83
2023-05-02
The neighborhood where Colin lived had several hotels and restaurants nearby.
Every morning, cooks would pour the previous day's leftovers and morning food scraps, collected in barrels, into the alley outside the kitchen.
And every time this happened, a dozen or so people would rush out from the darkness to scramble for these scraps.
Colin had witnessed this scene more than once.
One time, on his way home, he even saw with his own eyes three frail and aged women, thin and haggard, hunched over several garbage cans, rummaging for things inside. Because there were too many maggots in the trash, one of the women would even take off her glasses when picking up food to eat, to avoid the sight of them.
It was indescribable, that moment.
The shock Colin felt in his heart when he witnessed all this.
They would rather take off their glasses than give up the food in the garbage cans.
After the Great Depression began, homeless people, lingering around restaurants, lifting the lids of slop buckets to find rotten food to eat, had long become a common sight on the streets.
The miserable and desperate year of 1932 arrived, only increasing their numbers day by day.
There were even reports that, to avoid starving to death, entire families would go into garbage heaps to pick up bones and watermelon rinds to gnaw on.
With a somewhat heavy heart, Colin passed by the street from which the sounds emanated.
Sure enough, in that alley, he saw several figures gathered. Noticing Colin's approaching footsteps, they all cast wary glances at him, instinctively moving to block the alley's entrance.
Fearing that he would join them and snatch the leftover food and scraps with them.
Walking past the alley entrance, Colin did not stop his steps.
Watching his departing figure gradually walk away, the wariness in their eyes slightly dissipated.
"It's out!"
However, the next second, as the kitchen's back door opened, the cook carried a garbage can emitting a foul smell and threw it into the alley.
These figures, who had been intently staring at Colin's retreating back, immediately exclaimed and rushed towards the garbage can.
"Great, there's even half a loaf of bread today, unfinished..."
"I saw it first!"
"Why not? Whoever snatches it first gets it!"
"Meat, I saw a piece of pork..."
On the street, Colin's footsteps gradually faded, but his Super Hearing, suppressed by the Main World, still allowed him to hear the arguments and even the sounds of pushing among the few people.
He only wished that, if possible, he wouldn't hear those sounds at this moment.
"Millions of people only escaped Death by living like beasts."
This was a quote written in "Glory and the Dream," a book that recorded the history of America in later generations.
This was not an exaggeration, but the reality of 1932 during the Great Depression.
...
After passing the alley where people scrambled for scraps, he continued forward.
Colin's initially heavy emotions gradually calmed down. He was not the Savior of the Great Depression, but merely a witness to it.
All he could do was to offer the people some hope through his Comics in this desperate era.
Even if this hope was extremely illusory, it was still better than the harshness of reality.
By the time Colin arrived at the Newspaper Office, a glimmer of light had already appeared on the horizon.
He took the key from his waist and opened the Great Door to the Newspaper Office.
Colin looked at the familiar layout inside, and the heavy emotions in his heart eased somewhat.
He took off his coat and hat, casually hanging them on the stand nearby. Approaching the stove, he picked up the kettle, and then rays of light shot from his eyes, instantly boiling the water in the kettle.
The unlocking of Heat Vision indeed helped Colin solve many problems.
At least, he no longer needed to worry about his food getting cold; as long as he wished, he could enjoy steaming hot food anytime, anywhere.
Using the hot water boiled with Heat Vision, he brewed a cup of coffee.
Colin carried the coffee, which emitted a rich aroma, to his desk.
On the desk lay the previous day's Serialized Story content for the Superman Comic, most of the plot for which had already been sorted out.
Normally, today he would only need to roughly revise the Comic and fill in the plot.
For Colin, who possessed Super Brainpower, this was not difficult.
"Let me think, Powers to counter the toxic mist?"
However, recalling the situation he encountered in the Anti-World, Colin put down his coffee and pondered silently for a few seconds.
If Colin wished, he could completely design a specific Power to deal with the Toxin incident within the Hydra Base.
However, such an approach would be somewhat extravagant; it would be better to directly design a Power once and for all that could not only protect him from the toxic gas but also be used in subsequent Comics.
After a silent moment of thought, Colin recalled the Base scene he had seen with his Super X-Ray Vision.
The Gas Masks worn by the Hydra members seemed to prove that this Toxin caused harm through respiration.
And speaking of respiration, it happened to align with a certain Power of Superman's that corresponded to Heat Vision.
...
Scott, just hold on a little longer, I'll be there to save you "immediately."
He silently uttered a phrase in his mind.
Colin picked up the coffee from his desk, took a sip, and pulled a fresh sheet of Drawing Paper from a drawer, spreading it out before him.
After a brief moment of thought with his pen in hand, he had already devised a plot related to the new Power.
...
"A biography?"
"...What are you? You want to write a biography? That's something rich people write. You're a poor boy with neither fame nor money; even if you write a biography, no one will read it."
"What's more, what do you plan to write in your biography? About waking up every morning to eat potatoes, or your miserable life at this age still living with your parents? When I was your age, I had already struck out on my own, with only twenty dollars, I came to New York... after struggling..."
"And then I became a typesetter..."
At six in the morning, Old John and Little John appeared together at the entrance of the Newspaper Office.
"What's wrong with being a typesetter? At least I can eat my fill and haven't ended up on the streets."
"You haven't ended up on the streets, and that's entirely thanks to Mr. Colin Luper."
"In fact, I've already made up my mind. If I'm going to write a biography, I'll write about Mr. Colin Luper; it's sure to be a big hit."
As he spoke, Little John pulled a key from inside his clothes and inserted it into the keyhole. However, before he could even turn it, the Great Door of the Newspaper Office before him was easily opened.
Seeing this, Old John and Little John exchanged a puzzled glance, finding the scene before them inexplicably familiar.
"I remember locking it."
Little John uttered, his expression involuntarily freezing for a moment, and the sense of déjà vu in his heart deepened.
"Didn't I say that before?"