Jefferson looked up over his overtly stylized glasses. The bus was moving much faster now and the armed robbers seemed a lot more nervous than they did when they had first pulled out their weapons. He could feel the cold steel of his revolver on the inside of his suit jacket. It would be suicide to just whip it out in a futile effort to kill them all. At best he'd probably only be able to get one and even then he might hit one of his fellow passengers. He decided to just let the situation happen, he wasn't really fond of dying and if he was to die he wanted a good looking corpse, not one riddled with bullet holes. 

Jefferson eyed the armed men carefully. They had some sort of tattoo on their necks, probably some sort of gang marking. Everything else about them was nondescript. A small grin grew on his face, but quickly retracted. He was the only journalist in the city who was on the bus, it wasn't going to be a slow news day after all.