“You—You did this!”

Uh oh.

“You bastard! I’LL FUCKING KILL YOU!” His voice cracks with rage, raw and ugly.

The air shifts. It’s faint—almost imperceptible—but Livio’s sharp senses pick it up.

The world slows. Every motion, every sound, stretches thin.

The man’s hand dives to his waist. Metal flashes. A gun—a revolver. Judging by the frame, maybe a Ruger. Livio’d know. He’s read more gun encyclopedias than he’d ever admit.

Shit. The man is gonna shoot. Livio recoils instinctively, out of an innate sense of survival.

The tall man doesn’t flinch, however. Doesn’t even blink. His face remains calm—expressionless—though… wait. Is that a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips?

Click. The sharp, metallic sound of the safety disengaging tears through the air.

BANG!

Darkness.

For a split second, the world goes black. Then, Livio’s vision snaps back into focus.

Nothing.

The crowd recoils. People scream, some ducking for cover, others frozen in wide-eyed shock.

But the tall man… hasn’t moved. Not a step. No pain, or blood.

Livio’s eyes trace the trail of smoke, then you see it.

The bullet hit the ground.

From point-blank range, the man missed.

There’s a neat, clean hole punched into the ceramic tiles by the tall man’s shoe, a thin curl of smoke twisting upward. He glances down at it, casual, almost bored, and takes a single, slow step away from the fresh hole.

The balding man gasps, more rattled than ever. It’s obvious now, he’s a coward. Someone with a bit more bravado would’ve emptied the magazine after the first shot went wide. Instead, he probably had to scrape together every ounce of nerve just to squeeze out that one. 

The tall man makes an annoyed "Bleh" sound saying in an exasperated voice:

“Man, I hate cowardly little weaklings like you. At least those other guys had the decency to get ahead of themselves.”

The tall man steps closer, voice low and macking.

“Had your little temper tantrum? Good. Now for a little lesson.”

“You really think it’s smart to pick on someone smaller than you? What idiocy. There’s always a bigger fish in the pond, tubby. One willing to risk themselves for the smaller ones. If it wasn’t obvious already… that bigger fish would be—”

Realization hit the balding man like a punch.

“Eh—!? W–wait, hold on—!” he squeaked, but the words fell on deaf ears.

“Me.”

Ace’s golden eye flashed as he slipped his right hand free from his pocket, revealing a bandaged, slightly crooked hand, the scars peeking out from beneath.

His arm unfolded slowly, hand crooked but steady.

“Before you go picking on random kids next time… maybe focus on keeping your own pants dry first!”

A manic grin stretched across his face.

YA BIG BABY!” he roared.

He rears back, his whole body twisting into the swing. His jacket flutters-

The open palm slams against the balding man’s face with a crack that echoes across the terminal. 

His expression freezes in wide-eyed horror before he’s launched clean off his feet.

The man rockets sideways like a ragdoll, sailing helplessly until he smashes into a row of plastic terminal seats with a bone-jarring thud. The chairs rattle violently, bolted frames screeching against the tile, before he slumps down in a heap, unconscious.

For a moment, absolute silence. Travelers stare, stunned, their faces caught between disbelief and awe. 

Then the applause begins, slow, uncertain, from somewhere off to the side. Another joins. Then another. And in seconds the whole terminal erupts.

Cheers, whistles, even laughter ripple through the crowd, echoing up into the high ceiling. It feels less like an airport now and more like the finale of some grand stage play.

Cheers, whistles, even laughter ripple through the crowd, echoing up into the high ceiling. It feels less like an airport now and more like the finale of some grand stage play.

...What...What was that?

Livio glanced back at the scene. The balding man lies sprawled against the row of chairs, a glaring handprint stamped across his cheek. His eyes have rolled white, his jaw hanging slack. The seats behind him are warped from the impact.

Two airport security officers have already arrived, moving carefully through the crowd. One kneels beside the balding man, checking his pulse and assessing his state, while the other speaks into a radio, voice clipped and professional, reporting the situation back to central. Travelers barely notice them, still caught up in the spectacle.

Livio scans left, then right. People are on their feet, clapping, laughing, some doubled over in disbelief. Not a trace of concern for anything beyond the "show."

Does no one even care who this man is, or what just happened? Or is this just how the real world works? 

People try to shoot you over nothing, chaos erupts, and… nothing. Life just keeps moving, like it’s all-

“Yo.”

He turned. The tall man is right behind Livio.

He stretches out his left hand this time, also bandaged.

“Nice to finally meet you, kid. Name’s Ace. Put ’er there.”

 Livio looked up.

Huh.