Arnold was approaching lower Manhattan, swerving and cutting through conga lines of traffic, whilst gleaming towers of concrete and steel shadowed over his lone vehicle. He’d took a moment to admire drab grey and built-up metropolis of Inner Manhattan, even though he was more inclined towards a forest of trees rather than a forest of apartments. New York City was an urban jungle where the soil was replaced with tar and pavement, lamp-posts taking the position of uprooted trees, buildings that had been erected out of mountains, the rivers gutter streams and the air a sooty mixture of smoky exhaust and minty snow-melt. He looked towards the Google Map on his smartphone with his position marked out as a singular arrow in a labyrinth of streets, the interface constantly updating him of his ETA. 

He turned on the radio again, keeping an eye on the map. 

“ - Update on the recent hostage situation at the Marriot Marquis Hotel. 16 armed men have been identified by police squads-”

He swerved to the left, nearly clipping a motorcyclist. 

“ 12 casualties composed of security officers in the hotel. Shots have not been fired yet - “

He screeched at the intersection, red light taunting him. 

“ - ring-leader of the group has been identified as Adam Meadows, former Navy Seals captain and JSOC operator, who was thought to be KI-”
 
His feet were slamming on the pedals. 

“ - SWAT and all available police units within the district have been relocated to - “ 

“ Finally!,” He screamed out loud as soon as he saw the Marriot Marquis Hotel in sight. To the businessmen and wealthy of New York, it probably seemed like some sort of majestic temple. To him, it looked like a building that had contracted a severe hernia.The building, normally bustling and hustling with New Yorkians, was eerily empty with a noticeable lack of cars streaming in or out of the multi-shopping complex that was located at the bottom of the hotel.  It looked like if someone had stuck two thick grey slabs together with super-glue. He stopped his car into a nearby alleyway and parked it there, wincing as his car bowled over a garbage dumpster, rats scattering away out of its remains. He walked out of the alleyway, a block away from the hotel, and was mortified by what he saw. 

Broadway was crawling with squadrons of SWAT teams, pouring out of their vans in unified formations, whilst several helicopters stood by in the air. Officers fanned out around the building, setting a perimeter whilst the hordes of angry hotel guests who were more concerned about the lack of a free breakfast buffet rather than the current hostage situation were slowly evacuated out of the hotel. Doubt struck him like a bad omen before he re-composed himself. He could do this. It wasn’t like he was out of his depth or that he was about to potentially face a group of ex-military mercenaries who had no compunction about drilling him full of lead. Right. He closed his eyes and concentrated in the air around him, a jumbled discordiant mess of muttering and loud voices. He felt a wet pop in his earlobes before his enhanced senses began to act as a filter, honing in on useful information.

“ - Snipers set up on roof - “

“ - Thermals show several hostiles. Eight - “

“ They’re all in the dining room - “

“ Can’t get a bead on them. They’re away from the windows - “

“ - Get a squad ready, ASAP! - “

“ - Dining rooms located on first floor-” 

“ - Secure the mayor - “ 

“ - Shit, something’s happening down there! Lights just went off - “

Arnold open his eyes again and processed the information. 50 or so hostages currently in the dining room. Something was happening or rather, someone was interfering in the situation. Multiple scenarios ran through his mind about what could have been possibly happening, but he couldn’t just dwell on any of them. He had to secure Aldrich and get out of there. He couldn’t give a damn about the mayor any less. Arnold ran into the street, avoiding the mass of policemen and using the commotion and chaos of the crowds of the riled guests to sneak into the front of the hotel. The ground level was sparse, the counter empty and shattered ground sprinkled on the polished granite floor. Arnold had to stop himself from gaping at the opulent architecture around him and the massive square chasm of rooms. Behind the counter was a spire of clear glass elevators. 

So, what to do? Arnold stood around awkwardly, looking for any visible staircases to the first floor. He walked towards the elevators, pressing the up button and entering into it. The doors closed with a metallic shut as with a slight jolt, he began moving upwards towards the first floor. As soon as the doors opened, Arnold barged out of the elevator, determined, following and running past the series of display boards that showed the directions to the dining room. 

In hindsight, he probably should have approached the situation in a more covert manner. Perhaps, he should have been more patient. Aldrich’s life was on the line, however, and the more he waited, the higher chance that Aldrich was going to be put in harm’s way. 
Adrenaline surging in his veins, Arnold slammed through the main door like a freight train, causing them to nearly fly off their hinges, as he leveled his eyes around the room. For some reason, some of the lamps in the room had been replaced with bouquets of flowers and the drab-black men, dressed in combat gear, were fanned out, searching for something. He searched through the crowd, looking for Aldrich before spotting him. He was in a state of shock, staring at Arnold with an open mouth before it transformed into fear. 

He was confused at his expression before he heard the click of a rifle. Along with seven others in unison. With all the commotion that he’d created, he’d attracted the attention of the hostage-takers and they were all currently focusing on him. Great. The lead member of the eight-man pack, wearing a cap and a cybernetic leg, with something nasty in his right eye was aiming a bulky automatic assault rifle, scope in his left eye, towards his face. 

“ Kneel down. Put your arms around his head or we won’t hesitate to shoot you.” 

He probably shouldn’t have taken a step forward.

There was an errant shout, a few high-pitched screams from the crowd to his right. Arnold tried to duck to the right but once the hail of bullets arrived, he was suddenly stuck in place. There were few things that Arnold had survived in the past that could be considered downright deadly. A car crash, being stuck in a furnace, having his face imbedded in a concrete wall and drowning. A bullet was different, though. E.R.A had never used bullets on him, only non-lethals. Even Gomez, the monster he’d faced last year, was nothing more than an hyper-muscular gorilla. He’d only taken a few bullets before. This time, he was taking more than an accidental shot from a spooked sheriff and a revolver. 

  Arnold staggered backwards from the force of the heavy fire, hot agonising pain erupting from multiple points in his body. He could feel each and every bullet sink and cut through his flesh, denting his hardened bones and saw through his torso. It was like as if a rabid animal was mauling him. One of his eyes went black at one point and he began gurgling blood once his lungs had deflated. At some point, the firing had stopped and his back was pressed against the wall. 
From the perspective of Aldrich Killian, the damage was grievous. His blood had been splattered on the wall in the pattern of a gruesome impressionistic abstract painting. Red paste oozed out of every wound in his body and he had been blown apart. At this point, the only thing recognisable about Arnold was that he was the remains of a person and not a butchered animal. The old professor waited and waited, hoping to whatever God was out there that Arnold could heal back from this. However, there didn’t seem to be any response. Arnold laid still, unmoving, lifeless. 

Dead. 

“ Hostile down.” One of the hostage takers muttered before they continued their patrol around the room. 

Tears began to erupt out of Aldrich’s eyes in grief for his lost friend. He should have deserved better last words than a stern talking to from him. There was a loud gasp from one of the hostages and Aldrich looked up, dried salt on his face, and then, gawked. 
It was small to the eye, but it was noticeable. There was a twitch, then a movement in Arnold’s body before he began to stand up. It reminded Aldrich of a video rewind, seeing his body in action. His body began to knit back together, some unknown tailor sewing back his joints and his ligaments. Pounds of flesh began to coat his ivory white bones, before a layer of skin was draped over it back again. Within a manner of several seconds, Arnold was standing back up again, looking no worse for the wear, and only suffering the issue of finding a good laundry for his soiled clothes. His bandana and sunglasses were completely destroyed and there was a look of surprise on his face, presumably from his near-death experience. 

There was a sense of tension in the room as the scenario began to re-play out again. The hostage takers were pale with fear on their face at seeing a man rise back from the grave with ease. Aldrich had to admit their tenacity in the face of supernatural phenomena as they leveled their guns once more, albeit with uneasiness in their face. 

They fired once more as Arnold approached them, Aldrich flinching and closing his eyes in expectation for what was to come. The firing suddenly ceased, much earlier than before. Killian opened his eyes in confusion before he looked at Arnold, dumbfounded. He was unharmed, not a single sign of blood on him, but with more holes in his jacket than before. His skin seemed to shine with a unnatural lustre as Arnold blinked his eyes before looking down. On the ground were dozens of flattened bullets, like chewed wads of gum, near his feet. Arnold reached for the ground and slowly picked up one, staring at it oddly, He then smirked and flicked it away like it was a pest. 

“ Well, that’s useful.”