TheThirdReviewer

Bruce was thrown onto his back and several feet backwards by the bomb blast. Unfortunately, this new position meant he could only watch in horror as the explosion tore the warehouse apart, greedy tongues of fire devouring everything they could reach, and painting violent streaks of red and orange and yellow against the blue-dark sky. He got to his feet slowly, wincing at the pain of a bruised hip, the smoke stinging his eyes and making him cough. “Dick!” He ran towards the smoldering ruins, wrapping his cape around himself to shield his body from the smoke and flame. Nevertheless, his wrists and eyes burnt as he dug through the w

Ivan sighed in dissatisfaction. Toris had let the coffee go cold again. And he really needed the coffee. It wasn't as if he had slept very well the night before. In fact, he'd been up for most of it, getting only about three or four hours of sleep. Too much thinking to do. Too much worrying. There was his growing animosity with Alfred, for one thing, and the depression after the war, and besides that he was pretty sure there was something wrong with his boss. He was slowing down lately, looking pale much of the time. Looking like…no, Ivan didn't want to think that. But the thought just came back. Looking just like Lenin had before he died. Bu

That night, Yao couldn't sleep. It was too hot, even in just a singlet. The air was humid, sticky, heavy. Sweat coated his skin with a damp, shiny film. And it wasn't just the heat bothering him. Something else, he didn't know what, was nagging at the corners of his mind, so that he couldn't stop trying to work out what it was. The furious tempo of his brain would not slow down enough to allow him to relax. He had started off tossing and turning, but after a while that took mre energy than his exhausted body was willing to yield. So he lay still, tangled in sheets, desperate for some peace–oh, and what was that infernal buzzing sound? Mo

"Yong-Soo!" America dropped to his knees beside his friend. He wrapped his arms around him. Yong-Soo buried his head in Alfred's shoulder, the blood on his lips staining Alfred's white shirt. "Yong-Soo, what's happened? What's Hyung done? What's he done to you?" "He…he invaded…his army crossed the border this morning…Alfred, it hurts!" "Shh, I know, of course it does…it always does…" "Alfred, help me…please…" "I will…I promise I will. I'll call my boss. Just wait here a minute. Kiku!" "Yes, Alfred-san?" "Can you look after him a minute?" "No!" Yong-Soo sobbed. "Alfred, please, don't leave me with

Alfred F. Jones woke to the smell of breakfast cooking in the kitchen. The smell of breakfast in this house was always slightly different to that in his own, as the usual smells of eggs and butter and coffee were mixed with miso and tea. The reason for this being that the man in the kitchen, Kiku Honda, was cooking two breakfasts at the same time, one for Alfred and one for himself. Alfred dragged himself off the futon on which he had been sleeping. He was never going to get used to sleeping on the floor whenever he was here, although he had been doing it on and off for five years. To top off the general 'incredibly stiff from sleeping on t