[ Evidently the murderous children of the world flock to one Clint Barton.
He nearly teeters like a desperate man walking a ledge and Brandon — no, Brightburn — is there to catch him. When he is bumped into he steps back and it is like Clint is being supported by a wall, one born of telekinesis that wraps around him like a knit sweater. It would be so easy to use too much pressure and squash him like a bug (he even feels his fingertips twitching), but he refrains for the present time.
The creator of the wall is a small boy, at least it looks like a boy, wearing a thrift store crafted superhero costume with an eerie looking mask and cape. His true vision of himself, the creature he was always meant to be. A creature plucked from nightmares no child should ever be privy to.
But the eyes that stare out and up at him hold none of the typical warmth a child of his age should have. They are cold and unfeeling, almost appearing to look through rather than directly at him. He never says a word, he just pins him in place with that lifeless stare and waits.
Funny enough, he is actually trying to be helpful by supporting him while he recovers. He is just a creepy kid even without the costume. His mother, she would want him to be good. To do good. And he can, can't he? ]
Flowers.
He nearly teeters like a desperate man walking a ledge and Brandon — no, Brightburn — is there to catch him. When he is bumped into he steps back and it is like Clint is being supported by a wall, one born of telekinesis that wraps around him like a knit sweater. It would be so easy to use too much pressure and squash him like a bug (he even feels his fingertips twitching), but he refrains for the present time.
The creator of the wall is a small boy, at least it looks like a boy, wearing a thrift store crafted superhero costume with an eerie looking mask and cape. His true vision of himself, the creature he was always meant to be. A creature plucked from nightmares no child should ever be privy to.
But the eyes that stare out and up at him hold none of the typical warmth a child of his age should have. They are cold and unfeeling, almost appearing to look through rather than directly at him. He never says a word, he just pins him in place with that lifeless stare and waits.
Funny enough, he is actually trying to be helpful by supporting him while he recovers. He is just a creepy kid even without the costume. His mother, she would want him to be good. To do good. And he can, can't he? ]