Gete I reach the "Thunderbolt*" for just a moment.

The central irony with Superman is that, in addition to saving trees cats, catching crashing aircraft and blocking bullets with his body, is also a qualified fighter. There are several scenarios in which Superman still has to step up his fists and fight. He is ready to do violence if the situation calls it. In extreme cases (depending on the Superman version you are used to), he can even kill a villain to stop his villain. Superman is a symbol of hope, but it also hurts people. One of his forces is a destructive eye laser. He does not use his powers to kill ... except when he does.

Indeed, superheroism is, in practice, a lifestyle of violence. Heroes are fighting. They hit. They shoot with guns. They fire beams of eyes. The superhero is a freelance soldier, often with self-committing free reinforcement to hurt criminals and killing the bad guys.

Imagine a hero. What happens when it all fights, all that violence, all that cripples that you constantly expose to finally be too much? The heroes live up to the villain and darkness every day, using their murder skills to care for it. From their eyes, the world is constant chaos and despair. Struggle. Struggle. Struggle. Kick. Punch. Bleeding. Died. Repeat.

This is where thunderstorms enter. The characters in Schreier's "Thunderbolt*" have been damaged. They are depressed. They were so awake, assassinated and Badas's fighters, their souls began to erode. Most of them were once villains, and their turn to heroism does not seem to mean less fighting. Also, their life of heroism did not get anything. The world is as chaotic as always, and they do not live comfortable. Thunderstorms are, at the beginning of their film, swim in the sea of despair.

These characters, who are not God -shipping aliens, have no luxury of hope. They should consider violence from a street level perspective. They had blood on their hands, often literally.