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The police sergeant leading the officers spoke with a helpless expression.
"Mr. Brown, I believe you understand that movie props like this are only legally permitted for artistic productions.
"In other words, they can be used for filming movies, not for other purposes. If a police officer mistakenly believes you're carrying a real firearm, there's a good chance you could be—"
He had been about to say shot on sight by the police.
But Henry Brown's status as a mutant—and more importantly, his bulletproof body—was already noted throughout law enforcement circles.
A rookie officer or beat cop might not know.
But a sergeant serving as the primary on-scene commander certainly did.
He also knew Henry had recently resigned and no longer had Stark backing him.
Even so, the man's wealth still placed him firmly among the rich.
The biggest movie sensation of the year, Titanic, had been funded by Stark Pictures, and Henry had been one of the driving forces behind the investment. The news had been everywhere.
As a lifelong Los Angeles resident, it would have been difficult not to know.
With the bonuses Henry earned from that investment alone, hiring a lawyer to deal with a toy-gun citation would be effortless.
Thinking of that, the sergeant had no interest whatsoever in pursuing this absurd case any further.
He certainly didn't want to waste more time on it.
The sergeant said seriously:
"Mr. Brown, as part of my duties, I must inform you that California also regulates imitation firearms.
"Something with this level of realism—especially the sound—"
Holding the weapon, the sergeant pulled the trigger toward the sky.
The vibration mechanism inside the prop simulated the recoil of a submachine gun. Though weaker than the real thing, the thunderous report sounded almost identical to actual gunfire.
Several officers who hadn't been expecting it instinctively crouched and looked around for the source of the shots.
Their reaction demonstrated just how realistic the sound was.
"—is extremely alarming," the sergeant continued. "Using a prop like this in a public setting can easily cause panic.
"Regardless of whether someone argued with you, you should not be using props like this to scare people."
He straightened up.
"Therefore, I am formally issuing you a first warning and a citation.
"Do you accept that resolution?
"Or would you prefer we return to the station and wait for your lawyer to arrive?"
Henry raised his handcuffed hands and put on an innocent expression.
The sergeant immediately took the prop gun from a nearby officer and personally removed Henry's handcuffs.
"Please carry out your duties, Officer. I have no objection to a lawful penalty."
As he rubbed his wrists where the cuffs had been, Henry added:
"Though my belongings...?"
His sharp eyes had already noticed an officer examining the lead box that had been taken from him.
The curious policeman appeared ready to open it.
Henry warned him:
"Officer, if I were you, I wouldn't open that."
The rookie couldn't stand having his authority challenged.
Annoyed, he immediately flipped open the box and said arrogantly:
"I'll open it if I want. What are you going to do about it? For all I know, you've got drugs hidden in—"
An eerie green glow emerged.
Even amid the brightly lit streets and heavy traffic of downtown Los Angeles, it was impossible to miss.
Henry sighed.
"I was just about to tell you.
"That was left behind by the people I scared off with the prop gun.
"It appears to be uranium ore—or some other radioactive contaminant.
"After they left, I put it back into the lead box and sealed it.
"So the theater itself has likely been contaminated as well. Anyone who entered during the search probably got exposed too.
"Actually, I wanted to tell you right away, but after you read me my Miranda rights, I decided to keep my mouth shut.
"Now that I'm no longer under detention, it seems only fair to warn you.
"I was planning to hand that thing over to the police anyway. It's not something I can deal with myself.
"So I'd recommend closing the box.
"Being bathed in visible green radiation for too long isn't exactly conducive to good health."
The moment everyone heard that, they immediately backed away from the suicidal rookie.
The officer holding the box stared dumbfounded at its contents.
Then he jolted in alarm and slammed the lid shut.
With a miserable face, he asked:
"Am I going to die?"
"I don't know. Maybe I'm mistaken."
Henry shrugged.
"Does your department have a Geiger counter?
"Run it over the thing and you'll know.
"As for decontamination procedures, that's outside my expertise. You'll need someone who actually knows what they're doing."
The sergeant cursed.
"Damn it. What kind of idiot runs around carrying something like this?"
Henry pulled out a business card from his card holder and handed it over.
"I don't know them very well. I've only met them twice.
"But they might be connected to this person. You could try asking him."
The name on the card was none other than S.H.I.E.L.D.'s perpetually unfortunate agent:
Phil Coulson.
It wasn't revenge.
Henry wasn't trying to make life difficult for the man who kept treating him like Superman.
The problem was that S.H.I.E.L.D. and HYDRA were practically one family these days.
And Coulson's card was the only contact information Henry had.
If he didn't hand over Coulson's name, who else was he supposed to give them?
With the uranium stones serving as precedent, reclaiming his prop Uzi from another officer went remarkably smoothly.
The policeman practically treated it like a hot potato, shoving it back into Henry's hands at the first opportunity.
He clearly wanted it gone immediately.
The rookie holding the lead box looked like he wanted to do the same.
Unfortunately, Henry gave him no opportunity whatsoever.
He backed well away, raised both hands beside his face, and made absolutely no move to accept the thing.
Originally, Henry had intended to quietly keep the uranium for himself.
But whether it had been those HYDRA-S.H.I.E.L.D. people who called the police or theater staff who reported the incident, it didn't matter anymore.
Once law enforcement arrived, the situation changed completely.
The contamination inside the theater could have been handled discreetly.
Henry could have pulled some strings, paid for renovations, and arranged decontamination work as part of a remodeling project.
After all, money solved most problems.
Renting out a second-run theater for a few days wasn't expensive.
But now that the police were involved, many people might already have been exposed.
Henry had no desire to let them unknowingly return home and expose their families.
So he had to tell the truth.
And to make that truth believable, he could no longer keep the uranium.
Once publicly exposed, there was no way the U.S. government would allow a private citizen to retain something like that.
Even if he hadn't surrendered it immediately, any future radiation sickness among the officers would trigger an investigation.
Eventually it would lead back to him.
The result would be the same.
Better to hand it over now and avoid creating more victims.
Watching the sergeant struggle to deal with the possibility of radioactive contamination, Henry finally spoke up:
"Officer, what about my citation?
"I'd like to go home and scrub myself clean.
"Maybe burn all my clothes.
"I've got a lot to do."
In cases involving hazardous contamination, the police were only responsible for securing the scene until specialized nuclear, biological, and chemical response teams arrived.
Under those circumstances, the sergeant didn't dare let Henry leave.
With a pained expression, he said:
"Mr. Brown, I'm afraid you'll have to remain here.
"We need to wait for the military response unit to arrive and determine the extent of the contamination, as well as any follow-up procedures."
"Fine."
Henry looked aggrieved, but stayed put.
Even if a Kryptonian body was unaffected, wandering around while potentially contaminated and spreading radioactive material elsewhere would only create more problems.
That would just make things worse.
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