He felt oddly calm as his group squared off against the villains with some of the highest power ratings in Brockton Bay, beneath the grim display of the three hanging corpses.
Heavy hitters indeed.
He reached into the slot of the armor at his side and withdrew two sheaves of paper. Moving his thumbs in one direction, he fanned out the papers, holding them like anyone else might hold a pair of knives.
Hm. Now what’s this? Gonna rip them up and freeze the shrapnel or something?
He realized what it was, this calm. Whatever else it was, this fight was a refuge from that feeling that had plagued him since the fight with Leviathan ended.
I see.
The feeling that he was always in the wrong place, doing the wrong thing at the wrong time, in the face of a city in crisis and a dying father. This, right here, was where he was needed.
Ah, yeah…
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