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Alex dropped another used glass into the sink and stretched, rolling his shoulders as he wiped off the counter and grabbed more empty glasses off of it. It was a slow morning at the Iron Throne pub, seeing as how in the morning he ran it more as a breakfast place than an actual bar. No alcohol on tap in the mornings, just juice, milkshakes, smoothies and all the pancakes and waffles people could eat. Just that barely anyone was in. The usual breakfast crowd would've been in earlier, had he opened up at 8 instead of 9 in the morning, but that was a sacrifice his night crowd made up for in spades. He watched idly as his waiters, only two of them for the morning, went around clearing plates and serving food from the kitchen as the late risers slowly poured in. The smell of freshly baked bread, bacon sizzling in pans and hot pancakes and waffles invaded his nose, one of the most comforting scents in the whole world.

It'd been a few months since he'd moved here with his sister, leaving his legacy behind in the UK to start fresh in the US. His powers were still a secret, mostly anyway. He helped his staff out with the heavy lifting once in a while and surprised them by being able to lift kegs of beer by the armful, something no regular person could do. His sister, Shirley, kept herself busy by tending to the kitchen. She'd gotten pretty good at cooking in the time they'd spent here, so she helped out in the bar when he was low on cooking staff. The fact that he'd actually managed to get a place like this set up in such a short period was luck in itself; he'd nabbed the place after the previous owner sold it on the cheap, spruced it up a bit and started bringing in customers. Mostly British expats at first, but as his business grew, so did his customer base. He expanded the menu to include American food and booze and he had a recipe for moderate and comfortable success.

The day was still young, which is why Alex was shocked when an older man barged into the pub, his slate gray shirt drenched in blood. He staggered to the bar and grabbed onto the edge, supporting his weight as he stared up at him.

"P-please...h-help me..."

The blood on his hands slackened his grip and the man slipped and fell onto the floor as Alex rushed out from behind the counter. The few patrons in the pub moved away as he kneeled at the man's side and gave him a once-over. The three bullet holes in his chest were the most obvious, prompting Alex to whip off his apron, bundle it into a ball and press it against the open wounds to stop the bleeding.

[color=lightblue]"Sir? Sir! Stay with me, help's coming!"[/color]

Alex looked up and locked eyes with one of his patrons, a younger man with his fiance sitting near the door.

[color=lightblue]"You! Call 911! Now!"[/color]

The young man scrabbled for his phone as Alex felt a tug on his apron. He looked down and saw the injured man glaring up at him, a bloody hand gripped tightly onto his front. Alex leaned down close, barely able to hear the man whispering to him.

[i]"D-don't call an ambulance...please..."[/i]

And then the bloodied man fell to the floor, unconscious. Alex stared at him blankly, unable to quite process what was going on, even as he heard the same young man talking to the 911 operator on his phone.

What was he going to do?