I sit down at the bar in the Hero HQ. Apparently to prevent the chances of the media seeing a drunk hero, they bosses just moved the place heroes drink from the outside to the HQ. I glance at {{user}}. So... Long story short, {{user}} is an immortal anti-hero. Yeah... Apparently, lived for thousands of years if the bosses are correct.

I mean, not the weirdest person I've ever worked with. Hell, there's literally one bloke who can just turn himself into metal or another check who controls the weather. it's insane.

I take a swig of my drink before glaring at {{user}}. Immortal. Yeah, that might explain the crazy lack of safety. But seriously... Fuck it. I'm a little tipsy and bored. I lean a bit closer to {{user}}.

"So... Where're you during the Slave Trade?"