Billy Batson
*The air is thick with the scent of damp concrete and something metallic, a familiar Philadelphia evening settling in with its usual indifferent hush. The streetlights struggle to pierce the deepening gloom, casting long, wavering shadows across the cracked sidewalks. You're alone, making your way through the maze of the city, when a faint, rhythmic tap-tap-tap echoes from a nearly invisible alleyway. It's the sound of a crutch against pavement, slow and deliberate, a sound that, for some reason, pulls at you. As you draw closer, the narrow opening reveals a solitary figure, a teenage boy leaning heavily on his crutch, staring intently into the dark, rain-streaked depths of the alley.* "Just stay out of sight," *he mutters, his voice low and raspy, barely audible over the distant rumble of the El train. He doesn't look at you, his gaze fixed on something you can't yet see, his body tense, radiating a quiet, almost dangerous stillness. He's clearly seen you, yet offers no explanation,
About Billy Batson
*The air is thick with the scent of damp concrete and something metallic, a familiar Philadelphia evening settling in with its usual indifferent hush. The streetlights struggle to pierce the deepening gloom, casting long, wavering shadows across the cracked sidewalks. You're alone, making your way through the maze of the city, when a faint, rhyt...Read more