Bruce really, really, really wishes he wasn't doing this. Like, seriously. If he could be anywhere esle, doing anything else, it would be an improvement over this. Even being dragged along by Janet to Brooks Brothers and Armani Exchange and all sorts of other stores all over New York with Tony and Clint laughing uproariously in the background would ( Read more... )

Slowly, the gold in the haze overhead turns blue, then purple, then fades away, leaving the newcomers below in darkness. The mist at least has faded. The piles stand out in the dark as though holding their own glow, though it doesn't shine beyond the piles and arches. It turns them into sharp-lined sketches done in soft shades of light. ( Read more... )

The thick fog clinging to the ground smells of copper and ozone. It hangs in the air, heavy and motionless, draped over scorched ground, haphazard piles of metal and stone, and the still-unconscious new arrivals. There's a faint golden haze overhead, suggesting the sun might be high overhead, but it's not enough to penetrate the mist ( Read more... )