We get out of the car on Main Street, which is pretty empty this time of night. It's that golden hour between 3AM and 5AM, when most of the drunks have staggered home and before the early shift workers have started their morning commute.
"So what is this place?" Tank pumps his double-barreled shotgun, ramming shells into the chambers. The douche is armed to the teeth. "What's the deal here?"
It's a good question. Standing on the sidewalk, all I see in front of us is a row of old brownstone office buildings. Scattered windows in the upper floors are lit from within--by cleaners or workaholics, I'm guessing--but not many.
"Like I said, it's a super-hero secret." With that, Hericane strides across the sidewalk, heading for the building we're parked in front of. Tank and I follow, b
