You met the billionaire playboy
once. You grew up in one of his orphanages, after your Pop was killed by a villain and
your Ma ran off to make her fortune robbing banks in a souped-up mech suit. The orphanage
was nice, nicer than home even, because nobody there was squirreling away your lunch money
to pay for mech suit parts. You met the billionaire playboy when he came through the
orphanage to inspect the place. There was a woman with a clipboard trailing behind him,
and she smiled at you. The billionaire ran his hands across the rows of bedposts and
looked into the distance, and you couldn’t catch his eye.