Randy looked up at the sky, only to see Prometheus’s suit flying towards him.
It was familiar. He remembered being a little girl, the daughter of White Tiger. He remembered centuries in the future, when he was a little boy.
He looked at Prometheus’s suit, and he remembered.
Prometheus remembered plenty too: all he’d done for Katie, and all he’d tried to do.
Of course he hadn’t been perfect. He hadn’t been the all-powerful hero he’d wanted to be, the guy who always finished the job.
In a way, he had failed Katie. He hadn’t taken the time to make sure she was okay.
But he’d done so much, hadn’t he? Hadn’t he always done his best?
For these reasons, he no longer felt a pang of guilt when he looked at Randy. Sure, Katie had been plenty fucuked up. And sure, Prometheus might’ve been able to help her more than he had.
But that wasn’t his responsibility. He couldn’t be a hero to everyone.
He’d done so much good.
Randy stood there, no longer running. He wanted to live, goddammit. He wanted to live so badly.
He wanted to find Anne, kill her, and live his life. He wanted so badly to just live a sane, normal life.
Prometheus’s jet boots thrust him in Randy’s direction. Randy stood there, arms outstretched, ready to take Prometheus down.