Snippet #2005959

Tristan watched wide-eyed as, one by one, superhumans--or should he use the word the newspapers gave them?--landed, slammed, and barged into the bank. He soon realized that the young woman who had seemingly died was standing up with hardly a scratch (but plenty of blood splatter). He knew superhumans were a part of society, and there had been quite a few costumed ones in New York, but it still gave him a little bit of initial shock when he saw them. Shock that quickly turned into bitter distaste which morphed into mercilessly sarcastic inner-commentary.

There was the classic costumed hero. The Norse God who had somehow been demoted to mortal living quarters. The goth-looking heroine, too balance it out (there always had to be a female, but God forbid she be too feminine.) And the average, every-day non-hero driven mad by love.

Heroic antics were sure to follow. Much of it would appear in the papers the next day, an inspiring case of triumphant justice.

Inspiring indeed.

Most likely completely oblivious to yet another superhuman. One who had gained much of his abilities through an inspired man.

But enough of that. Tristan shook his head, ridding himself of those thoughts. Those belonged to a past Tristan. The one who was so steeped in grudges, he was too stubborn to move forward and heal. The present Tristan needed to be focused on this still dangerous situation at hand.

Although the "heroes" had arrived, Tristan was still wary of the gunman. The arrival of the last super had proved that the men weren't entirely scared into inactivity. They still had guns, and all but one was in perfect working condition.

Well, not if he could help it.

Within the next minute, he had all the firearms blocked. Should any of the men try to fire, it would either result in a jam, or even better, a backfire. There were a lot of guns, though, and spread about the room at that. He could already feel his body relaxing, and if he wasn't too careful, he'd be relaxed all over the floor. Taking a bit of a gamble--he was still new to this particular ability--he strengthened the gravity on himself so that he was effectively rooted to the ground. Hopefully it had only taken a hold on him. It wouldn't do well if the other normal civilians couldn't escape because the ground had taken a special liking to their undersides. Forcing his eyes to stay open--they had an annoying habit of closing when he wasn't completely within his body--he waited to see who would make the next move.