Okay, Condor's just messing with him. He could just shoot the guy - obviously, he wants him to die, since shooting the rope this far above the streets can only end in death - but no, he'd rather float behind him, sever the line, and ensure the guy's last minute on earth is filled with total terror.

This book is chock full - there's The Clock, some sort of Spirit wannabee who uses a black piece of cloth to underscore his chronological alias - his face is covered, just like a clock; Molly the Model, who probably isn't a superheroine, but a spunky gal who has all sorts of gay, madcap hijinx; Alias the Spider, who took a page from the Clock and decided he'd prove his arachnoid cred by shooting arrows, and Ned Brant, America's favorite cross-eyed mouth-breather.

The Golden Age of Comics! Yep. Uh-huh. Golden.