"Now I see. The demon is me."
Lisa May Stark is so much more than the child she used to be when she and her father were kidnapped in Afghanistan five years ago. She's Iron Man's daughter, she's the Red Raven, she's, well, you know who she is...
who's in the shadows? who's ready to play? this is a wild game of survival game of survival───ruelle
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new york, new york may 4, 2012 ( third person point of view )
Michael Allan walked through what was left of the city, his expression blank and his hands cold. His hands were always so cold. Buildings that used to be skyscrapers now scraped at the soles of his black leather shoes. Cars were blown to bits, streetlights hung limply over the streets, and blood still stained the concrete. Debris and wreckage lined his path onward. It was as if the entire block was mocking him with how much was destroyed and yet somehow he managed to survive. The sky was blue and the sun was shining, but neither of them should've been.
The world should have been over.
And it was, at least in Michael's mind.
The shoe of his limp leg scuffed against the broken glass and gravel when he came to a stop at the end of the street. His head slowly rolled back and his green eyes snaked up the side of the building that stretched up before him. His lips twisted and his green eyes flickered with darkness while the lone man stood at the foot of Stark Tower that merely had a single 'A' left hanging on its side.
How ironic that these "heroes" took on an invasion and they all somehow managed to survive while so many others who were just trying to flee did not.
God, it was disgusting to the young man.
His dark hands slowly, carefully, methodically clenched into tight fists that stretched his skin and the cuts carved into it. His limp leg dragged ever so slightly behind him as he walked onward again, his hands loosening from their death grip and his eyes falling emotionless all over again. Walking closer to the caved-in library, he could hear the buzz of machinery and the loud chatter of the men that worked inside. As he walked through the tarp-covered doorway, all of men on the crew slowly looked over at young man they knew and had heard so many stories about, especially from the few days before.
"Things are never gonna be the same now."
Oh yes, everyone had heard what had become of Michael Allan.
"I mean, look at this. You got aliens. You got big green guys tearing down buildings."
Adrian Toomes stood a good distance away with Phineas Mason, holding a recent drawing done by his twelve year old daughter. She had sketched out the large blue wormhole in the sky and the "heroes" scattered throughout the flaming city. The young girl had no understanding of what it was like during the real battle. Michael didn't blame her for that. To the people who weren't there, it was merely a story, a fantasy, a game. No one could ever understand what it did to those who fled.
