Ben Phillips looked at the cordoned off Vanguard Complex with a touch of wistfulness in his heart. He hadn't stayed there long, but he'd enjoyed what little time he'd had.
His stay at Glover Memorial Hospital had been very rough, as was the rehab he'd had to go through upon recovering from the venom injected into him. He felt bad for Phouka, who was still in a venom induced coma. "Poor guy. . ." he muttered to himself as he began walking away from the complex, his hands buried inside the pockets of his overcoat, which barely concealed the black with blue highlighted uniform he wore.
He wandered the island, no money, no job, and no place to stay. No idea how to even contact Vanguard or even if they still existed. Although the doctors at Glover Memorial had not charged him for his stay. Something about all the good Vanguard had done for the island and the people in the time they'd been there. BF smiled a bit at this, although he'd not actually been with the group long, nor had he saved anyone on the island that he could recall.
He felt a bit like Elvis in that movie where he fought the evil mummy in the rest home. Damn, that was a good movie. He'd always wondered what had happened to Elvis. . .
BF found a quarter in one of his jacket pockets and bought a newspaper. Rifling through it, he sat down on a bench in the park and began looking through the classified ads. Maybe he could go back to bouncing. He'd been okay at it. Better than at this superhero gig it seemed. What had he been thinking?
He scanned the ads and saw indeed, that there was a bar hiring. How far was it to this "Jake's Place" he wondered.
