The squeak of the marker on the white board was grating, to say the least, but Luke was trying anything to make some connections. He would write a name, or an address, or a crime or a completely unrelated event somewhere, then step back and try to connect it to something else. He knew there was something big going on out there…

If only he could put his finger on it.

“Working some sort of powers-for-sale thing, or what?”

He turned at the voice. The stocky frame of Pops McGinty filled the door. He was holding a bottle of ale, which he promptly passed over to Luke.

“Thanks, Pops.” Luke opened the bottle with practiced ease and took a long drink. He turned back to the whiteboard.

“The past couple of weeks I’ve been getting closer to something—someone, maybe—and I can’t put the pieces together.”

Pops walked over to stand beside the younger man and gazed at the board with a dubious expression.

“Looks like a lot of gibberish to me,” he said after a moment.

Luke smirked. “Well, yeah. My handwriting leaves a little something to be desired.”

Turning to survey the small room the older man sighed and shook his head. On nearly every wall were pictures, mug shots, maps, photos, newspaper clippings and small sticky notes of various colors. Oh, the sticky notes! They covered everything, including the computer, the desk, and even the work bench.

He sighed again and divided his attention between his young partner and the white board, currently covered in barely-legible writing in three different colors.

“So, what’s the problem?”

“It’s this case.” Luke took another drink and leaned back against the workbench. He gestured with his beer as he spoke. Pops noticed he was still wearing his Nemesis costume. The mask lay on the chair, the staff propped up against the wall. “There’s a dealer out there, but instead of meth or crank or ice they’re dealing powers. Every time I think I get close to the operation it springs up somewhere else. They’re working the drug angle and the gene-tech angle, for sure, and now I think they’re branching into cybernetics.”

“Cyber--? What the hell’s that?”

“Like robotics,” Luke chuckled. “They hardwire the tools and weapons right into you, like a robot or something.”

“Like that Terminator movie?”

“Yeah,” Luke laughed. “Sorta like that.”

Pops managed to look disgusted and doubtful at the same time. “Why the hell would someone want to do that to themselves? Body piercing and tattoos ain’t enough anymore they gotta go and plug a toaster into their gut?”

Luke didn’t smile this time. He took the question seriously. “Why would someone want to take a drug that gives them all this power but burns them out in days or weeks and is ten times more addicting than anything else out there? Why would someone consent to having their DNA messed with just so they can be strong, or fly, or shoot beams from their eyes, knowing it shaves years—decades, maybe—off their life expectancy?” He shrugged. “I have no idea.”

“And you’re trying to nail these guys?”

The young man nodded. “I just can’t get close enough before they move on or do something different.”

“Which ones?”

Luke’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean, which ones? The ones peddling all this crap to the streets!”

“But which ones are you having the most problems with?” He said insistently.

Luke blinked, thoroughly confused. “Which…ones?”

Pops nodded and gestured at the board. “You got three groups here.”

Luke turned his puzzled gaze to the board. “Three…?”

Pops’ eyes rolled upward. “Oh, for the love of…” He reached out and grabbed the pen from Luke’s hand. In short order he’d circled a handful of names, dates and locations in black, then the same in red and once more in green. A few of the notes were left unmarked. The old man stepped back.

“That stuff I just circled in black, that’s your drug guy, right? And the green circles are the cyber-whatsit guy, and the red is the gene guy.” He waved a hand dismissively. “That other stuff I can’t even read. You can figure it out later. The point is, you got three operations going, not one operation with three angles.” He capped the pen and tossed it Luke, who caught it by reflex. He was still studying the board when Pops left, his beer forgotten in his hand.

“Three…?”