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He overheard the others talking about how he may he have rushed off headstrong to fetch.. Sentinel - he'd gone to fetch Sentinel and it was a poor move, but he disagreed. The last son of Krypton's most recent protege had given no clear indication of whether he'd actually heard or not. Piss-tolera was talking like he was assuredly on the same page simply because of his biology placing him in earshot, even though he was focused on making a distraction.

After watching the helicopter fall like a leaf, Eric actually admired Rufus' quick work at disarming the gunmen before running off and snatching Sentinel before going off to have a private conversation.

So maybe I'm not Batman, but I sure do recognize an opportunity to minimize future problems. With Rufus and the Kryptonian a safe way away, Eric spiraled down to the gunmen below at a dazzling speed. No one was armed, a few scrambled for something to shoot with, but the well came up dry. Eric descended upon the helicopter he'd downed, the one claimed for Hell in a ball of fire. Eric leapt into the wreckage and scattered all around it, feeling like he'd crawled through an oven door before he came to the turret he'd worried about earlier. A few feet back there was a package of other belts.

Just outside the door was a metal case roughly the size of a pencil box. Tapping the surface, he made sure it was cool enough. Warm, but acceptable. Unlatching it, he took a peek inside and found exactly what he'd expected, a handgun with a clip of the Kryptonite-tipped bullets. Bingo! Rubbing his eyes, he pondered to himself the morality of taking it before throwing tradition to the wayside for eventuality. It's not that I don't believe in him, it's that I don't believe in anyone else not to manipulate him.

Yeah. That's it.

Clutching the gun, he felt its weight before resealing it and putting it in his backpack. From there, he simply walked past the awkwardly standing guards, aware they'd lose a direct confrontation but unsure others would count that as an excuse for not laying down their lives anyway.

"I think we can all agree that none of this happened," he said to the men on the ground before hearing the faint, yet ever-so-crisp sound of incoming reinforcements. So he took flight, low to the ground and at maximum speed. The combination was murderous on his muscles, but it made him a thousand times harder to find than he'd be in the range of any radar. While above the water, he took the opportunity to drop his communicator in the treacherous waters.

Barely keeping himself off the coast of San Francisco, he cracked his wings a thousand times over. God, they were burning like they'd been hit with a shotgun again. So he took a rest on the coast, at a spot he and Rufus had specifically ran into one another a few weeks before. A little spot behind one particular bar.
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