strong as you are. As he does so, he whispers to you.

"Alright, now gimme a tap on the chin. Don't put any heat on it; I'll sell it. I don't need ya to take my head off or nuthin. Just needs to look good. And could you smile a little? Yer s'posed to be the hero guy!"

I toss him down dismissively."You cannot be serious, do you know who may have actually needed my help while I was wasting time with you!?"

The Captain looks incredibly confused. He meekly raises his hands in surrender. Seeing their leader give up, his thugs all drop their empty tommy guns and give up as well.

One of the ones closest to you seems like he is unsure of what to do, and an older goon next to him grabs him by his suspended and pulls him down. As he does, you hear him say, "What are you fussin' for? Maestro's payin' us either way!"

"Wait, what did you say? What does he have to do with any of this?.." I begin approaching the one who mentioned the name.
This message was last edited by the player at 00:38, Sun 10 Mar 2019.

Captain Kaboom steps between you and the thugs.

"No one has anything to do with this but me. I'm a mastermind. Planned the whole thing."

He slows you only for a second, but it's enough time that the police are already hand cuffing him and his goons and starting to lead them away.

"Hold on, I still have questions for these thugs" I get between the police and the cars

The Chicago PD didn't really get a feel for your powers, so they mostly have your looks to go off of. Meaning they're a little underwhelmed.

One of the lead officers tries to shove you out of the way, to which you of course do not budge. He stands stunned for a moment.

The next officer behind him shoulders his way to the front.

"Hey! Stringbean! Get outta the way! Ain't you got a little league game to call strikes for or something'?"

"I am actually a superhero and I have reason to believe these men are involved with an extremely dangerous man" I lift the back end of one the cars to validate my credentials

An audible gasp goes through the officers. Those that's weapons were bolstered draw them, and the ones already armed turn their shotguns towards you.

"T-Take your hand offa that car and get outta our way or I'm takin' you in for obstruction o' justice. Don't make me have to tell ya again."

I gently put the car down. "Listen officer I just need to ask one of those thugs a couple of questions. Also please don't shoot; the ricochet could be dangerous for you guys"

The tension dissipates a bit, but you notice the shotgun cops linger around you as the others move their prisoners towards their squad cars.

"Listen, Mickey Rooney, you wanna talk to these mooks, either get yourself a badge, or takenit up with their lawyers, but I'm workin' here."

And with that they move around you with the prisoners.

"If they were talking about the person I think they were, then this city is facing trouble. But sure let the guy who can lift a car not help." I slowly begin to take off

As you fly off you hear them muttering amongst themselves.

"Geezus. Anaheim gets a smokin' blond with nine mile legs. How'd we end up with Peter Pan dressed as an Umpire?"

They load up Kaboom and his cronies and fly away. Leaving you hovering above the city.

What do you do?

What are the jail cells like in this city? Do they have barred windows for example?

Chicago is a big city with a big crime problem and more than a couple jail houses. You've been in a couple that had windows, but you've also been in a couple that were little better than basements with iron doors. The trick is going to be which one they take them to, a detail you currently don't know.

One that you do know though, is which penthouse Cicero Sivero lives in. You've been there many times, and seen many horrible things there you can only hope to one day lose to senility.

With the limited knowledge I have I am going to scout out Sivero's penthouse.

You swoop up on Sivero's penthouse in a few minutes. The top floor looks like a garden with a little court yard and several bronze statues of musicians playing classical instruments. In the back of the garden are two large glass double doors that lead into the actual apartment itself. They are standing wide open, curtains wafting in the breeze.

With an almost reckless curiosity I land and go through the open doors.

You move into the familiar office. There are more expansive looking statues of musicians in here, but these are limestone rather than bronze, as they don't have to worry about the Out door weather. There are four leather couches facing each other in the center of the room, each loaded with two or three triggermen a piece. All of whom are looking you over, but none of whom move.

In the back center of the room is a large ornate wooden desk that you have cleaned many times. Sitting at it is Civero Sivero himself. A thin man, and shorter than you'd think he is, but with tired piercing eyes that remind you more of a predator than a person. His black and grey speckled hair is slicked back against his head and he's smoking a cigarette with a long filter. His maroon suit and Italian leather shoes might seem effeminate on another man, but Sivero's cold malevolence ememinates any hint of that criticism from your mind.

Sivero is flanked by two men sitting on high bar stools. The one on his right is a boy you recognize. His name was Paulo Marittzi. He was a runner for Sivero back when you were his assistant, just as you had once been. He sits clutching a ledger book to his chest as if it was an infant.

On Sivero's right though is a man you don't recognize. He's a big fella, easily 6'5 and probably 300 pounds of solid steak eating muscle. Though his eyes are covered by a thin domino mask and his hair by a green newsboy cap, there's a certain boyish mischievousness about his face that unsettled you. He's one of those people that looks like he's smiling even when he isn't, like he's knows a great mean joke about you that was said just before you came in the room. From the neck down he's wearing a green and white striped sweater and a pair of plum covered overalls. On the pocket of the overalls is a patch that looks like the letter S with arrows going out from it in every direction. He's tall enough that as he sits on the stool one foot is resting flat on the floor, and his arms are crossed across his enormous chest. You also note that he's the only man in the room not wearing a gun.

Sivero greets you with a look that could chill shrimp, and a twitch in the left of his cheek that was the closest he ever came to a smile. He takes a long drag off his cigarette and speaks. His voice is low with just a hint of a civilian accent, and an edge that confuses the polite way he speaks. You always got the impression he spoke quietly intentionally, as if daring someone to ask him to repeat himself. Of course, no one ever would.

"Harold. It's been minute. I've missed you. I wondered when my prodigal son was gonna make the trip home."

"Well with whatever stunt you had in mind tonight I'm sure you were expecting me pretty soon" I slowly walk forward while keeping some distance from any of them.

"My stunt went exactly how it was intended to, despite what my men tell me was a poor performance on your part."

He sits back in his chair and crosses his legs, while knocking the ash off the end of his cigarette into the floor. Paulo climbs down off his stool and sweeps into a little dust pan with a small wooden brush.

"There's super folk crawlin' outta the woodwork, Harold. The say there's a seven foot knight that shoots lightnin' livin' in Hawaii now. And we've all seen the glowin' space man the Feds are sendin' after normal, red blooded Americans. The days of masked fellas like Green Gunman and Vinnie Valkyrie are behind us. Sooner or later, Chicago is gonna get one. And it might not be a person with a bump like you. It might be another space man, with who knows what kinda agenda he's workin' on. You don't wanna work for me? You wanna flit around doin' good like Robin Hood? That's fine. But I'm gonna make sure America's FAVORITE super guy, is the one that I know. All you gotta do is wait for me to toss you up pop flies like that Kaboom schmuck, and smile for the papers when you knock 'me out."

"I know you too well to believe you're some sort of altruist now. This is just some ploy to have me under your thumb again and that isn't going to happen." I turn and begin to leave

He knocks the spent cigarette out of his filter. He draws a brass cigarette case from his desk and opens it up.

"That's the thing about you, Harold. You're clever, but you ain't never been smart. You think thafter all I have you, after everything you've seen, that you get to decide the terms of our relationship?"

He takes the ledger out of Paulo's hands and tosses it across the room so it lands at the back of your heels.

"You ain't never been out from under my thumb Harold. I just ain't been pressin' down."

I reluctantly start taking a look at the ledger. What am I seeing?

The front of the ledger book has "Harold Lionel Hendricks" written on it in fountain pen.

Inside is an almost impossibly detailed list of every crime you either witnessed or commited while in the employ of Sivero, ranging from misdemeanors to felonies. Each is listed next a date and time, then a list of every one else who was there with you, and then a list of items of proof that connect you to the crime that Sivero has in his possession, each listed with a short serial number you assume connects to some filing system in a warehouse some where.

The one that catches your eye, the night you've tried so long to forget, is the night of your full initiation. The night Antoni Gunzaga died. And it says...he has the gun...