The smoke cleared like a theater curtain revealing the main act, and Pierre felt his stomach drop. There he was—the walking disaster himself, Captain Jack Steelheart, protagonist of the worst power fantasy ever committed to paper. The blue hair was even more ridiculous in person, a shade so vibrant it looked like someone had dunked his head in paint. His sleeveless vest hung open to display abs that belonged on a romance novel cover, not a battlefield.
Of course he's here. Of course he's shirtless. Of course he's grinning like he just solved world hunger.
Jack stood amid the wreckage of what had been Orellia's merchant quarter, hands on his hips in a pose that screamed 'I'm the main character.' The Torres Twins—two hulking brutes with matching scars and cruel grins—had cornered a young woman near the ruins of an amber stall. The merchant clutched a small velvet pouch to her chest, tears streaming down her dirt-stained cheeks as gems scattered around her feet like fallen stars.
