The studio lights of The Kenta Angle, CNN's flagship political deep-dive program, were hot enough to make a lesser man sweat through his tailored suit. They were brutal, unforgiving suns designed to expose every nervous tic, every bead of perspiration, every flicker of uncertainty. On most nights, they were Kai's sparring partner, a familiar and welcome pressure.
Tonight, however, the light felt like it was being swallowed whole.
Across from him, a shadow seemed to actively absorb the photons, a void in the shape of a man. Batman sat with an unnerving, absolute stillness, the armored cowl and the stark white lenses of his mask fixed on Kai. He didn't fidget. He didn't breathe, at least not in any way that was visible to the naked eye. He was less a guest and more a geological formation that had appeared in the guest's chair.
Securing this interview had been a fucking coup. A six-month campaign of relentless persistence, back-channel negotiations with a man who may or may not have been a ghost named Alfred, and one very well-timed exclusive on the Penguin's illicit fish-smuggling ring had finally paid off.
The official topic was the Justice League's accountability in the wake of their last city-leveling brawl with a rogue starfish from outer space. They had spent the first twenty minutes on the standard, important fare: collateral damage, operational jurisdictions, the ethics of intervention. It was good television. It was responsible journalism.
But it was all just the appetizer. Kai had an ace up his sleeve, a question that had been brewing in the back of his mind for years, a conceptual itch he was finally in a position to scratch on national television.
He leaned forward, the very picture of relaxed, conversational journalism. "Batman, I'd like to pivot, if I may," Kai said, his voice smooth as butter, betraying none of the frantic, high-speed calculations happening in his brain. "Let's talk about Superman."
If a statue could tense up, Batman did. A subtle, almost imperceptible shift in his posture, a tightening of the void. "What about him?" The voice was a low growl, filtered through a modulator that made it sound like a pissed-off gravel driveway. It was a voice designed to make hardened criminals piss their pants.
"We categorize him as a metahuman," Kai began, steepling his fingers. He could feel his producer, Marcus, having a full-blown aneurysm in the control room. This was not on the pre-approved list of questions. "The definition of a metahuman, as established by S.T.A.R. Labs, is an individual with a specific genetic anomaly, the 'meta-gene,' that grants them abilities far beyond the norm for their species. Correct?"
"It is the accepted definition," Batman conceded, the words sounding like a threat.
"Right," Kai said, pressing on, feeling a strange surge of exhilaration. "The Flash can run faster than light. That's not normal for a human. Wonder Woman possesses the strength of the gods. Definitely not normal for an Amazonian, who are already ridiculously strong. But Superman... his abilities are just a biological reaction to our yellow sun's radiation. Any Kryptonian would have the same powers under the same conditions. We know this from General Zod and his band of merry assholes a few years back."
Batman's silence was a statement in itself. He was waiting for the point, his immense, terrifying intellect analyzing Kai's every word for a trap.
"So, here's my question," Kai pressed on, his gaze unwavering, locking onto the blank white lenses across from him. "If every member of a species has the same 'powers' under the same conditions, are they really powers? Or are they just... biology? It's like saying a human's ability to see in color is a superpower on a planet of dogs. It's not. It's just what our bodies do. For a Kryptonian, absorbing solar energy and flying might be as natural and as boring as breathing is for us."
On the other side of Metropolis, in a quiet apartment that smelled faintly of takeout and fabric softener, Clark Kent nearly dropped his coffee mug. He was on his couch, feet up, enjoying a rare moment of peace while Lois was on assignment in Geneva. He'd been half-watching the interview, mostly just proud of the young reporter who always managed to ask the tough questions.
Now, his heart was hammering against his ribs with the force of a locomotive. He sat up, his full attention locked on the television screen.
On screen, Batman finally spoke, his voice dropping even lower, if that was possible. "Your point is semantic, Mr. Kenta. Their biology makes them meta. They are, by definition, metahumans."
Kai smiled, a disarming, genuine smile that he knew, from experience, tended to throw people off balance. "I disagree. Respectfully. I think we're limiting our perspective. We're so amazed by what they can do that we're calling their basic biological functions 'superpowers.' Which leads me to a fascinating, and frankly, existentially terrifying, possibility."
He paused for dramatic effect, letting the nation hang on his next words. He could hear Marcus in the control room screaming, a beautiful, muffled sound of pure panic and delight.
"What if a Kryptonian was also a metahuman? What if a member of their species was born with a genuine meta-gene, on top of their innate solar-powered biology? We call Superman the Man of Steel, a god among men. But what would a Kryptonian with actual superpowers be? Not just the standard package of flight and strength, but something anomalous even for them. A Kryptonian telepath? A Kryptonian who can manipulate reality with a thought? A Kryptonian speedster who could make the Flash look like he was running in mud?"
The studio was dead silent. The producers in the control room were staring, mouths agape. The camera operators had forgotten to breathe.
In his apartment, Clark Kent stood up, his coffee forgotten on the table. His eyes were wide, his super-hearing deaf to the entire city, focused only on the reporter's words. The concept, the sheer, horrifying scale of it, echoed in his mind, unlocking a door to a room he never even knew existed. He was just a normal Kryptonian. What if there was something more?
On the screen, Batman didn't move. Not a single, twitching muscle. But the white lenses of his cowl seemed to narrow, boring into the reporter who had just, on national television, proposed the existence of a being that would make Superman look ordinary.
For the first time in a very, very long time, the Dark Knight, the man with a contingency plan for his contingency plans, was confronted with a theory he had no immediate, pre-prepared counter for.
Kai Kenta, the man who couldn't operate a toaster, had just left Batman speechless.
And a thousand miles away, he'd just given Superman a full-blown existential crisis.