Walking along the dusty halls of the old Paragon headquarters was like walking through a cemetery of heroic ideals and hopes.
The Paragon initiative had hoped to unite the world through being a beacon. But that idea had failed. These days, it seemed all groups that dared call themselves heroes failed.
All members of the Paragons were either dead or forgotten by now, even the Paragon of Power, Kurt Pendragon had forgotten from where he had begun.
But there was still hope. One had remained.
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Julius Jones walked through the seemingly deserted building as his finger touches the wall, trailing dust as he folded his arms. He knew who resided here. Who had lived here in exile for years after years.
The Shadow of D.C made his way through the base and sat in the ex-team headquarters, removing a cigar from his jacket pocket and lighting it up. He sat there smoking, waiting for the forgotten Paragon to arrive.
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