Matt sighed to himself as the two vigilantes before him helped pulverize the thugs while simultaneously working out a time for first dates. He always felt left out, yaknow? Being a super young solo hero was hard, since most actual heroes could, like, actually buy an HQ and not be constantly pestered about the whereabouts of their parents. He resolved to take out his building anger and self-pity on the thugs before him. there were like, ten left. That'd be enough to sate his bloodlust. Probably.

Matt stowed his rifle back inside his leg and picked up a metallic pipe off the ground. He could use his blade, but that would most likely end up killing the mooks. Then he couldn't get the word out and then he wouldn't be recognized and then everyone wouldn't love him! That was not a future he wanted to live. So he picked up a basic improvised weapon and stared down the remaining mafia henchman with a cocky grin.

"I'm Deathlok. Iron Heir, if you're a fan of legacy. Prepare to get your asses whooped." Matt said as he rocketed towards the miniature hoard of cannonfodder, pipe swung wildly, destroying most of the teeth in the vicinity and leaving all targets laying on the floor, groaning with pain. It was odd not breathing heavily after this. Not breathing in general was pretty weird. It disallowed him feeling completely human, even though he was in and of himself, a visage of humanness.

He turned towards the two others in the ware house not writhing on the floor in pain or unconscious. "So, nice one guys. Who are you, by the way? I'm Deathlok and slash or Iron Heir. It changes a lot. Anyways, Are either of you part of a team, or like, have any connections for a young paragon of heroism such as my self?"