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[center][h1][color=6ecff6][b][u]Sanzhar Kravchenko[/u][/b][/color][/h1][/center]
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[indent]Sanzhar walked along the streets of San Francisco once again, aimles in his wandering. The impeccable sense of direction that he once possessed seem to be lost, drowned under a churning maelstrom of anxious thoughts about how the country was responding to the rise of the Altered from the ashes of the Energy Storm. The things that the president said, the law that Congress had just passed... it was all coming together. And the causes of individuals like Reaper certainly didn't help the Altered either, at least those that just wanted to live on normally like he was, right now. Sure, bending metal to one's whim was very cool to do, and might end up being profitable if he used it for for making ornate metal sculptures for the art gallery or something.

Too bad, though. Terrible things were happening right in the city. The tremors of a pair of gigantic feet and the echoes of distant explosions rumbled through the streets... just what is happening now-

Sanzhar's thoughts were interrupted when the grunts of a protracted brawl filtered into his ears. At first he ignored it, thinking it was just some other thug fight, until a particularly heavy metal trash bin got flung towards his direction at a speed that couldn't be avoided by sidestepping.

Instinct kicked in. The bin stopped mere inches away from Sanzhar as he held out his hand, controlling the metal like it was an extension of his being.

He then looked at the source of the noise. There were two guys... no, that one was a guy, and the other was a horrendously malformed mutant. Tch... The guy was losing ground.

To help, or not to help?

Screw it.

Sanzhar pulled at the bin that got thrown at him earlier, wrenching it apart like it was a ball of clay. The metal was promptly turned into a group of ebony serpents that dashed towards the mutant that had charged the man, tying themselves at Sanzhar's command around the wrists and ankles of the creature. He would then attempt to press it down the ground, restraining it.

All this time, he had kept his face hidden under a face mask. The sooner this is resolved, the better...

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[center][h1][b][u]Karagoz Dimirci[/u][/b][/h1][/center]
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[indent] Karagoz's instincts told him to look left, and there, standing nearby, was a woman, taking out her phone and calling for help. The ex-soldier sighed, kneeling on one knee in front of the burned Guardsman. "Pity... You should have just stepped aside. Maybe then you wouldn't have suffered so, so much. But again... so have I."

The former soldier then began walking towards the lady, slowly but menacingly as the white flames he had left behind turned blue, and then orange. However, he dragged along some more fire on his palm, brandishing at her in an attempt to scare her away. If there was one unbroken principle he had, it was that the unarmed need not be harmed. At least until they turn out to be armed with a bomb vest underneath all of that charm and innocence...[/indent]