They make it back to Burstein's lab, only to find Jessica Jones waiting by the door. "May I help you?," Burstein asks. She turns and extends a hand.
"Hello, I'm Jessica Jones. I'm with the Pulse. I'm looking for a Noah Burstein."
"You've come to the right place," he tells her as he shakes her hand.
"Carl Lucas," he shakes her hand next and her eyes brighten.
"Oh God, I know you," she exclaims, "I met you while you were on trial. The Willis Stryker incident, right?"
"Yeah, I remember you now. The student trying to get an interview."
"And were you sent to Seagate Prison? You just got off on parole?"
"Yeah, why?"
"That's a helluva a coincidence. You're the reason why I'm here. I need you guys to tel me everything about the experiment conducted at Seagate."
They move into the lab where they sit down.
"... and the nanos seem to have gifted Mr. Lucas with a great deal of strength and durability," Burstein explains.
"And what can you tell me about this John McIver?"
"He runs a manufacturing company. He has been finding my research for the past five years but I honestly don't see much of him."
"Carl, the last time I spoke to you, I mentioned that the gangs in New York might have connections with some major corporations. For instance, many members of the Rivals have been sent to Seagate Prison which is owned by Syndyne. Were you aware of this?"
"Yeah, a few of `em were in the joint. Tried to kill me, actually."
"And do you know whether or not John McIver might be involved with Seagate?"
"He started the rehabilitation program but otherwise, I haven't heard anything."
"Thank you for your time, gentlemen," Jessica hands them business cards, "I'll probably check in again if I have further questions but feel free to call me if you learn anything."
"This is just your business number," Lucas says with a smirk.
"That's right," she says with a slight glare, "Just my business number."
"Sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. It's just..."
"Five years in prison is a long time," she reassures him, "Don't worry about it," with that, she begins to leave.
"Wait a second."
"Yeah?"
"When I met you, I acted like a punk, didn't I?"
"Little bit," she smiles and closes the door behind her.
That night, a bank sits quietly on a street corner. The customers and workers are long gone and the sidewalk itself is empty. For New York, it's extremely quiet. That is, until an explosion rips out the inside of the bank, blasting a large hole through the wall. Flames roar inside and rubble is scattered across the street. A group of men in black masks exit the hole in the wall with duffel bags filled with money. They quickly scramble into a black van and pull away.
Seconds later, a squad car rounds the corner, sirens and lights blaring. The driver of the van looks out his rearview mirror and sees the car getting closer. "We got company!," he shouts to the men in the back. One of them opens the back-hatch and another quickly hands him a stick of dynamite. The fuse is lit and the stick is dropped onto the street where the police officer tries his best to dart out of the way just as it rolls beside his cruiser. It explodes, sending the cop car sideways into the air where it crashes on top of a parked car. The back-hatch of the van closes with the men roaring with laughter; it flies down the street, undisturbed.
The next day, the Chief of Police issues a press conference outside his precinct. "Last night, a group of unidentified men robbed a bank in upper Manhatten using explosives which they also brandished against an officer in his squad car. Luckily, that officer survived the crash but rest assured, these men will be found. They were possibly responsible for a similar bank robbery last month involving explosives and heavy artillery. So far, we are unaware of how they acquired these weapons or the identity of these suspects. The New York police department is placing a bounty for their apprehension. Three thousand dollars will be paid for each of these men alive. We are looking for some brave men or women to help us out. We're sure they're out there."