Lure them in

The midday sun had just peaked when Giddeon put his car, a 1997 Oldsmobile Cutlass with half the front bumper seemingly torn off, in park along the side of the street with the vehicle coming to a rocking halt. In the passenger seat, a cardboard box with an assortment of papers alongside a leather-bound book and what appeared to be an urn made from a darkened wood. The urn's exterior was trimmed with a hypnotic pattern, spirals and twists that coiled around the container that was no bigger than a milk jug, but those patterns felt like they went on forever.
Opening the door, Giddeon stepped from the rust-brown car and looked around. He was not a large man, not by any stretch of the imagination. Sporting a meager frame and messy, brown hair that was pulled into a hasty bun, the man looked around the street. It was midday and the sidewalks were bustling with people despite being out of the way of many of Chicago's more popular areas.
This brought the first expression to Giddeons face, a set of furrowed brows with the slightest grimace. But it was necessary.
If he was to draw the attention of superheroes and otherworldly entities, he would need to create something that would catch their attention, something that he could use as a bait to allow him to watch, to study these...things that he harboured so much suspicion for, so much resentment.
Ducking back into his car, Giddeon retrieved the cardboard box and reached for the decorated urn within. But the moment his slender fingers touched the relic, he felt a pit in his stomach grow as an unmatched sense of dread shot through his body like a white-hot pain that screamed at every one of his senses to run, to drop the relic and flee the area.
But it was necessary.
This necessity is what drove Giddeon to grip the urn firmly and pull it from his car. With shakey hands and stuttered steps, the researcher darted into a nearby alleyway that was littered with trash, taking shelter behind an iron fire escape to look down at the urn.
With his free hand, a small voice recorder was produced from within his jacket and clicked on, the tape beginning to whirl within the machine.
"Addition to previous entry: I am currently in southern Chihago and with me, I have brought the item I have numbered 0346, the Umbral Urn. Henceforth referred to as 0346 or Urn.
"The item was one purchased by my father over a decade ago. It is believed to house the soul of an otherworldly entity, one that feeds on emotion...something humans have no shortage of. The creature, according to some reports, was bound to 0346 by a wandering magic man...That is all the detail I have on this. It is said that if the Urn is broken, then the creature will be set free. However through some experimentation, only a fragment of its essence can escape the urn if the lid is merely cracked open," Giddeon spoke in a tone that was often heard in boring lectures and dull speeches.
"This leads me to why I will be opening it. The essence from the Urn will cause a sense of dread to fill an area in around a 300 metre diameter dome if my calculations are correct. In doing so, I hope to draw the attention of any nearby...'superheroes.'" That last word dripped with venom as he clicked the recorder off, pocketing it.
A deep inhale was made before Giddeon's now-free hand moved to grip the lid of the urn, another shiver of dread danced through his body. But a quick swallow and spur of determination filled Giddeon to crack the Urn open.
Dread washed over the area, sending civilians fleeing and screaming. Even though it was but a moment, it was more than enough to cause panic in the area and Giddeon was no exception.
That pit in his stomach dropped more as he stagged over to a nearby dumpster and promptly regurgitated his lunch. But...he was steady.
Producing the recorder once more, Giddeons shakey voice spoke as he made his way to the car, taking a seat and discarding the urn in the cardboard box.
"Th...the urn has been opened briefly. Its effects were...more extreme than I thought...I...will be returning to my car. My...associate, Chimney Swift...should be here soon. Hopefully...Eyes in the sky will be useful in the arrival of a supe. Update to come."

An internet cafe-- yes, those still exist somehow-- was sat in Chicago, alight with the rapid mouse clicks of League players getting shat on and the clacking of nerds discussing their favorite supes over internet forums. Inside, a blonde-headed young man is sat at the computer, his bright blue glowing headset bearing a pair of glowing fins. He might have looked out of place-- but as one could notice, he was speaking into a camera...

"Yeah, haha, so I came to an internet cafe because my internet's gone and shat itself back home. It'll be up tomorrow I think-- but for now, I hope you guys don't mind the background noise."

He squints at the chat.

"What? He's playing -that- game? Wh-" He glances behind himself, then gasps with shock before facing the camera again. "Duuuude, in public?? I gotta adjust my seat really quick, this shit'll get me banned off--"

The whole mood suddenly changes as the lights flicker a tad in the cafe. People slump in their chairs and eyes are drawn towards the windows. Rowan follows this, as his brows knit and he looks around. Sobs were breaking out in the cafe and nerds who were previously discussing the beautiful bunny girl visiting the city were now pale and shaking in place. Then-- screams, it escalated as someone just scooped their monitor off the table and slammed it onto the floor before dashing out the glass window at the front of the shop.

The only people unaffected were the LoL players, who seemed to be in exactly the same emotional state as they were before. They continued to play, as one bitched about Yuumi's lack of counterplay.

"Uuhhm... Man, hopefully it's not another terrorist attack. No, y'all, I don't know. But I'm gonna pack up really quick-- stream's gonna continue like normal tomorrow."

It's then that he leaves the cafe and, from the trunk of his beater outside, grabs a sword embedded in its scabbard. He then slings it around his shoulder and paces down the sidewalk, where the few people left are curling up into balls and a dog is howling the saddest howl ever-- before he turns towards an alleyway near a rusty old car and sees...

Giddeon.

"Hey man, uh--"

He looks around.

"Do you know what's going on? Like-- I'm trying to play a game..."

Someone screeches past behind him, falls over, vomits, probably shits, and then keeps running.

"Cause this is some-- wild shit. And you're the only other person not throwing an absolute fit."

Seated in his Oldsmobile, Giddeon brought the recording device back up to his lips to begin speaking once more, that was when Rowan suddenly approached the rusted-out, beat-up car.

The blond's voice was muffled through the closed window of the car and Giddeon simply PEERED at him through the clear glass. There were a long few moments that passed before the short scientist cranked the window down about a quarter of the way, allowing them to speak freely to one another.

Giddeons stare pierced Rowan for another handful of long moments that felt like they dragged out for eternity before he finally spoke.

"That was the essence of a creature bound to the Umbral Urn. It causes widespread panic and feeds on fear...I released only a bit of it in hopes to see the response of the city's heroes." He explained in a casual tone, as if he didn't commit a literal terror attack.

Those eyes continued to scan over Rowan, looking him up and down and noticing the distinct LACK of trembling fear that should be running through any ordinary human.

"What are you?" He asked bluntly, his dark eyes narrowing as he reached for..something...in his car. His hands firmly clasping an item near his belt as he kept eyes locked on the stranger who had approached.

I hope Chim shows up soon, if this is a metahuman then I need something to level the playing field. The researcher thought to himself, his eyes refusing to leave the gamer.

The Aon Center had proven to be a radiant subject in the midday sun.  Suerte, as alter ego Nightjar, had allowed herself the rare day time flight, and couldn't help herself, snapping pictures with a small digital camera she packed for the trip to Chicago.  It wasn't hers, but a friend's, who, wanted some shots of 'Chi-Town'.
  It wasn't hard to fit in some shots for her friend between professional outings in the city, which had been largely local restaurants and hole in the walls for a burgeoning travel sight trying to book hotels and flights for airlines.
  Pedestrian, and low paying after expenses were factored in, but Suerte would have it no other way;  she hadn't been Nightjar for very long yet, and already felt like she needed to wear the costume once doing something that didn't involve getting shot at by gangsters, or catching distraught men and women out of the air who were attempting suicide.
  She also needed to do something, well, pedestrian.

Human.

Local Color.

Peaceful.

It was work, but it felt like a vacation until she experienced the strangest sense of anxiety.  She angled her wings, swooping away from the awesome monument of modern engineering, and soared over the city, but the anxiety persisted, so she started to descend some, looking for a vacant roof with few people around.
  As she flew, the anxiety intensified to nervousness, and she quickly secreted the camera into one of her belt pouches.  Focusing on the nervousness, closing her eyes briefly, the jitters gave way to a wave of sudden, inexplicable panic.
  Eyes shooting open at the sounds of terrified cries, Suerte took a backseat to the stilled and steady Nightjar, spotting a man shrieking wildly towards the street...towards erratic traffic.

Dive!

DIVE!

DIVE!

Nightjar jackknifed in a blink, the roads, sidewalks, and imminent tragedy growing in detail as she swiftly neared asphalt.  Last second she fanned her wings, adjusting them to arc her straight at the hysterical man now the proverbial pin to an oncoming bowling ball.
  He would not withstand a midsized sedan, and neither would she if she hadn't caught the updraft, tackling into the man, darting upwards on air and struggling wings.  The vehicle passed beneath them a breath later.
  Flapping hard, Nightjar floated herself and the now flailing, screaming man down, making a rough touchdown landing on  a high pile of black trash bags next to a weathered dumpster.  Nightjar stifled a cry of pain as the man spilled from her arms and onto one of her wings before clambering away like a frenzied cockroach.

She groaned.

Stood.

Watched the man retreat between two buildings, wailing his head off.

  "You're welcome, thank you for flying with us today..." Nightjar said under her breath, giving the affected wing a rub, preening out a mangled feather or two. "Why did he smell like feces?" she muttered further.
  The pall of dread palpable, the fact that two people seemed to be having a conversation with a 1997 Oldsmo-shitbox between them stood out sorely from the bedlam happening all around.  Fluttering her wings before she folded them in close, Nightjar made her approached.
"Please tell me one of you knows what is happening here." her tone was even as she said it, but inside, inside she was welling up with a 'Fight or Flight', cornered animal instinct.

Deep breath.

One foot in front of the next.

Keep a grip.

Stay grounded.

The pallid young man leaned against the car a bit, paying no mind to paying this beater any reverence. Instead, he's just scratching his head, staring at the man with a knit brow and a hung-open mouth. He glances at the cardboard box, where some bad vibes from the realm of eebee-deebee-who-knows-where seems to just be palpable. Soft yellow eyes flick back to Gideon's face, where the doubt in his expression is clear-- and he asks, as if the answer isn't clear,

"... is. That like, legal?" While it was terrorism, terrorism in this assortment probably wasn't written down into any hard legal document-- but damn if it wasn't the spirit of the law they were dealing with. "Because if it's illegal, I mean-- man, a supe's just gonna show up and shove their foot up your ass."

When Gideon asks him what he is, his eyes widen a bit and his cheeks puff out. Oh-- That's why he wasn't yelling and crying right now. He glances off to the side and answers awkwardly, "Man, I'm just a streamaaaAAHHAHH--" His hands slap against the roof of the car as he turns, yelling briefly at the woman in the bird-like get-up (How many bird metas are IN this town??)

Nightjar doesn't look like someone that's like, particularly terrifying though. The utility belt and mask spoke to an earnestness of someone who was just trying to help-- but still, he didn't know about her til now. Whatever he might take from her, she could've been anyone under the surface.

".. Hi. Uhm--" He puts his hands in his hoodie pockets and glances at Gideon-- gesturing to Nightjar as if to say, with a shitty frustration, 'HEY DUDE THERE'S YOUR SUPE, HOPE YOU'RE HAPPY.' Then he finishes, "I-- I mean I-- I'm just gonna let him talk, because I was just... playing Hall of Heroes on stream, and-- I was just kind of not very happy with how everyone was losing their shit, uhm."

He forces a thin-lipped smile and puts a few footsteps between himself and the car, wary of the fact that this new lady might beat the hell out of the man inside.

"Of course it's not legal...it's an act of terror, in the most literal regard. However there is no proof that the police could use to put me away other than 'I opened a jar'." The researcher snapped back to the man, his hand releasing whatever it was he was gripping. There was a moment, fleeing in nature but it crossed Rowans eyes for but a moment as he seemed to relax.

This man wasn't a threat.

This streamer was just a kid, annoying but ultimately harmless.

However, the moment of relaxation was fleeting as the bird meta approached the vehicle and inquired about the happenings. Slowly, surely a small recording device was brought up to his lips.

"Subject one. Appears to be a bird-like metahuman. Perhaps the same mutation as Chim? More advanced, for sure. If memory serves this one goes by Nightjar, a species of bug-eating bird.
"She appears to be pretty...standard. As far as flying metahumans go. I have not seen combat yet and cannot be sure of any additional abilities at this time. I will update shortly."

Click.

With the recording device off, the researcher tucked it away beside him in his crappy little vehicle that seemed to constantly threaten to fall apart let alone start.

Cool, calm eyes with the faintest hint of resentment settled on the woman as a long silence filled the air. An awkward one for sure. But Giddeon didn't seem to be ready to speak at first until finally, he let out a small exhale.

"Simply a mote of fear is all. I used it to lure your ilk here...I am curious which heroes reside here in this city." He spoke, his tone slow, deliberate as he never failed to maintain eye contact with the bird-like woman.

Another long few moments passed.

"It seems you feel fear as any human would..." He trailed off, that recorder clicking on once more. "Subject feels fear. Likely more human than not, although one cannot be too careful around these...things."

Giddeon spoke as though nobody was there, as though he was recording a podcast in his basement.

"I have a few questions for you, Nightjar... I would appreciate proper answers. And please, don't throw a fit for what I've done. If you try to take me in, you may break the jar and we will have an entity on our hands beyond our capabilities. Now..."

The recorder was pointed to her now.

Click.

"...Let us start with your abilities."

From the rooftop of the gaming den, a set of eerie yellow eyes widely peered over the shallow edge of the cheaply built building. With gravel and scuffed concrete biting into his knees and palms, Chimney Swift nonetheless did not dare to do more than PEEK, his eyes honed on the other bird-meta a short distance away on the street. Locked on to the fearful and wonderful sight of Nightjar's wings, Chimney Swift's own had been awkwardly jammed and crunched against the edge of the roof when he'd spotted her swoop and immediately descended into a very rough landing to stay out of sight. His black, oil-toned feathers would stand out in a sight from above, but that haphazard scramble he'd taken would at least obscure most of him from the street below.

Surely this dread was just from Giddeon's stupid jar, right? Another bird meta? What was she like? Was she about to hurt Giddeon? Her wings were so pretty, the stab of jealousy in Chim's heart caught him off guard. He flicked those broad eyes between Giddeon and herself before letting out a steadying, shallow breath, and slowly worked to gether himself into more of a kneel than a sprawl.

The long primary feathers trailing off of his arms proved cumbersome, but thankfully none of them had broken, just frayed some... It took a few minutes of him antsily glancing between Nightjar and Giddeon-- And that weird nerd kid acting like he wasn't just honest to goodness streaming Hall of Heroes in the good year twenty-whatever-- before Chim could work the frays out of his feathers and shuffle them into a semblance of folding as he snatched for that earpiece Giddeon had given him.

"GIDDEON WHO IS THAT. are you okay? who Is that. her wings are pretty-- hold up two fingers if you-- if you, if you want me to jump down there, okay, i can- I can do that, two fingers alright? we should have worked this out before. can you hear me? holyshitpickup." His raspy, quiet voice hissed as he arched up a smidge to keep his leer honed on those below, hand cupped over the earpiece.

He had no idea what kind of configuration Giddeon had set up for keeping in communication with him. It'd be unfortunate if it was on speaker phone. Oblivious to such matters, the normally-quiet Chim is rapidfire hissing as he curls what's left of his hands against the edge of the roof and hefts himself just a little higher, a skeptical-- and deeply concerned-- squint leveled down through his anxiously shuffled drape of loose, long black hair.

"It seems you feel fear as any human would...Subject feels fear. Likely more human than not, although one cannot be too careful around these...things."

Things?

As in, a thing among other things?

Nightjar had been called a slew of vulgar epithets in her short time wearing the tights, but being verbally filed under thingness caught her sideways, irked her. She was metahuman, yes, but human was the important half of that word. Blood flowed red through her veins, pumped by a heart as human as any, and yes, one capable of feeling fear.

She opened her mouth to speak, but...

"I have a few questions for you, Nightjar... I would appreciate proper answers. And please, don't throw a fit for what I've done. If you try to take me in, you may break the jar and we will have an entity on our hands beyond our capabilities. Now..."

Giddeon pointed a recorder at her, clicking a button, and...

"...Let us start with your abilities."

Nightjar groaned audibly, crossing her arms, and eyeing Giddeon sideways from behind the opaque, white lenses of her domino mask. At least he wanted to talk it out. What she needed to do was talk him into putting a lid back on the jar.

"We've already established my name and that whatever you have in that rent-a-wreck has me and everyone else scared half outta our minds. Do everyone a favor, and turn that sucker off. I and several city blocks would really appreciate it if you do. Then, I'll be your huckleberry all afternoon; fill that recorder of yours with all sorts of info for you to analyze. Deal?" Nightjar wheedled evenly.

Safe distances were a must in this situation.

Nightjar concluding that she was in something of a mass hostage situation. If she excited this analytical, probably crazy, eccentric genius, he was liable to go full on Kids in The Hall and let the proverbial monkeys loose. Also, the other guy. The one who seemed to be backing off, stating he was just playing online games.

What was his actual deal?

Best to keep talking, and keep everyone else talking.

Entice.

She jettisoned her wings on the spot, both feathery appendages falling to the asphalt, where, they quivered briefly before settling into still lifelessness.

"I can fly with my wings, and as you have just seen, disconnect them at will. Whet your appetite? How about you put a lid on that, and then I'll show you what really makes me metahuman?"

Deep breaths.

Stay calm.

Keep the panic out of your voice.

Wait and see...