Bruce's powers may only work by touch, but his senses are sharp nonetheless, have always been.
Working in the Mutant District but living in a building complex that's almost exclusively taken up by human residents, this means he ends up walking for quite a long way from work to home every day, and passing by all sorts of neighborhoods in the process, starting on the rich streets and avenues where the buildings are state of the art when it comes to architecture, design and functionality, and ending on the run-down apartment blocks that side the poorly paved streets where the lowest and poorest humans live. Naturally Bruce is far from popular here, but he also keeps largely to himself, so for the most part, he's been left alone.
That was before, though; with growing tensions on both sides, he's started to get a lot more unwanted attention, and tonight, it's only the most recent of the times he's been tailed late in the day while he's on his way home.
He tries not to give into his growing paranoia at first, but when nearly half an hour passes and he keeps hearing the same steps, at the same pace, belonging to the same person, he starts to think that his paranoia is well-founded. Because it's not paranoia if they're really out to get you, and in this case it does seem that someone's out to get him.
He even takes a few unnecessary turns, rounding a couple of blocks purposefully just to see if the person would still follow him. When they do, that makes it obvious he's being tailed, and eventually he stops and turns around, ready to face this person.
But there's no one there. He's sure— they were there moments ago. They were. Which is why there's no relief when Bruce sees no one, only more worry and fear, and he turns around on the deserted street to see where they went, only to suddenly spot the young man coming right at him, something shining in his hand.
Bruce doesn't even have the time to make out what it is until he lifts up his hands to defend himself and the blade of the small knife cuts the skin of his palm. He winces at the shock more than the pain, the same injured hand curling around the man's wrist and twisting his arm around to his back in a strong hold meant to disarm him without causing too great an injury.
mutant
Working in the Mutant District but living in a building complex that's almost exclusively taken up by human residents, this means he ends up walking for quite a long way from work to home every day, and passing by all sorts of neighborhoods in the process, starting on the rich streets and avenues where the buildings are state of the art when it comes to architecture, design and functionality, and ending on the run-down apartment blocks that side the poorly paved streets where the lowest and poorest humans live. Naturally Bruce is far from popular here, but he also keeps largely to himself, so for the most part, he's been left alone.
That was before, though; with growing tensions on both sides, he's started to get a lot more unwanted attention, and tonight, it's only the most recent of the times he's been tailed late in the day while he's on his way home.
He tries not to give into his growing paranoia at first, but when nearly half an hour passes and he keeps hearing the same steps, at the same pace, belonging to the same person, he starts to think that his paranoia is well-founded. Because it's not paranoia if they're really out to get you, and in this case it does seem that someone's out to get him.
He even takes a few unnecessary turns, rounding a couple of blocks purposefully just to see if the person would still follow him. When they do, that makes it obvious he's being tailed, and eventually he stops and turns around, ready to face this person.
But there's no one there. He's sure— they were there moments ago. They were. Which is why there's no relief when Bruce sees no one, only more worry and fear, and he turns around on the deserted street to see where they went, only to suddenly spot the young man coming right at him, something shining in his hand.
Bruce doesn't even have the time to make out what it is until he lifts up his hands to defend himself and the blade of the small knife cuts the skin of his palm. He winces at the shock more than the pain, the same injured hand curling around the man's wrist and twisting his arm around to his back in a strong hold meant to disarm him without causing too great an injury.