He's counting down in his head, distilling the sharp, increasingly frantic voice of the operator tinny in his ear to units of time as he charges across the rooftops in long legged, thunderous lopes. This isn't a reality where he can simply fly, but he does as best as his feet can manage as a hefty leap carries him across the open space from building to building.

The target is down. Emergency rendezvous is drastically simplified. Single-minded focus does not come without feeling; Thor is all feeling.

There's no hesitation in his next leap -- launching off concrete earlier, plummeting down for the scene below. He is a big man, all wild blonde hair, the same elemental energy he bore when he was a Nordic god, but he is in armoured black, a coat, a gun strapped beneath his ribcage. He lands on top of an empty box truck, denting metal, pistol already in hand and firing only a second after Wayne.

Return fire puts a hole through flip of coat as he rolls, landing hard but stable.