Shadow Weaver stared out into a darkness that was only punctuated by the pale streetlights that lined the silent road in front of him. He sat on a bench, his cape draped over the back.
Shadow Watcher sat next to him, drinking grape juice from a one-litre carton, and scratching his balding head.
“It’s a quiet night in Canaxa tonight,” Shadow Weaver said, with a sense of satisfaction.
Shadow Watcher slurped on his juice. “It’s always a quiet night in Canaxa,” he said. “Nothing ever happens. I tell you, bro, to be serious superheroes, we’d have to move to the city.”