"Do you have anyone reliable?"
After thinking for a moment, Bobo asked his other self. The Justice League was unreliable, but surely there had to be someone he could count on, right?
But the question made White Gorilla seem a little dejected. The slightly paler ape sighed, poured himself another full glass of liquor, and bared his teeth as he rubbed his face.
"The only person I can trust is Tracy, but if it really is a World Crisis, she won't be much help. As for the people you want to ask about, they're basically all dead. Some died in battle, some of old age, some of illness. I'm the only one left."
Back then, the Superheroes had practically perished as a group, trading their sacrifices for peace in the world. Otherwise, how could the Super Generation live in luxury now, indulging themselves every day?
People still remembered the Superheroes' virtues then. Their noble sacrifices deserved reverence.
Why had White Gorilla managed to build up such a large fortune? Because he was the only old-school hero left, even if he was still just a gorilla too weak to truss a chicken.
That answer left Bobo silent for a moment as well. He understood the feeling. When Jim and Blue Devil had sacrificed themselves, he had been just as devastated, wishing he could drink himself to death in the wine cellar and follow his friends.
But in the end, he had lacked the courage to kill himself. He desperately wanted to live. Even though he felt unworthy of the title Master Night, he had always done his utmost to live up to it.
But this other self in the Dark Multiverse had lost every friend he knew. What kind of sorrow was that? How had he endured it?
So Bobo fell