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It was 7 P.M and the ginger-haired young man was wearing a unbuttoned dress-shirt over a tank top, a welding visor in front of his face as he was welding a panel in the utility closet under the living quarters of The Penthouse. The power had gone out. The wiring was shit, this place had been left to rot after finishing building about half of it. The wiring, plumbing and internet had just about all needed to been replaced by Julian once he twisted Morgan Edge - the biggest Real Estate scumbag in Metropolis history, well, maybe second only to a certain man with the same last name as Julian. The flames of the welder burned out as he finished fixing the metals that were busted. He had redone the wiring already. All that remained was flipping the breaker and redirecting power from the city's power grid into the tower.

He took a step back, took off his gear and ran his hand through his hair. It was dirty. He'd need a shower after this. He still couldn't quite comprehend certain things, things he had never experienced, but things that still felt like memories to him. Like thinking of a hotspring in eastern asia and showering under a warm waterfall. He knew who these memories - these... feelings, belonged to, truly. And something about it always made him feel uneasy.

Certainly when it made him crave Romanee Conti, one of the most expensive wines in the world - belonging to the family collection. A wine, that like all the other wines, Julian has never had. These urges brings with them both a biological and philosophical conundrum. He understands that they're the product of his creation. But he's not able to grasp why he gets them. He gets disturbed from his thoughts by the apartment still being dark, he shrugs and puts the welder and goggles to the side, putting his hand on the breaker and speaking a single sentence as he pulls it down.

"Let there be light." 
The three floors of the apartment on the 10th floor of Edge Towers in Seattle lights up. The TV's and computers turns back on as does the old radio Julian kept carrying around, tuned to listening in on the evening's game of the Smallville Crows. Caring about high school football sure was kind of stupid, but something about it felt like home.

Speaking of home, this was his. And he had tried his damnest to make it not fall apart. Perhaps a metaphor for the people he had gathered here, hoping to make it their home, too. A base of operations at the very least. The 'team' he called it, any name you give yourself in these situations are kind of bad luck, after all, had done extraordinary little in their short two months spent together. The world had been quiet, no trouble had been brewing. No earthquakes, invasions of alien species or melomaniac planning on taking over the world. But something in his gut told him that things weren't gonna remain that way forever.

He moved up to the kitchen, to check if everyone else got power back, too.