Officer Down, Officer Up (Open)

He hit it at an angle that proved to provide the least possibly injury, hit it with his back, and kept moving. The force of the blow had been intense. Had he not absorbed most of it with his purple shield, it might have proven fatal. The shield, of course, was gone. That had been an eye-opener. He was sure he'd have headaches about that, later. But now really wasn't the time for headaches. You see, he'd just been hit by the impact of a very large fist, which had sent him sailing across a room in an office complex, into a glass window, which had shattered, and was currently falling as tiny shards of glass around him.

To your average passerby who looked up, it might have seemed like someone were jumping. It wouldn't be a bird. It wouldn't be a plane. Someone, with their back facing the ground, was falling, surrounded by glass, wearing a blue suit that if given further investigation, would have been determined a police uniform. The average passerby was unlikely to sleuth that detail from ground floor, several floors below the fall. They might have thought "oh." or "Oh no." or "That really sucks for whoever is falling", but they certainly weren't going to determine 'Police uniform.' And they really wouldn't have had any idea what they were seeing, when they saw it in the sky.

Can one really call the space around a skyscraper 'sky'? One would suppose so. 'Dead air' would seem a more fair description, as there are no clouds, no distractions, other than space and wind. Chill, direction. Wind. Air. Fluttering by one's ears. And, in this case, glass. But those thoughts were unimportant. He'd already torn his attentions away from such silly things as those, yanked it away from 'headaches', and definitely away from fear or pain. Yanked, yoinked, yinked. He had a psychic creation to create on his back.

Full shard armor takes time. He'd been practicing it for a while. It had various forms and appearances, narrowed down to whim, and whatever mood he was in at the time (which could also be described as whim). It took concentration, and it took time. It was good he was not going for the full suit of armor, here. He just needed to cover his back.

It looked like 100 emeralds, miniscule in scope, appearing upon the center of his back. 100 turned to 1000, which multiplied even further, from center, up to shoulders, around the base of his neck, and crawling down to his lower back and ass. The back of his legs soon followed. Emeralds, tiny. Rounded. It happened as he fell, and then... he just stopped.

Tetsuya Shinbo opened his eyes as he hovered in mid-air, in what may have been deemed 'sky' by some of the citizens of New York. He was in a police uniform, he was on duty, and now, most importantly, his. Head. Hurt. He'd finally gained the time to realize that. His chest also hurt to high heavens, but he'd take that in stride and group it with his head in a little triangle folder in the back of his mind labeled 'Pain.'

By the open-air window in the office complex he'd just been in, a hulking gorilla stood complacently. His red tie fluttered against his chest in the wind. Behind him, the Asian's partner, Schafer, lay on his back, unconscious, all manly stubble and angular jawline, with broken goggles on his head.