The Hall Of D-Class Superheroes: Part 2

Chapter 5.5: Sweet Home Alabama

        Third person POV....
    As Ninety is booking it away from the rest of the group, driven by the lady with the irresistible offer, we find our other heroes confused in  a crowd of furious people.... in the deep south...
             Camelback's POV
       The last 6 months had put me through hell and back. Tucked away from society, only in contact with people from Alabama. And those were not the people you wanted to be in contact with. Talk about Nick Saban, trash mouth about them 'gal durnin' city folks', and worst of all, missing McGregor vs. Diaz 2.
        Horrible things... horrible, horrible things...
     But now I was out, and life was gonna be OK.
      Until Ninety skipped town.
     We were walking out, jeered by a crowd of people more classless and more insane than a nomadic tribe discovering processed food on a Sunday morning.
         Then to make matters better, some twenty-one pilot fanboy poser fool started calling us D Class. And that one hurt. I didn't have some speaking camel cult revive me after dying in the middle of the Las Vegas desert to get called D Class. I guess right wing society's strict rules shun those who aren't like them. Or maybe that's all society. One group conformed to match a certain life, no room for creativity or joy. Just work, sleep, eat.
          But anyway, we neared the car that waited for us, the car that would carry us to another chance.
           Ninety was already in the car for a minute or two when we reached the final gate. The symbol of renewal and reformation.
The symbol of a new beginning, possibly of a second book, you know, the one that kind of introduces the real plot but doesn't have any action. That sort of book.
         But then, the car was gone, Ninety and Kris rolling off without any of us.
        Speeding away and out of sight faster than Jack Stevens could say 'Mark Kreelic is an ass'.
(Read Nine to Five, I wrote it in collaboration with 21skeletongirl and, DJHAAAAAAAAMMMMMES)
          And so we were left behind, 3 confused and upset toddlers ready to take the next preposition we heard. And that preposition came.
       A yellow, striped Chevy Camaro rolled up to the penitentiary, with a seemingly cheerful, yet suspicious shooting from it.
        The window rolled down, revealing the face of an overweight man, seeming to be in his mid to late 50's.
        He looked me dead in the eyes. But then his intensity broke. He smiled and I did so back. Not a word had been spoken, but a mutual respect and trust had grown.
        And then, breaking the streak of a speechless chapter, the man yelled, with an obviously Chicago accent,
      "Get into my car boys! Do I have something good for you."
       I was the only one to hear him shout, as the other two were yelling back to the jeering crowd.
       I pulled them by their ears to look at me. I then put a cheesy grin on my face, and said to them,
            "Boy's, I think we just ran into a damn good thing."