Barclay froze at the sight of the masked men. They rushed inside the shop he had just been lucky enough to have left. He peeked through the glass doors and watched, mind racing as he thought of what to do. He had no idea of the extent of his abilities, and they certainly didn't seem too useful in a close quarters fight against armed gunmen. Amazingly enough, someone else decided to intervene, throwing some liquid in one of the men's faces. It was a bold move, and Barclay felt bad for the man's fate as a shot rang out. He couldn't look. The poor guy was probably dead.

But he had to look, because he didn't hear any screams from any of the other patrons indicating there was a dead body on the floor. As soon as he did, however, the glass doors were smashed by a body flying out, causing Barclay to dock back in surprise. He looked down at the guy, amazed. He stood and leaned around the corner of the now shattered door, watching as the men pointed their barrels at the patron who'd attacked him. None of them were paying attention to Barclay, and that was a good thing. He stepped lightly through the door, careful to not crunch the broken glass and sneaked up behind one of them, lacing his fingers before him and raising his hands over his head. He brought his hands down like a hammer on the back of the goon's head, crumpling him. Two of the four remaining masked men looked directly at him, guns shifting to cover him. He put his hands up and one of them kicked him in the stomach, doubling him over. That had winded him.