No. Not for just you. Part of it's for me, too. They keep telling me it's okay, nobody here cares, but-- [ He's afraid, too. That they won't understand, that'll they'll see all that he's lost in his bleached skin, his scars. They'll know what he can't do anymore, they'll hear his laugh and know he's Humpty Dumpty, put together a little crooked after the fall. ] Maybe it isn't. Feels like that sometimes, you know.

[ His eyes are down on the helm a moment later, its Coke can red under his bleached white hands. It makes him safer just to have it, but it should be on. But it isn't. Not yet. ]

Well, uh.

This is the crazy part is-- we got tired of watching the world grind people like us-- big and small, long and tall or short and fat, scaly or smooth... we got tired of watching people bigger, meaner than us... push everybody body down.

So we started fighting back. Put on masks and made costumes and--heh. Fought crime. I know-- crazy, right?