[ WP ] Eating paste , crayons , or some other non-food item can grant limited superpowers , but most kids are shamed out of these bad habits before the powers fully develop .

The gang had barricaded themselves into the bank, they had set up a recoilless rifle on the roof that blew any police cruisers in range to pieces, GPMGs were strategically placed so their overlapping fields of fire created an impassible kill zone. Worst of all, they had hostages, the authorities were at a loss the police were out gunned, if they called in the army they risked losing the hostages, and negotiations were failing. 
 
 
 The streets surrounding the bank were cordoned off by the police, at these barricades people gathered in throngs, fearfully begging the police for news of ransomed family members, angrily demanding action, or simply dumbly gawping. 
 
 
 Alan stood among the crowd, watching this all play out, he knew he had to do something. He reached into his breast pocket and drew out a small cardboard box with'Crayola' printed on it. 
 
 He folded open the lid, carefully drew out a crayon, lifted it to his mouth and bit down. 
 
 He sundered as a surge of power coruscated through his body, he could feel it flooding into his limbs, suffusing them with a potent energy. He leaned forward onto the balls of his feet, braced himself, then jumped. 
 With a thunder clap he soared into the air, arcing over the police cordon and landing on the far side with a heavy thud. 
 
 Almost instantly after hitting the ground he broke into a sprint, his legs propelling him with an unholy vigour he began to close the distance between him and the band. 
 
 
 The gunners in the bank starred in disbelief at the lone figure charging them. The disbelief turned to dread as the noticed the terrifying speed of his approach. Their guns opened fire with a staccato roar. 
 
 Alan did n't break stride as the lines of bullets stitched across the asphalt towards him. Bullets strafed across his body, flattening and breaking against his skin without leaving a mark. On the bank's roof the gang swung the recoilless rifle around to target the rapidly approaching figure. 
 
 With a deafening crack and a whoosh of propellant they fired a HE shell at Alan. Alan simply braced himself and kept running. 
 
 
 The shell hit the ground just in front of Alan, engulfing him in a storm of fire and shrapnel. A storm he weathered with ease. 
 
 In the bank the gunners balked at this sight, in a blind panic they abandoned their posts they, they tried to flee but Alan was too fast. 
 
 
 
 When it was all over Alan was lauded as a hero, news crews jostled to get shots of him with their cameras, he stood before the freed bank stoically helping emergency crews evacuate the traumatised hostages. 
 
 When the media asked him to comment all he did was turn to the camera and smile, revealing teeth gunked up with blue wax.
