People argued, chattered away in languages he didn't know, confrontations were sparked. In general, Derrick was pretty sure this was one huge clusterfuck.

He kicked his helmet in a fit of rage and walked over to the chick with the exploding backpack, she seemed to be just as pissed as he was about the situation and figured he'd have an ally in the coming confrontation. Until she passed out on a pile of folded laundry. He shrugged and stepped between her and Magneto, and the tool bag trying to shake the terrorists hand. 

He reached into his jackets inside pocket and pulled out a cigarette, slightly bent and battered, but still fine. Tucking it between his lips he lifted his hand, index finger extended and a moment later a small spark of bright green light leaped from his fingertip to the end of his smoke.

Taking a deep drag off his cigarette he blew out a small cloud of smoke toward Magneto in a blatant attempt to irritate the powerful mutant. 

"Look, Bucket Head. It seems petty clear we'd like some kind of an explanation here. Cough it up." Derrick didn't feel as brave as he sounded, or as confident, but anger offered one all kinds of ways to ignore fear and common sense. He just hoped it didn't get him killed.