In a remote alley within the Zor City State, a few Zor had cornered one of their own.
He didn't look very old. At sixty-eight, he was still a child.
"What are you doing here? Freak! This is our turf!"
The leader, a burly teenager, put on a fierce expression and sneered at the skinny Zor he had cornered.
When no Extraordinary Power is involved, size is what guarantees victory in a fistfight.
And this kid, whose forearms were thicker than other Zor's calves, clearly had that guarantee in spades.
If he played football, he'd be the quarterback with a cheerleader girlfriend, no question.
"Listen up. The Queen and Red Dragon Zog are holding a huge concert. Every Zor who can sing is going to be there. But guess who didn't get an invitation?"
One of his lackeys, a real suck-up, immediately jumped in.
"You!"
"HA HA HA..." The laughter that followed wasn't remotely funny, but they forced it out anyway to seem "cooler."
