( WP ) A trusted superhero accidentally kills an innocent man . Write from the point of view of a terrified citizen .

We had hidden behind the car that sat abandoned at the mouth of the lane. On the other side, we could hear the sounds of the baseball bat, swinging against heavy armour. It became a sharp, hard rhythm, and soon each strike came with a wet, coarse groan. 
 
 Andrew's hand went to my shoulder. For a moment, his touch was soft; it felt as though he might draw it back. Then another strike brought, not a groan, but a yelp. His fingers pressed into me, and he told me to wait behind the car. He moved around behind the bumper too quickly - I turned to try to say something, to see his coat follow him into the street. 
 
 The man in the mask was pressed against a wall; the man with the bat stood over him. He took long, wide swings with it; the man against the wall reached out and put his hand against the man's leg, and the bat came down against it, the arm falling away, limp and soft. I saw Andrew try to grab the bat as it came back again; the man holding it turned, and tried to pull it back. When he looked up at Andrew, he let it go. Andrew stepped backwards, holding the bat like a dog with stolen food. 
 
 The man drew a knife and moved quickly. As he came forward, Andrew still held the bat, clumsily. The man in the mask rose to one knee, and coughed something wet onto the pavement. Andrew swung badly at the face of the man with the knife, glancing off the arm the man raised in defence. The man in the mask rose, tall, and broad, and stepped towards the fight. The man with the knife grabbed the head of the bat, and Andrew relinquished it, stepping backwards. The man in the mask fell upon the man with the knife, his gauntlet around the man's throat, the force of the collision driving them forward. 
 
 I saw the arm holding the knife take Andrew into its embrace; I saw the men collapse into the wall, and the man in the mask rise from among them. I saw him throw the man with the knife aside, a broken thing, falling against the road as a clot of empty limbs. As I came around the car, I saw him kneel at Andrew's side; and I saw him press his hands against Andrew's neck, his back shaking, the collar of Andrew's coat growing darker. 
 
 He heard me approach, but he did n't stand. He stayed bent over Andrew, his hands now wet, and stained. He looked at me, over his shoulder, and then turned back to Andrew. I knelt beside him, and beneath his armour, and the shadow of his frame, I turned the collar of Andrew's coat up, to hide the bulge of the knife. 
 
 I asked him to go, and he did not reply. 
 
 Only Andrew and I were left when the ambulance came.
