Hector dropped right in front of a group of policemen. They already had their weapons drawn and fired a slew of rounds at him before he could render their guns useless with iron. And even without their weapons, they still seemed intent on taking him down, moving to surround him. He didn’t want to go back up to the rooftops with the helicopters, so he just ran through the last gap in the police line.
More cops were waiting around the corner, however. And word must have gotten around about the ineffectiveness of bullets, because they were holding tasers instead. Six pairs of charged electrodes flew toward him on conductive wires. He stopped five with iron walls, but the last one found his shoulder.
He dropped to his hands and knees. The electricity didn’t hurt, of course, but controlling his limbs was abruptly difficult. He pressed a hand to the ground, and an iron pillar launched him up and over the officers. His landing was rough, but he was back on his feet quickly enough and running away again.
Next, four white-and-black SUVs skidded to a stop in front of him, but Hector just wrapped the vehicles in metal before the tactical teams could exit. He ran past and released the metal after turning the next corner.
Finally, he saw Colt’s car and ran toward it.
More cops got in his way, however.
A flash of anger ran through him. Why couldn’t they be this persistent about catching actual criminals? He’d delivered a local mob boss to their doorstep the night before, along with a whole cabinet of incriminating documents, but did that matter now? Of course not.
He covered their tasers in metal, then their legs, just enough to incapacitate them. He ran for the car again, but two more cops appeared and jumped on top of him. The anger returned, stronger.
He flung the first cop off, then grabbed the other’s arm and broke it. The man screamed out in pain.
Hector stopped, suddenly horrified with himself. That shouldn’t have happened. He wasn’t supposed to hurt cops.