Blitz wasn't the first one through the door. He usually liked to leave that to the tanks, since catching bullets was their thing, even though he could easily dodge them--after all, he could run at twice the speed of a bullet. Normally. But the second they were in, bullets flying as soon as the threat was recognized, Blitz was right on their heels and then past them, building up speed as he circled the warehouse. Each step he took generated more energy for him to store and then use later. Except something was wrong...
It felt like he was trying to run through waist-deep water. The energy felt muted, fuzzy, weak compared to what he usually got from it. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to get to his normal speed, either. "What the hell?" he asked out loud, his voice distorted by his speed, which was still formidable even with this unknown hindrance. He was moving fast enough that they couldn't properly aim at him, but stray bullets were still dangerous.
Once he felt that he had built up enough for some blasts, he fired them off, knocking at least one mobster into the wall. A spray of bullets followed as the man in question lost control of his gun, and one grazed Blitz's upper right arm. He looked down at the new injury, which stung like hell, as if it were an insult as much as a wound. "You're kidding me!" he voiced his disbelief, and looked over at his teammates. "I'm having an off day today, mate." Luke was cocky enough to feel confident in talking conversationally with his fellow agents during missions, but he should have focused more on this one. He didn't know what was slowing him down, but he wasn't the only one affected...