[sub][h3][center]Nicholas[/center][/h3][/sub][hr]

Nic had been by the cafeteria’s exit when the festivities began. As per usual, his head had been so firmly up his own ass that he failed to respond with the efficiency that he should’ve been conditioned to. It obviously would’ve been suicidal to bum rush the armed assailants, so he decided to hold off on that front, even as he heard the wet splotch of red-hot scarlet splashing onto the ground. So he turned his back in favor of a short-term tactical retreat, rushing low to the ground to the kitchen, with the same four legged stance as a rushing weasel.

Once inside, he wasted no time. The kitchen staff screamed, quite reasonably, before they realized that he was not one of the terrorists. They were all low to the ground, hands over their heads, many cuddling up like they were trying to share body heat in an earthquake.

“What’s happening?” one of the kitchen staff asked.

Not feeling particularly chatty, Nic simply snipped, “I’ll give you three guesses” before throwing the cupboards open. “Useless. Useless,” he snapped as he sorted through, shuddering as he heard the continued sound of explosions, screams and gunshots. Some of the people he’d briefly gotten  to know last month were there. He wasn’t sure if he’d call any of them friends but that guy, Archie, wasn’t a dick and that was a start. Finally, he found what he was looking for: Peanut oil. Shortly thereafter, he ripped open a bag of sugar, dumping a helping of the oil into it.

“Fire extinguisher: Where is it?” he asked. One of the cowering cooks pointed him in the right direction. “Wonderful. Thank you for not being completely useless,” he condescended unintentionally before offering a small apologetic salute.

At that, he got to work, slathering his mixture on the outside of the extinguisher until it was positively caked. Then, borrowing a lighter from one of the cooks, he set it alight. Stealing a teflon from the supply closet, he rolled the flaming fire extinguisher onto it, having formed an unreasonably heavy, extremely hazardous, sling. At that, he decided that it was time to get his darling little fire retardent grenade [i]the fuck[/i] away from him and out of the kitchen.

Creeping out of the kitchen, he had been planning to sneak back towards the front of the melee using the tables as cover. Didn’t work out that way. It was a good plan though. His pa’ always said that “no battle plan survives first contact with the enemy.” It appeared that the insurgents had unleashed a were-crocodile upon them.

“No.” Not just upon them. Specifically their dog was about to sic his angel, the one who he’d heard clear as day from across the way at the party last month. “Not happening,” Nic said, swinging his flaming teflon sling towards the creature’s hind leg.

[I]She’s mine[/I], he thought as the steel burst directly behind the creature, having impacted against the tile of the cafeteria, unleashing a burst of scarlet steel shrapnel and pressurized carbon dioxide. An instant later, Nic felt his arm fly back, stinging. [I]Sore from carrying that thing?[/I] Doesn’t matter. He took cover behind a table that had found its way onto its side before rubbing his arm down, realizing that he’d evidently caught a piece of shrapnel in his forearm. But if it kept his angel safe, it was well worth it. And if it didn’t, well… fuck. [I]It probably wouldn’t,[/I] with his luck. The only thing he was really good at was hurting innocent parahumans.

The were-croc was probably gonna be fine. And he would probably fail to make a meaningful move against the terrorists.

Alright. Let’s look at our little to do list rationally: 1) Remove head from ass. 2) Neutralize were-croc. 3) Neutralize gunmen. 4) Perform first aid on everyone in the goddamn room. 5) Ride off into the sunset with his angel in his arms after she confesses her love for him, on account of how brave he had been. 6) Repeat step one, as needed.