Bank Robberies are so cliché. (closed to Elena.)

The exact thoughts going through Sachin Mankar's head, as he was laying on the floor with his hands over his head, were Bank Robberies are so cliché. Honestly, the four men- heavily armed, he noted to his dismay- were robbing the bank when they could get a lot of money just selling their damn guns. Of course, his cynical mind realized that in Brooklyn, these guns might be needed.

Damn, man. Cause dying wasn't high on his list. He wasn't sure about the extents of his healing powers, but he felt that a headshot would be trouble. So far, he'd only had a few minor wounds, and once his arm was severely burned, but he'd never had a major injury other than that. The teller seemed ready to give the robber yelling at him the cash. This is bad timing for a robbery. noted the comic book writer. Frankly, not many people were in the bank right now, at eleven o'clock. Sachin was here because he needed to withdraw some cash, and the ATMs were out of order.

It might have gone well if he had waited a few hours before withdrawing the cash. He should have been sleeping, but no, he just had to be adjusted to Pacific time rather than Eastern. As far as his body was concerned, it was eight o' clock and he had no damn business being in bed when he could be doing stuff.

It might have gone better to work on his comic than try to get money.

Deciding to tone down the self-pity a notch, he looked around. Four heavily armed guys wearing ski masks were quite clearly robbing the bank. There weren't that many other people in the bank at this hour, and he couldn't see them very easily. The customers were pretty diverse, but the robbers all seemed to be black, largely because the black population in Brooklyn was pretty poor. Sachin knew it said something about him that he thought about socio-economic factors at a time like this.

This was New York though. He felt confident some damn hero would burst in and save the day. Just not him.

Then one of the robbers grabbed him, and held a gun to his head. "Give us the damn cash or the boy dies!"

Fuck.

The man holding him yelled when he was shot in the elbow, letting go of Sachin, who jabbed him in the stomach with his elbow. The man went down. One other man went down by the hero's pulse of energy or something. Sachin wasn't quite clear on that. Two were left. Sachin ducked on the floor, unwilling to be hurt by the bullets flying around everywhere. He got some satisfaction that he was right about a hero coming just in time.

One of the men reloaded, and Sachin, who had been around three feet from the man, swung with his foot, and the man was hit in the crotch. In a movie or cartoon, a GONG sound would be heard. Here, he just went down.

The remaining man focused his bullets on Sachin, much to the Indian boy's dismay. The other customers at the bank, being cowards, stayed down. Sachin was shot up quite well, bleeding through a lot of places and his body sliding and arriving a foot or so from the heroine who had showed up, looking quite dead for all intents and purposes.

Refocusing on the heroine, the bank robber started firing at her again, so nobody but Elena noticed that Sachin's wounds were slowly healing...

The customers fled, not waiting for the police or anything, only the teller remaining. Police sirens blared in the distance. A few seconds later, Sachin stood up, his wounds fully healed, and the teller fainted, seeing a dead man stand right back up. "Gee, that freakin' hurt." he grumbled, standing back up slowly, and falling back down, still dazed. "Thanks for helping out." he told the heroine. "Name's Sachin. You?" he asked, glancing at the unconscious or wounded criminals. "I think we should leave now, before the cops show up." he noted, using his comic book writer gained genre savvy.