The gunshots all around him. Gendarmes trying to kill him.
He hadn't even done anything!
The gun in his hand, heavy with the weight of a full clip of ammo.
The power of life and death.
The bullets tearing through the air, laden with the promise of mortality.
The choice of death.
He responded in kind.
With speed born of the Force, the pistol moved with a life of its own. Without even bothering to sight down the barrel, he pointed the pistol at each man in turn and squeezed the trigger.
It would not matter to anyone that he was acting in self defence.
The facts were plain.
As plain as the impact wounds on every officer's face.
He was a killer.
He fled the scene, as the guilty are wont to do. He took the weapon with him. Its energies were spent, the empty brass cartridges lying calmly on the sidewalk, but it would not be wise to leave evidence behind.
He ran up the side of a building, reached the top, looked out over the city.
It was too late to rejoin the mission. He was a liability now. His face was known. He would become a pariah on the six o'clock news. He would need a new face, a new name.
The wound in his side bled quietly, unnoticed. He looked, and as he looked his rage took over.
Time to do some damage.
The detective, sitting at a desk doing paperwork, had the good manners to look surprised when Corletti jumped through his fifth-floor window, miraculously unscathed by the lethal glass.
The detective recognised Brad's face, and reached for his sidearm. Corletti shoulder-charged him and knocked him through the wall.
Brad stood. The detective, unconscious on the floor, did not. He looked around.
They were in the 'common room', where officers mingled and the lower-ranking ones worked. The room was packed with conversation. It abruptly cut off when the crowd noticed what had come into their midst.
To a man, they recognised Corletti.
"I am not your enemy!" he yelled.
They all went for their guns.
Brad snarled, and let his anger fuel his power. Green lightning reached from his outstretched hands and struck them down.
"I want this manhunt ended! Where do you keep your records?!"
Brad walked casually away as fire gutted the station. He'd destroyed the mugshots they'd taken when he was arrested. And all the copies. Now all they had were memories, and memory was fallable.
They still had his name.
But a name is much easier to change than a face.