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POV: Clark Kent
Morning sunlight leaked through the blinds of my apartment window, a soft warmth that made the faded walls feel less lonely. I stood in front of the sink, toothbrush in hand, foam gathering in the corners of my mouth. Routine helped. Kept things normal. Helped me pretend that I wasn't the most powerful thing walking around this city.
Spitting into the sink, I wiped my mouth and reached for the towel when I heard it—three firm knocks on the door.
I blinked. Confused on who would knock on my door.
I wasn't expecting anyone, but as I opened the door, a delivery guy handed me a medium-sized box after a quick signiture he gave a polite nod before walking off. No return address—but I knew exactly who it was from the second I saw the handwriting on the tag.
Closing the door behind me, I set the box down on the coffee table. I smiled as I ran my fingers along the tape. Of course she found a way to get it here overnight. When Ma Kent set her mind to something, she could make miracles happen. She once convinced a manager to personally hand-deliver groceries straight to the farm to this day I don't know what she said to him but anytime it was brought up Pa would just smile.
I opened the box.
And there it was. The suit.
Royal blue, the color that made you think of a clear sunny sky. The gold and red "S" on the chest gleamed proudly, stitched with loving, steady hands. Tucked neatly beside it were a pair of red boots and a mask—one that would cover the lower half of my face, wrapping up to my eyes. Not exactly the full-face cowl like some vigilantes wore, but enough to keep people guessing.
I gently picked it up, feeling the fabric between my fingers—smooth, durable, a little stretchy. Ma definitely pulled some strings. Beneath the suit, folded carefully, was a short handwritten note.
I picked it up.
> Clark,
No matter how high you fly or how far you go, don't forget where you came from. You may be something more now, but you'll always be our boy. We love you, always.
— Ma
I didn't realize my hands were trembling until the corner of the note fluttered. What was this feeling Excitement? Fear? Anticipation? Maybe all of it. I reached into the box one last time and pulled out the cape—deep red with a golden "S" stitched in the center.
It was made from the blanket they'd found me in.
The same one Ma used to wrap me in whenever I got scared of my powers, scared of myself. Now it would follow me into the skies.
I took a deep breath and started putting it on. The suit fit perfectly. I didn't know how she did it. I stood in front of the mirror, boots firm on the ground, cape draped down my back, chest rising with every breath.
I looked like him.
The "S" shone against my chest, and with the mask on, I was almost unrecognizable the only give away being my hair. I should've felt heroic. Invincible, even.
But all I saw was me.
Not Superman.
Not even Clark Kent. Just me trying to be the kid from Kansas wearing the ideals of hope, strength, justice and trying not to let the darkness world swallow him whole.
Still… I knew this world didn't need another god or celebrity.
It needed someone who cared.
So I'd wear the suit.
And earn the name.
Even if, for now, I had to hide behind a mask.
I quickly made my way to the roof of my apartment building, making sure I wasn't seen by any wandering eyes peeking out of their windows. The last thing I needed was to end up as some blurry shape on someone's phone screen.
The morning air bit a little through the suit, but it wasn't unpleasant. Standing there under the open sky, the red cape trailing in the soft breeze, I felt the weight of it all. This was it. No more pretending. No more hiding. I was going to take my first step into the world as Superman.
But first… I closed my eyes and let my senses open wide.
Sound came at me like a flood. The hum of traffic, the shouting of street vendors, the rumble of subways, barking dogs, music through apartment walls, laughter, crying, sirens, conversations overlapping in dozens of languages—it all crashed into me like a tidal wave. My breathing hitched, chest tightening under the pressure of a thousand simultaneous voices.
Focus. Focus, Clark.
I slowed my breath. Counted it in. One, two, three. Out. One, two, three.
The noise didn't go away… but I started to understand it. Like sifting through a riverbed, I started picking through the pieces. Separating gravel from gold.
Then I heard it—sirens.
Firetrucks. Ambulances.
"Unit 4, we're twenty-five minutes out," one of the firemen reported over their radio. "Repeat, twenty-five minutes from location. 3420 Hanley Street, third alarm structure fire."
Hanley Street. I didn't even have to check a map. I opened my eyes, narrowed my focus, and let my vision tunnel through the buildings like zooming in on a camera. My x-ray vision flickered through the layers of concrete, glass, and steel, and then there it was.
A mid-rise apartment building engulfed in flame, smoke billowing up into the sky. Most of the residents were already gathered outside, huddled in blankets, coughing, comforted by a few early responders. But not all of them made it out.
I could hear them. The frightened breaths of people still trapped inside. A child sobbing on the fifth floor. A man banging against a door on the seventh. A woman screaming for someone to help her husband. So many voices—too many to count.
And I didn't hesitate.
The same feeling I had yesterday—the overwhelming, uncontrollable pull to act—washed over me again. But this time, I didn't resist it. I didn't ground myself. I didn't talk myself down.
I flew.
I took off like a shot, wind cracking behind me, cape snapping as I streaked across the sky. I wove between buildings, dipping low between rooftops and rising just in time to dodge an office tower. In the mirror-like windows of the skyscrapers, I caught glimpses of my reflection.
A red cape. A golden "S."
Flying.
And for just a moment, the doubt faded.
Because I saw what the world would see soon.
Not Clark Kent.
Not a kid in a costume.
But Superman—flying to save lives for the very first time.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
(POV: 3rd Person)
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The flames roared like a living beast, devouring the old brick apartment complex as black smoke billowed high into the night sky. Sirens echoed somewhere far off, but not nearly close enough. The block had been cordoned off with yellow tape as police officers scrambled to evacuate surrounding buildings, guiding out coughing residents, barking orders, and keeping bystanders at bay.
Lieutenant Marcus Reyes stood at the edge of the scene, his brow slick with sweat—not from the heat, but from anxiety. He shouted into his radio, "Where the hell are the fire trucks?"
The answer came back with a burst of static. "ETA twenty-five minutes. Closest crew is across the river."
Reyes swore under his breath. Twenty-five minutes was too long. He could already hear screams from inside. Panic gnawed at the edges of his discipline.
"I've got men ready to go in!" one officer shouted, suited up with a fire extinguisher in hand.
"No," Reyes snapped. "You go in there now, and I'll be pulling your charred corpse out in five minutes. We wait for the trucks!"
As if to punctuate his grim warning, a groaning creak echoed from the building's front entrance. A moment later, part of the ceiling collapsed inward, sending a spray of flaming debris across the ground. A fireball belched out the doorway in a roar, forcing everyone back.
And then, a blur.
Red and blue streaked across the night sky like lightning. In the blink of an eye, it vanished into the burning structure.
"What the hell was that?" one officer muttered.
Before anyone could respond, the blur reappeared—this time with two people in its arms. They were gently lowered to the street, coughing and wide-eyed. Then the blur was gone again.
Again and again, the blur moved—each pass carrying more people out of the inferno. A mother clutching her baby. An elderly man. A boy holding his sister's hand. Each time it moved faster than anyone could track, leaving only embers in its wake.
A few officers stumbled back. Others just stared. Frozen. A few stepped forward helping those that appeared.
"What… is this? What's happening?" a officer helping a man stand up.
No one had an answer. Only the repetition of the strange wind and the whoosh of something moving too fast to be seen.
And then—he stopped.
A figure stood at the edge of the police line, framed by the burning building behind him.
Tall.
Broad-shouldered.
Wearing a blue suit, dusted with ash and soot, the faint red-and-yellow of a strange symbol barely visible through the smoke. A long red cape drifted behind him, completely untouched by the fire.
In his arms, he carried a woman and a small child. Their faces were red with heat and fear—but they were alive.
As he gently set them down, a man from the crowd broke through the line and ran forward. The woman fell into his arms, clutching him and the child tightly. The small family collapsed into one another, tears spilling down their cheeks.
The man looked up, locking eyes with the figure who had brought them back.
"Thank you…" he whispered. "Thank you… whoever you are."
For a moment, the fire crackled in the background. The city was silent. And everyone just looked at him.
And eveyone knew something new.
Something impossible had just appeared.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
(POV: Clark Kent / Superman)
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I nodded to the man and woman I'd just pulled out of the flames, the little boy squirming between them as they embraced tightly.
"Get to safety," I told them, my voice calm but firm beneath the makeshift mask.
They both nodded hurriedly, whispering a thousand thank-yous before retreating toward the growing crowd. The child glanced back and waved at me. I waved back, smiling under the fabric as the soot and smoke swirled around me.
Then I felt it—the weight of every eye trained on me.
The officers nearby were staring. Some with confusion. Some with caution. I could practically feel the questions they wanted to ask but were too stunned to voice. Who was I? What was I? Was I even human?
Part of me wanted to fly off. To disappear before someone tried to stop me, question me, photograph me.
But then I heard someone cry. A raw, aching sound of loss.
I turned my head slightly, tuning in. My hearing stretched outward, locking onto one of the officer's radios.
"…truck ETA's still fifteen minutes, at best. Repeat, fifteen minutes out—"
Fifteen minutes. That's all. But in fifteen minutes, this whole building would be nothing but a charred skeleton. All these people… everything they owned…
No. That wasn't good enough.
I clenched my fists, steadied my breathing, and turned back toward the burning apartment complex. The flames had spread—faster than before—and now the top floors were glowing red through broken windows.
I launched back into the building, holding my breath as I navigated the smoke-choked hallways. I dropped low, landed inside what used to be someone's living room. Fire crawled across the walls, licking at the ceiling.
I exhaled slowly, and blew.
The gust of super-breath knocked the flames off the furniture and out the broken windows. I kept going, room after room, trying not to use too much force. I didn't want to turn this place into an icebox or collapse the walls.
Control. Focus. Don't freeze it all. I repeated those words like a mantra as I cooled the burning stairwells, forcing the smoke and heat out.
I lost track of time. I just moved. Breathe in. Blow out. Fire. Smoke. Ash. Move.
By the time I emerged again, the first firetruck was pulling up. Then came the second, sirens wailing. Paramedics rushed past the barricade, guiding some of the injured into ambulances.
I hovered just above the ground for a moment, watching.
Then, slowly, I touched down and turned toward the stunned officers still forming a makeshift perimeter. A few of them looked like they still couldn't believe what they were seeing.
I gave a stiff salute.
A few saluted back. Some hesitated. One or two just stared like they were trying to decide if I was a miracle or a threat.
Before anyone could say anything, I heard it glass shattering, followed by a scream. Somewhere not far off.
My head snapped in that direction.
There wasn't time to explain. Not yet.
So I turned, rose into the air, and shot toward the sound.
One crisis at a time.