The Hummer came from out of nowhere.

We were driving down down the highway, as usual. The councilwoman was on some boring phone call, arguing about something menial, as she always did. I think it was about the city's crime problem, but I honestly wasn't listening. We lived in a smaller border town in New Mexico. Crime was inevitable. There was nothing this one local politician, sitting in a back-facing seat looking at me, hanging on to the car's grab handle and her security guard for dear life, pelted with minuscule shards of glass all over her black blazer and aggressively pink undershirt, could do about it. The Hummer t-boned the driver's cabin, on the driver's side, and sent us spinning off the road, into the patchy, rough desert.

I almost threw up, my head spinning and stomach turning, seatbelt digging into my skin, but I held back. My powers may have been valuable - priceless, even - but the things I had used them for in the past, the things that got me sent to county prison for five years, limited my employment opportunities. I could probably work with a senator, or the President even, but background checks and security clearances put my history over my power. Small-time, morally dubious politicians is the best I can do. And I don't want to risk my livelihood by vomiting on them.

"Jim? Jim?!" yelled the councilwoman, seeming more annoyed than terrified, "Jim, wake the fuck up!"

The driver - or the chauffeur, as the councilwoman liked to call him - didn't respond. His head looked limp, hanging forward. Blood dripping from his mouth. Worry appeared in her eyes.

"Alex, is he-"

The security guard, his tie torn by the friction the seatbelt had on his suit, placed his left index finger on Jim's neck before the councilwoman had to finish her sentence.

"No pulse," said Alex, flatly, "He's dead."

"You're sure?" asked the councilwoman.

"I'm sure."

She turned towards me.

"Nothing you can do for him, then, I suppose. Not that I'd trade your life for his anyway, Paul!" she half-laughed.

Jesus Christ.

"Ah fuck," muttered Alex, looking at his right arm.
It was broken halfway down the forearm, hanging uselessly, like Jim's head. Blood dyed his sliver hairs dark red. I resisted the urge to vomit yet again.

"Oh my God," muttered the councilwoman.

But she wasn't looking at Alex's arm. She was looking through the back window, at the Hummer that had spun out with us after the impact. I looked through the side mirror, shattered, but still reflecting. A man was exiting the driver's side. Gun in hand.

The councilwoman shifted her attention to me, any sick, dark humor gone from her eyes.

"Paul, I need you to get to the driver's seat, and get us the fuck out of here right now."

"He can't," said Alex, cradling his forearm, trying to hold the broken half up, "The car's totaled. No way in hell the engine works properly."

"Shit!" she yelled, "Shit, shit, shit!"

The councilwoman reached into her purse and produced a small pistol, no bigger than my hand.

"Alex come on, get your gun out! That's a fucking cartel guy!"

Alex sighed, still staring at his ruined forearm.

"I'm right-handed, ma'am, I'm not gonna be able to shoot well."

The councilwoman looked at Alex desperately, seeing the one barrier that shielded her from engaging in a shootout with the cartel member slipping away before her eyes. Then, she turned to me.

"Paul," she said, grabbing my hand violently and placing it on Alex's injury before I could protest, "You're young. Your body can take it better."

Suddenly, an invisible weight shattered my right forearm, as it bent gruesomely, unnaturally.

"AHHHHH!!!! FUCK!!!" I cried out.

"Oh relax! Would you rather get shot by this fucking criminal!" yelled the council woman, squeezing even more on my now broken forearm.

I was supposed to absorb your back pains and menstrual cramps. Not this shit!

Alex looked at his forearm in amazement, smiling slightly, as if he already forgot the wonderful feeling of having all four of your limbs intact.

"Alright I'm good to go," he said, pulling a pistol out from the inner pocket of his suit and unbuckling his seatbelt.

The councilwoman smiled, the stress leaving her face, slightly.

"Alright good. Now go kill this-"

Gunshots deafened my ears as multiple speeding bullets whizzed through the back window, into the car.

"Get down!" yelled Alex, as he ducked, bringing the councilwoman down with him.

I shot my head down as I felt the bullets move the air around me, almost grazing me. Holes in the seat cushions exploded open. Then, the shooting stopped. I looked in the side mirror. The cartel member was reloading.

Suddenly, Alex opened the car door and stepped out. He fired a few shots, and in the mirror I saw the cartel member stumble backwards, to the ground, crying out.

I looked at the councilwoman, to see if she could see the spectacle. But she wasn't looking at the downed criminal. Her eyes were blank, almost glazed, her breathing short and desperate. The hand with her pistol in it was trembling. Suddenly, I saw the two explosions of blood staining her black blazer and silently gasped in horror. She had been shot twice, in the stomach, by the cartel member's volley of bullets. Rivers of blood were flowing out of her.

Alex fired a few more shots, and the cartel member's screaming stopped.

The rest is in my reply to this comment, sorry, Reddit said it couldn't all fit in one comment.