.Longshot.

There were certain things I liked, but overall, they couldn't save it for me. The costume had a high neckline that looked like it was choking him, a tiny chest symbol, and a tone of red that was way too muddy. I have nothing against Brandon Routh. I think he had a decent understanding of the character and a lot of enthusiasm, but he just had NO presence in the role. He can't be blamed entirely. They did write him as a silent emo stalker. I can understand the "actions speak louder than words" approach to Superman, since it does fit the character in a lot of ways, but you still have to provide some meaningful ACTIONS, and the shuttle rescue and the kryptonite island just didn't cut it. I thought their approach to the special effects was good and kind of interesting but it wasn't as ambitious and creative as it could've been. Overall, the movie just sort of... lies there. I think the thing that really earned it my scorn was that it lead Bryan Singer to leave his ultimate X-Men movie in the hands of the genius who brought us Rush Hour. Superman Retruns' greatest crime was simply being forgettable, and when you deal with an icon like Superman, that's a pretty severe offense.

I certainly think it's possible. I mean, there's a part of Metropolis called "Suicide Slum". For my money, that's quite a bit darker than "Crime Alley". To me, it's not really a question of "could we" as it is a question of "should we". Superman projects optimism and courage in the face of adversity. He's a beacon of hope. That said, a beacon shines brightest in the night, so I think it's perfectly acceptable to take Superman as he is and lead him into rather grim scenarios. One of my favorite Superman stories is Peace On Earth where he tries to end world hunger. As you might assume, it gets pretty sad. But making Superman himself gritty seems counter-intuitive to everything the character represents.

Parasite, if we're not simply judging by who can butt heads with him the hardest. Parasite can weaken him without the use of kryptonite, and by weakening Superman, he makes himself strong. That shift in the ratio makes the fight unfair in Parasite's favor, and there's really no guaranteed way for Superman to take him down without just making him stronger. Depending on where you get your information, Parasite can even absorb the kinetic energy of punches and bullets. The problem is that he's really not that clever. That power should just win every fight for you, but he just doesn't seem to have the creativity to use it to its full potential. Now, if Lex Luthor were able to give himself Parasite's powers...

Goldilocks

Posted.

Longshot's boots hit the soft, moist dirt and his lungs flooded with wet, pungent air. It was always a stunning sensation to come back into being after simply not existing for a split second, especially when you were cast into such an exotic and lively environment after being pulled from a place sterile and polished and cold. He followed the order to take up the rear and held his tongue when he felt the urge to question Edward and point out that his heightened senses would be most useful on point. There was a time and a place to challenge the leader. This was neither. For a thick jungle environment, they had decent visibility. Not ideal, but decent. He kept an arrow to the string as he moved carefully, cautiously, every move deliberate and silent as his feet sank into the soft, dark earth. He was falling behind, but only to an intentional degree, all the better to guard the rear.

He fired the grapple line from the vembrace around his right arm and zipped into the trees without a trace. A thin fog wandered through the trees, covering the forest floor. He couldn't get high enough to see above it, but he still had visual on the marching line of dark figures that constituted the team. He switched his eyepiece to infrared to better see any approaching lifeforms. Anything warm blooded, that is.

Longshot could hear Edward calling out to him. He must have thought he was still at the back of the line. He was making an awful lot of noise. Then again, Longshot had rather high standards for volume control. He spoke low and soft into the fog, a technique he often used for intimidation, to make his voice sound as if it were coming from all sides, but this time, it was simply the quietest way to get information to the leader without sacrificing his vantage point.

"Don't worry," the archer replied in a voice that bounded off of everything and made it sound to Edward as if the trees themselves were talking to him, "I don't go anywhere without the proper equipment. I have a full first-aid kit in my belt along anti-venom for all the major venomous predators in this ecosystem. As for the weaponized toxin theory... well, if you could rip trees out of the ground with your hands and get into fist fights with moving vehicles, would you bother making weapons?" He paused in the middle of his step, one foot on each branch, and did a sweep of the jungle below.

"Hold..." he whispered to the people below, carefully scanning all three hundred and sixty degrees, "I have heat signatures inbound. There's one coming right for you, Edward. About ten more in a wide circle around us. We're surrounded. Don't worry. If it were an attack, they'd all be moving in together. Just looks like precautionary measures." The small heat signature was advancing toward his team. He heard beads and clothes rustling, a staff gently striking the earth with each stride. "Mind the language barrier, Edward. You're our ambassador in ten seconds."

Longshot stood atop the front monorail car, tall and straight, lingering on the very edge as it sped across Seattle. The wind battered him, but his feet remained anchored, his fists planted firmly at his sides. He reached into the back pouch of his belt and pulled out his mobile computer, no larger than a typical cell phone. He checked update: breaking news, criminal hot spots, developing crises, classified files -- things not meant for his eyes typically proved to be the most beneficial. He picked a file, removed the encryption, and played the first of a collection of videos. His eyes narrowed as he watched it play out in his hand, studied every frame as it passed. When it was over, he drew his communicator and pressed the talk button, speaking, "This is Longshot. Main squad, report to base for immediate briefing. Designation: whiteout. Make sure you're not followed. Longshot out." He hung up and jumped clear of the train, vanishing into shadow.

Champions HQ

"This is the situation," the archer announced, looking to his colleagues in the main squad of the Champions, "My sources have brought this to my attention..." He opened up the file on his mobile computer, linked in to the screen for all to see. The video began to play. It was shaky, torn apart by static, but the general image came through. The frame was filled with smoke, or mist, it was hard to tell, but vague figures ran about in the distance. Some appeared to be chasing others. Whether it was a trick on the eye or not, one seemed to catch the other by the scruff of his neck and fling him out of frame. The camera trembled and the perspective shifted. The cameraman was running. Suddenly, the dark form of a man appearing before him with what appeared to be a large tree in his hands. Longshot froze the frame there. "There are several more videos like that. Most depict somewhat less hostile behavior, but the point persists. This is a tribe buried somewhere in the jungles of South America. My estimates place it in the northern regions of Peru. From the evidence presented, it seems that all the members of the tribe possess remarkable strength and durability. I would suggest a peaceful interaction with the tribe to attempt to identify the source of this phenomenon. We're not the only ones that know about this, but we might just be the only ones who don't have any interest in taking it for ourselves. Despite their power, these people need protecting, and just as important, the cause of their power needs protecting. If anyone has any hesitations speak up now. Our boots hit the ground in one hour."

@EdwardWindsor: Longshot at last turned to face the prince, his eyes burning with quiet, barely retrained anger. "Yes. And when 'guys like me' aren't around to keep you in check, you lay claim to the moon and throw away a symbol of hope andhumanresilience while hypocritically proclaiming that this land belongs to no one, and you do it on national television to remind people that you can do whatever you want, whenever you want, and they just have to deal with it. 'Guys like me' already carry the weight of the world on our shoulders. We don't need the added task of keeping you in line because you can't do it yourself." The archer passed Edward by, intentionally bumping shoulders with him. "Enjoy the view, Your Highness."

@EdwardWindsor: Tonight. May get pushed back to tomorrow if I have writer's block, but otherwise, you can expect it tonight.

@EdwardWindsor: Longshot sighed. His gaze softened beneath his mask, but he still neglected to look his leader in the eye. "You have a lot of talents, Edward," he said at last, "But by far your most prominent is a remarkable knack for overstepping your bounds."