The gun in his hand was getting hotter by the second. Looking around, Sandstone could see nothing he could dunk it in to cool it off — no handy fountains, or buckets of water, or rain barrels, or anything similarly useful. He was pretty sure the bullets would start firing themselves any second now.
What an annoying power this guy had, the ability to heat all metals in an area. It was only annoying for Sandstone — it wasn’t getting hotter than his skin could handle, and so far nothing metal on him was melting — but he was trying to be sneaky. A single gunshot would give his position away for sure, let alone a dozen of them. The sight point on the nose of his pistol was beginning to glow red. He had to do something.
The only thing he could think of was to stomp a hole in the ground, and bury the darn thing. Maybe the ground would cool it off — but he’d make too much noise doing that.
He looked up at the rooftops around him. Figuring he had zero seconds left, he hauled back and heaved the pistol up over the lowest rooftop, hoping to clear the five-story building and make it into the next street over, or something. A few seconds later, he heard the pop-pop-pop-pop-pop of the bullets going off. They sounded satisfyingly far away, more like firecrackers than gunshots.
Almost immediately after, he heard shouting, and the sound of someone or something very large pounding down the road a block over, heading in the direction of the shots. Grinning, Sandstone ran in the opposite direction.