This is it.
Deadly Class, Vol. The program has changed. The secret of the catacombs beneath the school. A reckoning for the corrupt. This is an evil world where evil people do evil stuff all the time. Collects DIE! Grab your new enamel pin now! Made by Yesterdays.
Gasolina, Vol. What will happen when ancient monsters, a submarine, and a drug lord named El Dorado are unleashed?
Hell on Earth. And so, the journey continues to the island of Animal-men, but danger abounds as Gogor and Armano encounter the deadly Amphax, a reptilian assassin sent by the Domus. Street brawls. City-wide castrations. Can Mindy regain control of the mission before the gangsters hunt her down? Kick-Ass must now fend off new Mexican enemies and contend with pressure from the Russians and her brother-in-law Maurice.
The secrets are beginning to take their toll, and when they come out, the results will be shattering. But will it be enough?
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Which—not gonna lie—kinda sucks, tbh. He is astounded and relieved, however, when the woodland people he and Fox encounter seem to know his mark.
That of her friends, or her family? All is lost! Or is it? Ensign Hydzek is a spy.
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But will it turn the Outpost against them? Thanks so much for riding with us! Prodigy, Vol. Ander is tall, broad-shouldered, and muscled, built more like a football player than a runner. Off the track, you might expect him to be strong, but not fast, and certainly not graceful. But when he runs, everything changes. How does this overgrown puppy-boy, with his baseball mitt hands and his size zillion kicks, turn into a thing of beauty on the track? But somehow when he runs, the sloppy teenage boy is gone and something powerful and primal takes his place.
Ander rounds the final curve and flies into the straightaway. He presses a little harder once the finish line is in sight, putting on a completely unnecessary rush of speed that would leave anyone else in his wake. He bursts across the finish line and keeps going, full tilt, for a few more yards before finally, reluctantly, slowing to a jog. Sipping it is like a nervous habit with him, and he never, ever shares. He looks up and notices us for the first time. I smile and give him a thumbs-up while Zoe golf claps. He breaks into a goofy grin and lopes in our direction.
And you know?
Cross Fire (1933)
I tug my worn red hoodie a little tighter around me, shove my notebook in my bag, pick up my violin case, and make my way down the bleachers, my combat boots clonking on the wood. Zoe follows me, even more slowly, in her leopard-print platform clogs. Why are you wearing those shoes? This makes sense only in Zoe World, since the coat in question is lime green polyester, circa nineteen-seventy. But it does make my usual uniform—gray t-shirt, red hoodie, dark jeans, black boots—look boring as hell. The sweatshirt is a size too small.
It strains over his shoulders. He tugs it on, then reaches out a hand to help first me, then Zoe, down the last step. I shrug. Baseball, by the way. Not so much a sports fan. I just came down to see if you wanted to walk home together. Zoe shakes her head. I need to go get ready for my shift. You read constantly.
He still looks exhilarated from the run. His pale blue eyes are glittery with adrenaline, his blond hair spiked with sweat. I need to hit the showers.
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Ander laughs and spreads his arms wide to catch the crisp fall breeze. Instead I stand there protesting as Ander wraps his strong arms around me and nearly crushes me in one of his signature bear hugs. He does smell like sweat—but in a good way. He smells like shampoo, too, and that other smell I can never place—something sweet like cloves, but spicy. I squirm and struggle against his grip, which is futile because Ander is much taller than me and extremely strong.
What I want is for this to be a real hug.
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Zoe laughs and waves me away with her hand. His arms are still around me. His face, still flushed with laughing, is suddenly serious.