Social Anxiety

“Wait, wait, wait!” Reese yelled. He needlessly waved, but managed to holster his weapon on his hip. He had a moment of panic when the movement caused the deranged man to flinch.
It was a reaction. Both knew, yet the realizations didn’t stop the actions. Not in the situation of a bank robbery, with hostages, and police and all the chaos of a messed up situation.
Brains react. The signals grow and grow until their bodies just couldn’t handle the thoughts without moving. The impulses struck as fast and tough as a lightning bolt.
Reese acted a minor second faster than the bullet.
The man, while a nervous, drugged up mess–Reese could tell he wasn’t a shooter. He wasn’t a murder. He wouldn’t risk it. What he did risk was placing one single bullet in the chamber to make it look real.
Reese stopped the bullet mid-shot. It exploded and ricocheted, filleting the other man’s hand.
The hostage dropped to his knees. The shooter screamed a haunting melody that seemed to amplify the further it traveled.
A dried husk fell to the floor, a heap of steaming flesh bled dry by the shock.
Reese, arms out with hands open, ‘caught’ the shrapnel before it pelted the unwilling audience. His unseen abilities magnetized the pieces and crushed them together until they were balled to a perfect sphere.
The group of people sat bewildered. A silence followed the distant echo of agony. Reese could feel his own panic start to bubble.
He hated crowds.

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