*Suicide Slums, Metropolis*
It is easy to forget that even in Metropolis, there are slums.
He grew up here. Then, all he thought about was getting out. Now, flying over it, he ponders the best way to move back. Every day, he makes a point of flying over it. As if to say, someone cares.
Each day, he ponders the same question. Is this the best way to help?
He grew up here. Then, all he thought about was getting out. Now, flying over it, he ponders the best way to move back. Every day, he makes a point of flying over it. As if to say, someone cares.
Each day, he ponders the same question. Is this the best way to help?
Comments 10
The cigarette falls right out of Trevor's mouth when he sights the hero. He'd seen him before, but it's kind of like Superman; it's all in theory until you really -see- them.
"Dude. Steel. Frickin-frackin -Steel-." With one hand barely aflame, he flags him down.
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He fires his retro jets and looks for a place to land. It takes but a moment, but its certain a sight to see.
His voice is magnified via the helmet. "Do you need help?
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He shakes himself out of it, and takes a few steps around the hero. He gives him a disbelieving grin. "Steel. Whoa. Whoa. Holy crap! No. No, I-- I don't need help. I've just been wondering how long before I'd meet you. I thought maybe that time at the school, with the crazy guy? You responded, but world saving's a little more important, but, wow. You're really frickin Steel."
Hotshot motions to the motorcycle and the costume. "Hotshot. I live-- work-- here. Not like you, obviously, and the big 'S'. That's a whole other can of cranberries there, man."
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