THIRTY EIGHT
D'ANDRE STRUGGLED up uneasily and stumbled over to Pandora's wall of windows.
“Sorry, kid,” said Miss Pandora, behind him. “Arkin's just a big, lovable fool.”
D'Andre's hands fell against the plate glass, his palms barely able to steady himself. He had thrown up smoothie all over his shirt, and he felt too weak to stand for too long. He didn't want to fall on the marble, though, because it was so hard.
Far below at the street, Steve had fallen out of view.
Quakestorm, one of the freakiest Supers ever, held is arms in front of him to make a ball that grabbed the sunlight and focused it down like a big magnifying glass. He dropped past the windows on a beeline after Super Steve, to finish him off.
D'Andre slumped down and slid back against the glass. He had to remember to
