[center][h2][color=#20B2AA]Zach Kozel:[/color]
[color=goldenrod]Denver Alley[/color][/h2][/center]
Zach walked confidently past the crowd that had gathered outside the alley, appreciating their timidness as they parted for him. Truthfully he couldn't particularly blame them, as he was probably quite the sight. Dried blood was streaked across his face, though none of it was his. An ungodly amount of blood staining his attire. The moment he had crossed the street and entered the next alley he broke into a sprint, turning this way and that to lose himself in these back alleys. At some point Zach dropped the crowbar  His sense of direction was keen, but not keen enough; after a few more too many turns he was lost. He jogged across an empty street, glancing at the street sign for some semblance of location, but the name East Cedar Avenue didn't ring any bells. A frown cemented itself on his face as he slipped into the next alley, and he was forced to wonder how he was going to get home.

The sound of footsteps behind him made Zach flinch, lowering his head before glancing back. A large African American man stood there, hands in pockets. The young boy blinked in surprise, stopping completely. "Wow there," The man's voice was bassy, the kind you could feel in the soles of your shoes. "I don't want any trouble. I know who you are, heard about you. Most in these parts have."

Zach sized the man up automatically, but he wasn't intelligent enough to do so accurately. He could gleam the obvious stuff, that if it wasn't for his power the man would kill him before he could think about retaliating. There was a fear that should come with that, but it just didn't. Not anymore, and that lack of fear was the part that scared him. The man continued despite the weird looks Zach gave him.

"Now I think we can both agree that we don't want the police in these parts, especially the murder police." Zach nodded without thinking. They were trouble, even if they had good intentions. "The kids you killed, or helped kill, they don't see it. Hell you barely see it. The cops don't care if you or I smoke a doob every once in a while, or shoot that poison up. God knows you and I don't." Again Zach nodded, "But some sick shit comes with it. The mob, the hitmen, the junkies who were systemically disenfranchised and will do anything and everything for a hit. Most of those kids you killed deserved to die, no doubt. Can you honestly say it, though, can you honestly say that every one of them deserved it." Zach's frown deepened and he had to shake his head. "That's the problem then. That's why you're going to end up in handcuffs. Vigilantes kill the bad people, but you have to decide before you know them."

Footsteps sounded down the alley behind him, and Zach didn't have time to look behind him before the containment foam surrounded him. For about a second it floated behind him, stopped by the inhuman protection, but that didn't last. His power decided, without Zach's intervention, that the foam wasn't going to harm him, forcing a shit load of containment foam onto his body. Zach didn't even scrape his knees, didn't fall or anything.

'You're under arre-"

[color=#00b200][b]"Shit fuck"[/b][/color] Zach interrupted the PRT officer behind him, the swearing not meant to be loud enough to hear.

The PRT officer didn't continue, but radioed for backup instead. Zach sighed audibly, wondering why he had even let the man delay him so much. He couldn't even tell how many people were behind him, but he guessed there to be three. His pulse had quickened from fear, and he wanted to cry. Why was this the thing that was getting to him, and not all the vigilante work he had done. The fear of the police he had been instilled with since he was a child seemed to be taking its toll.