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Have You Come To Meet Your Match (Chapter 11)
🕑 Added 2024-10-25 21:01:04 +0000 UTC“This is Diane Coleman, reporting live still at the scene of the Cadmus fire. We were just pulling out, heading back to the studio when—” The camera jerked violently, swinging to capture the chaos unfolding. A fire truck lay twisted and shattered, smoke curling in the distance. "Oh my god— someone was just thrown through a fire truck!"
The camera shook, a blur of movement as the reporter scrambled closer. Every frame flickered with a rush of panic before it steadied again. A white-clad figure grappled with a monstrous blue creature, its tail cracking the air like a whip. Their every clash sent shockwaves through the air before the blue monster was flung high in the sky.
The cameraman, reckless, edged closer still, closing the gap until the figure’s head snapped toward him—eyes locking. A second later, the figure tensed and shot into the sky.
"Was that Superman??!" came a voice, breathless, behind the camera.
"It looked like him... but younger somehow."
“You don’t think it’s another... Zod incident, do you?” This voice—Diane Coleman’s voice—had an edge of fear now.
"Pause," I ordered. "Bring up all files pertaining to the reference ‘Zod incident’."
In the dim light, the hardlight display expanded, growing until it filled the icy white room. Hundreds of files materialized, each stamped with Zod, the letters glowing eerily, like a warning from the past.
I scanned the files in seconds, my eyes blurring as they sped across names, dates, locations—each a marker of devastation. Faster, faster. The projection buzzed with the weight of data pouring in. A torrent of history—previously classified— The Zod event. The destruction. The aftermath.
These events were familiar. Very familiar. Everything aligned with the happenings of the “man of steel” movie. Down to death of Jonathan Kent.
I read and read, scrolling down until I saw a closed section titled—Kryptonian Accords. It flickered at the edge of the stream, highlighted in red and I stopped.
"Open it."
The computer’s response was immediate. Cold. "You do not have the necessary clearance. Access belongs to primary designator: Kal-El."
I frowned. The irritation rippled beneath my calm. "Perhaps your sensors are in need of an update, Computer. I am Kal-El."
A pause, and then the system whirred, scanning, evaluating. "No, you are not. While you bear near-perfect resemblance to my primary designator, I have been updated with the knowledge that you are, in fact, a clone."
A slow breath. My hands curled into fists at my sides, but I kept my voice level. “Updated, huh? By the same person who hasn’t shown his face to me since I woke up yesterday?”
"Correct. The true Kal-El. Your progenitor."
The distinction was infuriating—an imposed barrier between me and the information I needed to get to. I inhaled slowly, controlling my temper. “You would be correct, Computer... if he were the true Kal-El.” I straightened, letting the words out. “He is but a conditional one.”
The system paused, its lights dimming slightly as if considering. "Elaborate."
I stepped closer to the hardlight display, the cold blue light casting shadows across my face. "Have you heard of the Ship of Theseus? It’s a thought experiment in identity metaphysics."
"Naturally," the computer responded, its tone eerie and mechanical. "The Ship of Theseus is an artifact in a museum. Over time, its planks rot and are replaced with new planks. When no original plank remains, is it still the Ship of Theseus?"
I smiled faintly, letting the idea take root. “Secondly, if the removed parts are restored? Reassembled, free of the rot. Is that the Ship of Theseus?" I countered, watching the flicker of lights, gauging its response.
There was silence, only the faint hum of the fortress as the AI processed the notion. “Neither is the true ship," the system finally declared, with a note of certainty. "Both are the true ship."
I smiled, just slightly. “Exactly. You would agree with me that neither ship is more true than the other. Both are equally valid.”
“Correct.”
“So by that very standard, by that very logic of thought experiment, I am no less Kal-El than the one who came before.”
The silence stretched longer and longer before the computer finally responded. "...Very well. Access granted."
A cold satisfaction spread through me as the files unfolded before me—treaties, agreements, signatures, all under the name Kal-El, painted a picture of a world that had been shaken to its core. The Zod event had shattered more than just buildings; it had shattered the illusion of security, the comforting belief that humanity was alone in the cosmos.
After that day, the world learned they weren’t alone. Metropolis lay in ruins, rendered almost unrecognizable from the battle. The raw power unleashed by the Kryptonians could level cities and quite possibly destroy the world, and this revelation had terrified governments. The threat wasn’t just Zod—it was the mere existence of beings like him, like us. More than metahumans. More than magic.
More like…god.
Superman wasn’t the only one out there as had been proven by the invasion of Zod. What could stop more of them from coming? The answer? Nothing.
Countries scrambled, panic rippling through their leadership. Swiftly, agreements were drafted, summits held behind closed doors. In most of them, the terms were simple: non-interference, so long as Superman operated in a way that helped during disasters and emergencies. The world wouldn’t stand in his way, but they wouldn’t want him in theirs either.
But the U.S.? That was different.
The document before me bore the seal of the United States, and the stipulations outlined were cold, bureaucratic, and calculated—manipulative, even.
If Superman wanted to remain an accepted citizen, to live among the people, with his identity and private life off-limits to any government agency, he had to act in the best interests of the United States.
What did that mean exactly? The agreement never spelled it out. It was purposefully vague, an open door for interpretation. The best interests of the U.S. could mean anything—today it could be saving civilians in a flood, tomorrow it could be dismantling a foreign threat. But the fact remained, the U.S. had bou-
“You reek of sulfur,” I spoke suddenly, my voice cutting through the air, snapping at the emptiness. Not addressing the room. Nor the computer. Addressing Him.
A beat of silence later, then a voice—remarkably similar to mine but deeper, older—responded. “I did just finish saving a city from an erupting volcano.”
It wasn’t a surprise that he was here. I’d heard him before I felt him, the trail of shockwaves that he left as he flew in from the north were loud to my ears. He’d arrived in the middle of my search with a faint thud on the snowy ground before walking in through the antechamber, through the corridor and into this room.
I turned, fully facing him.
The sheer presence of him was overwhelming—taller, broader, more solid than I could ever be. His red and blue suit clung to him like armor, highlighting if anything, the sculpted perfection underneath. Soot clung to his skin, a smudge of effort from saving yet another part of the world, but it didn’t diminish him. No, it made him more real, more impossible. Every inch of him seemed sculpted from the hands of the gods themselves.
And then there was his face. My face, and yet not. Older, wiser, bearing the weight of responsibility I hadn’t earned, nor did I wish to. His short-cropped hair, his intense blue eyes. Eyes that saw through the world.
“City, you say?” I said
“Yeah. Kathmandu, Nepal—I apologize for being away for so long. I’ve had... matters to attend to. .” He said, muttering something that sounded like Wotan beneath his breath. “But you’re awake now. That’s good.”
“I assume you have questions,” He said, eyes flicking to the screen flickering at my back where The Accords still hovered.
"Naturally." I replied.
“Then let’s talk over breakfast.” His smile was so easy, so infuriatingly at peace despite the tiredness he surely must be feeling now.
“Oh, and Kelex,” he said, addressing the computer before switching to a different language. Alien in tone.
The computer’s voice responded—precisely with the same cadence, the same alien tongue.
The conversation was an exclusion, a deliberate obfuscation.
Superman’s easy smile turned to me. “Well then, follow me.”
I was left staring at his retreating form, his red cape swishing behind him, the iconic symbol of the House of El on it.
____________________________________
The dining hall of the Fortress of Solitude gleamed in icy stillness, its immense arches stretching up like frozen waves. Long, sleek tables covered in ornate metallic plates bore a feast that should’ve fed entire battalions. Piles of roasted meats, bowls brimming with vibrant fruits, and loaves of dense alien bread. Kryptonian service droids moved with quiet efficiency, bringing dish after dish, heaping before us endless platters.
Superman sat at the head of the table, tearing into the meal with a zeal that seemed almost out of place in the serene, glacial space. His jaw worked steadily, teeth sinking into slabs of roasted meat, juices spilling onto his plate. For someone who radiated such god-like restraint, here, he ate like a man who hadn’t touched food in weeks, his hunger raw and unapologetic.
He paused mid-bite, blue eyes glancing up at me at the other end of the table, something both expectant and amused glittering behind his eyes.
“Eat,” He said gesturing to the good. “I’m sure you’re hungry. It was one of the things Ma liked to complain about, my appetite. He chuckled. “Pa…bless his soul…always used to say I could eat a whole field of cows.” He chuckled.
I nodded absentmindedly, my focus slipping from Superman’s musings to the aromas flooding the room. The rich scent of roasted meats and sweet fruits finally hit me, and my stomach responded with a sharp growl, a sudden reminder of how long it had been since I’d last eaten. I barely registered the words he was saying because my attention was on the food.
The first bite was electric. The flavors exploded on my tongue, rich and savory, like nothing I had ever tasted before. My senses sharpened with each mouthful, the outside world blurring as I focused solely on the meal. A feast for gods, I thought, and felt the truth of that with every bite.
Superman’s voice cut through my haze. “Our bodies don’t really need much, not like humans. The sun fuels us, strengthens us. Food? Food becomes more of a... luxury.”
I glanced up, catching his eyes just as he leaned back in his chair, a knowing smile curling at the edges of his lips. He gestured to the table with an open hand, as if to say, go on, eat more.
“When we do need it, though,” he continued, his voice low, steady, “it hits hard. Hunger, real hunger. And when it comes, it’s... insistent. And well, you just have to feed.”
“Why did you bring me here?” I asked, cutting through his rambling with the only question that mattered.
He didn’t answer right away, his gaze settling on me like he was weighing the words, testing them before he spoke. “You know I’ve seen… a lot of attempts to replicate Kryptonian DNA, to clone me. From enemies to people I once considered friends. Hell even the government. They tried countless times. Different ways, different methods, as if they could perfect it by sheer persistence.” He looked away, a faint shadow crossing his face. “I never once thought they'd get it right.”
His voice sounded…tired. Telling of an exhaustion more than skin deep. Mental. Perhaps from the weight of what it meant. My existence.
“Because of how complex Kryptonian DNA is, right?” I ventured, filling the silence with curiosity as I picked at the food in front of me.
He gave a half-smile, though his eyes remained the same. “Yes... and no. Kryptonian DNA is complex, intricate, and there are codes—details of our structure—that science on Earth could never grasp. But that wasn’t the main reason.” He paused, choosing each word carefully. "I never thought anyone would be able to clone the Codex."
The name landed with a certain resonance. I tilted my head, trying to place it in the fragments I knew. “The codex?” I asked.
“Yes, the genetic database of the Kryptonian race.”
Ah I remembered what the codex was now. From the movies. Krypton’s empire had been one of careful control, of efficiency refined to an art. Their government, their culture, even their births were engineered around this idea. Its success had further and further cemented the pride and superiority that came with being Kryptonian.
On account of the efficiency of birth, they created The Codex- the genetic data of every Kryptonian yet to be born. This data enabled Krypton to control the traits, skills, and social roles of its citizens.
A truly efficient way to attend to the needs of the economy, of Krypton.
“You’re saying I have this Codex in me,” I asked, more to confirm than anything else, the reality of it still sinking in.
Superman’s gaze held mine, his eyes kind but unwavering as he answered. “Yes.”
It was only then that I noticed the table was empty, our plates cleared, the droids swiftly whisking everything away.
I leaned back, feeling that satisfaction that came with being properly fed,
Then the ceiling above us began to shift, retracting like a flower unfurling at dawn, and sunlight poured in, flooding the room in waves of gold. It washed over me, and I could feel it—like a surge in my veins, this undeniable, living energy coursing through every fiber of my being.
“It’s always a rush, isn’t it?” Superman’s voice brought me back, and I realized I’d closed my eyes without even noticing. He was no longer seated, but hovering just above his chair, the sunlight playing off his suit, casting faint blue glints.
The room felt smaller as his shadow got bigger and his very presence felt like it could expand and fill every space he occupied, his silhouette an echo of what he was and what I could become.
“Come on,” he said, voice light but with an edge of challenge. “Let’s go outside.” Then he took off, a ripple in the air trailing in his wake.
I barely needed to think before my field responded, bending gravity to my will. In a heartbeat, I went from stillness to a burst of motion, launching forward in an instant. The shockwave cracked the seat I'd just left as I accelerated, chasing after him.
After The Superman.
Comments
Blue Jay
Oh man, this Superman feels cool!
GODKINGASH
Bruh this is what I’ve been waiting for but where is his brother?
Robert Thompson
Should have him fly to the Sun get some OP rays and then tell the JL to get bent and do whatever he wants
