Cyron Goode watched the funeral through the tinted windows of one of his company limousines. His interest had been awoken by some unexplained details in the death of the so-called hero in question. Sometimes there were mysteries that needed attention. Sometimes there were conditions that would give a hero the chance to return to life once again (in a later episode). But that was rare. No matter what the comic books and those silly films would have you believe. Most of the time, they just died. Like regular people. It was a comforting thought.<br/><br/>He was dressed in a black shirt out of some respect he didn't know where came from. His skin was rather pale and his hair matched the shirt. Long locks hung down over brows and into his eyes, no matter how often he stroked them back with his hand. Scratching his chin, Cyron realized he hadn't shaved today. Being the CEO of Naemocom rarely gave him a lot of personal time. Sometimes he wished his master plan was to add more hours to the night and day. In many ways that would be easier than...what he had in mind.<br/><br/>Watching the attendees, Cyron recognized many. Some were adversaries. Some were agents or employees of the competition. Some were his own people; associates or employees. Others were...unknown. This was a great chance to identify some of those secret alter-egos of those pesky vigilantes. He obviously had people photographing everyone in the vicinity. Hell, he had satellites monitoring the area.<br/><br/>When the proceedings were nearing the end, Cyron Goode gave a nod to his driver. It was time to move.