The Adequates #2 Review: Weird, Wild & Alot of Wepa!

WEEEEPPPAAAA! Let’s get it! The Adequates #2 comes in like that weird kid in gym class who everyone underestimated, then suddenly he’s moving different, thinking different, and making the whole room go, “Yo… wait a minute.” This issue is co-written by Lee Loughridge and Marz Jr., with art, lettering, and cover art by Marz Jr., colors by Lee Loughridge, editing by Will Dennis, and published through Comixology Originals. Loughridge and Marz Jr. have built this as a quirky YA supernatural superhero series about misfit teens who gain “powers”… sort of, and the setup continues to lean hard into cliques, awkwardness, schoolyard anxiety, and supernatural weirdness.

Right out the gate, The Adequates knows exactly what kind of comic it wants to be: strange, funny, anxious, messy, and oddly sweet under all the chaos. The issue opens with that disoriented nightmare energy, the kind where you wake up inside your own panic attack and reality is already doing cartwheels down the block. We get rain, a football field, paralysis, something monstrous closing in, and that immediate “nah, this ain’t normal” feeling that pulls the reader into the character’s fear before the jokes even start landing. It is a clever choice because this book is not just “kids get powers and hijinks happen.” It is really about kids whose bodies, brains, and social identities are suddenly betraying them in public. That is high school already, just with extra demonic seasoning.

What makes this issue pop is how confidently it weaponizes embarrassment. The students are not suddenly polished heroes with capes, poses, and cinematic theme music. These are freshmen trying to survive gym class, dodgeballs, social rankings, weird bodily changes, and the brutal tyranny of being perceived. That is the secret sauce. The powers here are funny because they are not clean power fantasies. They are inconvenient. They are awkward. They arrive at the worst possible time. One kid is dealing with time almost like it’s buffering on a cheap Wi-Fi signal. Another discovers floating in a way that feels less like Superman and more like “somebody please get me down before the entire school cooks me.” That’s where the book earns its title. They are not magnificent. They are adequate. And somehow, that makes them more lovable.

Marz Jr.’s art is the engine that keeps this thing bouncing. The character designs are angular, exaggerated, and expressive in a way that feels like classic cartoon energy crashed into indie comics with a backpack full of cafeteria fries. Everyone has a silhouette. Everyone looks like they belong to a specific social ecosystem. The Goths, the Jocks, the Goobers, the Elites, it is all readable at a glance, which is essential for a book built on group dynamics. The dodgeball sequence is where the visual storytelling really starts breakdancing on cardboard. The panels stretch, snap, and punch with movement. Sound effects are integrated with style instead of just slapped on top like afterthought stickers. WHOOOSH, POP, THWACK, FOOMP,  the page has rhythm, and that rhythm matters because comedy in comics lives or dies by timing.

Lee Loughridge’s color work gives the issue a soft but eerie personality. The rain-drenched opening has that bluish-gray doom cloud flavor, then the gym scenes warm up into dusty oranges, browns, and school-floor tones that make everything feel public, exposed, and emotionally unsafe. That green-yellow time-slowing sequence? Chef’s kiss with a side of bodega coffee. It instantly signals that we have slipped into a different sensory experience without needing a giant narration box screaming, “POWER ACTIVATED!” That is clean comic craft. The colors are not just pretty; they are storytelling mechanics.

The writing has a sharp understanding of teenage tribal warfare. The book turns the gym into a miniature battlefield, and that is painfully accurate. Anybody who survived middle school or high school gym class knows dodgeball was never just dodgeball. It was social hierarchy with rubber weapons. The Jocks are not merely antagonists because they throw hard; they represent confidence, status, and the loud certainty that the awkward kids do not have yet. Meanwhile, the Goths are presented with enough attitude and deadpan cool to make them instantly enjoyable. The book has fun with stereotypes, but it also seems aware that every clique is armor. Everybody is performing something. Everybody is hiding something. That gives the comedy a little bite.

Now, keeping it fully one hundred, the issue does move fast. Very fast. The pacing is part of the charm, but there are moments where I wanted just a little more breathing room between the chaos. The cast is fun, the powers are interesting, and the emotional premise is strong, so giving the quieter beats a few extra inches to stretch would make the character moments hit harder. The comedy works, the visuals work, the supernatural hook works, but the book is at its strongest when it lets embarrassment, fear, and discovery sit on the page for a second before the next dodgeball comes flying in like it owes somebody money. That is not a major flaw; that is a “yo, give me more of the good stuff” note.

The dialogue also rides a very specific goofy rhythm, and most of the time it lands. The kids sound exaggerated in that comic-strip-meets-cartoon way, which fits the visual world. Still, a few lines lean so hard into punchline mode that the emotional stakes briefly take a back seat. For a story this charming, the next level would be letting some of these characters talk with a little more raw vulnerability beneath the jokes. Because the concept is deeper than it pretends to be. Kids discovering weird abilities while trying to avoid humiliation? That is metaphor city, baby. Rent-controlled, pre-war building, exposed brick, the whole deal.

What I really dig is that The Adequates understands that not every superhero story needs a cosmic war, a multiverse meltdown, or a villain monologuing like he just got rejected from theater camp. Sometimes the battleground is a school gym. Sometimes the villain is a coach with bad judgment. Sometimes the real threat is everyone looking at you when you have no idea what your own body is doing. That relatability gives the issue its heart. The supernatural stuff is the seasoning, but the main dish is insecurity, friendship, and learning how to move when the world keeps laughing at your footwork.

By the final pages, when the floating gag becomes something bigger and the social order starts wobbling, the issue leaves you with that “okay, now we cooking” energy. The Adequates are not ready. Not even close. But that is the point. Watching them stumble into courage is the whole fun of the book. This is a YA superhero comedy with indie weirdness, cartoon snap, and enough emotional sincerity to keep it from becoming empty noise. It has that Saturday morning sugar rush, but with the awkward truth of adolescence tucked under the hoodie.

The Adequates is funny, visually alive, and proudly oddball. It does not chase cool; it celebrates the kids who got left outside the cool table and decided to build their own cafeteria empire. The creative team is clearly having a blast, and that joy hits the page. With a little more room for character depth as the series continues, this could grow from a fun supernatural school comedy into something truly memorable. Crusaders, don’t sleep on this one, grab your digital copy, support creative oddballs, and tell the squad that adequate might just be the new awesome!

CRUSADERS SCORE:
4/5

Writers: Lee Loughridge and Marz Jr.
Artist: Marz Jr.
Colorist: Lee Loughridge
Letterer: Marz Jr.
Cover Artist: Marz Jr.
Editor: Will Dennis
Publisher: Comixology Originals