Looking around the sunny parking lot, Clint Barton could not believe what he saw.
Everywhere he looked, he saw costumed people. He saw two Witchblades, three Harley Quinns, Any number of spider-folks, some Game of Thrones people...
"Why am I here?" he mumbled.
The other heroes had already run into the Convention Center in excitement. Kamala Khan could barely contain her energetic nature. No matter how many times Clint reminded them that they were there on a mission, the rumors of shenanigans afoot required a response, these kids, Kamala Khan, Speedball, Thunder, Lightning, Cyclops, Beast Boy, were off... somewhere... into the great unwashed masses.
"Damn O'Brien ditched me already," Barton said, unsure where his stretchy cohort had gotten to. Slapping his face into his palm, Clint Barton tried to calm himself down. "Why couldn't Cap have come to this? I'm not some baby sitter."
"Ah Barton!" said a female voice. "This is a good look for you."
Clint knew that voice. It was both a blessing and a curse. Is this better to have his ex-wife at Comic-Con with him?
"Hey Bobbi," he said.
Option #3: Bobbi Morse, Mockingbird.