In the far corner of the gas station, hidden from those up at the cash by the position of the shelves, Nico was concentrating on loading up a slurpee cup with alternating layers of blue razzberry and cherry. He missed the people coming in, or rather didn’t care to look when he heard the door open.

But now that it’s lidded, he turns and stops, mouth half open around the straw. He can see three heads in ski masks and one hand sticks out past the aisle, a gun at a familiar red-and-black hero.

Um. No?!

Nico summons his sword to his left hand and hucks the slurpee at the tallest head before running into what is about to be the fray.