On a grander scale, the context provided by Airboy gives all of Robinson's catalog a deeper tinge of meaning (go back and read some Starman and tell me that Jack Knight isn't a sexier version of Robinson) and insight into what he's been trying to figure out over the past few decades. However, there's still a sense that the majority of his past work has led up to this. It's not his ultimatecomic nor his greatest work, but there's something finalabout it, as if it were the culmination of a long stretch of both professional and personal labor. Upon review (of this review), I've realised that it reflects James Robinson as an author and a character much more than it analyzes the comic he wrote. But after all's said and done, isn't that how he'd want it?

As Lemire and Perez provide us with a deeper look into the psychological struggles of the champions we put on pedestals, we all gain a greater sense of understanding and connectedness. I want more weakness. I want more defect. I want more dark imperfection and flawed sadness. I want more Hawkeye.

Whether or not this series makes a real impact on the freshly reinvented world of DC (seriously, I'm gonna need at least another month and a half to get over the mid-page ads of Nick Lachey looking like he doesn't know how to hold a candy bar) doesn't particularly matter. It's a brilliant pause for laughter in a sphere that rarely sees anything other than grim stares and angry sneers. I cannot overstate how much fun it is to read (and how much fun it clearly was to create) this book. If the new direction of DC Comics encourages and nurtures the growth of All-Star Section Eight and other comics like it, I'm on board.

But realistically, for now I can sit back and watch some heroes fight to save the world and some heroes drink to get drunk in tandem. Because in the disconnected moments of such a silly property, we can now look at a much larger, sillier world that lives and breathes in unison.

This relaunch has every critical eye fixed squarely on Marvel. That means the pressure is on many of its creators to do something sensational and impactful, and it's here where I think Slott mostly plays it safe. What bugs me the most is Amazing Spider-Man's lack of innovation, especially when it's already been firmly established that Peter Parker has incredible superpowers coupled with an immutable boyish charm. He doesn't need money to enhance his top-tier status, nor does he need it to make him more believable as a character. But what allows Spider-Man to endure will always be his ability to overcome. He has persevered through decades of the mundane and the wildly misguided. I guess that's what's most amazing about Spider-Man: at his core he always stays the same and a part of me will always like him because of it.

Art Ops is not the ascendent work of fiction it could have been. It is not a praiseworthy comic nor is it a sublime work of fine art. What it is, however, is a conceptually brilliant love letter to all things creative. While the execution might be lacking, the attempt at a mashup is admirable, and I hope that this work's shortcomings don't stop visionaries from taking similar risks in the future.

As expected, the start of another Marvel event is" the start of another Marvel event. They are the box office blockbusters and stadium-filling Springsteen shows of the comics world. You expect big names and faces, you kind of know the formula, you hope for a couple surprises (in this case,a kick-starting explosion from Nitro), and you know that there will be a part of you that will not be able to deny the enjoyment of this all-too familiar experience.

While there's a lot to praise here, it's hard to fall head over heels for this book. It suffers from the same problems as its source material; Batman '66 is very silly and very shallow.

I can't say enough good things about the preliminary stirrings of what seems to be the last big thing of DC's 2015. If it isn't going to be groundbreaking, it at least has the makings of a damn fine superhero arc, especially considering the ultra-muddled state of this Bat-union. The inevitable fun of watching an all-star lineup of creatives and characters (plus a few fresh faces to keep things compelling) is palpable at this point, and I can't wait to see this round robin (pun-definitely-intended) play out.

I'm ready to get back to the big narrative of Bitch Planet. I want to see the war play out and hope against hope that the team of convicted women get a chance at freedom and a fruitful future. The secondary stories are nice (maybe even necessary) flourishes, but the ultra-compelling underdog fight of Megaton is still forefront in my mind. The flood of blood is only beginning, andI'm confident that we will all geta little soaked and stained by the end of it all. The anticipation is getting the better of me. Good thingI'm learningto appreciatethe taste of blood.

The true nature of witchcraft (and Rowan Black's involvement in the movement) has yet to be revealed, and the heightsthatBlackis capable of remain completely unknown. Whether she is an all-powerful world destroyer or a simple soothsayer isn't really the point, but how important her power (and the inevitable power of others in her line of work) is to the mechanicsof this world will hopefully remain the essential cog of what makes this bookso beguiling to begin with. The ins and outs of the spirit world and occult in Portsmouth is where we will likely findthe true depth of this series. But it will be the empathy we feel for Rowan Blackthat will make us come back for more.

I'd like to hope that Loeb & Sale can find the balance between nostalgia for the past and the realism that modernity demands. Then maybe when Captain America and Bucky juggle some grenades while reciting the Bill of Rights next to a line of Wehrmacht prisoners, we might be able to confuse it as a triumph for good.

Clean Room #3 is a clear example of the "one hand giveth, the other taketh away" paradox. While the umbrella concepts of murderous self-help gurus, sterile spaces that cut into deeply repressed truths, and a mysterious book that induces suicide are all unsettlingly compelling, the minutiae that's underneath is lacking, incomplete, and disordered. Even the characters themselves could be interesting, fully-formed archetypes, but the swift pace of the comic has necessitated brushing over the details that could make Clean Room flourish. Instead, we have a fragmented series of events blanketed by a thin layer of eerie mystery. I feel like I'm still searching for the miracle answer that will fill the hole leaving me unsatisfied with what's around me. The answers have to be in one of these books.

As disordered as Cry Havoc can be, it has a sense of holistic self-understanding. Every aspect of the book fits within its thematic structure, and every flourish is thoughtfully made. There's an active disorganizationof the story's beginning, middle, and end: it's a conscious deconstructionandrumination of traditional storytelling. There's something brilliant going on here. But it's only necessary thatwe remember that Cry Havoconly beginning. Only when it's donewill we be able toglean any meaning.

As for me, I'm always down for another slice-n-dice session, a couple of dick jokes, and a one-on-one dialogue between myself and the protagonist. I hope Wade Wilson's immortality turns out to be permanent, just so we can have this conversation again. And again. And again.

I suppose with any character re-work, the wrinkles and discrepancies take some time to iron themselves out. In theory, I love the idea of seeing a real Stephen Strange who feels the chilly, autumnal air and puts on a scarf as much as he sees vicious, nether-realm psyche-leeches and pulls out a magical axe. We need to get to a space where Strange can be both of those people and feel like a consistent, cohesive being. I suppose we just need to see Doctor Strange be normal for a while.

Overall, the series seems to be a solid first effort from a long time devotee to the medium. It's not quite the rebellious anti-comic some thought it would be, but it's laid the foundation to be an enjoyable romp of vengeance from an absolutely justifiable property. A worthwhile purchase from the Best in the World.

In the end, Fight Club 2 #1 starts out to be exactly what one would imagine. Our ham-fisted Hot Topic posterboy has extended the life of a dorm room staple, re-hashing themes and lines from the old production and attempting to resurrect a beloved, but caveat-laden property. To be fair, Palahniuk certainly stays honest to himself and his material and he's great at doing what he does (without straying here), I'm just tired of what it is he does. Ultimately, I just wish he'd follow the first rule of Fight Club and stop talking about Fight Club.

With the series reaching its untimely end, Fawkes has forged an unforgettable path through Gotham's mythos. As soon as he acquired our attention and trust, he went and blew it all up (quite literally) in this month's compelling and meaningful cliffhanger. Gotham City is enormously fertile ground for stories about good and evil, and it's a shame that the majority of the sagas located in this foreboding city focus on but a fraction of the potential folklore. Gotham By Midnight breaks away from that mold while constructing its own powerful legacy. This book has flourished into a harrowing perfection.

More than anything, this series has a great amount of control over itself. Gotham by Midnight knows what it's doing, and continues to forge ahead with great command of its characters and causality of their actions. The cartoonish dynamism of the artwork encapsulates the terror in the city streets (and deistic Godzilla battles) without going overboard, and the narration touches on deep poetic notions without becoming a masterbatory slugfest of over-enunciated truisms. It takes ownership of its content and context in impressively bombastic ways. Gotham by Midnight consciously exceeds all expectations, and therevelation ofthat knowledge is paramount.

The narrative leads to Emmy crawling further and further into a woodland labyrinth of brambles and ends with some seriously nightmare-inducing panels. Bunn and Crook are preparing us for what will certainly be a heavy and lengthy affair, balanced between the concretely real and the absolutely unreal. Harrow County's potential for terrors to come is great, but it leaves behind enormous room to grow. As the sins-of-our-fathers story continues to unfold, and we're shown deeper exhibitions of the debts that must be paid, I expect I'll be compelled to look inside myself for the duration.

As far as stories of growth and growing up go, we've got millions to choose from. As Harrow County progresses, I expect to get sucked deeper into its brambles of horror and terrifying forests of human evolution. Because in reality, what's scarier than turning into an adult?

While Howard might not push the envelope as much as his past self, the current incarnation shows a side of him (and ourselves) that he (and everyone else) needs to constantly monitor and acknowledge. It teaches us to always endure, even if it's just enduring the banalities of life, and to rise up to one's potential and be that good person (or fowl) we know we can be. Howard the Duck reminds us that the world isn't always at stake, and that it's okay to let a little whimsy into our lives.

Millar and Albuquerque lovingly renderthe idealist's lapse into complacency. Huck is a look at what's wrong, not with society, but with how society treats human beings. It's showing us the difference between how we could liveand how we should live. Too often we find ourselvesboxed into the corners of our own cynicism, so beaten down by daily life's complexitythat we fail to remember the simple truths we've known all along.Hopefully Huckwill be that essential reminder thatthere still exists an idealism for which we can all still reach.

Huck is an interesting book, precisely because it follows an uninteresting formula. It's good versus evil, or more accurately, wrong versus right. But it plays with those notions and deliversthem to their fully realized extent. Grey areas abound in our life, and when we readsuch a positively-charged comic book, it's only natural that some of us wouldbe left feeling a little dirty and a more than a touchdismayed. Can a do-gooder really do all of the good? the more cynical of us may ask. It's a difficult question with an even more difficult answer.

The back pages give us a little autobiographical glimpse at Skottie Young's childhood dream to write for Image, which makes this book all the more magical. Besides being a super enjoyable goof-off, we can see the culmination of years of writing and an entire career in comics. I Hate Fairyland is a hell of a first issue, stripping down the exposition to the necessary components and backloading the rest of the issue with ridiculous situations and a quantity of ultra-violence that would make any good horror fan cringe. Every panel is inventive and every line of dialog is biting. If there was ever an embodiment of delight, Skottie Young has found it with his first creator owned comic. At the risk of sounding redundant, I love I Hate Fairyland.

The most important thing to glean from this is that the tone of the series is set, and it comes barbed and angry. inSEXtsis a declaration of intent, not just for the inventive creators behind the series, or even for AfterShock Comics, but for the medium as a whole. It outlines the possibilities ofwhat we can do with words, pictures, and panels. inSEXtsis on the cusp of some serious innovation, butwe'll just have to wait to see where it all goes from here.

Words and Art by Brandon Graham, Emma Rios, Roque Romero, Robin McConnell, Farel Dalrymple, Gael Bertrand, Addison Duke.

I don't want to be condemnatory, but James Bond #2 is the part of the movie where you begin to glance at your phone. The first chapter was enrapturing, but the immersion level plummets during the benign disquisition that follows and has no chance of holding your attention. You inevitably come back lost and confused, but happy to see the action begin to roll again. It's probably a necessary part of the story, but who would know? Here's hoping the next issue will move past the tiring explanatory drone and get back to insurmountable odds and improbable explosions.

I don't think I'll ever be in love with the cartoon monster veneer of Kaijumax, but underneath the cutesy dino skin is a truly dark, human story about prison life, and the dehumanization caused by a system that's just as corrupt as the criminals it seeks to contain. This book is deep and it is chilling. I hope the drama continues and we get to see what life is like on the outside.

The worth of this opening issue will be determined by the work that follows. When we look back, Karnak #1 could be a slow-played set up to truly thoughtful superhero work, or it could easily be a plodding start to a continuously plodding series. My money's on the former, because if Ellis gets enough wiggle room to turn this into an abstract meditation on universal existence, it could turn into one of the standout titles of the year. I could watch Karnak break bullets, livers, and bones with his fingers all day, and if Ellis can stack some being and nothingness on top of it all, we're in for a violently beautiful taste of nirvana.

Rarely does a superhero comic come out with such a structurally strong showing in its first issue. Obviously, Leaving Megalopolis has the benefit of a full length graphic novel preceeding it, but what's here is good, and it functions coherently for readers new to the series. Thatmight have been deliberate, givenDark Horse's role in this. They've directly thrown their money behind thisproject, with Simone and Calafiore eschewing the necessity of Kickstarter. It's a really great meta-arc of its own: A team publicly funds a great new series, craftit exactly how they want to, and the publishers come calling. That's a prettyexciting thing to acknowledge, consideringthemodern economics of creator-owned properties. I don't know if we can come to any conclusions yet, but for now, I'm justenjoying the ride back into the city.

Simone is an icon at this point, and it's really great to see her go back to the well that made her famous and make it work. The second go at Megalopolis is gaining momentum with the continued charm of its predecessor. The book plays with the dichotomy of constant war, violence and injustice, alongside a very real need for people to continue living their lives. It comes across as one of the most pertinent and biting critiques of modern society that's on the shelves today. Leaving Megalopolis provides a little comfort to the reader while the tumultuous world around them keeps spinning with peril.

For a book so unsure of itself, the title is more apropos than anyone would have hoped for. It seems as if Limbo is stuck in a purgatorial space between noir, religious fantasy, and tech-horror. It dabbles in amnesia tropes, Dia de Los Muertos celebrations, and mafioso bureaucracies. Without picking a single path and sticking to it, Limbo feels directionless. It's nothing damnable, I'm just not hooked. Not everything can be the perfect storm of creativity, but it's unfortunate that something with such neat concepts just can't find any cohesion beyond its desire to achieve a new aesthetic.

This brand of fantastical doesn't organically click with my sentiments of anchored realism, but the emotional purity that seeps through the cracks ofeach panel is so sincere and powerful that it's impossible to deny the viability of this work. There is love between these characters and love put into them, and those are probably the two most important factors to making a story work. Rios and Lim are building (on) an epic. Their beginning is bold and soft, but it is also powerful.

At this point, things are still obtuse and opaque, but as small building blocks begin to accrue, it's easier to trust the story than it ever was before. As if there was ever any doubt in the first place.

I'm worried that I'm coming off as exclusively condemnatory, when in reality, New Romancer isn't all that bad. There are clearlytalentedpeople behind it trying to flex their intellectual muscle while striving to convey interesting concepts. But these positive assets can't find their way to a structured, concise product. It just feels like a pseudo-academic title among a sea of comic book pseudo-academia. New Romancer feels penciled in, something that ticks off all the boxes on the Vertigo checklist without any of the guts that anchor the headliners. Just being quirky and academic isn't enough to propup a franchise, or even enough to compete with some of the bettertitles already available on the rack. What we're left with is a few fun ideas withnothing holding them together.

I trust that as the book progresses (Simpson's goal is to write one issue per year until 2020. Tragedy, I know), much of the shifting perspectives will illuminate the unfolding story more and more, and ultimately paint an increasingly interesting picture of a world we'll see one way or another as technological consumer evolution continues. I'm enraptured within the finely curated Nonplayer world, and I'm okay to wait for however many years it takes for it to end.

I can't say enough good things about this issue or this series en toto. It's culturally smart, academically playful, and it's immersive to boot. I want to join the Phonogram coven, play the next track on the record, and get wrapped up in MTV's warm, static embrace.

Phonogram's high-concept-low-culture trademark is a perfect encapsulation of modern intellectualism. It simultaneously covers high-brow philosophy and telenovella-esque love circles. Gillen made me melt with a distilled discussion of Jean-Paul Sartre without force feeding an existentialist malaise to the audience, and in the same issue, in-depth looks at Nirvana and My So Called Life instilled the same extent of connection and purpose. If Phonogram does anything right (besides everything else it does right), it's the tactical melding of thoughtful academia and sugar-sweet mainstream culture. It's the bridge where the two meet, and the one we all perpetually run across.

In the newest issue, we see Beth Ross settling into her role with a fair amount of confidence and disdain for the system, but more than anything else, I'm enthralled by the view of the legislative terrain that this comic book provides. The idea of hiring your old fast food boss as Chief of Staff or being just as frustrated with the mass media circuit even though you're the President of the United States of America adds a perspective that's rarely made available to us. It makes politics seem a little more conceivable and the hope for progress a little more possible.

First issues all endure a groundswell of anticipation, and this is only amplified in the instance of a maiden voyage of a new imprint. Replica #1 does a finejob of laying out the potential for future growth without leaving the reader confused or the story too open-ended. What's next? Blade Runner-esque cyborg/humanity conflict? The pros and cons of the American melting pot? Isolationist redemption? There is no end to the social and critical issues that Jenkins can (and assuredly will) address. That makes me a happy reader, certain that the fate of Aftershock is in good hands.

Ringside uses its themes as a tool for storytelling rather than an inconsequential facet of the narrative. The backdrop for (what appears to be) the beginning of Dan Knossos' story serves as a method for fleshing out his character and providing opportunities to organically further the plot. It's a refreshingly full-bodied experience that's got me more intrigued than a babyface shoot promo and more invested than a Streak vs. Career match. If Keatinge and Barber keep the momentum going, there's no ceiling to limit how high Ringside can go.

What we're left with is a very good structure with a bit less substance than desired. I have faith that this series will remain good (now and into the future), and Ringside #2 does nothing to disprove that. We'll have to wait until next month's issue, where we can climb back into the squared circle to really see what this series is made of.

I feel like this review is tinged with more harsh criticism than anything else, but it's important to clarify that I'm not offended, angry, or disdainful toward Ringside. I think the general frustration is simply the result of my own high expectations not being met. This series could be a real contender, but instead, Ringside seems to be an exercise in recognizable tropes rather than the true innovation I'm still hoping it will be.

The book has it's moments of Palahniuk-esque extremism, but for the most part, it's not difficult to bypass. The moments of true heart outweigh the schlocky ultra-violence and hit a chord that's not unlike an Aronofsky film or something from Flannery O'Connor. And Hine's thematic use of narratively transplanting the reader into other people's thoughts is decidedly a tremendousexercise in empathy. Not only do we see the victims' pure fear, but we see the horror that has brought these killers to mayhem. I don't know if that'sgood or bad, but it's definitely not something you see on TV everyday. The power of the comic book medium keepsSecond Sightfrom stumbling on its own tropes.

While I haven't been sold on any of the characters yet, there is still plenty of time to work through the builds. I have high hopes for yet another work that tackles one of the more important, looming monsters that threatens human lifeas we know it. As it is,Snowfallisanother vital piece in the canon of environmentalist art.

Although it opens with a bang of gruesome aggression, Squadron Supreme doesn't solely rest on the (admittedly baffling) action sequences, as the nuances of each character are thoughtfully portrayed with subtlety and righteousness. Theyare the anti-binary of right and wrong. I believe in Squadron Supreme as the defenders of Earth, and as beings whobelieve they do what they do for a reason. Even if the choices they make aren'talways right.

It's great to see Robinson taking the baton of the Squadron, questioning vigilantism and its perceived separation from "legitimate" authoritative force. What is the role of security, be it military, police, government, in our world, and how can it function in a just and effective manner? How do we determine who are the good guys and who are the bad? What does America truly stand for? At the rate they're firing out these issues, we might actually come across something that resembles an answer sooner rather than later.

Some of the art doesn't quite stand up to a lot of today's titles in terms of polish, but it does have it's charm, and the action sequences are fluidly expressive. Which is important, because it looks like we're in for a lot more action. Strayer doesn't seem to be a book that will change the way you look at life or alter your existence, but it promises to be one hell of an action story that is earnest, honest, and fun.

Even great comics often suffer from sophomore slumps. But it doesn't do this (potentially cool) series any favors to slack off after a really solid first issue. But with the necessity of new character introductions and the laying of foundation for a (hopefully) long run into the future, it hurts Strayer as a title to put out a second issue that clearly needed more time to incubate. The character, Strayer, is undeniably cool and could be an incredible hero to his own series, but publishing rough drafts of his comic is not the path to get him there.

The saddest part is that this isn't the most offensive comic out there, nor does it have the worst story. It's just" empty. Directionless without any guts. You can see some of the things that are trying to be done, all the while watching them fall flat. It's a shame, really. We know that Bermejo can do some impressive stuff (just check out the super fun We Are Robin), but nothing clicks with his attempted tour de force. I'd really love to see a modern reinterpretation of the death match/battle arena play out in a way that is pertinent and aware, or at least compelling and fun. Instead, I feel like another passively disdainful member of the crowd watching the loser lay in the dirt, bleeding out in vain.

However, I'm not certain that's where I want the direction of this narrative to move in. There aren't any glaring problems with the fantastical elements of the story, but the major players are so solid and relatable I kind of wish I was simplyreading about their everyday, paycheck-to-paycheck lives tucked away in the woods of the American South. Iris is a person who's made mistakes, but he's trying his best to eke out a life with the people he loves. His community has problems, but they aren't too big to overcome with a little hard work and some home-brewed liquor. Hopefully the monster in the woods keeps its distance and at least some of this world stays intact.

Maybe what makes the horror of space so terribly chilling is the tangibility of it. That the fabric of a space suit is all that keeps us from death. That the grit of human life teeters on such a fragile fulcrum. That there's no distinct lines to distinguish worth from oblivion. The Disciples points these facts out on every page, and we're forced to confront all of the terrifying truths we otherwise avoid in the safety of our terrestrial trappings.

As a whole, this story about one familyis overwhelmingly tragic. The sense of helplessness is almost tear inducing, because you know how it feels to be so completely without control. As the situations take a tailspin, the sympathy for the much-needed smoke breaks and beers the characters indulge in is real, and you don't fault them for any of their minor flaws. It's easy marginalize low-income families, especially when addiction problems and professional instability are added to the mix, but The Violent helps humanize the difficulties of a life where people are still trying their best. Whether or not the story ends in a triumphant return to whatever “normalcy” they once knew, there will always bea sadness that tints the story. Forget superheroes. Real life is hard, and we don't need anything extraordinary to bring us to that conclusion.

And that's what we're viewing in This Damned Band: the presentation of a band as something they aren't. It's confusing (maybe a bit too much so) and complex, but what multi-layered story isn't? Motherfather calculatedly depicts themselves as devil-praising spiritual transcendents (and by the end, the demonic element makes itself known) when really, they're just a bunch of party bros trying to get drunk and get laid. The gap between the truth and the perception is the story that's being told. It's heavy stuff for something that starts off as innocuously as a comic book about a rock band. At least, that's what it seems like.

Obviously, the dissonance between reality and technologically created fantasy is both frightening and stark, but the blurring of those lines is also an idea that needs to be observed and addressed in tandem. Maybe what Tokyo Ghost does best is illustrate the fact that today's technological advancement is happening right in front of us while simultaneously maintaining itself as an abstract concept. Both of these things can be paradoxically true, but what's most important is that we need to remain conscious of the way humanity evolves while "progress" happens. How can we remain who we are when everything about us is changing?

Tokyo Ghost could be broken down panel-by-panel. We could inspect the subtleties in every character's posture and facial expression toward each other, in the glimpses of setting buried in the backgrounds full of lush detail. Or we could break down the complexities of drug abuse, singularity, man vs. machine narratives, and modern capitalism in an age that can't support it. It's really just so overwhelming to take in the amount of subject matter Tokyo Ghost tackles, and the way that it overflows from the panels on the page is the stuff of greatness. At this point, I need to stop gushing and just implore you to buy into the hype. It's well earned.

The first issue of Unfollow isn't satisfying or intriguing. But it's not confounding or damnably uninteresting either. At this point, there are many more questions than answers, but the upside is that the questions are inherently intriguing. Since the plot of this series is so shrouded and the possible story directions so multitudinous, we'll need some more time to form real opinions on the success of the series. The hope is that Rob Williams treads this line thoughtfully and gives us a smart, complex critique of modern technology rather than a ludditious condemnation or an apathetic dismissal. For now, he's taken one or two small steps along that thin line, but we won't know if he remains straight and true until he's taken a few more.

The series' acceptance of camp and tradition is probably a smart move for a dated title that hasn't gotten much rehab since its inception. If Dynamite isn't going witha full revamp, embracing the cliches that come withhypersexuality and a whole lotta ass-kicking (provided with a wink) seems to be the way to go. Leth has boxed herself in a bit with this approach, but it's turning out to be a pretty fun run. Maybe that's what Vampirella is best at.

Victorie City is the comic book equivalent of someone calling themselves sick, twisted, and demented. Not only does it ring false, it makes you pity whoever is making these claims about themselves. If nothing else, Victorie City is consistent. Every aspect of the book falls in line with the ethos of trying too hard to prove a point no one thought was very interesting in the first place.

Brian K. Vaughan lets us revel in the satisfaction that comes from the first moments of the underdog rebels' counter-attack, as Amber Roos &Co. decide to go toe to toe with the American forces that have been tracking them from the start. He finally lets us breathe,showing us signs of hope for the crew we've come to care about. He shows us a glimpse of heroic reckoning and retribution (I think it's important to point out that the last page forced my fist to pump and an audible "YEAH" to fly from my mouth). But most of all, he walks us through the narrative we've seen a million times before, and this time he manages to make us care more than ever. We Stand On Guard is playing out better than Sly, Arnold, or JCVD could ever have imagined.

Zodiac Starforce compiles carefully-used conversational language tethered to some solid dynamic storytelling techniques, a diverse set of characters (and a Macho Man Randy Savage reference tucked in for good measure), and the package comes together as a cohesive whole. It deals with weighty issues surrounding the worth of human lives as well as the skull-crushing difficulty of attempting to navigate the social and romantic politics of high school life.