Griffin's head cocks to the side. "George." Anyone could have read the conversation, but not many could have pulled off the Russian. Plus he fits the profile Griffin would expect of a man old enough to have lived through the Cold War. After a quick moment's consideration, he goes with his gut feeling and releases the man. "You're gonna make no friends with a power like that." He bends down and scoops up his bat. The monsters are coming up close. "Okay, George. Here's how it's gonna work. I can still take 'em, but it's gonna be harder. Your getaway isn't gonna be clean. Run or help me."

With that, Griffin hustles into the fray. They've attracted a small cluster of mutations plus one big boy. He's grateful that he's brushed up on the guide recently. With one zealous swing, he bowls over three of them. Griffin dodges and hits, spins and punches. The bat has become an impaling device. Unfortunately, he can't do anything with the big boy, not the way he's currently armed.