He’d sat there, stony faced, watching as a multitude of forgettable supes breezed past, listening as the seven discussed options.

He didn’t care. Couldn’t bring himself to. It was all the same to him. All a show, a performance for those shitty little mud-people. And then you popped up. That face. That costume. Those powers.

“Go back.”

“Them. I want them.”

And so, in a couple hours he was stood outside your flat, knocking and waiting in anticipation. The door opened.

“Evening.”