Chapter 82: The Concert
"Welcome to the third annual Pretty Face concert! Let's all make some noise, Oleander!"
Music practically exploded from every corner, mixing with the loud cheering of the crowd. The sounds of feet stomping on stone echoed out in all directions, but it had nothing on the mix of drums and guitar. Fog poured out of the stage, blocking out the hundreds of flashing lights as people recorded the scene.
Up on stage was where he stood. Pretty Face. King of magazines and posters. First place winner of the top five hottest male heroes three years in a row now and leader of the Sub Enforcers for Daisy City, former member of The-Future-Is-Now! Ran by Boy Genius.
Unlike most heroes, Pretty Face wasn't known for engaging in combat much. In fact, the only villain he ever fought was the Beast, when he was one of the heroes shipped off to fight the Calamity two years ago. Pretty Face preferred to do the much easier and less stressful things of hero work. Namely, public appearances. Every year, he took it upon himself to go to all ten major cities and perform a live concert.
Today, he was in Oleander.
Oleander was known for being very competitive when it came to football. Near the rich part of the city, a massive stadium had been turned into a makeshift concert hall. A large stage had been constructed in the center, and the grass was filled with hundreds of people. Those who didn't get the premium tickets were up in the stands, which had been opened up, allowing for more room. Colored lights ignited the night sky, and up on stage, Pretty Face performed like there was no tomorrow.
He didn't look like a hero. He was by no means normal-looking, but whereas most heroes wore costumes or gadgets, their weapons displayed on them proudly, Pretty Face was dressed in normal-looking clothes. Expensive for sure, but normal. A white buttoned-up shirt with a leather jacket over it. Tight black pants with dozens of chains forming the belt and shoes that would cost more than most houses in Oleander. His shades were tipped down, showing off a pair of stunningly blue eyes, and he had slick-backed, dyed silver hair. Like the Victorian, he didn't wear a mask. It was just Pretty Face, now. No silly thing like a secret identity. He was lean and tall and seemed to always keep a smirk on his lips.
Despite looking almost soft, he raged out on an electric guitar. Behind him, a ghostly blue-looking Pretty Face went ham on a pair of drums, and in front of them, a glowing red Pretty Face was roaring into a microphone. The stage was filled with nearly eight different versions of himself, all glowing different colors and rocking out wildly—a one-man band.
"It's hard to gather my thoughts," Jane muttered.
Hope snorted and leaned over the railing she was on, staring down at the hero who had rocked out for the crowd. "I heard last year's concert was way more intense than this, Mom."
"Well, now I'm glad I didn't let you go." Her mother huffed. "You'd have gone deaf before the night was over. Still might. Those tickets were so expensive, and it was just for these crummy seats."