Superheroes and corpses. Mixed together like Jekyll and Hyde, or like a sweet candy with a sour aftertaste.
Corpses were a part of the nature of the business. They weren’t a pretty part. They were a part of the game that many didn’t think about. But look close enough — maybe behind a billowing cape, or buried under a super team’s trophy room — and corpses could be found.
You put on a costume and fought. You fought, and you fought, and you fought.
At a certain point — with the chaos of all the different sorts of powers, the pell-mell of all those flying fists — people ended up dying.
If you were a good superhero, you saw a lot of corpses. If you were a bad superhero, you became the corpse.
Just the nature of the game.
Prometheus thought about all that, as he looked at Shade’s corpse. It truly was an ugly sight.
They’d found her in a dumpster right at the back of a busy shopping center. The storefronts were well put-together: nicely lit, with inviting signs and just the right amount of foliage. The storefronts promised that this was the perfect area for rich old people (or spoiled younger ones).
Take a stroll behind the stores, though, and things looked a little different. Not necessarily terrible. Just neglected. The lighting was harsh, fluorescent, flickering. Instead of store fronts, there were brick walls.
The place smelled like trash and death.
Prometheus looked at Agent Kirby, the Metahuman Affairs agent who had a frame like a cinderblock. The two of them stood a foot away from the crime scene investigator, who was collecting evidence.
“What happened, Detective?” Prometheus asked.