Though V would love to argue about money, the idea that someone literally lived in a comic book was so much more interesting to him. Money was the struggle he'd had since he was old enough to be aware that he was hungry. Superheroes, though - that was novel. Were they the same as in comic books? Spectacular people with agents who were so much like rockerboys in terms of fame and political power, contracted to and paid by corporations to push their agendas all in the name of "good"?

So their response - as if he'd just asked a stupid question - put V off a bit, at first, then he considered the entire exchange he'd just had about Queen and Freddie Mercury. He considered how there was what V would consider no technology when, in his home, his arms literally had been replaced with limbs that could turn into swords. He shook his head.

"Can definitely say I don't got those back at home."

Good thing, too. Borgs were enough of a hassle in corporate hands. He couldn't imagine superheroes actually existing and being the enforcers for companies with bad intentions, or even picking a side in one of the many gang wars. He could only imagine the destruction it could cause, the people who were killed as collateral damage. People like him when he was a kid, and his mom.

"Sounds like a hot fuckin' mess. No offense."