When the intruder turned their back on him, Norman watched for another moment -- just a moment -- before the eyes of his helmet flicked into life. The uni-beam was still under repair, so for the moment there was only the two small alleys of light radiating from the armor.

That they even had the gall to touch his armor. The gall. The mere idea anyone would even try after all the trouble he had just put up with sent Norman into a blinding, dizzying rage. The week or so (less, really) he had spent putting this suit together symbolized every single damn thing he had waited and worked and climbed and bleed for.

It was borderline offensive.

He stood, an energy beam charging in his palm.