The man got off the Greyhound bus with a heft and cough, his substantive girth meaning he had a rougher time sliding himself out the doors than any healthy man would have, not helped by the wool-coat he was wearing. Large jowls flapped as he shook his head, cheeks already growing rosy in the biting cold air. A leather suitcase swung against his thigh as he stumbled off.

Every time the man took this route, he always held an expression of exhaustion. Was it his job? He was dressed in expensive clothing and never seemed sore from a day's work, but a well-paying job didn't always mean a fulfilling one. Was it the commute? It was an hour bus ride from his Washington suite to the all-glass building he visited every other day and he might dislike or look down on his fellow passengers.

His weight wasn't even a question. Anyone who had to walk through life with such unnecessary baggage was bound to tire themselves eventually. But this was a different type of exhaustion. It was exhaustion born of despair. Perhaps his suite life was full of disappointment.

A lack of family. Loved ones. Acquaintances.

Whatever the case, it created a man who would take a short walk down a lonely street with his head held low and his shoulders even lower. He didn't even give a passing glance up as the bus moved on ahead of him.

And when the tongue snapped out around his neck, he didn't even bother to make a sound of surprise or dismay. Spawner admitted that was probably his doing, since his tongue was stronger than even the largest predatory constrictor and he could feel the popping of the man's spine as he reeled him up three stories.

Spawners tongue retracted back into his secondary chest cavity and his broad arms took hold of the corpse with surprising grace as he lowered it to the ground. All along his arms, his children emerged from flesh-cavities at specific locations, swarming down and into the corpse's body. It was a meaty treat for himself and his brood, one that he had stalked for the better part of three days.

Animals and homeless were perfectly fine as a food source, but the man had been simply too good to pass up upon seeing him. A boon for evolutionary resources.

"This is... not what I expected."

Spawner spun around, alien reflexes, instincts, and biology allowing him to go from a crouch over the meal to all fours faster than it took a man to blink. The meal in that span of time, still covered in his children, was thrown onto his back swiftly and efficiently as though it didn't weigh nearly three-hundred pounds. Mercury-filled hydraulic channels within his body and muscles harder than steel tensed, all twelve of his eyes taking in his surroundings in different layers of light. He pushed his olfactory organs to the limit and he could not only smell the blood of his meal, but also over a hundred thousand scents over a mile away, and if wanted to he could separate each thread in excruciating detail.

None of which touched the odd pair before him. A man and a younger woman.

They were objectively beautiful in a way that even the halves of Ned and Bradley could appreciate. Dark brown skin glistened like polished marble where the light of the moon hit them, and to his eyes the texture of their skin was supernaturally smooth. No 'real' pores or wrinkles or cuts. Crimson eyes of their own studied his form, almost seeming to glow in the darkness. They were dressed in a way his meal wished he could have matched, immaculate suits meant more for a champagne party than rooftop hopping near midnight. The elder man's small afro was well-groomed and the younger woman's hair was braided into cornrows that followed an arcing style over one half of her face, kept together with silver bands.

Everything about their appearance seemed as artificial as Spawner himself, but instead of combat and survival efficiency, it was for beauty. Were it not for the occasional flare of their nostrils, he would have assumed them to be machines pretending to be human.

How could I have missed you?

Spawner could see them, obviously enough with a dozen eyes around him, but he should have seen them before they were even close to his rooftop. Even now, facing them and studying their expressions, as his olfactory organs were pushed to their upmost limits, he couldn't catch their scent. He could detect hundreds of thousands of scents intermingling over a mile, and he could just as easily separate them into every individual person, animal, or plate of food in the city... but he couldn't smell anything around these two.

Powers.

It was only a matter of time, really. He had been surprised at first at the lack of cape news from what information he could gleam from stolen newspapers and victims before they were turned to nutrition for his body, but he had vague memories form his two halves of a world with lesser powers. More recent ones of worlds with barely any humans on them even.

But enough people meant powers would no doubt prosper, eventually, and his hunting grounds were prime areas for intrepid capes to investigate.

That was fine. He could deal. The children that lived within every cavity in his body stirred, ready to act, while the ones disassembling his meal began to retreat back to his body and their nest. Flesh, fat, and bone were used as resources for protein chains that formed the basic structures of his children, calcium and adaptive acid used to mold their shells while instincts and memories were imprinted in their DNA. It would be a fine balance of complex hunting patterns and simplistic orders, the images of the duo before him embedded in their primitive minds.

In the five second span between the duo's appearance and Spawner's reaction, the children within him numbered in fifty and would expand-

"Father-"

"I see it." The elder raised a hand, "Gentle, creature. Let's not be too hasty here. Too much blood shed would attract a lot more attention than I can prevent."

Spawner digested that and a few of his children as his muscled were reinforced. A hint to the elder's power and how it could have bypassed his senses.

The man went on, "I know you can understand me, just as I know your eyes are watching our every move. My daughter and I apologize for interrupting your meal, if that matters, and would like approach this conversation like civilized people. Or, alien, if that's what you are."

There was an undercurrent of humor, in how he phrased his appeal, but whether it was aimed at him Spawner couldn't say. The man's expression didn't change beyond the slight crinkle of his eyes, but that was as gone as soon as it appeared.

Civilized people. Ned nor Bradley could ever be described as 'civilized' he was pretty sure. It was the opposite that drove them to what they became, though this was based more on instinct rather than memories. Alien fit better, in a way. How the both of them embraced the monstrous identities of Crawler and Breed as a means to escape the pathetic lives of their human halves.

Spawner couldn't remember himself having a human half, but he stood like a man nonetheless. Three hundred pounds, all rippling muscle and weaponry, and the last of his meal was tucked away past his spine as he did so. He dwarfed the duo, man almost two feet shorter than he, but they showed no fear.

The young woman showed surprise and disgust, yes, but the man kept an affable expression on his face. For the moment, Spawner ignored the woman, even as her gaze spurned some core part of him. The man- the father, was the leader it seemed.

"Excellent!" He spoke, jovially. "I suppose introductions are in order then. I'm known around these parts as Mister Orrell, or Marcus to friends. This here-"

He put a hand on the young woman beside him. Spawner could see the displeasure cross her face in an instant before it vanished.

"-Is my pride and joy, Maricia. I have a thing for names that have similar sounds to them, you see. Nothing important, but one has to find fun in the strangest of ways when you're like us after all. Ah, not to presume what you are, dear... sir? I assume sir due to your impressive physique, but I would hate to further insult you if you were a Madame."

Spawner bristled at the implication, feeling claws that could tear through steel press against palm as he clenched his fists.

Maricia shot her parent a look, "Father please."

"Oh yes, right. Right, no need to make things complicated. My apologies..." He gave Spawner an inquisitive look, "Actually, can you speak?"

Spawner unhinged his jaw, feeling his tongue sliver along the roof of his mouth where four sets of inner teeth lay flat. "Yes", he croaked out. It was guttural, powerful, but also an awkward attempt. It had been so long since someone had asked him to speak normally or at all.

He focused, "Spawner." Better.

For the first time, Orrell's expression changed. No longer showing just polite interest, it was now an expression of wonder and excitement, a beautiful face made even younger than his own daughter's.

"Incredible," he spoke. The hand on his daughter's shoulder gripped tighter. "All my years, for so long, I'd thought I had seen everything. Ah, please, you must tell me everything about yourself. How long have you been on this planet? Or are you native to it? What are you? How are you?"

Has anyone ever asked me that?

Spawner was thrown off by the questions, left on the backfoot, and he felt supremely uncomfortable with the fixation placed on him. Ned would have crushed Orrell and Bradley would have fled. Both were prospective options... but Spawner still didn't know the powers of the two capes.

And they didn't seem to know what to make of him.

The part of both men that embraced the mythos of their powered identities seemed to focus on that idea. That there was something in that line of thinking that he could use. How and to what ends, he didn't know. Not yet.

Maricia spoke up, interrupting his train of thought, "Father, we have a schedule to keep. This... Spawner debacle has to be handled or the others will be contrite with us."

Spawner kept six eyes on the woman, the rest on her father. He didn't like her, a decision compounded by Ned and Bradley's own experience with women, and judging by the look she was giving him the feeling was mutual.

"Oh yes. Indeed." The excitement on his face was once more replaced with the faux composure. He rubbed his chin, "Indeed. Mister Spawner, sir, I do have some unfortunate news for you. Whether you know it or not, you've been intruding on several of our associates hunting grounds and rankled more than a few feathers in doing so."

Hunting grounds?

He thought of Jack. Of the Nine as a whole. Those memories were stronger than the rest, more vivid. Times when he felt powerful and feared.

"Yes it's been quite a tense week among our brethren," he droned on. "Especially since it took us far longer to find you than we anticipated! They were quite upset at our lack of results, but then again, we were attempting to hunt down a vampire! Ha! No way could we have expected to encounter something quite like yourself, being what you are."

Vampires? Spawner was beyond confused. Was that the theme they were going for? Hunting down civilians for sport using one of the oldest and most cliched monsters? Crimson, he recalled, had been similar but his was focused on a berserker warrior.

"Now normally, and I say this not as a threat but a fact of life, we'd have to scare you off. Or failing that... eliminate you."

Spawner stared. He had ninety children ready and rearing to be unleashed, if need be, but he didn't give the command. Not just yet. The talk of hunting and the man's attitude had brought Jack to his mind and that brought back snippets of conversations.

Jack had been one to always wait to make a dramatic statement, to observe the reactions, and then say something as a follow up or a switch up. He enjoyed his mind-games and while neither Ned nor Bradley held any love for the man or his theatrics, he never disappointed them.

Jack understood who he was and what he desired.

Orrell raised an eyebrow, "No response to that?"

Ah. Right.

"You would fail." Far smoother, but still intimidating.

Orrell laughed, not mockingly, but as though he heard the answer he wanted. His daughter scowled.

"Yes! Well, that would be intriguing to witness. However!" He held up one finger, as though Spawner was actually debating him instead of standing still with his brood. The daughter rolled her eyes. "I have come to an even better conclusion."

Maricia sighed, "Father-"

"Silence."

It was cold and it was sharp, but she held her tongue as her father stared her down. Spawner found great pleasure in watching it.

"We've had an ongoing issue," he continued on, as though the interaction hadn't happened. "A roaming clan of rebellious youngsters have taken roost in the southern part of our great city of Grantborne. Normally not an issue for us. Young ones always come and go, sometimes sufficiently chastised for their arrogance. Some don't go because they get a big head and then promptly lose it. Tragic really, but many refuse to learn.

"This kind is different though. I can't give too many details at the moment, but they've burrowed in like ticks and we are running ragged to prevent them from making too much noise. We assumed you were a member encroaching on territory but, well, obviously not."

"What do you want?" He was getting frustrated. The man wasn't quite like Jack in keeping his attention. Or like Ingenue.

Orrell smiled and the fangs he bared were razor sharp.

"I want to offer you a job."