An examination of a character who no one seems to really enjoy.
Our heroes aren't whole until they've have the crap beaten out of them.
On solid ground.
Metropolis, the worlds collide.
Paid to party.
We need apples.
Seeds planted between the cracks in the sidewalk can grow into thriving plants that can disassemble a Sig Sauer handgun in under a minute.
Hell of a town.
I’m gonna punch through that wall and bite out God’s throat and everyone will fucking love me for it.
"I think it's a tattoo parlor, Gregory."