the baxter building is a pinnacle of heroism. shining chrome & clear glass invite the community to feel connected, despite the lofty heights of architecture. nothing like the brooding dark tint of roxxon, with opaque windows to hide the rich getting richer. every skyscraper is another blur in his vision when he runs past. still, the glare off the baxter blinds him into slowing down with a skid against tile.
the crowd's jeering is almost loud enough to overcome the building's muffling glass. but kingpin mayor fisk wanted a sponsored hero on every block, like the occasional pothole in the street. so a-train sits as a proxy: maybe false heroism could be masked by earnest company.
he's aware of every camera & sits on the wall, in the blind spot for security but never escaping the press. inquiring minds want to know his response about the protests outside. what does he think about the public opinion? a drawn sign depicts @invisgrrl's team putting a stop to the notorious speedster. i don't, a simple answer given with a quick smile.
"you’re not mad? or stunned? not even mildly bemused?"
all the outside distate echoes the twinge of conscience he still has left. a reminder of the hero he wanted to be, lifetimes ago. "none of the above. is bored an option?" a-train licks icing off his fingers & tilts his head as if the sign were a basquiat with deeper layers to find. he'd been a willing model of casual cruelty for years: at least the handmade sign captures truth over doctored headlines.
"shit like this is just an occupational hazard ... it is what it is. we can't all be the brady bunch, party with diplomats." he shrugs off their surroundings but his posture is tight, as if he's posed by an outside hand. the visor hides something like bemusement twinkling in his eye. "you scared or somethin'? i thought you were supposed to be the cool one."
