"They took the sapphires."<br/><br/>Manson's breakfast would spew out all across the fine dining room table. "WHAT?!" with a flash of light, he slammed his carbon fists down on the table. Only his hands and forearms became black when his true form barely manifested in rage. Splintered, he  left the table and stood up, leaning against the windowsill of his playboy suite. He thought about this, what now? Who had the balls to steal his reserves? Did they know the truth about them? Is that why they did it? Or was he just unlucky and some smart guy pulled a clean heist.<br/><br/>"Were there any deaths?" He asked without looking. "It's too early to tell, we found out not long before I told you." the liasson said nervously.<br/><br/>"Find out who did it." Manson barked to the insubordinate. Even his people didn't know the true nature of the Sapphire's. Manson looked at his clawed hand, flexed his fingers, and the room glowed the moment he changed his flesh back into it's normal state.<br/><br/>"This town used to be big enough until the freaks started showing up." He spoke to his reflection, there were too many variables now, too many accidents could happen. Since when did the heroes come back? Oh thats right... There is too much of a good thing.