Hotstreak chuckled as he raced down the street towards the juvenile detention center. Needless to say, he was pleased with himself. Of course, his visit at the comic book shop didn't go exactly as planned, but that was expected when it came to that bigheaded superhero. Static may not have cracked completely, but Hotstreak could tell that he had scratched the surface. The pyromaniac had noticed the slight hesitation in his voice, despite his attempt to sound tough, and the look of surprise that he had worn was indication enough that the superhero was unnerved. He couldn't wait to rub it in Ebon's face that he had shaken the supposedly unbreakable Static.
When he arrived at the center, he found the shadow man sitting on the couch, contemplating his next move on how to take down the alleged hero.
Ebon looked up to see none other than Hotstreak enter the room, and felt his anger rise. "What are you doing here?" he demanded. "Thought you ditched us."
Hotstreak folded his arms. "I did," he said coolly.
"Decided to come crawling back?" Ebon sneered. He had known that the hothead wouldn't be able to make it without him.
"Actually," Hotstreak said, smirking, "I had a little talk with Static."
The gang leader's eyes widened. "You talked with Static?"
"Yeah, as a matter of fact, I did," Hotstreak said proudly. "I paid him and his sidekick a visit at the comic shop the other day, and we had a conversation. I told him you already knew his secret identity."
Ebon narrowed his cold white eyes at the pyromaniac. "And why would you do that? I don't have a clue what his identity is, fool."
Hotstreak smiled smugly. "Exactly." It felt good to be the one having to explain things for once. "All we have to do is pretend like we know everything, and they'll leave us alone."
The shadow stroked his chin, processing what Hotstreak was saying. "You know what? I think you might be on to something," Ebon replied. "But there's just one problem—what happens when he expects us to exploit him somehow and we got nothing to show for it?"
The pyromaniac shrugged. He wasn't sure where Ebon was heading, but he wasn't going to admit it.
"If we never use his identity to our advantage, eventually he's gonna realize that we're just messing with him," Ebon continued. "And when he does, he'll go back to being the pain that he is."
Hotstreak was still confused. "But he won't bother us if he thinks we know their identities."
"We can only play charades for so long, Hotstreak," Ebon answered, growing annoyed with his comrade's incompetence. "Then we're actually gonna need something to persuade him."
"Like what?" The pyromaniac said, folding his arms impatiently.
"Someone he cares about. One of his running buddies," Ebon answered. "Talon hasn't found anyone yet, but maybe we can get them to come to us."
Hotstreak raised an eyebrow suspiciously. "What do you mean?"
"We can create a distraction. Big enough to draw out Static and Gear, and their pathetic friends."
Hotstreak snorted. "You think they have friends?" he said, clearly skeptical about the idea.
Ebon glared at his teammate. "I don't see what other choice we have, since we're getting nowhere with Hawkins and Foley. We nab one of their buddies and use them as bait to get Static and his sidekick to surrender. They have to have someone helping them out. Like Foley—he was helping Static for a short while."
"Yeah, but how are we gonna do that?" Hotstreak asked, rolling his eyes. Once again, the gang leader was concocting another crazy scheme that he wasn't being let in on.
If Ebon had a mouth, he would've been smiling. "You'll see."