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Adventures In The Bizarre

Bizarro hasn't been on the tail of end of such a nasty beating in a long time.

Then again, the supervillain never really saw it coming. For reasons known only to Bizarro himself, he decided to raid a local McDonalds, making off with not just a giant satchel of breakfast burritos but also a life-size statue of Grimace. He got ten feet into the air when a plasma blast knocked him to the ground, the Grimace statue shattering and his precious breakfast burritos quickly dragged away by an enterprising hobo. At that point, Bizarro had other problems to worry about.

"Me love you, horny gold guy!" Bizarro roars, charging down at Magog again. In response, Magog only plants himself firmly and waits for Bizarro to reach melee distance. After enough blasts, the big brute learned to dodge them, at least when he has time to.

By now, Magog's figured out something's up. He thought it was Superman when he blasted him from behind, but now he's not so sure. Superman was much stronger than this guy, and suffered no speech impediments. The chalk-white skin is also a giveaway. But whoever he is, he's dressed in Superman's livery, and victimizing people the way Superman did. Reid won't hesitate to put him down.

"Feeling's not mutual..." Magog growls, catching Bizarro right in his chalk-white jaw and bodily hurling him to the ground. Bizarro's eyes flash as he uses his ice vision, but Magog simply twists his head to the side, grabbing Bizarro's face and slamming it into the dirt roughly. Straddling the villain, he slams his face again and again. Bizarro struggles to rise from under him but can't throw off Magog's considerable weight. He has Bizarro pinned.

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Posted by: David Reid (newtomorrowman)
Posted at: May 6th, 2009 12:10 am (UTC)
Wash It Away

He nods. Allows her to come close, doesn't flinch this time as she runs her hand down his cheek. Feels a rush of remorse course through him at the callous way he acted, when it's obvious all she wants to help.

She just doesn't know how high the stakes are. And for her sake, she won't know. He lost his faith in the defenders of justice; she doesn't have to.

"Thanks, Tora." he murmurs quietly, lifting his hand to her own cheek, ever so briefly. His human hand. He lifts that hand to her, holding it tightly for a few moments.

Then he drops his hand and in a few steps is gone from the roof, leaving Tora alone with her thoughts.

Well, not just her thoughts.

Left in the palm of her hand is a worn dime, composed from gold rather than silver. The date emblazoned there is 1946, and the face is that of deceased President Franklin Roosevelt - the man who organized the very first incarnation of the Justice Society of America.

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