Rogers' apartment is the same brand of tiny and generic that all of the apartments seem to be, except that his somehow manages to look like it hit the expiration date a couple decades ago. There's a shocker. All the same, it's interesting to look around, or revealing, at least. There's not quite as many retro looking chachkies to fiddle with as I was hoping for, but it already sounds like this talk alone is going to give me plenty of ammo.

This is all starting on a slightly off note for me, anyway. Assemble? Really? We sound like Voltron.

All the same, everyone in this room has proven themselves to be more than capable, despite my best efforts to forget this fact, so I keep my mouth shut about the questionable choice of words and the creepily cheerful emoticons. Steve Rogers, Bruce, Romanoff, Pepper... I'd take all of them over fire bees, but since I can't do anything, apparently, about the city and its weird powers, when life gives you lemons, smash the shit out of them and sell them, I guess.

I grab the first book I see off of the coffee table before I sit myself down on the opposite end of the couch, next to but, uh, far away from Romanoff.

"Vigilantism," I mutter, flipping through the book idly, "is that what we're doing now?"