Powers whips his arm forward and a sleek silver gun shoots out from a complex track device built into his sleeve. He shoots several shots at Dirk Steele, who does a back flip to avoid the first bullet and then deflects the next several shots with the small metal plates on the bottom of his shoes. Tons of tension. Your petty bullets are no match for my intellect, Steve Powers. He whips out a flame-thrower from his other sleeve.
Flames shoot across the room, scorching everything in their path.
Everything that is, except for Dirk Steele, who uses the painting to deflect the flames. He flings the painting at Powers, but Powers closes his hands on it just as it is mere inches from his face. They stare at each other. More tension than you can shake a stick at. What follows is a car chase that takes them up and down the hills of San Francisco.