Unable to avoid Arachnerd's invention, Tin Man was promptly webbed to the floor, unable to move his arms or fire his boot-jets or do much of anything else.  How long the webs were going to hold him was uncertain.<br/><br/>"<em>Rude</em>?"  Another bolt of flame flew wide.  Bravado aside, the remaining woman was entirely out of her league and obviously knew it, beginning to back away.  "Do you have<em>any</em>idea who you're messing with?"  She poked her communicator again, as if that would bring results faster.  Or at all.