Cold water runs over my arms, and I shiver instinctively. My shoulders have been sore for weeks. I've never been sore before- I never even knew what it felt like.

It sucks.

Ma freaked out. Said she raised me better than to try and get myself killed. Said I should know better than to try and give Pa a heart attack. She's right.

I grab a towel on the way out of the bathroom, drying my shoulders. They feel so eerily sensitive. To think this is what most people have to deal with after moving furniture… I hate feeling so out of touch.

Lana called me. Said she saw me on the news. Said she was halfway ready to write me an obituary. Said Pete knew I had it in me.

Apparently they're having a baby, and got engaged as a result. I couldn't be happier for them, even if it means the two of them share everything they see and hear. Including any stupid stuff I do.

I grab a shirt from the couch and slip it over my shoulders. The fabric is scratchy… the fact that I even notice it drives me up the wall.

As I straighten my clothes, the intercom buzzer next to the door into my apartment goes off, and I jump a little before flipping around to face it. Wasn't expecting guests…

I lean into the door and push the intercom button, hesitant. "Hello?"

The old receiver crackles on the other end. "Good afternoon. Is this Mr. Kent? I'd like to inquire about a career opportunity, if you aren't predisposed."

A career opportunity…? Can't imagine I impressed any businessmen serving coffee in town on weekdays.

I look down at myself, clad in blue jeans and a ratty plaid shirt. Not really in the best condition for a job interview, but I suppose that's what you should expect when you show up to someone's house unannounced.

I press the intercom button again. "Uh, just a second."

"Please, take your time."

In a flash, I scurry to the bathroom and run a comb through my hair. I've been told I clean up nicely. Unfortunately, I don't really have time to style it at the moment.

My bangs fall partly back over my forehead as I tap the button again to let the guest in. Damn.

The intercom buzzes as the apartment entrance unlocks for him. Within minutes, the man is knocking on my front door, and I peer through the peephole to get a good look at him before I let him inside.

And I can barely believe my eyes.

"Lex Luthor?" I swing the door open with one hand as I make this declaration, unable to hide my surprise.

"Ha!" He runs a hand over his bald head and reaches down to fix the cuffs of his suit, flashing a charming smile. "Well, I see my reputation precedes me…"

"I, um… sorry, sorry; come in…"

I take a step back to let him in, and he brushes past me, taking a look around the apartment with a small frown. He's all dressed up in an undoubtedly overpriced suit, like I've seen him on TV. His scalp practically sparkles; I guess it's been polished, or whatever it is bald people do with their heads.

He marches forward like he expects me to follow him the rest of the way in. "I'm sorry to show up unannounced like this. My schedule is extremely tight, but I really felt the need to have this meeting in person. My personal assistant found the time on short notice."

"No, no… no problem…" I follow him into my living space, and he brushes off my couch with one hand, gesturing to ask if he can sit. I nod hurriedly as I take a seat in the chair across the table from him. "Um, can I- can I get you a drink or something?"

"No, thanks." He raises one hand to wave me off and pulls a cell phone out of his jacket pocket, scrolling through something with his thumb.

I cup my hands together as I wait for him to speak.

Lex Luthor, a billionaire CEO with God knows how many PhDs. He was Person of the Year in Time-Freaking-Magazine.

And then there's me. Just some guy.

The two of us just sitting in my living room. I haven't even had time to clean up in here. I have no idea what to say.

After an awkward few moments, I shift forward in my seat, trying to get him to look me in the eye. "Listen, Mr. Luthor. I appreciate the visit, and the courtesy, and everything. But… I really don't think I'm the man you're looking for."

He nods once and looks up from his phone, lips pursed. "Clark Joseph Kent. Son of Jonathan and Martha. Graduate of the University of Kansas in Edwards. Bachelor's in journalism. Minor in communications. Working as a barista uptown from here. Spent the past three years, four months, four days and…" -he checks his watch- "…eight hours… living alone in this one-bedroom apartment in the outskirts of Smallville." He looks up at me with some amusement. "Please stop me if I make a mistake."

"No, that's…" I trail off, my astonishment clearly evident. "Alright, fair enough; I guess I am the man you're looking for. But… why? I mean, is there something I can help you with?"

"There absolutely is. I already told you, I wanted to speak about a career opportunity."

"I… I mean I appreciate the consideration, really, but I don't see how I'm qualified for-"

"-You're misunderstanding me." He raises a finger, then hesitates. "Trust me, the last thing I need is another journalist, Mr. Kent." Looking down again and crossing one leg over the other, he reads off of his phone screen instead of looking at me. "What I'm interested in is this." He turns his phone to me, displaying a video of a cleanup crew around a wreckage along train tracks. A very familiar wreckage. "The train you stopped last month. With your bare hands."

…Oh, shit. LexCorp's train. Lex Luthor shows up at my door. Probably should have put two and two together there.

I have no idea what to say. "What? That-?"

"Yes. That. Surprise!" He tucks his phone away and clasps his hands together, looking at me with some degree of amusement. "I'm sure you meant to be very discreet and all, but-"

"-Discreet? I don't know what… what you're talking about…"

"Really? You're really going to go through this whole song and dance with me?" He shrugs and leans back, resigned. "Listen, Mr. Kent, if I may speak frankly, you're a complete nobody. You're a dust mite living in a city that is literally the butt of a joke just for being the middle of nowhere. You really think I could possibly just mix up a few names on a chart and end up with you? Clark Kent? Just in some kind of silly misunderstanding? I mean, I'm not here to ask you whether you stopped that train. I know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that it was you, and obviously, you know it, too. So let's just skip the part where you pretend you don't know what I'm talking about, okay?"

He raises an eyebrow at me.

I look at the floor. "…Okay." Can't see much reason to hold back now.

"Okay. Good." Satisfied, he finally seems to give me his full attention. "So, can I ask? Are you an alien? Some kind of experiment? Cyborg? Maybe some magic something-or-other?"

"I have no idea." I shrug with both hands, speaking totally earnestly. "My parents found me in some kind of metal pod that fell out of the sky when I was an infant. They were thinking either alien or secret government project. Since no men in black ever came looking for me, we think maybe the former. But it's up in the air."

"Interesting."

"Yeah. I guess."

He drums his fingers on his legs, deep in thought. I'm not sure what to do with myself, other than watch with anticipation.

After a little while, he settles on something. "When you were twelve, you pulled a school bus full of twenty-four of your middle school classmates- and one teacher- out of a ditch. That's twenty-five, maybe thirty thousand pounds you lifted. At twelve years old, no less."

"My teacher said she wouldn't tell anybody."

"Twenty-four is a lot of witnesses, especially when it's mostly children, to expect something to be kept completely silent, Clark. –Can I call you Clark?"

"Uh, sure."

"-Clark, when you were fourteen, you were arrested for a firearms-related public disturbance along with fellow student Peter Ross. You had bullet holes in your shirt when they pulled you into the police station. Can I assume the obvious here?"

"…Yeah."

"So you are bulletproof? You can say that with certainty?"

"Yes. I can."

"Hm." He nods once and glances at his phone away, tapping something into it before tucking it into his jacket pocket. "A strapping young man who blocks bullets with his chest. Lifts school buses. Stops moving trains with his bare hands. That's quite the resume you have there."

"And what's it to you?"

I narrow my eyes at him. I don't like to be drilled, least of all when it's building up to an obvious question with an obvious answer.

"Ha, right down to business, then! Fair enough; I respect that." He shrugs once. "I want to hire you, obviously."

"For my strength? You have to understand that I'm not interested in doing glorified manual labor."

"Clark, please," he sighs, repressing an eye roll. "I'm here in person. If it were something so trivial I wouldn't be wasting my time."

"Fine. But what in the world does LexCorp want with me, then?"

"What did Roosevelt want with Wonder Woman?" He shoots me a look. "I want a superhero. I want you to use your considerable power to do some good in the world. And I have a pretty strong hunch that you want that, too."

Lex remains completely straight-faced, watching me with anticipation.

"…You have to be joking."

"Absolutely not."

"What could you possibly want me to-?"

"Exactly what you've already done. Stopping trains. Saving lives." Lex scratches his chin briefly. "You are not listening to me. What I want from you is heroism. What I'm offering you is an opportunity."

"An opportunity to work for you."

"An opportunity to work for the American people. Beyond that. An opportunity to work for the people of the world." He does not even hesitate in his response, so practiced is he at impromptu speeches. "Clark. What I'm offering you is the opportunity for crisis intervention- all over the world, wherever you are needed- with no red tape, no borders, no legal repercussions, and a protected identity. If you feel it is your obligation to help people with the miraculous power you were born with, then those same moral principles should guide you to the conclusion that it is your obligation to accept my offer today."

"Then… what? You just want to help me? Just a good Samaritan? Want to make a difference out of the goodness of your heart?"

"Ha! No. Of course not." He seems completely unconcerned by the thought. "I'm not here to insult your intelligence, Clark. Obviously I have a personal vested interest in this. But think about it. If you hadn't stopped that train, hundreds of lives would have been lost because of a LexCorp network failure. Because of a personal failure." His face grows serious for a moment, and he furrows his brow. "I take full responsibility for that. But a disaster like this is the kind of thing that can seriously damage one's… reputation."

And we finally get to the root of it, what he has been beating around the bush at this whole time. "Then you want me for the good PR."

"Yes. I want you to help innocent civilians on the behalf of LexCorp, and in turn I want your own altruism to reflect on me." He shrugs slightly, choosing his words carefully. "So yes, granted, I may not be a saint, but that hardly makes me a villain. It's not as though I don't want to see more lives saved. Separate the politics from the principle. I can enable you to do far more than you ever could on your own. It's just something for you to think about."

My gut says no. My gut says he's a rich douchebag with an agenda. The kind of guy a country boy like me couldn't stand to be around any longer than this. That's what my gut says.

He hands me a business card and smiles at me. I can't deny that he has a certain intellectual charisma. Like he knows everything you're thinking before you think it. Of course, that also means he knows just how to talk to you to push your buttons.

A superhero, he says. Like Wonder Woman. As though I could even be compared…

"I'll need to think about it," I say quietly, eyes darting up at him.

He nods, smiling broadly again. "Of course you will. No pressure to choose one way or the other, Clark. You can trust that your secret will be safe with me, regardless."

I look down at the business card again.

Alexander Joseph Luthor

CEO, Chairman, and Founder, LexCorp International

"In the Industry of Progress"

Before I can even respond, he's already shaking my hand and making his way out the door.

My gut says I should rip the card in half.

But something tells me there are at least a hundred people that should have died last month that would disagree.