Superman:Man of Steel

by Mtle232

As a new era of heroes begins, follow Clark Kent's journey from small-town farm boy to becoming Earth's first public hero. While reports of Tony Stark's disappearance dominate headlines, Superman emerges in Metropolis, facing the brilliant but ruthless Lex Luthor and battling Metallo, a cyborg powered by fragments of his destroyed homeworld. Book 1 of the MDCCU

4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Great Changes

---

Welcome back everyone. Before we dive into another chapter of "Superman: Man of Steel," I noticed some of you had questions, so I figured I'd address those first:

Kiran Punnoose: You made a great point about William Hurt as General Ross. I've updated the casting to reflect this since he better embodies the MCU version of the character I am drawing from. I initially did not use him and used Sam Elliott since he played Ross in Hulk (2003) and I also did it out of respect since Hurt died. But I can see your point.

DarkKniteX: Excellent suggestions. You'll be happy to know that Brandon Sklenar is indeed our Batman - you'll get to see him in action soon. And I love your idea about blending different X-Men sources to expand our character roster.

Abyss Trinity & : I really appreciate you both pointing out the Tony Stark suit timeline issue! Since I write these chapters whenever I have free time, sometimes details like this can slip through, and I honestly didn't catch this during my final read-through. Thank you for letting me know right when the chapter went up. It helps me stay more aware of these continuity details while I'm writing. I definitely didn't mean to cause any confusion by mentioning the suits too early in the timeline.

Necros The Saiyan knight: For the Hulk, I am primarily using Mark Ruffalo's version as our foundation, but incorporating some elements from the 2003 film to create our own unique take on the character.

Eynn: Regarding relationships, while some couples will stay true to canon where it's integral to their stories, we'll be exploring various dynamics as the story progresses.

Aztec 13: Thank you. The interaction between Clark, Lex, and Tony was particularly fun to write. And yes, the Justice Society of America will definitely play an important role as our story unfolds.

Guest & Guest: Thank you both. The Age of Heroes is indeed beginning, and I'm excited to show you what's coming next.

---

Clark arrived at Bella Notte precisely at seven, adjusting his navy blue suit jacket as he waited near the entrance. The restaurant occupied a renovated brownstone in Metropolis's Little Italy, its warm lighting and intimate atmosphere making it popular for first dates. Through the windows, he could see couples at candlelit tables, sharing wine and conversation.

His superhearing picked up Lois's heartbeat before he saw her - a rhythm he'd grown to know better than his own. She rounded the corner wearing a deep burgundy dress that made his own heart skip. Her hair fell in loose waves, and she'd chosen minimal jewelry - just small silver earrings that caught the evening light.

"Right on time, Smallville," she smiled, and Clark felt that familiar warmth that had nothing to do with his Kryptonian biology. "And no brown suit. I'm impressed."

"I do own other clothes," he replied, holding the door for her. "Though I'm starting to think you have an unhealthy fixation with my wardrobe choices."

"Someone has to save you from yourself," she teased, but her eyes held genuine appreciation for how he looked tonight.

The maître d' led them to a corner table, slightly removed from the other diners. Soft Italian music played, and the scent of fresh herbs and garlic filled the air. Clark pulled out Lois's chair, earning an amused but pleased smile.

"Such a gentleman," she said as he sat across from her. "Must be that Kansas upbringing."

"Mom would never forgive me if I forgot my manners," Clark agreed, unfolding his napkin. "Though I seem to remember you making fun of those same manners when I first started at the Planet."

"I was wrong about a lot of things back then," Lois admitted softly, meeting his eyes. "Including you."

Their waiter arrived with menus and a wine list, giving them a moment to collect themselves. Clark selected a Tuscan red that made Lois raise an eyebrow.

"Hidden depths, Kent," she said after tasting it. "Where does a farm boy learn about Italian wines?"

"I traveled through Tuscany before college," he explained, careful to stick to his cover story. "Worked at a small vineyard for a few weeks. The owner, Giuseppe, insisted everyone understand wine before touching a single grape."

"Tell me about it?" Lois asked, genuinely interested. "We agreed no work talk, but your travels - that's different."

Clark smiled, remembering the actual weeks he'd spent in Italy, learning not just about wine but about the importance of tradition and family in Italian culture. "Giuseppe was in his seventies, but he could outwork people half his age. His family had made wine in that valley for generations. He taught me that good wine isn't just about the grapes - it's about patience, about understanding the soil and the weather and the subtle changes that make each vintage unique."

"You really loved it there," Lois observed, watching his face light up with the memory.

"It was peaceful," Clark admitted. "Simple, but in a good way. Giuseppe's wife, Maria, insisted on feeding all the workers like we were her own children. Every meal was an event - fresh bread, homemade pasta, vegetables from their garden. They taught me that taking time for meals, for conversation... it matters."

"Is that why you always make sure I eat during stakeouts?" Lois asked, her voice softening. "Those sandwiches you bring..."

"Mom's influence there," Clark smiled. "Though I did learn a few things about food during my travels. Speaking of which..." He gestured to their menus. "What looks good?"

They ordered - handmade pappardelle with wild mushrooms for Lois, osso buco for Clark. As they waited for their food, conversation flowed naturally, touching on childhood memories, favorite books, and the small details they'd learned about each other over their partnership.

"I still can't believe you read Asimov in the original Russian," Lois said, shaking her head. "You're full of surprises, Clark Kent."

"Says the woman who can recite entire passages of Tennyson from memory," he countered. "I heard you that night on the docks, waiting for that smuggling tip. 'Though much is taken, much abides...'"

"'And though we are not now that strength which in old days moved earth and heaven,'" Lois continued softly, "'that which we are, we are.'" She took another sip of wine. "Ulysses always meant something special to me. The idea that even when we're not at our strongest, we still have value..."

"'One equal temper of heroic hearts, made weak by time and fate, but strong in will,'" Clark finished. "To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."

Their eyes met across the candlelit table, and something shifted in the air between them. Before either could speak, their food arrived - perfectly plated dishes that smelled divine.

"Oh my god," Lois moaned after her first bite of pasta. "This is incredible. How did you find this place?"

"Actually, Giuseppe's nephew owns it," Clark admitted. "When you mentioned wanting to try it, I may have called ahead to make sure we got a good table."

"You planned this," Lois realized, her expression somewhere between surprise and delight. "How long have you been waiting to ask me out, Smallville?"

Clark adjusted his glasses, a genuine nervous gesture as it always was when Lois was involved. "Honestly? Pretty much since you called me 'Smallville' that first day."

"That long?" Lois set down her fork, studying him. "Why didn't you say something sooner?"

"You were... intimidating," he admitted with a small smile. "Lois Lane, star reporter, three-time Pulitzer nominee. And I was just the new guy from Kansas who wore the wrong suits."

"Clark..." Lois reached across the table, touching his hand. "You were never 'just' anything. I knew that even then, even when I was giving you a hard time about your ties."

Her touch sent warmth through his entire body. "When did you know?" he asked softly. "That maybe we could be more than partners?"

Lois thought for a moment, absently tracing patterns on his palm with her thumb. "Remember that story about the homeless shelter closing? How you spent three days tracking down former residents, giving them voices in the article? You didn't just report the facts - you made people care. That's when I started seeing you differently."

"I remember you bringing me coffee that week," Clark smiled. "Even though you always said getting coffee was 'beneath Lois Lane.'"

"You needed it more than I needed my pride," she shrugged, but her eyes were soft. "That's another thing about you, Clark - you make me want to be better. Not just as a reporter, but as a person."

"You've got that backward," Clark said softly. "You're the one who inspires people, Lois. The way you fight for truth, stand up for the voiceless... you never back down when you know something's right."

Their food forgotten, Lois intertwined her fingers with his. "Maybe that's why we work so well together. Your compassion balances my drive. Your patience tempers my intensity."

"Though you still get us thrown out of casinos occasionally," Clark teased, referencing Vegas.

"That dealer was definitely cheating!" Lois protested, but her laughter took any sting from the words. "And you have to admit, the story we got was worth it."

"I thought we agreed no work talk?" Clark raised an eyebrow.

"Right, sorry," Lois took another bite of her pasta. "Tell me more about your travels? I want to hear about the places that shaped Clark Kent."

Clark shared carefully edited versions of his pre-Superman journeys - the monasteries in Tibet where he'd learned meditation, the villages in Peru where he'd studied traditional healing practices. Lois listened intently, asking thoughtful questions that showed genuine interest in understanding his experiences.

"What made you choose journalism?" she asked as they shared a tiramisu. "With all those experiences, you could have done anything."

Clark considered his answer carefully. "I wanted to help people understand each other better. Show them that beneath our surface differences, we all share common hopes and fears." He smiled slightly. "Plus, I had this amazing writer as inspiration - someone who showed me that the truth, well told, could change the world."

"Flattery will get you everywhere, Kent," Lois smiled, but her cheeks flushed slightly. "Though I seem to remember you challenging my first draft of that corruption story pretty forcefully."

"You had all the facts, but you were missing the human element," Clark defended. "The impact on real people's lives."

"And you were right," Lois admitted. "That's another thing I lo- admire about you. You're not afraid to stand up to me when it matters."

The almost-confession hung in the air between them, making both their hearts race. Clark found himself leaning forward slightly, drawn by the candlelight playing across Lois's features and the warmth in her eyes.

"Lois," he said softly, "I should have done this a long time ago."

"What's that, Smallville?" Her voice was equally quiet, intimate.

"Asked if I could kiss you."

The moment stretched between them, electric with possibility. Then Lois smiled, that brilliant, fearless smile that had first captured his heart.

"Well?" she challenged gently. "Are you going to ask?"

Instead of answering, Clark leaned across the table. Their lips met softly at first, tentative and sweet. Then Lois's hand found his cheek, and the kiss deepened into something that made Clark forget about controlling his powers, forget about Superman and SHIELD and everything except the woman who saw him - really saw him - even without knowing his secret.

When they finally parted, both slightly breathless, Lois's heart was racing in a way Clark had never heard before. His own pulse thundered in his ears, his enhanced senses overwhelmed by her nearness.

"Wow," Lois whispered, her eyes still closed. "That was..."

"Yeah," Clark agreed, equally affected.

They shared a smile that held volumes of unspoken understanding. The rest of dinner passed in a pleasant haze of quiet conversation and lingering looks, both acutely aware that something fundamental had shifted between them.

Later, as they walked through Centennial Park, Lois slipped her hand into Clark's. The night was cool but clear, stars visible despite Metropolis's ever-present lights. They stopped near the fountain, its gentle splashing providing a peaceful backdrop.

"You know what's funny?" Lois said, turning to face him. "All those years of chasing stories, looking for the next big scoop... and the best thing I found was right at the desk next to mine."

Clark's heart soared higher than any physical flight could take him. "Lois Lane, was that almost romantic?"

"Tell anyone and I'll deny it," she warned, but her smile was radiant. "I have a reputation to maintain."

"Your secret's safe with me," Clark promised, the irony of his words not lost on him. Someday, he knew, he'd have to tell her everything. But for now, this moment was perfect just as it was.

They kissed again under the stars, the fountain's mist creating a subtle rainbow in the park's lights. For once, Clark didn't hear the city's constant calls for help, didn't feel the weight of his dual identities. Here, with Lois, he was simply Clark Kent, falling deeper in love with the most remarkable woman he'd ever known.

"So," Lois said when they finally parted, "was this worth waiting three years for?"

"Every second," Clark replied without hesitation. "Though maybe we shouldn't wait that long for our second date?"

"Tomorrow?" Lois suggested. "My place? I can't cook like your mom, but I make a mean takeout order."

"It's a date," Clark agreed, his smile reflecting all the joy in his heart.

They walked back to Lois's apartment building hand in hand, talking about everything and nothing. At her door, they shared one more kiss - longer, deeper, full of promise for tomorrow and all the days after.

"Goodnight, Smallville," Lois said softly. "Thank you for... everything."

"Goodnight, Lois," Clark replied, watching until she was safely inside.

As he walked home through the Metropolis night, Clark felt lighter than air - and for once, it had nothing to do with his powers. The woman he loved saw him for who he was, even if she didn't know everything yet. Somehow, that made him feel more super than any feat of strength ever could.

---

One month later...

The children's squeals of delight echoed across Robinson Park as Superman descended from the sky, his cape billowing gently in the autumn breeze. A small crowd had gathered around the old oak tree where eight-year-old Sarah Miller's orange tabby, Mr. Whiskers, had been stuck since morning. The cat, seemingly unimpressed by its would-be rescuer's powers, merely yawned as Superman floated up to its perch.

"Here, kitty," Superman said softly, extending his hand. From somewhere in the crowd, a phone started playing what had become unofficially known as "Superman's Theme" - the John Williams composition that had taken the internet by storm after someone set footage of his rescues to the triumphant orchestral piece.

Mr. Whiskers considered the offered hand with feline skepticism before finally allowing himself to be collected. Superman floated down to where Sarah waited, her eyes wide with wonder.

"I think someone wants to go home," he said, carefully transferring the cat to her arms.

"Thank you, Superman!" Sarah hugged her pet tight. "Mom says you're busy saving the world, but you still helped Mr. Whiskers."

"No rescue is too small," Superman replied, kneeling to her level. "And besides, I get to meet brave girls like you who love their pets so much."

From the Daily Planet building across the street, Lois Lane watched the scene unfold, unable to suppress her smile. In the month since their first meeting, she'd seen this softer side of Superman more and more - the way he took time for the small moments, especially with children. It reminded her of Clark somehow, though she couldn't quite put her finger on why.

Thinking of Clark brought a different kind of warmth to her smile. The past month had been... extraordinary. Their relationship had deepened in ways that still surprised her. Movie nights where they fell asleep on her couch, weekend breakfasts where Clark proved his farm-boy cooking skills weren't limited to just coffee, long walks through the city where they talked about everything and nothing.

In Washington, the aftermath of President Ellis's address continued to ripple through the corridors of power. SHIELD's newly established Superman Liaison Office buzzed with activity, monitoring screens tracking the Man of Steel's movements and analyzing his growing cultural impact.

"The polling data is remarkable," Alexander Pierce noted, reviewing reports with Nick Fury in SHIELD's secure conference room. "Approval ratings over 90% among children under 12, hovering around 85% for the general population. Even the usual skeptics are coming around."

Fury studied the footage of Superman at the children's hospital where he'd danced with patients to David Bowie's "Starman," teaching sick kids to float while the music played. "He's playing it smart. Building trust from the ground up. The kids love him, which makes parents trust him, which influences policy makers."

"Some would say too smart," General Ross interjected from the doorway. "All this public goodwill makes it harder to maintain proper oversight. The UN's proposed superhuman registration protocols are losing support. People don't want to regulate their new favorite hero."

At LuthorCorp Tower, Lex Luthor watched the same footage with increasingly dark fascination. Project Metallo's labs hummed beneath the building, where John Corbin underwent daily treatments with the mysterious minerals. But Lex's attention was fixed on the screens, studying Superman's every movement, every gesture.

"Something bothering you, son?" Lionel entered without knocking, as was his habit. "You've been... distracted lately."

"Just thinking about patterns," Lex replied carefully. "Superman's mannerisms, his speech patterns... there's something familiar about them." He turned to his father. "Have you noticed how he holds himself when talking to civilians? The way he adjusts his posture to seem less intimidating?"

"A calculated performance," Lionel dismissed. "Though I admit, he plays his role well. The children especially seem convinced."

"It's not a performance," Lex muttered, more to himself than his father. "That's what's been nagging at me. The genuineness, the Kansas farmboy sincerity..." He trailed off, a thought taking shape that he wasn't quite ready to examine.

Back at the Daily Planet, the morning meeting was in full swing. Perry White had established a dedicated "Superman Desk" to handle the constant flow of stories, though he insisted on maintaining balanced reporting.

"We document, we don't deify," he reminded his staff. "Yes, he's doing incredible things. But we're journalists, not cheerleaders."

Lois, taking notes beside Clark, felt her partner tense slightly at Perry's words. She'd noticed Clark had become more thoughtful lately when discussing Superman, often offering insights into the hero's possible motivations that proved surprisingly accurate.

"Speaking of documentation," Perry continued, "the six-week analysis piece - where are we on that?"

"Almost finished," Lois replied. "Clark and I are focusing on the societal impact, particularly how Superman's presence has affected emergency services and community engagement."

"Good. And the political angle?"

"SHIELD's been surprisingly cooperative," Clark added. "Their liaison office provided detailed statistics about how Superman's activities have reduced response times and casualty rates across the board."

"Though some politicians are pushing back," Lois noted. "Senator Stern's calling for more oversight, claiming Superman's popularity is making people overlook potential security concerns."

After the meeting, Clark and Lois retreated to the break room, where he automatically started making her coffee. Their easy domesticity hadn't gone unnoticed by their colleagues, though most were tactful enough not to comment directly.

"You seem worried about something," Lois observed, watching him measure the vanilla creamer with practiced precision.

"Just thinking about the political implications," Clark replied carefully. "Superman's trying to help, but his presence is changing everything - laws, policies, how people see their place in the universe."

Jimmy Olsen burst in, camera in hand, practically vibrating with excitement. "You guys have to see this!" he exclaimed, pulling up footage on his camera's display. "Superman just did something amazing!"

The footage showed Superman at Metropolis Children's Park, where he'd apparently been giving an anti-bullying talk. Someone had started playing his theme music, and the Man of Steel had surprised everyone by lifting the entire playground - swings, slides, and all - a few feet off the ground, giving the delighted children a zero-gravity experience while the music swelled triumphantly.

The moment was broken by Cat Grant's arrival, waving a press release. "Guess who's hosting a gala to honor Superman's positive impact on Metropolis? Our very own Lex Luthor!"

"Next month at LuthorCorp Tower," Cat confirmed. "All proceeds going to children's charities. Very PR-savvy, if you ask me."

"Or he wants to get Superman in a controlled environment," Lois mused. "Study him up close."

In LuthorCorp's secure labs, deep beneath the gleaming tower, John Corbin sat in the treatment chamber as green energy pulsed through his veins. The mysterious minerals they'd found - the ones that seemed to react to Superman's presence - had become more than just medicine. They'd become an obsession.

"Your readings are off the charts," Dr. Emil Hamilton noted, studying the monitors. "The mineral absorption rate has increased exponentially. How do you feel?"

"Stronger," Corbin flexed his arm, watching the green light trace patterns under his skin. "Like I could tear through steel." He paused, his eyes tracking the mineral's glow. "When can I have more?"

Hamilton exchanged concerned glances with his colleague, Dr. Kitty Faulkner. "We need to monitor the addiction potential," she said carefully. "These treatments were meant to heal your war injuries, not—"

"Not what?" Corbin demanded, a familiar anger flaring. "Not make me strong enough to stand against him? That's what this is all about, isn't it? Creating a countermeasure against Superman?"

"That's exactly what it's about," Lex's voice cut through the tension as he entered the lab. "The question is, John - how far are you willing to go to achieve that goal?"

Before Corbin could respond, Lionel Luthor arrived with an unexpected guest - Obadiah Stane, looking distinctly uncomfortable in the underground facility.

"The mineral treatments are impressive," Stane observed, studying Corbin through the observation window. "But Stark's cybernetic designs could take this to another level entirely."

"Project Metallo," Lionel explained, spreading blueprints across the lab table. "Total cybernetic conversion, powered by a refined mineral core. The perfect fusion of human determination and advanced technology."

Corbin moved closer to the plans, his movements jerky with barely contained energy. The minerals flowing through his system made his heart race, his thoughts razor-sharp but increasingly unstable. "How long would the surgery take?"

"Surgery is an inadequate term," Dr. Faulkner interjected. "We're talking about complete consciousness transfer. Your brain would be the only organic component remaining, housed in a fully cybernetic body."

"But I'd keep my strength?" Corbin asked, his hand unconsciously moving to where the mineral treatments pulsed beneath his skin. "The power these rocks give me?"

"You'd be exponentially stronger," Lex said quietly. "The mineral core would power systems beyond anything a human body could contain. But John..." He paused, studying his friend's increasingly erratic behavior. "Once we begin, there's no going back. You need to be certain."

"I haven't been human since that IED in Fallujah," Corbin replied, his voice hard. "These treatments, this power - it's the only thing that makes me feel alive anymore. When can we start?"

The surgery took eighteen hours. Teams of specialists worked in shifts, carefully transferring Corbin's consciousness into the cybernetic frame Stark's designs had helped create. The mineral core, refined and stabilized, pulsed at the center of his new chest like a radioactive heart.

"Synthetic skin application complete," Dr. Hamilton reported as dawn broke over Metropolis. "External appearance matches pre-surgery parameters exactly. Initiating consciousness transfer... now."

Corbin's new eyes opened, glowing faintly green in the dim lab. He raised his hands - perfectly replicated in synthetic flesh but containing strength that could crush diamonds. The sensation was... wrong. Different. He could process data about pressure and resistance, but couldn't feel texture or warmth.

"The sensory calibration will take time," Dr. Faulkner explained, noting his confusion. "We're still developing the neural interfaces that will allow for more natural sensation. For now, focus on basic motor control."

But Corbin was already moving, testing his new body's capabilities. Each motion was precise, powerful, inhuman in its perfection. The mineral core hummed with energy, feeding systems that made his old strength seem laughable in comparison.

"The addiction..." he started to ask, then realized he couldn't feel the desperate craving that had dominated his last few weeks of human existence. "It's gone."

"You no longer need the treatments," Lex explained. "The core is integrated directly into your systems. Stable. Controlled."

"How do you feel?" Lionel asked, studying their creation with calculating eyes.

Corbin considered the question. The anger was still there - at Superman, at the world that had rejected him after his service, at the system that had failed him. But it was focused now, precise as a laser. "I feel... ready."

"Ready for what?" Hamilton asked, echoing his earlier question.

"To show the world they don't need an alien savior," Corbin replied. "To remind them that human ingenuity, human determination, can match any threat." He turned to the Luthors. "When do I get to test myself against him?"

"Soon," Lex promised. "The gala will provide the perfect opportunity. But first, you need to complete your calibration. Learn your new body's capabilities."

Over the next few days, Corbin threw himself into testing his limits. He could lift tanks, run faster than military jets, process information at computer speeds. The synthetic skin meant he could pass for human in any casual interaction, though prolonged contact would reveal his lack of body heat.

But sometimes, late at night in his private quarters, he would try to feel the texture of his sheets, or the temperature of water, or the beat of his now-absent heart. The data feeds told him everything he needed to know about his environment, but the simple human sensations remained frustratingly out of reach.

"The sensory upgrades are progressing well," Dr. Faulkner assured him during one check-up. "Another few weeks and—"

"Weeks?" Corbin interrupted. "I'm ready now. Look at what I can do!" He crushed a steel bar in his hand, the metal crumpling like paper.

"Physical capabilities aren't everything," she replied carefully. "We need to ensure your psychological integration is stable. These kinds of changes, losing basic human sensations..."

"I haven't been truly human since Iraq," Corbin cut her off. "At least now I'm strong enough to do something about it."

But in quiet moments, when the mineral core hummed in his chest where his heart used to be, John Corbin would sometimes catch his reflection and see something alien staring back - something that looked human but had forgotten how to feel like one.

Above in LuthorCorp Tower, Lex watched footage of Corbin's training exercises while meeting with Stane via secure video link.

"The integration exceeded our projections," Stane noted. "Though the psychological implications..."

"Are precisely what we need," Lex finished. "His focus on Superman, his willingness to sacrifice his humanity - it makes him the perfect countermeasure."

"And the mineral core's unique radiation signature?"

"Appears to have exactly the effect we theorized," Lex smiled slightly. "Though we'll confirm that at the gala. Speaking of which - how are our other projects progressing?"

"The Ten Rings continue to report no sign of Stark," Stane replied. "Though there's been unusual activity around their main compound. Energy signatures we can't quite explain."

"Keep monitoring it," Lex ordered. "But for now, focus on Project Metallo. Corbin is our proof of concept - proof that humanity can create its own protectors, without relying on alien saviors."

In LuthorCorp's secure labs, John Corbin's metallic fist connected with the testing apparatus, the impact sensors flickering as they struggled to measure the force.

"Eight thousand PSI," Dr. Hamilton announced, checking the readouts. "That's nearly four times your last attempt with just the mineral treatments."

Corbin flexed his hand, synthetic skin rippling over metal frame. "Again."

"We should run other tests first," Dr. Faulkner suggested. "Check your neural integration—"

The testing machine exploded into fragments as Corbin's fist tore through it, scattering debris across the reinforced lab. "Looks like we need better equipment," he said, a cold smile playing across his perfectly replicated features. "I guess you've got your real Man of Steel right here."

"Impressive," Lex's voice came from the observation room. "Though perhaps we should work on impulse control."

"Don't need it," Corbin replied, studying his unmarked hand. "Don't need a lot of things anymore. Can't remember the last time I felt hungry. Or tired." His expression darkened slightly. "Can't feel much of anything, really. Found that out the hard way when I tried to... be with a woman last night."

Dr. Faulkner made a note on her tablet. "The sensory interfaces are still developing. With time—"

"Time?" Corbin barked a laugh that held no humor. "You've given me strength that could tear Superman apart. Who cares if I can't feel a kiss or taste food? Small price to pay for power like this."

But something in his tone made Lex study him more carefully. The mineral core glowed through Corbin's chest, pulsing like a radioactive heart where his human one used to be. His movements were perfect, precise - and utterly inhuman in their efficiency.

"How are you adjusting to the neural upgrades?" Hamilton asked, setting up new testing equipment. "Any feedback issues?"

"My brain processes faster than any computer you've got," Corbin demonstrated by solving complex equations displayed on nearby screens. "Reaction time is microseconds. Tactical systems can calculate trajectory, force, structural weaknesses instantly." He paused. "But sometimes... I try to remember what things used to feel like. Simple things. Sunlight. Wind. The weight of dog tags against my chest."

"The sensory development team is working on—" Faulkner began, but Corbin cut her off.

"Doesn't matter," he said flatly. "This body is a weapon. That's what matters. Let me show you."

Corbin focused, and the synthetic skin of his right arm seemed to ripple, revealing the metallic structure beneath. They watched in fascination as the metal components shifted and realigned, his forearm extending into a wickedly sharp blade.

"The molecular structure can be reconfigured at will," Dr. Hamilton noted, checking his readings. "The density and hardness are off the charts."

Corbin approached the reinforced steel testing panel. Without hesitation, he swung his transformed arm in a smooth arc. The blade passed through the military-grade steel as though it were paper, leaving a cut so clean it took several seconds for the severed piece to slide free and clang to the floor.

"Like butter," Corbin smiled, but the expression didn't reach his eyes. "And that's just the beginning."

"We should proceed with the durability tests," Dr. Faulkner suggested, gesturing to the weapons array they'd prepared.

Despite his new form, Corbin's instincts were still human enough that he flinched when the first shots rang out. But as the high-caliber rounds bounced harmlessly off his chest, his expression changed to one of dark wonder.

"I can't feel it," he marveled, watching the bullets flatten against his synthetic skin without leaving a mark. "I mean, I register the impact, but there's no pain. No sensation at all."

In the observation room above, Lex and Lionel watched the display with calculated interest. "The synthetic skin's molecular structure is remarkable," Lex noted. "Harder than steel, yet able to perfectly mimic human appearance."

"Until he transforms it," Lionel added as Corbin demonstrated again, his arm shifting back into its blade configuration. "Though he seems to be favoring the edged weapon forms. Interesting choice for someone with his military background."

"Psychological component," Lex mused. "Blades are intimate weapons. Require close contact. Perhaps he's compensating for his increasing disconnect from human sensation."

Below, they moved on to testing Corbin's heat resistance. Industrial torches barely warmed his synthetic skin. Even sustained exposure to temperatures that would melt steel left him unmarked.

"Remarkable," Hamilton said, checking his instruments. "The synthetic skin actually adapts to extreme conditions, becoming more resistant the longer it's exposed."

"Like I said," Corbin's voice held a note of triumph. "Who needs human weakness? This body is perfect. Unstoppable." He transformed his arm again, the blade gleaming under the lab lights. "Let your alien hero try to match this."

"That's precisely what we intend to demonstrate at the gala," Lionel said, joining them in the lab. "The next stage of human evolution. Proof that we don't need alien saviors."

"The new Superman," Lex added, though something in his tone suggested he wasn't entirely comfortable with his father's grand pronouncements. He'd noticed how Corbin's hand still sometimes drifted to his chest, searching for a heartbeat that no longer existed.

"When do I get to test myself against the real thing?" Corbin asked, his blade-arm reflecting the green glow of his mineral core.

"Patience," Lionel counseled. "First, we show you to the world. Let them see what human ingenuity can achieve. Then..." he smiled coldly, "then we show them which Man of Steel truly deserves that title."

Corbin nodded, transforming his arm back to its human appearance. But his eyes remained fixed on the severed steel panel, and his perfect smile held something that looked less like triumph and more like hunger.

"Run the ballistics tests again," Corbin requested, watching bullets flatten against his chest with growing fascination. "Increase the caliber."

Hamilton and Faulkner exchanged glances, but complied. They moved up through various weapons: hunting rifles, military-grade assault weapons, even a .50 caliber anti-materiel rifle. Nothing left so much as a scratch on Corbin's synthetic skin.

"The molecular structure actually becomes denser upon impact," Hamilton noted, studying the readings. "The more force applied, the stronger it becomes."

"Try the armor-piercing rounds," Corbin demanded. His expression had grown almost feverish, watching each bullet fail against his new form.

When even depleted uranium rounds bounced off harmlessly, Corbin laughed - a sound that held no trace of human warmth. "Is that all you've got?"

"There's something else we'd like to test," Lex said, entering the lab. He nodded to a technician who wheeled in what looked like a modified battering ram. "This impact testing device was designed to simulate the force of a speeding train."

The machine slammed into Corbin at over 200 miles per hour. The concrete wall behind him cracked from the transferred force, but he didn't move an inch. The synthetic skin hadn't even dented.

"Again," Corbin demanded. "Maximum power."

The second impact actually broke the machine, while Corbin remained unmoved. He reached down to touch the twisted wreckage, and his arm began transforming again - not into a blade this time, but incorporating elements of the impact device into his structure.

"Fascinating," Dr. Hamilton murmured. "He's not just mimicking the technology - he's improving upon it. Look how his systems are optimizing the kinetic transfer mechanisms."

Corbin demonstrated by punching another test wall. The impact traveled through the entire reinforced structure, shattering concrete fifty feet away while leaving his synthetic skin pristine.

"The applications go beyond mere combat," Lionel observed from above. "Imagine - a soldier who can instantly analyze and adapt any technology he encounters. No need for complex training or equipment familiarization."

"He's becoming something new," Lex agreed, watching Corbin experiment with his latest adaptation. "Not just a weapon, but a continuously evolving weapons platform."

They moved on to testing his speed and reaction time. Corbin easily caught arrows fired from high-powered compound bows, snatched bullets out of the air, and moved faster than their high-speed cameras could track.

"The mineral core provides virtually unlimited energy," Hamilton reported. "No signs of fatigue or power drain, even under maximum exertion."

"How fast can you process tactical information?" Faulkner asked, bringing up combat simulations on the lab's screens.

Corbin's eyes flickered as he analyzed multiple battle scenarios simultaneously. "I can calculate trajectory, force, structural weaknesses, and optimal attack patterns faster than your computers. See?"

He demonstrated by transforming both arms - one into his preferred blade configuration, the other incorporating elements of the impact device - and executing a series of moves that reduced reinforced test dummies to scrap in microseconds.

"Every component is perfectly optimized," Hamilton noted. "No wasted motion, no hesitation. Even his synthetic muscles have adapted to maximize force delivery."

"Run the full combat simulation," Lionel ordered. "Let's see how he handles multiple threats."

The lab's holographic systems created a complex battle scenario - armed opponents, civilians, various environmental hazards. Corbin moved through it like a force of nature, his transformed limbs dealing with each threat while his enhanced processing speeds kept track of every variable.

"Perfect tactical optimization," Lex noted. "But look at his expression."

Corbin's face showed something beyond concentration or satisfaction - a kind of hungry joy in the destruction, even if it was just holographic. The mineral core pulsed brighter with each simulated kill.

"The core's radiation seems to enhance aggressive tendencies," Hamilton said quietly. "The more he fights, the more he wants to fight."

"Good," Lionel replied. "Channel that aggression. Focus it."

"And if we can't control it?" Faulkner asked. "The psychological evaluations show increasing instability."

"I'm right here," Corbin snapped, his blade-arm gleaming. "And I can hear everything you're saying. Enhanced audio processing, remember?" He approached the observation window, synthetic skin rippling with barely contained power. "You wanted a weapon to match Superman? You've got one. I'm stronger, faster, and more lethal than any human or alien. And unlike him, I don't hold back."

To demonstrate, he transformed both arms into blades and executed a move too fast for human eyes to follow. When he finished, every piece of equipment in the testing area had been sliced into precise squares.

"Impressive," Lionel acknowledged. "But the gala requires subtlety. Control. Can you maintain human appearance while surrounded by people? While watching Superman being celebrated?"

"I can play human," Corbin's smile was razor-sharp. "I wore that mask for months after Fallujah. Pretended to be fine while the VA doctors called my pain psychosomatic. Smiled and nodded while politicians thanked me for my service then cut veteran benefits." His perfect face showed no expression, but his eyes burned with green fire. "I can wait. Let Superman have his moment in the sun. When the time comes, I'll show the world what real power looks like."

---

In the depths of a cave complex somewhere in Afghanistan's Kunar Province, Tony Stark hunched over his workbench, bathed in the ghostly blue glow of the arc reactor embedded in his chest. The light casted strange shadows across the makeshift workshop - a prisoner's lab cobbled together from desperation and genius. Three months of captivity had left their mark on the normally polished billionaire. His expensive suit had long since been replaced by stained workman's clothes, his trademark goatee grown into a wild and unkempt full beard. Dark circles shadowed his eyes, testament to nights spent working and planning rather than sleeping.

But his hands - those remained steady. The same hands that had once assembled circuit boards at age four now manipulated components with surgical precision, each movement deliberate and focused. The cave air hung thick with metal dust and the acrid tang of welding, while water dripped somewhere in the darkness, marking time like nature's own metronome.

"Pass me the coupling mechanism," Tony murmured to Yinsen, not looking up from his work. "The one we salvaged from the missile housing."

Yinsen handed him the component, his movements careful and measured. The Yale-educated surgeon had saved Tony's life twice now - first with the electromagnetic surgery that kept shrapnel from his heart, and then by teaching him how to survive in this cave of horrors. His calm presence had become Tony's anchor in their shared captivity.

"The mineral's energy signature is fluctuating again," Yinsen observed, glancing at their crude monitoring equipment. The green stones they'd been provided as a power source pulsed with an otherworldly glow, casting sickly emerald highlights across their workspace. "Every time they bring in new samples, the radiation patterns shift."

"Yeah, I noticed that." Tony carefully connected another wire to the mineral-enhanced power core. "Whatever this stuff is, it's not from around here. The energy readings are like nothing I've ever seen - and trust me, I've seen a lot."

Security cameras tracked their every move from the corners, their red lights blinking like malevolent eyes. Tony had mapped their blind spots during his first week of captivity, knowledge that would soon prove crucial to their escape. But for now, he maintained the facade of the cooperative prisoner, just another weapon-maker following orders.

"They're getting impatient," Yinsen warned, his voice barely above a whisper as he soldered another connection in place. "Raza spent three hours watching the security feeds yesterday. He suspects we're not really building his missile."

"Let him suspect," Tony replied, making minute adjustments to the power core's housing. The green mineral fragments - what their guards had started calling 'kryptonite' after Superman's televised interview - pulsed with that strange energy that still made him uneasy. Every time he handled them, his instruments recorded impossible readings, energy signatures that defied known physics. "As long as he doesn't figure out what we're actually building."

The arc reactor in his chest hummed steadily - his new heart, built from scraps and inspiration. But the larger version taking shape on his workbench represented something more: hope, redemption, a way out. The suit's components lay scattered around them, disguised as missile parts. To untrained eyes, they might look like pieces of the Jericho missile Raza had demanded. But soon they would come together as something else entirely.

"These stones," Yinsen mused, carefully adjusting their power monitoring equipment. "The men talk about them constantly now. They believe they're connected to Superman - fragments of his lost world." He glanced at Tony. "The timing is... interesting."

"Everything about this is interesting," Tony muttered, remembering the strange green glow they'd spotted in the mountains weeks before his convoy was attacked. "A mysterious mineral with impossible energy readings shows up in terrorist hands right when a superpowered alien goes public? That's one hell of a coincidence."

Tony then paused, hearing footsteps approaching through the cave complex. Three sets of boots, moving with military precision. His hands moved automatically to cover the more suspicious components as the observation slot in their cell door scraped open. Harsh voices barked commands in Arabic, then the heavy door swung wide.

Raza entered, flanked by armed guards. His face was handsome in a severe way, carrying the bearing of someone used to absolute authority. Behind that cultured facade lay a calculating intelligence that made him far more dangerous than a common warlord.

"The bow and arrow," Raza began, running his fingers over the partially assembled components, "was once the pinnacle of weapons technology." He picked up one of the green mineral fragments, studying how it caught the light. "It allowed the great Genghis Khan to rule from the Pacific to the Ukraine. An empire twice the size of Alexander the Great and five times the size of the Roman Empire."

He set the stone down, moving to inspect their workbench. "But today, whoever holds the latest Stark weapons rules these lands." His eyes fixed on Tony. "And soon, it will be my turn."

Raza picked up their technical drawings, studying what appeared to be missile guidance systems but were actually armor joint mechanisms. His gaze lingered on the power core schematics where they'd integrated the mysterious green stones.

He stepped closer to Tony, reaching out to pull aside the worn fabric of his shirt. The arc reactor's blue glow contrasted sharply with the green pulse of the minerals on their workbench. "The bow and arrow gave way to gunpowder weapons," Raza mused, studying the device in Tony's chest. "Just as gunpowder weapons now give way to Stark missiles. But this..." he tapped the reactor's housing gently, "this suggests you're building something far more interesting than missiles."

"Just a battery," Tony said carefully, the lie well-practiced after months of inspections. "For the shrapnel damage. Yinsen's idea - crude, but it keeps me working."

Raza turned to Yinsen, speaking rapid-fire Urdu. "Tell me how the work progresses."

"The integration of the mineral power source is complex," Yinsen replied in the same language, his tone respectful but firm. "The energy signatures are unlike anything in modern science. We must calibrate each component precisely."

"Three months," Raza switched to Arabic. "Three months you've had to build my missile. And yet I see no missile."

"The Jericho is intricate," Yinsen responded, also in Arabic. "Each system must be perfectly aligned, especially with these new power sources. One mistake could-"

"You think I'm a fool?" Raza cut him off, switching back to English as his hand shot out to grab Yinsen's throat. "You think I don't see what's happening here?"

The guards raised their weapons as Tony took an instinctive step forward. Raza dragged Yinsen to a nearby anvil, forcing his head down against the metal surface. He reached for a brazier, pulling out tongs that gripped a glowing coal.

"Open your mouth," Raza ordered, bringing the coal closer to Yinsen's face. The heat cast orange reflections in his cold eyes.

"What do you want?" Tony demanded, heart pounding as he watched his friend's predicament. The arc reactor's hum seemed to grow louder with his rising pulse.

"The truth," Raza said coldly, the burning coal casting orange reflections in his eyes as he held it closer to Yinsen's face. The doctor remained silent, head pressed against the anvil by one of the guards.

Tony stepped forward, hands raised as the guards immediately trained their weapons on him. "A delivery date? You want a delivery date?" He met Raza's gaze steadily despite the guns pointed at his chest. "I can do that."

Raza studied him carefully, coal still suspended inches from Yinsen's face. "When?"

"Tomorrow," Tony said firmly. "Tomorrow morning. First thing."

"You're certain of this?" The coal moved a fraction closer to Yinsen.

Tony gestured to their workbench, where the green mineral fragments pulsed with their otherworldly glow. "The power core is almost stabilized. The guidance systems are aligned. Tomorrow morning, you'll have your Jericho."

Raza was silent for a long moment, eyes moving between Tony and the strange green stones they'd been using as a power source. Finally, he lowered the tongs.

"I need him," Tony added quickly. "Good assistant."

"Tomorrow then." Raza released his grip on Yinsen, who remained admirably composed despite gasping for air. "But remember, Stark - my patience is not unlimited." He threw the tongs aside with deliberate force. "Tomorrow morning, you will show me everything. The missile, these power sources, all of it." His eyes lingered on the arc reactor glowing in Tony's chest. "No more delays."

The cell door clanged shut behind them, its echo mixing with the retreating footsteps. As soon as they were alone, Tony and Yinsen sprang into action. There was no more time for careful preparation or testing - everything had to happen tonight.

Tony stripped down to his green vest, the arc reactor's blue glow contrasting with the sickly green pulse of the mineral fragments they'd integrated into the suit's power core. The cave air grew thick with the smell of hot metal as he hammered the final armor plates into shape, each strike echoing off the stone walls.

The facial plate emerged from its water bath with a hiss of steam, crude but functional. Tony laid it carefully on the workbench where Yinsen was already preparing the electrical connections, his surgeon's hands precise as they wove the complex web of wires that would bring their creation to life.

"The mineral core's energy signature is still fluctuating," Yinsen reported quietly as Tony began wrapping protective tape around his hands. "But it seems to be synchronizing with the arc reactor's output."

"It'll hold," Tony replied, though whether he was trying to convince Yinsen or himself wasn't clear. "The stones want to work with the reactor - you can feel it, right? Like they're reaching for each other."

Yinsen nodded as he activated the chest piece, watching indicator lights flicker to life. "Ready for the initial test?"

Tony stepped into position as Yinsen helped him don the first pieces - jacket, gloves, the vital throat armor that would protect his most vulnerable areas. The chest piece came last, its weight settling onto his shoulders like destiny itself.

"Can you move?" Yinsen asked, checking connection points. "The mineral core might affect the joint servos."

Tony flexed his arms, testing the range of motion. "So far so good. Let's go over the plan one more time."

As Yinsen continued assembling components, Tony recited their escape route from memory: "Initial power-up takes 6 minutes. I need to clear checkpoint one by 3:30, checkpoint two by 5:45. The mineral core should give us enough boost to clear the blast radius when we - Yinsen?"

The doctor had paused, his expression troubled. "I'm calculating the power draw from the initialization sequence. With these stones amplifying everything..."

"It'll work," Tony said, connecting another wire to the power core. The green stones they'd been given pulsed brighter, making their jerry-rigged instruments go haywire. "Look, we've tested everything. The numbers work."

"Tested separately," Yinsen reminded him, frowning at their monitoring equipment. "But together?" He gestured at the stones. "We don't even know what these really are, Tony. The energy readings make no sense."

Tony wasn't listening. He was too focused on the final connections, trying to ignore how the stones' glow seemed to intensify whenever they got near the arc reactor. "As long as it gets us out of here, I don't care if it runs on magic."

In the monitoring room, Raza leaned towards the screens, something catching his attention. "Where's Stark?"

One of his men rewound the footage. "He was just here, working at the bench..."

"Find him," Raza snapped. "Now!"

His men scrambled to comply, some grabbing radios while others headed for the door. Raza stayed glued to the monitors, watching Yinsen's movements carefully. Something was wrong.

The response team moved fast, their footsteps echoing through the tunnels. The observation slot scraped open.

"Hol van Stark?" a guard shouted in Hungarian. "Azonnal mutasd meg magad!"

"What are they saying?" Tony whispered from inside the partially assembled suit.

"I don't speak Hungarian," Yinsen admitted, still working on the connections.

"Well say something back!"

"They're asking for you..."

Yinsen straightened up and called out hesitantly: "Nem probléma, minden rendben!"

The guards spoke quickly to each other, then the door's lock clanked.

"Whatever you just said," Tony muttered, "I don't think it helped."

The door burst open - and their trap went off. The explosion rocked the cave, sending debris and smoke everywhere. The blast was stronger than they'd expected, the strange stones apparently amplifying the force.

In the monitoring room, Raza's composure finally cracked. "Send everyone. Find them!"

Tony peered through the smoke. "How bad?"

"Oh my goodness," Yinsen said, taking in the destruction. Two guards were dead, others wounded. The doorway had partially collapsed. "It worked all right."

"That's what I do," Tony said grimly. "Now comes the hard part. Start the power sequence."

Yinsen hurried to their computer, the ancient machine protesting as he booted it up. The screen flickered to life, casting a sickly green glow.

"Tell me what to do," he said urgently.

"Function 11," Tony said, trying to stay still in the heavy suit. "You should see a progress bar."

"It's up."

"Control-I, then I and Enter together."

The progress bar appeared, moving painfully slow. They could hear shouts getting closer.

"Get back here and button me up," Tony ordered.

Yinsen worked quickly on the suit's fastenings, but the sounds of pursuit were getting louder - boots on stone, voices shouting in multiple languages.

"Make sure the checkpoints are clear before you follow me out," Tony said as the progress bar hit 45%. Another explosion shook the walls. Time was running out.

Yinsen's hands stilled for a moment. "We need more time," he said quietly.

"Stick to the plan!"

"I'm going to buy you some time." Yinsen grabbed a fallen guard's weapon before Tony could stop him.

"Stick to the plan!" Tony shouted again, but Yinsen was already running. "STICK TO THE PLAN!"

The sound of gunfire echoed through the caves as Yinsen charged forward, firing wildly to draw attention away from their cell. Tony could only watch helplessly, still trapped by the agonizingly slow boot sequence, cursing every lost second.

The progress bar sat frozen at 65%. Tony kept glancing between the screen and door, every second feeling like an hour. The green stones they'd used pulsed faster, making the arc reactor in his chest hum at a higher pitch. Blue and green light danced across the cave walls as the two power sources interacted.

"Come on, come on," Tony muttered through gritted teeth. More gunfire echoed from somewhere in the complex, then nothing but silence. His heart nearly stopped until finally - finally - the progress bar hit 100%.

The cave's lights dimmed suddenly. Three guards entered the cell, stepping carefully over the bodies of their comrades killed in the explosion. Debris and twisted metal littered the floor, smoke still hanging in the air.

"Allah help us," one guard whispered in Arabic, seeing the carnage. "What happened here?"

"Careful," another warned in Urdu, raising his rifle. "Something's not right."

The third guard moved deeper into the shadows. "Stark! Show yourself!" His voice echoed off the stone walls.

They swept their weapons back and forth, trying to pierce the darkness. The only light came from scattered emergency bulbs and an odd blue-green glow they couldn't quite place.

"Check the workbench," the first guard ordered in Arabic. "He has to be here somewhere."

As they spread out, none of them noticed the figure standing motionless in the darkest corner. Tony flexed his gloved hand slowly, the leather of the welding glove creaking. The sound made one guard turn.

The man's eyes went wide as he found himself staring into the glowing eyes of what looked like a metal demon. He opened his mouth to shout a warning, but it was too late.

The other guards opened fire immediately, their bullets filling the air. The muzzle flashes lit up the darkness in strobing bursts, revealing glimpses of something massive moving through the shadows. Their shots pinged harmlessly off metal plates as a hulking figure emerged into view. The guards stopped firing, frozen in shock as they took in the sight of Tony Stark encased in crude metal armor.

Bullets sparked harmlessly off the crude steel plates as the guards resumed firing. Tony's first punch sent a guard flying, the hydraulically-enhanced strength crushing the man's rifle like paper. The remaining guards finally got a clear look at the suit - a towering mass of riveted metal plates and exposed joints, built from missile casings and scrap metal. Its dull gray surface was a patchwork of welded seams and industrial pistons, with the arc reactor's blue glow mixing with the green light of the mineral core in its chest. Steam hissed from the joints as Tony moved, the makeshift hydraulics powering each thunderous step."

Tony walked forward steadily as the men screamed in Arabic and Urdu. His metal boots clanked against the stone floor with each step. The guards' bullets might as well have been raindrops for all the good they did. He knocked them aside effortlessly, the suit's strength sending grown men flying like rag dolls.

The surviving guards broke and ran. Tony followed, his heavy footsteps echoing through the tunnel. They slammed a heavy metal door between themselves and the armored figure pursuing them. The sound of Tony's fist pounding against the door made them back away. Three massive booms shook the metal, then silence.

The guards exchanged nervous looks in the quiet. Then the door burst inward off its hinges. Some fled immediately while others raised their weapons and charged forward. Tony swung at the nearest attacker, but the motion went wide. His arm punched straight into the cave wall, getting stuck in the stone.

As Tony struggled to free himself, one of the braver guards took careful aim at his exposed head. He pulled the trigger - only to have his own bullet bounce off the metal helmet and strike him between the eyes. He dropped without a sound.

Tony finally wrenched his arm free, leaving a gaping hole in the rock wall. He continued through the tunnels, following the sound of gunfire toward the cave entrance. The scene that greeted him made his blood run cold.

"YINSEN!"

His friend lay on the ground, clothes soaked with blood. But before Tony could reach him, Yinsen's eyes widened in alarm.

"Watch out!"

Raza stood at the cave mouth, rocket launcher braced against his shoulder. He fired just as Yinsen called out. Tony managed to lean back, the rocket missing him by inches and exploding against the cave wall behind him. Without hesitation, Tony triggered the missile release on his arm. The projectile struck just above Raza, bringing down a shower of rocks and debris onto the terrorist leader.

Finally, Tony reached Yinsen's side. He lifted his helmet to look at his friend properly. The sight of Yinsen's injuries told him everything he didn't want to know.

"Stark..." Yinsen could barely get the word out.

"Come on, we got to go." Tony tried to keep his voice steady. "Move for me, come on. We got a plan. We're gonna stick to it."

"This was always the plan, Stark." The gentle certainty in Yinsen's voice made Tony's chest tighten.

"Come on," Tony insisted, refusing to accept what he was seeing. "You're gonna go see your family. Get up."

Yinsen's next words shattered something inside him: "My family is dead. I'm going to see them now, Stark. It's okay."

Tony's face twitched as he fought to maintain control. This couldn't be happening. Not after everything they'd been through.

"I want this." Yinsen's voice grew fainter with each word. "I want this..."

Looking into his friend's peaceful expression, Tony felt understanding wash over him. A small, sad smile crossed his face as he accepted what he couldn't change.

"Thank you," he said softly, "for saving me."

Yinsen's final words came as barely more than a whisper: "Don't waste it. Don't waste your life."

Then he was gone, leaving Tony alone in the cave entrance. For a moment, the only sound was the settling of debris from where Raza had fallen. Then Tony's faceplate lowered with a metallic snap. He had a promise to keep.

Outside, Raza's men had formed a firing line, weapons trained on the cave mouth. The sound of hydraulics and grinding metal announced him before they saw him. When the armored figure emerged from the shadows, someone shouted in Arabic. Then the air erupted with gunfire.

The first shots came from the left – wild, panicked bursts that sparked harmlessly off the armor's chest plate. Others joined in, until the air was thick with bullets and cordite. The impacts rang through the metal frame like a twisted percussion section, each hit sending small shockwaves through the crude exoskeleton.

Tony stood perfectly still, letting them empty their magazines. The mineral core pulsed in sync with his arc reactor, flooding his suit with power. Every bullet that hit him was another reminder of what his weapons had become – tools for terrorists, for cowards who killed from caves.

When the last echoes of gunfire faded, he could hear them reloading, their movements frantic. Some were shouting about demons, about metal djinn. Tony smiled behind his faceplate, a cold expression that would have shocked anyone who knew him from his playboy days.

"My turn."

The flamethrower roared to life, spewing liquid fire across the camp. Men screamed as they burned, the sound mixing with the crackle of flames and the growing symphony of cooking-off ammunition. Every weapons crate, every Stark Industries missile, every piece of tech that had found its way into terrorist hands – all of it burned.

Tony moved through the camp like something out of a nightmare, his armor reflecting the flames. Hydraulic fluid leaked from bullet holes, making his movements jerky, mechanical. The mineral-enhanced power core thrummed against the arc reactor, two impossible energy sources pushing his cobbled-together suit beyond its limits.

A heavy machine gun opened up from his left flank. The larger rounds punched through weaker sections of armor, shredding servos and support structures. Tony's legs gave out and he crashed to one knee, but he kept the flamethrower going. Blood trickled down his face inside the helmet as more bullets found gaps in the plating.

"Come on, you piece of shit," he growled, reaching for the emergency thrust control they'd barely had time to test. The boot jets engaged with a scream of tortured metal, lifting him through his own inferno. For one perfect moment, he was flying – not gracefully, not with any real control, but flying all the same.

Then the thrusters died.

Tony had just enough time to think "well, this'll suck" before gravity reclaimed him with extreme prejudice. Pure instinct took over as the ground rushed up - too many crash landings in experimental planes had taught him how to fall. He twisted hard, managing to take the impact across his back instead of his skull. The landing drove the air from his lungs and sent lightning bolts of pain through every nerve.

His armor - three months of desperate work and Yinsen's sacrifice - shattered like glass. Pieces of metal sprayed across the sand in a twisted constellation, each fragment catching the morning sun before disappearing beneath the dunes. The chest piece held together, at least - the arc reactor's housing had been over-engineered precisely for moments like this.

"Fuck," he hissed through clenched teeth, trying to assess the damage. "Shit, shit, shit." His hands shook as he reached for the mangled helmet catches. Blood trickled into his eyes as he finally managed to pull off what remained of the helmet. The impact had split his forehead open, nothing serious but head wounds always bled like a bitch. Every breath felt like knives in his ribs.

He let out a strangled laugh that was half pain, half disbelief. "Still alive, you stubborn bastard," he muttered to himself. "Yinsen would be so proud." The name caught in his throat, fresh grief mixing with the physical pain.

"Okay Stark, up you go," he growled, rolling onto his side. "Son of a BITCH!" Sharp edges of broken armor dug into bruised flesh. Getting to his feet was an adventure in creative profanity. "Come on, come ON... motherfff- there we go."

The remaining pieces of armor fell away as he moved, leaving him in the torn clothes he'd worn underneath. "Some genius you are," he berated himself, stumbling on the shifting sand. "Couldn't build better stabilizers? Had to go with the minimum thrust calculation? No backup chute? Amateur hour, Stark."

His first steps were unsteady, like a newborn colt learning to walk. "Christ, which way is... fuck it, pick a direction." The sand shifted treacherously under his feet, and the world kept trying to tilt sideways. "Oh great, concussion. Perfect. Just perfect."

The desert sun was already becoming brutal. Sweat ran down his back, and his throat felt like sandpaper. "Water would be nice," he croaked. "Maybe a mojito. Definitely a mojito." His hands were shaking as he shrugged off what remained of his jacket - the same one he'd been wearing when his convoy was attacked, now stained with three months of cave grime and fresh blood.

Tony wrapped his jacket around his head, squinting against the relentless sun. "Jesus, Pepper would kill me if she saw this outfit." He tried to swallow but his throat felt like sandpaper. "Pepper..." The name caught in his throat. Three months. Three months without seeing her roll her eyes at his antics or hearing her heels clicking down the hallway.

Each step felt like wading through concrete. Behind him, smoke still rose from what used to be a terrorist camp, now just another scorched piece of Afghan desert. He allowed himself a grim smile. "Probably overdid it with the explosions. But damn if it wasn't worth seeing their faces when the suit walked out."

His brain latched onto technical problems, anything to distract from the thirst and pain. The suit. Always the suit. "Fucking boot jets," he muttered, stumbling over a dune. "Need actual stabilizers next time. And those hydraulics were garbage - my fault, should've reinforced them better." He paused, thinking about the mineral core's strange energy signature. "That radiation pattern though... mixed with the arc reactor... there's something there."

The sun climbed higher, baking the world into a shimmering wasteland. Tony forced himself to keep moving, talking just to hear something besides wind and his own labored breathing. Sometimes he found himself apologizing to Yinsen. "Could've made the escape system better. You deserved better, old friend."

His thoughts drifted to Pepper again. "Bet you're stress-organizing my entire office right now, Potts. Probably moved everything around. Just... just leave the cars alone, okay?"

The sound hit him like a physical thing - helicopter rotors cutting through the air. At first he thought he was hallucinating again, like the oasis he'd seen earlier. But there they were - two beautiful olive-drab Blackhawks cresting the dunes.

"Oh thank Christ," he breathed, legs finally giving out. He collapsed to his knees, raising his hand in a peace sign that took the last of his strength. Just holding his arm up felt like lifting a truck.

"Hey!" The word came out as a croak. The lead helicopter banked toward him, and the sight of those Air Force markings nearly broke him. "About fucking time," he whispered.

Then Rhodey was there, sprinting across the sand with that mix of military precision and raw concern that only his best friend could pull off. "How was the 'fun-vee'?"

Tony tried to laugh but it came out more like a sob. "You're late," he managed. "Traffic must've been murder." Then, quieter, "Next time, you ride with me, okay?"

They hugged right there in the sand, and Tony breathed in the familiar scent of standard-issue Air Force aftershave. This was real. He'd made it. This wasn't another fever dream in that cave.

"You look like shit," Rhodey said, voice rough with emotion.

"Yeah well," Tony mumbled into his shoulder, "you should see the other guys. What's left of them anyway."

The medics approached with practiced efficiency, their faces carefully blank as they assessed his condition. As they loaded him onto the stretcher, Rhodey kept talking, probably trying to keep him from passing out.

"The world's changed while you were gone, Tony. There's a guy flying around Metropolis now, saving people. They're calling him Superman."

"I know," Tony replied quietly, looking out at the desert falling away below them. The cave that had been his prison was now just a smoking ruin on the horizon. "I saw some of the footage they showed us. Trying to break our spirits, I think - showing us something powerful protecting the world while we were trapped." He touched the arc reactor hidden under his torn shirt. "Maybe it worked, just not the way they intended."

"What do you mean?"

"Superman shows up, demonstrates what real power looks like when it's used to help people instead of hurt them?" Tony's eyes held a new intensity, a purpose that went beyond revenge or escape. "Maybe it's time for more than one kind of hero. Maybe it's time to show the world that humanity can stand up with the gods."

Rhodey studied his friend with concern, clearly wondering if the desert sun had affected his mind. "Tony, you need medical attention, rest, time to recover-"

The helicopter banked toward Bagram Air Base, each turn sending fresh waves of pain through Tony's battered body. Through the window, the cave that had been his prison shrank to a smoking dot on the horizon. He kept his hand pressed against his chest, feeling the steady hum of the arc reactor beneath his torn shirt.

"Tony..." Rhodey started, clearly wanting to ask about the smoke rising from the mountains.

"Don't." Tony's voice was raw. "Not yet."

"The brass is going to want answers."

"I'm sure they do." Tony's eyes held a hardness Rhodey had never seen before. "Right after they explain how the Ten Rings got their hands on so many of my weapons."

Rhodey started to respond, then froze. A faint blue glow was visible through Tony's shirt. "What the hell is that?"

Tony instinctively covered the light with his hand, then grimaced at the movement. "It's... keeping me alive." He met his friend's concerned gaze. "The doctors are going to want to remove it. Don't let them."

"Tony, you need medical attention-"

"I need you to trust me." Tony pulled his shirt aside just enough to show the metal housing embedded in his chest. "There's shrapnel trying to work its way into my heart. This electromagnet is keeping it out. Remove it, I die."

Rhodey stared at the device, shock warring with military training. "Jesus Christ, Tony. You built that in a cave?"

"Had help." Tony's voice caught slightly. He looked away, swallowing hard. "Good man. He... he didn't make it."

The helicopter touched down before Rhodey could respond. A medical team rushed forward with a stretcher, but Tony waved them off. He made it halfway to the field hospital before his legs gave out.

"Incoming brass," Rhodey warned as they helped Tony onto an exam table. "They're going to want a debrief."

"Tell them I'm not talking until I get a secure workshop." Tony's fingers drummed against the arc reactor, a nervous tick he'd already developed. "And everything you have on those mineral samples from Afghanistan. The ones that showed up after that meteor shower in '80."

"The classified ones? Tony-"

"Everything changes now, Rhodey." Tony's eyes had that same intensity from the cave, when he'd watched Superman's rescues on their captors' TV. "The weapons, the company, all of it."

"Because of what happened?"

"Because it's time," Tony said simply. He thought of Yinsen's sacrifice, of choices made too late. "Time to build something that protects instead of destroys."

---

A week later, in Metropolis...

Clark placed coffee on Lois's desk - two sugars, splash of vanilla, extra hot because she still got distracted by stories and let it cool. After a month of dating, he knew all her habits, including how she'd immediately steal half his breakfast bagel without looking up from her computer.

"Thanks, Smallville," she said, reaching for the bagel right on cue. Their fingers brushed, and even after dozens of dates, the contact still made his heart skip. "Anything new on the Stark situation?"

"Military's keeping everything under wraps," Clark said, settling into what had become his usual spot on the edge of her desk. "Though my source at Bagram says he's being released today. Private flight back to LA."

"Interesting timing," Lois said, bringing up her notes. "Right when LuthorCorp announces new military contracts. And did you see the latest satellite images from that compound in Afghanistan? Complete destruction, but no signs of conventional explosives."

"Kent! Lane!" Perry's voice carried across the newsroom. "My office!"

They exchanged glances - not the awkward looks from a month ago, but the comfortable communication of two people who'd grown used to reading each other.

"Close the door," Perry said when they entered. "Stark's heading home. His office just called - says he's willing to talk to you, Kent, once he's settled. Something about finishing a conversation from Vegas?"

Clark nodded. "We discussed ethical constraints in weapons development at the Apogee Awards. He seemed interested in exploring the humanitarian applications."

"Well, whatever impression you made, it stuck. They're offering fifteen minutes, exclusive." Perry studied them both. "I want you both on a flight to LA. Something big's brewing - Stark hasn't said a word to anyone since his rescue, but suddenly he wants to talk to the Planet?"

"We'll get the story, Chief," Lois said, already making notes.

"And Kent?" Perry's mouth twitched. "Try to keep her out of trouble this time. A month of dating and she's still finding ways to drive security teams crazy."

"That guard at the mayor's office was definitely hiding something!" Lois protested.

"And you were right," Perry admitted. "But maybe next time wait for backup before picking the lock?"

Clark hid a smile. Some things hadn't changed, even if everything else had.

"Your flight leaves in two hours," Perry continued. "Stark might not be ready to make any official statements, but I want you there when he is. And see what you can dig up about that compound. The military's being awfully quiet about how he escaped."

They left Perry's office, shoulders brushing comfortably as they walked. The newsroom's initial excitement about their relationship had faded to occasional fond eye-rolls when they got caught sharing private smiles over their computers.

Cat Grant appeared as they reached Lois's desk. "LA? Perfect for your one-month anniversary."

"It's work, Cat," Lois said, but she smiled at Clark. "Though maybe we could take an extra day? I've never seen the Pacific."

"The sunset from Santa Monica pier is amazing," Clark said softly. A month together had taught him exactly how her eyes lit up at unexpected romantic gestures.

"You two are disgustingly cute," Cat declared. "Though I have to admit, the Planet's much more entertaining since you finally got together. Even if Clark still occasionally tries to sneak that brown suit past Lois."

"That suit is officially retired," Lois said firmly. "I have photographic evidence of Jimmy burning it."

"I liked that suit," Clark protested, but his eyes were warm behind his glasses.

An hour later, they were heading to the airport in a cab, Lois reviewing her notes while Clark pretended to doze. Really, he was listening to her heartbeat - a habit that had started during their first stakeout and had only grown stronger since they'd started dating. The steady rhythm was more soothing than any meditation he'd learned in Tibet.

"The military's being awfully tight-lipped," Lois mused, flipping through her file. "Three months in captivity, then he just appears in the desert? No signs of pursuit, no rescue operation?"

"And that compound," Clark added, opening his eyes. "Complete destruction, but no typical bomb damage patterns."

"You noticed that too?" She grinned, and Clark felt that familiar warmth in his chest. A month of dating hadn't dimmed how her investigative enthusiasm affected him. "The satellite photos show melting patterns inconsistent with any known weapons system."

"You have satellite photos?"

"Jimmy has a friend at NASA who owes him a favor." She caught his look. "What? It's not like I hacked anything this time."

"This time," he echoed, but reached for her hand anyway. After four weeks of dinners, movies, and late-night story editing sessions that turned into something more, these casual touches felt natural.

Their fingers intertwined as Lois continued theorizing. "Whatever happened in that compound, Stark isn't talking. But those mineral readings from the area..." She trailed off, noticing Clark's expression. "You're staring again, Smallville."

"Can't help it." It had become their private joke, but the truth behind it still made his heart race.

She squeezed his hand. "We should try that new Thai place when we get back. The one by your apartment?"

The casual mention of future plans, of shared meals and quiet evenings, meant more to Clark than any dramatic declaration. "It's a date," he said softly. "Though technically it would be our twelfth."

"You've been counting?"

"Journalist. We notice details."

Their easy banter carried them through check-in and security. Clark couldn't help remembering their first flight together, how awkward things had been after Vegas. Now, sharing an armrest felt as natural as sharing bylines.

His superhearing picked up a news update: "Tony Stark remains silent about his captivity as he returns home. Sources at Stark Industries hint at major changes ahead..."

Clark thought about his conversation with Stark at Caesar's Palace - the man's unexpected interest in ethics and humanitarian applications. Something had changed in the billionaire even before Afghanistan. Now, that change seemed to have crystallized into something more.

"You're thinking about the interview," Lois observed as they boarded.

"Just remembering our conversation in Vegas. He was different than I expected - genuinely interested in reducing civilian casualties, in making weapons smarter so they'd hurt fewer people."

"And now he's survived three months in a cave and won't talk to anyone except Clark Kent from the Daily Planet." Lois settled into her seat, automatically claiming the window. "Something happened out there, something big."

"Think he'll tell us?"

"Us?" She smiled. "He asked for you, partner. I'm just here to keep you from being too nice when the tough questions need asking."

Clark adjusted his glasses, hiding a smile. If she only knew how much he loved watching her go after a story - that mix of brilliance and determination that had first drawn him to her.

"Besides," she added more softly, "maybe we can finally see that Pacific sunset you keep promising me."

The plane took off, carrying them toward whatever story Stark was ready to tell. But Clark Kent's mind was split between the mystery they were chasing and the woman beside him who made both his identities feel real.

The world was changing. New forms of power were emerging. And somehow, a farm boy from Kansas had found his place in it all - not just as Superman, but as Clark Kent, journalist and partner to the most remarkable woman in the world.

Even if she did keep stealing his pretzels at thirty thousand feet.

---

When their plane landed in Los Angeles, the California sun was beating down with an intensity that would have made most people wilt in their business attire. Clark, naturally immune to temperature extremes, found himself more focused on Lois's subtle adjustments to her blazer than the weather.

"Ready for this?" she asked as they climbed into their rental car. "Stark's first public appearance since Afghanistan. Every news outlet in the country will be there."

"Including the Planet's best reporting team," Clark smiled, adjusting his glasses. "Though I notice you didn't argue when I offered to drive."

"My generosity knows no bounds, Smallville." She was already reviewing her notes. "Besides, someone needs to figure out why Stark specifically requested you for this interview."

The drive to Stark Industries headquarters gave them time to observe the city's reaction to Tony's return. Banners welcomed the prodigal son home, while news vans lined the streets approaching the compound. Security was tight - Clark's enhanced vision caught multiple teams of guards with sophisticated scanning equipment.

They arrived just as Happy Hogan's car pulled up with Tony inside. The crowd that had gathered - employees, press, well-wishers - erupted in applause. Clark helped Lois navigate through the mass of people, using his larger frame to create a path while being careful not to seem unnaturally strong.

Obadiah Stane stood waiting at the entrance, his commanding presence drawing all eyes. But Clark's attention was fixed on Tony Stark as he emerged from the car. The billionaire looked remarkably composed for someone who'd spent three months in hellish captivity, though Clark's enhanced senses picked up subtle signs of tension - slightly elevated heartbeat, minute muscle tremors suggesting recent trauma.

What really caught Clark's notice was the strange energy signature emanating from Stark's chest - something his X-ray vision couldn't quite penetrate. It reminded him of the mineral radiation he'd detected in Vegas, but different somehow. More focused. Controlled.

"Mr. Stark!" various reporters called out. But Tony's attention was focused on the Burger King bag Happy was bringing him. There was something almost defiant in the way he reached for it, as if the simple act of eating fast food was a declaration of independence.

"None for me?" Stane asked with practiced joviality, embracing Tony like a prodigal son.

"Last one," Tony replied between bites. "Doctor's orders."

Clark watched the interaction carefully, noting how Stark maintained physical space between himself and everyone except Happy. Even his hug with Stane had been brief, controlled. This was a man who'd returned changed from his ordeal, though he was working hard to maintain his familiar public persona.

"Mr. Stark," Clark called out, pitching his voice to carry without seeming aggressive. "Clark Kent, Daily Planet. We spoke in Vegas, about ethical constraints in automated targeting systems?"

Something shifted in Tony's expression - recognition, but also something deeper. He studied Clark with that genius-level intellect that had revolutionized multiple industries. "Kansas. The farm boy who actually read my MIT thesis. Didn't expect to see you on the West Coast."

"You did offer an interview," Clark reminded him gently.

"Did I?" Tony's tone was light, but his eyes were sharp. "Must have been before my unscheduled vacation. Though I remember our conversation about reducing civilian casualties. Seems even more relevant now, doesn't it?"

"Tony," Stane interrupted smoothly, "the board is waiting. Perhaps we could schedule something for later?"

But Stark was still studying Clark, that brilliant mind clearly working through multiple calculations. "No, this is perfect timing actually. Kent understands something most reporters don't - the responsibility that comes with power." He glanced meaningfully at the crowd of journalists. "How about we do that interview now? Before the vultures descend?"

"Now?" Stane's practiced smile slipped slightly. "Tony, you've just returned. There are protocols, press releases to prepare-"

"And I'm officially ignoring all of them," Tony cut him off cheerfully. "Kent, you and your partner - Lane, right? - my office. Ten minutes." He turned to Happy. "Got any more burgers in the car?"

As Tony headed inside, pausing occasionally to wave at the crowd, Lois grabbed Clark's arm. "How do you do that? Everyone else he brushed off, but you he remembers from a random conversation in Vegas?"

Clark adjusted his glasses, watching Tony's interaction with his employees. The billionaire's casual manner didn't quite hide the way he kept his distance, maintaining clear sightlines to exits. "Sometimes people just need someone to listen to what they're really saying, not what they think they're supposed to say."

"Mr. Kent, Ms. Lane," Stane's voice carried that particular tone of corporate authority as he approached them. "I'm afraid Mr. Stark is still adjusting to his return. Perhaps we could schedule something through proper channels?"

"Of course," Clark replied politely. "Though I believe Mr. Stark already set those channels when he requested me specifically. Unless Stark Industries has a policy of ignoring its CEO's direct instructions?"

Lois's heartbeat quickened slightly - Clark had learned to recognize that particular rhythm as her "proud of her partner" pulse. Stane's expression remained pleasant, but his own pulse increased with carefully controlled frustration.

"Ten minutes," Stane conceded. "I'll have someone escort you up."

As they followed a security officer into the building, Lois leaned close to whisper, "Not bad, Smallville. Though I notice you didn't mention the shipping manifests we found."

"One revelation at a time," Clark murmured back. "Something tells me Tony Stark has quite a few of his own to share."

The elevator ride gave Clark time to process what his enhanced senses had detected. The energy signature from Tony's chest was definitely technological rather than biological - some kind of power source, though unlike anything he'd encountered before. And beneath Stark's casual demeanor lay a tension that spoke of profound change.

This was a man who'd gone into captivity as a weapons manufacturer and returned as something else entirely. Clark couldn't help but wonder if Tony Stark's transformation might parallel his own journey from hidden hero to public guardian - though their methods might differ significantly.

The world was changing indeed. And somehow, a farm boy from Kansas had become not just its most powerful protector, but also one of its most trusted observers. Clark smiled slightly, thinking how Jor-El might react to his son using journalism to help humanity as much as his powers.

But those thoughts could wait. Right now, Clark Kent had an interview to conduct - one that might reveal just how deeply Tony Stark's captivity had changed not just the man, but the future of human technological advancement itself.

"Ready?" he asked Lois as they approached Stark's office.

Her answering smile held that perfect mix of professional determination and personal warmth that never failed to make his heart skip. "Always, partner. Let's see what story Tony Stark has to tell."

Tony's office reflected its owner's personality - cutting-edge technology seamlessly blended with classic modernist design. As Clark and Lois entered, they found Tony already settled behind his desk, finishing another burger from his Burger King bag.

"Hope you don't mind if I eat during this," Tony said, gesturing for them to sit. "Three months of cave cuisine leaves you craving the classics."

"Whatever makes you comfortable, Mr. Stark," Clark replied, setting up his recorder while Lois arranged her notes. He noticed how Tony positioned himself - back to the wall, clear view of both exits, the strange energy signature in his chest humming at a frequency only superhuman hearing could detect.

"Tony," the billionaire corrected. "Mr. Stark was my father." Something flickered across his face at the mention of Howard. "Now, Kansas, you wanted to continue our conversation about ethics in weapons development?"

"Among other things," Clark adjusted his glasses. "Your captivity changed your perspective on that topic?"

Tony studied him for a long moment, those genius-level eyes calculating something. "You know what's interesting, Kent? Most reporters would lead with the cave, the escape, the trauma. But you - you go straight to the ethics. Just like in Vegas." He took another bite of his burger. "Why is that?"

"Because that's what matters to you," Clark replied simply. "The rest is just context for the real story - how this experience changed your view of power and responsibility."

Something shifted in Tony's expression - recognition, perhaps, or respect. "Three months in a cave gives you time to think. About legacy, about consequences." His hand drifted unconsciously toward his chest. "About what it means to have power without accountability."

"Your weapons," Lois interjected, her reporter's instincts catching the thread. "You saw them being used?"

"By the wrong people, against the wrong targets." Tony's voice hardened slightly. "Young Americans dying from Stark Industries missiles. The very weapons I created to protect them being used to hunt them." He set down his burger, appetite apparently diminished. "The system's broken, and I've been part of the problem."

Clark leaned forward slightly. "And now you want to be part of the solution?"

"I want to redefine the solution," Tony replied. "Everyone thinks protection means bigger guns, smarter bombs. But what if we're asking the wrong questions? What if true security isn't about weapons at all?"

"What's it about then?" Clark asked, though something in his expression suggested he already knew the answer.

"Responsibility," Tony said firmly. "Accountability. Using power - whether it's technological or financial or..." he glanced meaningfully at a newspaper headline about Superman, "...other kinds - to actually help people instead of just claiming that's what we're doing."

Lois was scribbling rapidly in her notebook. "That sounds like a significant shift in corporate philosophy. How do you think your board will react?"

"About as well as you'd expect," Tony smiled grimly. "But then, they're not the ones who spent three months seeing the real impact of our products. They're not the ones who had to..." he trailed off, that genius mind clearly processing multiple threads at once.

"Had to what, Tony?" Clark prompted gently.

"Had to build something different," Tony finished quietly. "Something that protects instead of destroys." His hand touched his chest again, and Clark's enhanced vision caught another glimpse of that strange energy signature.

"The arc reactor technology you were developing before Afghanistan?" Clark suggested, remembering his research. "Your father's original clean energy project?"

Tony's eyebrows rose slightly. "You really did do your homework, Kansas. Yes, the arc reactor could be the future - clean energy, sustainable power. But it's just the beginning."

"Of what?"

"Of changing everything." Tony stood, pacing with nervous energy. "The weapons, the war profiteering, the whole military-industrial complex - it's a cycle that feeds itself. But what if we could break that cycle? What if Stark Industries could lead the way in actual protection? Clean energy, medical technology, disaster response..."

"Your board might argue that weapons protect people too," Lois pointed out.

"They protect some people by threatening others," Tony countered. "I want to protect everyone. Build things that save lives instead of taking them." He paused, studying Clark intently. "You've been to war zones, Kent. Seen the aftermath of what we so carefully call 'tactical engagements.' What did you learn?"

"That the people caught in the middle don't care about politics or profit margins," Clark replied quietly. "They just want to live in peace, raise their families, build better futures."

"Exactly." Tony's energy seemed to focus suddenly. "That's what we should be facilitating - better futures, not better ways to kill each other." He checked his watch. "And now I have a press conference where I get to explain that to people who won't understand."

"We'll be there," Lois said, standing. "Though I have to ask - why Clark? Why give this interview to him specifically?"

Tony smiled slightly. "Because in Vegas, when everyone else was asking about parties and profits, Kent here wanted to talk about reducing civilian casualties. About using technology to protect instead of destroy." He met Clark's eyes. "Sometimes you need someone who sees the story behind the story."

The press conference room was already packed when they arrived. Clark and Lois found spots near the back, watching as Colonel Rhodes and Pepper Potts managed the chaos of Tony's first public appearance since Afghanistan. Clark's enhanced hearing picked up multiple conversations - reporters speculating about Tony's condition, board members worrying about stock prices, and beneath it all, that steady hum from Tony's chest.

A man in a suit approached Pepper near the back of the press room. Through his enhanced vision, Clark caught the SHIELD logo on his ID before he concealed it - Agent Coulson, introducing himself with that carefully bland affect that seemed standard issue for government agents. Clark's superhearing picked up their conversation about debriefing Tony on his escape.

But his attention shifted as Tony entered the conference room, cameras flashing and reporters surging forward. Instead of taking the podium, Tony did something unexpected - he sat down on the floor in front of it.

"Would everyone sit down?" Tony requested, gesturing to the floor. "That way you can see me, I can see you."

Clark watched the ripple of surprise move through the room as reporters exchanged glances before slowly lowering themselves to the carpet. Even Lois raised an eyebrow before joining them. From their spot near the back, Clark noticed how Stane's practiced smile faltered slightly before he sat beside Tony.

"Good to see you," Tony said to Stane, though Clark's enhanced hearing caught the slight tension in his voice.

"Good to see you too," Stane replied smoothly.

Tony's expression grew more serious. "I never got to say goodbye to Dad," he began. "I never got to say goodbye to my father." The repetition carried weight, and Clark noticed Colonel Rhodes' slight nod of understanding. "There are questions I would have asked him. I would have asked him how he felt about what this company did. If he was conflicted, if he ever had doubts. Or maybe he was every inch the man we all remember from the newsreels."

Clark felt Lois shift beside him, her reporter's instincts catching the significance of Tony's words. This wasn't the polished performance they'd expected - this was something rawer, more honest.

"I saw young Americans killed by the very weapons I created to defend them and protect them," Tony continued, his voice carrying clearly through the now-silent room. "And I saw I had become part of a system that is comfortable with zero accountability."

"Mr. Stark?" A veteran reporter - Ben - raised his hand.

"Hey, Ben."

"What happened over there?"

Tony stood slowly, moving to the podium. "I had my eyes opened. I came to realize I have more to offer this world than just making things blow up." He paused, and Clark's superhearing caught his heartbeat - steady, certain. "And that is why, effective immediately, I am shutting down the weapons manufacturing division of Stark International."

The room erupted in chaos. Reporters leaped to their feet, questions flying. Clark caught Pepper's shocked gasp, saw her mouth fall open in genuine surprise. Even their earlier interview hadn't prepared them for this moment.

"Until such a time as I can decide what the future of the company will be," Tony continued over the noise.

Stane rushed to the podium, trying to salvage the situation. "What we're gonna take away from this is that Tony's back! And he's healthier than ever!"

But Tony wasn't finished. "What direction it should take, one that I'm comfortable with and is consistent with the highest good for this country as well."

Clark watched Colonel Rhodes' face fall into disappointment, while Stane attempted damage control: "We're going to have a little internal discussion and we'll get back to you with the follow-up."

As Tony moved through the crowd of shouting reporters, his path took him near where Clark and Lois sat. Their eyes met briefly, and Clark saw in them the same conviction he'd witnessed in their interview - but also something else. A hint of the cost this decision would carry, the battles yet to come.

"Get ready to write one hell of a story, Kent," Tony said quietly as he passed.

"He really did it," Lois whispered, her notebook forgotten in her hands. "Even after your interview, I didn't think he'd actually..."

"End the foundation of his company's success?" Clark finished. "I think that's exactly why he gave us the interview first - he wanted someone to understand the why before he showed the world the what."

They watched as Stane continued damage control from the podium while Tony left through a side door, Pepper and Rhodes hurrying after him. The press room buzzed with activity - phones being dialed, emails being sent, the first ripples of what would become a financial and industrial earthquake spreading outward.

"The weapons manufacturing division employs thousands," Lois said, already analyzing angles. "The military contracts alone... this is going to send shockwaves through the entire defense industry."

"I think that's exactly what he wants," Clark replied, standing and offering her a hand up. "Sometimes you have to shock the system to change it."

As they gathered their notes, Clark's enhanced hearing caught fragments of urgent conversations throughout the building: board members scheduling emergency meetings, PR teams drafting responses, military liaisons demanding explanations. But beneath it all was Tony's steady heartbeat, moving away from the chaos he'd created, committed to his new path.

"Think he'll succeed?" Lois asked as they headed for the exit. "Changing something this big?"

Clark thought about the strange energy signature he'd detected in Tony's chest, about the look in the billionaire's eyes when he'd talked about protection instead of destruction. "I think Tony Stark just showed us who he really is - someone willing to risk everything to do what's right."

"Sounds like someone else I know," Lois smiled, then quickly added, "Someone who better not disappear before we file this story."

"No disappearing acts," Clark promised. "Though I still owe you that Pacific sunset."

They left Stark Industries behind, but Clark knew this was just the beginning.

---

After the chaos of the press conference, Happy stood guard outside the Arc Reactor building, handling the stream of increasingly agitated calls from board members and shareholders. The afternoon sun cast long shadows across Stark Industries' campus as Obadiah Stane arrived on his Segway, cigar smoke trailing behind him.

"Mr. Stark in there?" Stane asked, gesturing with his cigar toward the building housing Howard Stark's original Arc Reactor.

Happy nodded, taking the Segway. "Been in there since the press conference."

Stane used his keycard to enter, finding Tony standing before the massive reactor - Howard's unrealized dream of clean energy. The enormous ring-shaped structure dominated the space, its soft blue glow a stark contrast to the harsh industrial lighting.

"The press conference went well," Stane's sarcasm filled the cavernous space.

"Did I just paint a target on my back?" Tony asked without turning.

"Your back?" Stane moved closer, smoke curling between them. "My back too. And what do you think the stock drop's going to be?"

"Optimistically? Forty points."

"At minimum," Stane growled. "Tony, we're a weapons manufacturer."

"Obie, I just don't want a body count to be our only legacy." Tony's voice carried the weight of his experiences in Afghanistan.

"That's what we do," Stane countered. "We're Iron Mongers. It's what we've always been."

"It's my name on the side of the building."

"And that name is what's keeping the world from falling into chaos."

"Not based on what I saw," Tony's voice hardened. "We're not doing a good enough job. We can do better. We're gonna do something else."

"What? Baby bottles?" Stane's derision echoed off the walls.

"I think we should take another look at Arc Reactor technology." Tony gestured to the massive structure surrounding them.

"The Arc Reactor was a publicity stunt!" Stane paced now, agitation clear in every movement. "We built that thing to shut the hippies up."

"It works," Tony insisted.

"Yeah, as a science project. Cost-effective? Never been." Stane paused, studying Tony carefully. "Arc Reactor technology, that's a dead end, right?"

"Maybe..." Tony's attempt at poker face was remarkably poor.

"Huh? Right? We haven't had a breakthrough in that in what? Thirty years?"

The tension broke as Tony called out Stane's probing. "Could you have a worse poker face? Just tell me, who told you?"

"Never mind who told me. Show me."

"Rhodey or Pepper?" Tony narrowed it down quickly. "Show me? It was Rhodey."

After checking they were truly alone, Tony unbuttoned his shirt, revealing the miniaturized Arc Reactor embedded in his chest. The blue glow illuminated Stane's face as he leaned in to examine it.

"It works," Tony said simply.

Stane's laugh echoed through the building. "Listen to me, Tony." He wrapped an arm around Tony's shoulders in a gesture that seemed both paternal and subtly threatening. "We're a team. Nothing we can't do together - no problem we can't solve. Just like me and your dad."

"You're gonna have to lay low for a while," Stane continued as they walked. "No more of this 'ready, fire, aim' business. You understand?"

"That was Dad's line," Tony noted quietly.

"You let me handle this. We're gonna have to play a whole different kind of ball now. Taking a lot of heat." Stane's grip tightened slightly. "Promise me that much."

Before Tony could respond, Happy appeared at the door. "Mr. Stark? General Lane and General Ross are here. They're insisting on meeting immediately."

Stane's expression shifted to careful neutrality. "Remember what I said, Tony. Let me handle this. The military contracts are our foundation."

"No," Tony replied, straightening his shirt. "They're our habit. And it's time to break it."

As they walked across the Stark Industries campus toward the main building, Tony's eyes lingered on the Arc Reactor facility behind them. The afternoon sun reflected off its massive windows, casting a familiar blue glow across the grounds.

The main building's conference room was on the top floor, offering a commanding view of the company grounds. When Tony entered, he found General Ross and General Lane already seated, their faces set in barely contained fury. Stane followed close behind, ready to play mediator.

"Gentlemen," Tony greeted them casually, settling into his chair. "I assume this is about my little announcement?"

"Little announcement?" Ross's face reddened. "You just declared your intention to violate billions in military contracts! At a time when we need your weapons more than ever."

"Need them for what exactly?" Tony asked, leaning forward. "To fight terrorists using our own technology against us? Or are you thinking bigger? Someone more... super?"

"This isn't a joke, Stark," Lane cut in sharply. "With Superman's emergence, the global balance of power is shifting. We need countermeasures, contingencies."

"And your solution is more weapons?" Tony's voice carried an edge of bitter amusement. "Because that's worked out so well so far."

"The military has protocols-" Lane began.

"The military has paperwork," Tony interrupted. "Forms and procedures that somehow still result in Stark tech being used against American soldiers. I saw it firsthand in Afghanistan - our most advanced weapons in terrorist hands. How exactly did that happen, General?"

Ross slammed his hand on the table. "That's a separate security issue-"

"No, it's THE issue," Tony's voice hardened. "We've lost control of our own technology. And now you want me to build even more destructive weapons? What happens when those end up in the wrong hands too?"

"Superman represents an unprecedented potential threat," Ross insisted. "We need advanced weapons systems capable of-"

"Of what?" Tony challenged. "Of hurting someone who's done nothing but help people? Who spends his time saving lives instead of taking them? Maybe we should be learning from his example instead of trying to figure out how to kill him."

"That's dangerously naive," Lane warned. "We need to be prepared-"

"For what?" Tony stood, pacing with nervous energy. "For someone using power to protect instead of destroy? For the possibility that there might be a better way than endless escalation?"

Stane tried to intervene. "What Tony means is-"

"What I mean is exactly what I said at the press conference," Tony cut him off. "Stark Industries is done making weapons. Period."

"You can't just-" Ross began.

"Actually, I can. It's my company, my technology, my choice." Tony's hand drifted unconsciously toward his chest where the arc reactor hummed. "I've seen what our weapons do up close. I've watched young Americans die from missiles with my name on them. No more."

"The board will have something to say about this," Ross threatened.

"The board works for me, not the other way around," Tony replied calmly. "And I'm choosing a different direction."

"A direction that leaves our troops vulnerable?" Lane demanded. "That leaves us defenseless against beings with godlike powers?"

"No," Tony's voice softened slightly. "A direction that actually protects people instead of just claiming to. Clean energy, medical technology, defensive systems - there are better ways to ensure security than just building bigger guns."

"You're putting lives at risk," Ross warned.

"I'm saving them," Tony countered. "You just can't see it yet."

"This isn't over, Stark," Lane stood, gathering his papers. "The Pentagon won't accept this."

"Then they can find another merchant of death," Tony replied. "Because that's not who I am anymore."

As the generals stormed out, Stane lingered. "Tony, they have a point about Superman. The world is changing-"

"Exactly," Tony agreed. "So maybe it's time we changed too. Maybe instead of trying to figure out how to kill someone who's helping people, we should be asking how we can help too."

"That's not how the world works," Stane argued. "Power needs to be checked, controlled-"

"Like we've controlled our weapons so well?" Tony asked quietly. "How many Stark missiles did I see in that cave, Obie? How many of our guns being used against the very people we claimed to be protecting?"

"That's different-"

"No, it's exactly the same," Tony insisted. "It's about responsibility. About what we do with the power we have. I'm choosing to use mine differently now."

Stane studied him for a long moment. "You really believe this, don't you?"

"I really do." Tony moved to the window, watching the sun set behind the arc reactor building. "Superman shows up, demonstrates what real power looks like when it's used to help people instead of hurt them? Maybe it's time we followed that example."

"The board won't understand," Stane warned.

"Then I'll make them understand," Tony replied. "Or I'll buy them out. Either way, Stark Industries is done making weapons."

As Stane left, Tony remained at the window, watching darkness fall over his father's creation. The arc reactor's glow seemed brighter somehow, more purposeful - like the one in his chest, like the future he could finally see clearly.

---

Back in Metropolis, Clark watched Lois put the finishing touches on their Stark story. The Planet's newsroom hummed with energy as reporters tracked the ongoing fallout from Tony's announcement.

"I still can't believe you got him to open up like that," Lois said, scanning their final draft. "Though after his press conference bombshell, our exclusive looks practically prophetic."

"Sometimes people just need someone to listen," Clark replied, adjusting his glasses. His desk phone rang - Perry, reminding them about their evening assignment.

"The society columnist picked a convenient time to catch a cold," Lois noted after he hung up. "LuthorCorp's biggest charity event of the year, and somehow we get stuck with it."

"You think there's more to it than charity?" Clark asked, though he already suspected the answer. Lionel Luthor had been unusually quiet since Superman's debut, and his promise to unveil something "that would change the balance of power" had set off alarm bells throughout Metropolis's journalistic community.

Later that evening, Clark waited in the Planet's lobby while Lois finished changing. When she emerged in a deep purple evening gown that caught the light like twilight on water, he momentarily forgot to maintain his slightly clumsy persona.

"You clean up nice, Smallville," she smiled, adjusting his bow tie. "Though I'm still suspicious about how you suddenly developed good taste in suits."

"I may have had some help," Clark admitted, thinking of his mother's insistence on proper formal wear. "Ready for another corporate circus?"

"With Lionel Luthor as ringmaster? This should be interesting." They stepped into the warm Metropolis evening, the city's lights just beginning to twinkle awake.

LuthorCorp Tower dominated the skyline, its modernist architecture a statement of power and innovation. The grand ballroom occupied the top three floors, offering panoramic views of the city. Clark's enhanced hearing picked up multiple security frequencies as they approached - whatever Lionel had planned, he'd spared no expense on protection.

Inside, Metropolis's elite mingled beneath crystal chandeliers. Clark recognized General Lane speaking with military contractors near the bar, while General Ross held court with a group of senators. The recent upheaval in the defense industry following Stark's announcement had clearly brought out the major players.

"Your father's here," Clark noted quietly to Lois.

"Of course he is," she muttered. "Probably hoping Luthor can replace his precious Stark weapons pipeline."

"Clark!" Lex's familiar voice cut through the crowd. He approached with the same confident stride Clark remembered from their college days, though his expensive suit had replaced the casual wear of their university debates. "And Ms. Lane. I see the Planet sent its top team tonight."

"When your father promises to change the balance of power, it gets attention," Lois replied. "Though I notice the invitation didn't specify how."

Lex smiled, handing them both champagne with practiced ease. "Now that would spoil the surprise." He turned to Clark. "Though speaking of surprises - I've been following your Superman coverage. Quite a departure from our old debates about journalistic objectivity, wouldn't you say?"

"Still trying to maintain objectivity, Lex," Clark replied, remembering countless late-night discussions in the campus library. "Even with extraordinary subjects."

"Extraordinary indeed." Lex studied his old friend over his champagne glass, the crystal catching the light. "You know what fascinates me, Clark? How comfortable Superman seems with you. Almost like he recognizes something in that farm boy sincerity we all found so charming at university."

"Maybe he just appreciates honest reporting," Lois interjected, her professional pride evident. "Something you used to value too, if I remember your guest lectures correctly. All those speeches about corporate transparency and journalistic integrity."

"I still value honesty, Ms. Lane. Perhaps more than ever." Lex's expression shifted to something more serious, though his smile remained perfectly practiced. "Especially now, when the world's changing so dramatically. Power taking new forms, new players emerging..." He focused on Clark with an intensity that made Clark adjust his glasses nervously… With genuine nerves, but these, unlike the ones Lois provoked were not pleasant in the slightest. "It makes those old debates about responsibility and control feel less theoretical, doesn't it?"

"Some things don't need control, Lex," Clark said quietly, remembering their late-night discussions in the university library. "Just understanding."

"Still the optimist." Lex's smile didn't quite reach his eyes as he studied Clark's face, as if trying to solve a puzzle he couldn't quite piece together. He glanced at the other news crews present - CNN setting up near the stage, FOX News trying to get close to the military brass, even a Daily Bugle reporter who'd flown in from New York. "Though I notice Superman seems to share your preference for the Daily Planet. Interesting how he's barely spoken to other outlets, yet manages to give your paper exclusive after exclusive."

"The Planet prints the truth," Lois stated firmly. "No agenda, no spin. When Clark writes about Superman, he focuses on the impact, the human element. Not just the powers or the politics."

"Truth is such a malleable concept these days," Lex mused. "Especially when dealing with beings who can bend steel with their bare hands." He turned back to Clark. "I've missed these conversations, old friend. We should catch up properly sometime. Compare notes on how our different paths have led us to this... interesting moment."

A subtle chime announced dinner was about to be served. As they moved toward the dining room, Clark noticed how meticulously planned the seating arrangements were. Key military figures were placed near the main stage - General Lane, General Ross, even a few Joint Chiefs he recognized from Washington. Tech industry leaders clustered nearby, with Obadiah Stane's empty chair a pointed reminder of Tony Stark's absence.

The meal itself was exactly what one would expect from a Luthor event. Each course arrived with theatrical timing - butter-poached lobster, wagyu beef so tender it melted on the tongue, chocolate soufflés that seemed to defy gravity. The wines alone probably cost more than Clark's monthly rent. But he barely tasted any of it, his attention focused on the conversations flowing around the room.

"It's not just about Superman," a defense contractor was saying between bites of lobster. "The whole game's changed. Enhanced individuals, genetic mutations, whatever's really going on at that school in Westchester..."

"And now Stark's gone off the deep end," his companion added, swirling an obscenely expensive burgundy. "Three months in a cave and suddenly he's shutting down weapons production? The timing couldn't be worse."

"LuthorCorp will pick up the slack," a third voice joined in. "I hear they've got something big in development. Military applications that'll make Stark's tech look like tinker toys."

Lois leaned close to Clark, her perfume momentarily distracting him from the other conversations. "Luthor's practically glowing," she whispered. "Look at him working the room. All those hints about 'human potential' and 'American innovation.' He's building up to something."

She was right. Lionel moved through the crowd like a master conductor, each conversation precisely calibrated. Here a word about defense contracts with a general, there a hint about breakthrough technology to an investor. The air practically crackled with anticipation.

"Your father's certainly pleased about something," Clark observed to Lex, who had remained unusually quiet through dinner.

"Father does enjoy his theatrical moments," Lex replied dryly. "Though perhaps tonight he has reason."

After dinner, the guests migrated to the main ballroom. The space was pure Luthor ostentation - soaring ceilings, crystal chandeliers, floor-to-ceiling windows offering a panoramic view of nighttime Metropolis. The Daily Planet's globe spun steadily in the distance, its golden light a reminder of why they were really here.

"Ladies and gentlemen." Lionel's voice filled the space effortlessly, drawing all eyes to the stage. "For three months now, we have watched an extraordinary drama unfold in our skies. An alien being of incredible power, arriving unannounced to appoint himself humanity's protector."

He paused, letting that sink in. "Now, I don't doubt Superman's sincerity when he claims benevolent intentions. His actions thus far have certainly been... heroic." The slight pause before 'heroic' carried volumes of carefully crafted doubt. "But as businessmen, as soldiers, as Americans - we must think beyond today's headlines. We must ask ourselves: what happens tomorrow? What happens when this godlike being decides humanity needs more than protection? When he chooses to guide rather than guard?"

Clark felt Lois tense beside him, her reporter's instincts clearly detecting the story beneath the rhetoric. Lionel continued, his voice taking on an almost evangelical fervor:

"The great innovators of history understood that true security comes not from external saviors, but from human ingenuity. When confronted with threats from land, sea, or air, we didn't wait for divine intervention. We built tanks, battleships, fighter jets. We took our destiny in our own hands."

He gestured expansively. "Today we face a new frontier. Not merely supernatural power, but supernatural beings walking among us. And once again, humanity must rise to its own defense. Not through fear or hatred, but through the same American ingenuity that has always been our greatest strength."

Lionel's eyes swept the crowd, commanding complete attention. "LuthorCorp has long been at the forefront of defense technology. But tonight, we unveil something beyond mere weapons. Tonight, we present humanity's answer to the age of superman."

The lights dimmed dramatically, focusing on the stage. "Ladies and gentlemen," Lionel's voice carried the practiced authority of someone accustomed to commanding attention. "I give you the future of human protection. A man who gave everything defending his country, only to be reborn through American ingenuity. The true Man of Steel - Metallo!"

John Corbin emerged from behind the curtain, and Clark's throat tightened. This wasn't the bitter ex-soldier from Vegas. This Corbin moved with inhuman precision, every step calculated and fluid in a way that seemed both beautiful and wrong. His skin had a subtle metallic sheen under the spotlights, and the stylized 'M' on his chest - a clear mockery of Superman's 'S' - pulsed with sickly green energy that made Clark fight to maintain his composure.

"Staff Sergeant John Corbin," Lionel announced proudly, gesturing toward his creation. Beside him, Obadiah Stane stood with barely contained satisfaction, his usual cigar conspicuously absent in deference to the formal setting. "Three tours in Iraq. Bronze Star with Valor. Nearly killed by an IED while protecting his unit. A true American hero who embodies everything we stand for."

Cameras flashed as reporters surged forward. The Daily Bugle's representative practically shouted over his competitors: "Mr. Luthor! Is this LuthorCorp's answer to the Superman question?"

"This," Lionel's voice cut through the chaos with practiced ease, "is humanity's answer to a changing world." He nodded to Corbin. "Show them, John. Show them what American science - and American courage - can achieve."

Corbin's chest plate split open with mechanical precision, revealing a glowing green core that sent waves of nausea through Clark. The crowd gasped collectively. General Lane leaned forward in his seat, while General Ross whispered something to his aide about "acceptable parameters exceeded."

"This is our breakthrough," Lionel declared. "A mineral discovered in the aftermath of mysterious meteor showers that began in 1980 - the same year our alien visitor claims he arrived on Earth." He paused for effect. "We call it Kryptonite, after Superman's destroyed homeworld. A fitting name, as its unique radiation signature seems specifically attuned to Kryptonian biology."

The implications hit Clark like a physical blow. They hadn't just found the fragments that had followed his ship. They'd weaponized them.

"Through LuthorCorp's patented cybernetic enhancement process," Lionel continued, "developed in partnership with Stark Industries' pioneering research-" he nodded respectfully to Stane, who acknowledged the credit with a slight bow, "-we've integrated this remarkable mineral into a fully synthetic body. Strength comparable to Superman's. Durability beyond human limits. And at its core, powered by the very substance that could prove our only defense against a rogue Kryptonian."

CNN's reporter managed to push forward: "Mr. Stane! Does this represent a new direction for Stark Industries despite Mr. Stark's recent announcement?"

"Stark Industries has always been committed to protecting American interests," Stane replied smoothly. "While Tony's recent experiences have led him to... reconsider certain aspects of our business, our commitment to innovation remains unchanged. The technology underlying Project Metallo represents years of research - research that Tony himself helped pioneer."

Corbin closed his chest plate, the 'M' pulsing brighter. "I stand before you not as a god or alien," his voice carried military precision, "but as a soldier. My motto is simple: Strength through steel, justice through power, and American might for American protection."

The crowd erupted in applause, though Clark noticed some uneasy glances. Even among the military brass, reactions seemed mixed. General Ross looked like Christmas had come early, while General Lane's expression remained carefully neutral.

"While Superman hides his true identity," Lionel continued over the applause, "John Corbin stands before you openly. A true American hero, enhanced by American technology, ready to protect American interests."

Fox News had somehow maneuvered to the front: "Sergeant Corbin! Do you see yourself as a direct counter to Superman?"

"I see myself as what humanity needs," Corbin replied, his new voice carrying subtle mechanical undertones. "Someone who understands sacrifice, who's bled for this country. Superman may fly above us, but I stand with the people."

Clark watched General Lane shift uncomfortably at that. The General might have concerns about Superman, but he clearly had reservations about this alternative as well.

"The applications go beyond mere defense," Stane added, stepping forward. "The mineral core's unique properties, combined with our cybernetic innovations, open up possibilities in everything from space exploration to medical technology. This is about advancing human potential, not just protecting it."

As the formal presentation concluded, reporters swarmed the stage. Clark noticed how smoothly Lionel and Stane worked the crowd - Lionel emphasizing American ingenuity and independence, Stane focusing on technological implications and market opportunities. They were a practiced double act, each playing to their strengths.

Lois pulled Clark toward where Corbin was demonstrating his strength by casually bending a steel bar. Other reporters clustered around, shouting questions:

"What's it like, being more than human?"

"Can you feel pain?"

"Are you still... you know... human where it counts?"

"Corbin," Clark said quietly, but somehow his voice cut through the chaos. The cyborg turned, his movements unnaturally smooth.

"In the flesh," Corbin replied with a cold smile, clearly enjoying the dark irony. "So to speak. Kent and Lane - I wondered when the Planet's finest would come calling." His eyes fixed on Lois with an intensity that made Clark tense. "Still chasing dangerous stories, Ms. Lane?"

"Still asking uncomfortable questions," Lois replied evenly. "Like how exactly LuthorCorp and Stark Industries got their hands on enough of this 'Kryptonite' to power a cybernetic soldier."

"American resourcefulness," Stane interjected smoothly, appearing beside them. "Though I'm sure you understand some details must remain classified. National security and all that."

General Ross joined their group, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. "Remarkable work, absolutely remarkable. The precision of movement, the response times - this goes beyond anything we thought possible with current technology."

"The mineral core is the key," Lionel explained, materializing beside their small group. "It doesn't just power the mechanical systems - it enhances neural pathways, allowing a human consciousness to fully interface with a synthetic body."

"The integration is remarkable," Stane added, displaying readings on a sleek tablet. His usual cigar was absent, but his satisfaction was evident. "A living human mind controlling a completely cybernetic form. The only organic component is the brain itself, preserved and enhanced by the mineral's unique properties."

Clark fought to maintain his composure as another wave of nausea hit him. The way they spoke about the fragments of his dead world - using them to power this horrific transformation - made something deep inside him ache. Around them, reporters from the Bugle, WGBS, and other outlets pressed closer, mesmerized by the green glow pulsing from Corbin's chest.

"The applications go beyond military use," Lex interjected smoothly. "Think of it - a human consciousness freed from biological limitations. The next step in human evolution, powered by this extraordinary mineral."

"And the psychological impact?" General Lane stepped forward, his voice carrying careful neutrality. Lois tensed slightly at her father's presence. "Living without a human body, without normal sensory input - there must be complications." Clark noticed how the General's eyes kept searching Corbin's artificial face for traces of the soldier he'd once commanded.

"The neural interface-" one of LuthorCorp's scientists began, but Corbin cut him off.

"My brain's still human, sir," Corbin stated firmly, his synthetic features arranging themselves into a smile that wasn't quite natural. "The rest is just... upgraded hardware. Better. Stronger." His artificial eyes found Lois with an intensity that made Clark instinctively move closer to her. "Strong enough to protect what really matters."

"The consciousness transfer was perfect," Stane declared proudly. "The mineral core doesn't just power his mechanical systems - it actually enhances neural function, accelerates thought processes-"

"What about sensory feedback?" Lois cut in, her voice carrying that sharp edge Clark recognized from their toughest investigations. "You've essentially removed every natural human sensation. How does that affect your mental state?"

"My mind is sharper than ever, Lane," Corbin snapped, a flicker of something dangerous crossing his artificial face. The green glow in his chest pulsed brighter. "So what if I can't feel things the old way? Power is its own sensation."

Lois didn't back down. "Really? Because you seem different from the soldier I interviewed in Vegas. More aggressive. Less... human."

"And you seem awfully protective of your alien celebrity," Corbin retorted, synthetic muscles twitching beneath artificial skin. "Tell me, does Superman know his favorite reporter's got a human bodyguard now?"

"Even Superman?" Anderson from the Bugle called out, eager to stoke the tension. "How does it feel knowing your brain is the only human part left, and even that's powered by something from his dead world?"

The question hit something raw. Corbin's mechanical body tensed visibly, servos whirring beneath the surface. The green glow from his chest intensified, casting harsh shadows across his synthetic features as his artificial face twisted into something between a smile and a snarl.

"You want a real demonstration?" His voice had changed, the metallic undertone more pronounced now. Something was shifting in his demeanor - the careful military precision giving way to barely contained rage. He moved toward the podium with inhuman grace, each motion too perfect, too calculated. "Watch this."

The metal screamed as he crushed it, expensive mahogany splintering like matchsticks. But it wasn't just a display of strength anymore - there was a violent eagerness to his movements that hadn't been there before, as if the very act of destruction was feeding something inside him.

"John," Lionel's voice carried a warning note, though Clark noticed Stane watching with poorly concealed satisfaction. "Perhaps we should move on to the technical specifications-"

"Technical specifications?" Corbin barked a laugh that sounded almost metallic. "That's not what they want to see." He turned to face the crowd fully, the 'M' on his chest pulsing brighter with each word. "They want to know if I can really stand up to the alien. The one flying around in his circus tights, playing at being humanity's guardian angel."

The room went completely silent. Even the most seasoned reporters seemed to hold their breath as Corbin continued, his voice dripping with contempt:

"Where is he anyway? Too busy posing for photos and rescuing kittens to face a real threat?" Corbin crushed the remains of the podium into an even smaller ball, letting it drop with a heavy thud. "Or maybe he's afraid to face someone who can actually hurt him. Someone who bleeds red, white, and blue instead of whatever color they bleed on his dead rock."

"Sergeant Corbin," General Lane started, but Corbin cut him off.

"No sir, with respect, this needs to be said." The green glow in his chest intensified as he spoke. "I'm a soldier. I've fought and bled for this country while this alien plays dress-up in a cape. He wants to protect humanity? Let's see how he handles someone who actually knows what protection costs."

Clark felt the waves of nausea intensify with each pulse of the Kryptonite core, but he kept his expression neutral even as Lois whispered, "This is getting out of hand."

"So here's my challenge, Superman!" Corbin's voice boomed through the ballroom. "If you're really Earth's protector, if you're more than just some alien freak in tights, come face me. Man of Steel against Man of Steel. Let's see who really deserves that title."

"That's enough, John," Lionel tried to intervene, though Clark noticed he made no move to actually stop Corbin.

"Why? Because I'm not sticking to your PR script?" Corbin turned to the assembled media. "You want a story? Here's your headline: American soldier challenges alien pretender. No tricks, no poses, just a fair fight to see who really protects this planet."

The room erupted in camera flashes and shouted questions. Fox News's reporter practically jumped forward: "Are you saying you can take Superman in a direct confrontation?"

"I'm saying it's time someone showed him he's not a god," Corbin replied, his synthetic face twisting into something between a smile and a sneer. "That humanity doesn't need some illegal alien in a cape telling us what's best for us. You want to protect Earth, Superman? Then face someone who's actually fought for it instead of just flying around like some spandex-wearing tourist."

Clark felt Lois tense beside him. She'd never tolerated bigotry in any form, and Corbin's xenophobic rhetoric was clearly hitting a nerve. But before she could speak, Lex stepped forward smoothly:

"What my colleague means is that perhaps it's time for a public demonstration of Metallo's capabilities. A controlled test of these new defense systems-"

"No," Corbin cut him off. "What I mean is exactly what I'm saying. One soldier, against one alien. Mano a mano, or whatever they say on his home planet. Oh wait - they don't say anything there anymore, do they? Since it's all just space dust now."

The green glow pulsed stronger with every word, and Clark had to lean slightly against a nearby column to stay upright. The radiation was definitely affecting Corbin's behavior, making him more aggressive, more reckless.

"Think about it!" Corbin continued, now pacing the stage with predatory grace. "He says he's here to help? To protect? Then let him prove it against someone who's actually earned the right to stand for Earth. Not some costumed refugee playing savior while hiding his real face."

"You seem very confident," Clark managed to say, keeping his voice steady despite the nausea. All eyes turned to him as he continued, "For someone challenging a being who can move planets."

Corbin's metallic smile grew wider. "Kent, right? The alien's personal PR man at the Planet?" He tapped his chest where the 'M' pulsed. "This little piece of his dead world makes me more than a match for your flying friend. Or maybe he's not just a friend? The way you write about him, it's almost like love letters."

"I write the truth," Clark replied calmly. "About a being who chooses to help despite having no obligation to do so."

"No obligation?" Corbin's laugh was harsh. "He's squatting on our planet, playing god with our lives. At least I'm human - even with all this metal, I'm still one of us. What's he? Some last leftover from a civilization so advanced they still managed to blow themselves up?"

The crowd's reaction was mixed - uncomfortable mutters from some quarters, nodding agreement from others. Clark noticed General Ross looking particularly pleased, while General Lane seemed increasingly concerned.

"Mr. Luthor," Cat Grant from WGBS cut in, "is LuthorCorp officially endorsing this challenge?"

"LuthorCorp stands behind the Metallo project's defensive capabilities," Lionel replied diplomatically. "Though perhaps Sergeant Corbin's enthusiasm is getting ahead of our testing protocols."

"Protocols?" Corbin snorted. "We're past protocols. This is about showing the world it doesn't need an alien savior. That human ingenuity, human courage, human sacrifice - that's what really protects us." He faced the cameras directly. "So how about it, Superman? Or are you afraid to face someone who can actually fight back? Someone powered by the bones of your dead world?"

"That's enough!" Lois's voice cut through the tension. "You want to prove something? Do it by helping people, not staging macho showdowns."

"Honey, the adults are talking," Corbin dismissed her with a wave of his metallic hand. "Though I understand why you'd defend him. Must be exciting, having an alien to write about. Bet it sells lots of papers."

Clark felt his anger rise at Corbin's tone with Lois, but kept his expression neutral. "I think we've got enough for our story," he said quietly to Lois. "Unless you want to stay for more schoolyard taunts?"

"The Daily Planet's leaving so soon?" Corbin called after them. "Make sure you print my challenge word for word, Kent. Let your alien friend know a real man of steel is waiting to show him what American power looks like."

As they headed for the exit, fragments of whispered conversations reached Clark's ears:

"...radiation levels from his core spiking..."

"...aggression inhibitors barely holding..."

"All within acceptable parameters," he heard Stane murmur to Lionel. "The personality shifts were expected..."

Lois glanced up at him as they reached the lobby. "You look like you're about to be sick."

"Just thinking about what they've done," Clark said quietly. "Taking a wounded soldier and turning him into—"

"Their own personal attack dog." Lois's voice was tight. "Though from what we saw in there, I'm not sure they can control him anymore."

"We need to get the real story out there. Not their PR spin, not Corbin's hatred—the truth."

"We will." She squeezed his arm. "Like always."

Clark tried to focus on her touch, but Corbin's words kept echoing in his mind. Two paths lay before the world now: the one Superman had shown, using power to protect and inspire and Metallo's way, born of fear and twisted by hate.

---

The next morning, Metallo dominated every network. Fox News celebrated the "American-made superhero," while CNN dissected military applications. MSNBC debated cybernetic ethics, but they all fixated on one thing: Corbin's challenge.

"SUPERMAN CHALLENGED: American Soldier vs Alien Protector" blazed across screens nationwide. The Daily Star ran with "Man of Steel vs Man of Steel," while the Metropolis Tribune went with "Soldier Challenges Superman." The Daily Bugle, predictably, screamed "HUMAN HERO DEMANDS ALIEN SHOWDOWN!"

At the Planet's morning meeting, the newsroom gathered around Perry's office, unusually subdued. Behind him, every monitor played footage of LuthorCorp's new "hero."

"LuthorCorp's groundbreaking Metallo project represents a new chapter in human achievement," Lionel's smooth voice carried from CNBC. "For too long, we've relied on an alien protector. Now humanity can stand on its own..."

Another screen showed Stane on Fox Business, his silver hair gleaming under studio lights. "The technological implications are staggering. We're talking about the next stage of human evolution. LuthorCorp and Stark Industries are proud to-"

"Turn that garbage off," Perry waved dismissively at the screens. "Lane, Kent - I want the real story. Not this corporate PR circus they're spinning."

"Working on it," Lois replied, not looking up from her notes. "The technology didn't just appear overnight. These shipping manifests I found-"

"Be careful," Perry cut in. "LuthorCorp's already threatening lawsuits over any 'speculative reporting.' I want this airtight before we print."

As the meeting broke up, Jimmy caught Clark by the water cooler. "Hey CK, you okay? You looked kind of green during the Metallo footage."

"Just something I ate," Clark managed a smile. "Listen, if Lois gets back, tell her I had to step out for a bit?"

"Sure thing. Though you might want to bring her coffee when you return. You know how she gets when you disappear on her."

Clark's smile turned genuine. Even after a month of dating, Lois's caffeine requirements remained both demanding and specific. "Thanks Jimmy."

He made it to the roof without being spotted, quickly changing and taking off into the afternoon sky. Metropolis fell away beneath him as he headed west, the familiar pull of home growing stronger with each mile. He needed his parents' perspective on this.

Krypto heard him first. The white dog's bark echoed across the Kent farm as Clark descended, tail wagging furiously as he bounded across the yard. Clark barely had time to land before being tackled by eighty pounds of enthusiastic super-powered canine.

"Easy boy," Clark laughed, scratching behind Krypto's ears. "I missed you too."

Martha appeared on the porch, wiping flour from her hands onto her apron. The smell of baking pie wafted through the screen door. One look at her son's face and she called over her shoulder: "Jonathan! Come quick - Clark's here!"

His dad emerged from the barn, wiping engine grease off his hands with an old rag. "Well, this is a surprise. Everything okay, son?"

The three of them ended up where they always did - around the kitchen table, coffee in their favorite mugs, while Martha's apple pie cooled on the windowsill. Krypto flopped at Clark's feet with a heavy sigh, head resting on his shoe.

"So," Jonathan said after they'd all settled. "Quite a show LuthorCorp put on."

Clark wrapped his hands around his mug, the warmth grounding him. "You saw it?"

"Hard to miss," Martha said. "It's all over every channel. Though I had to stop your father from putting his boot through the TV when that Corbin person started in with the anti-alien rhetoric."

"Wasn't the TV I wanted to put my boot through," Jonathan muttered.

Martha touched her husband's arm. "What that poor man's been through though... to come home wounded like that and have them do this to him instead of helping him heal."

"That's just it," Clark said. "They took his pain and weaponized it. And now he's out there challenging me to some kind of... gladiator match. Like hurting each other would prove anything."

"Something about that green stone they're using," Jonathan noted. "We could see how it affected you when he opened that chest plate. Are you alright, son?"

Clark pushed his coffee aside, suddenly restless. "It's like nothing I've ever felt before - waves of nausea and weakness. They're calling it kryptonite. Because..." he swallowed hard. "They say it's from Krypton. Pieces of my home world that came down in meteor showers."

"Oh Clark," Martha breathed. "To use that against you - it's cruel."

"That's not even the worst part. They've built it right into his chest, right where the House of El crest would be. And every time I get near it..."

"Luthor never was one for subtlety," Jonathan growled. "But what's really eating at you? Because this isn't just about the challenge or that stone."

Clark got up, pacing the familiar kitchen while his thoughts tumbled out. "They took a soldier - someone who sacrificed everything serving his country - and instead of helping him deal with his trauma, they exploited it. Fed his anger and pain until he agreed to let them turn him into... this. And now he's their attack dog, challenging me to prove human superiority over aliens."

"Oh honey," Martha said softly. "You can't save everyone. Some people choose paths that take them places we can't follow."

"But did he really choose?" Clark stopped at the window, staring out at the Kansas fields that had taught him so much about patience. "Whatever that radiation's doing - it's affecting his mind. Making him more aggressive, more unstable. And Luthor and Stane are just... watching it happen. Using him."

"What does your partner think about all this?" Jonathan asked. "This Lane woman you've been seeing?"

Despite everything, Clark couldn't help smiling. "Lois sees right through it all. She's already uncovered evidence of illegal shipments, experimental procedures - about six different medical ethics violations. She's determined to expose everything they've done to him."

"You talk about her a lot," Martha observed carefully. "Things getting serious?"

"Mom..."

"What? A mother can't be interested in her son's love life?"

"It's been a month," Clark protested, though his smile gave him away. "But... yeah. It's different with her. She's brilliant and fearless and completely dedicated to the truth. Even before we started dating, working with her made me feel... normal. Like I could just be Clark Kent, reporter and farm boy."

"You haven't told her yet?" Jonathan asked quietly. "About Superman?"

Clark's smile faded. "No. I want to, but... with everything happening with Metallo, it feels like the worst possible timing. She's so focused on exposing LuthorCorp's exploitation of Corbin. If she knew I was Superman..."

"She'd have quite a story," Jonathan finished.

"That's not why..." Clark started defensively.

"We know, honey," Martha cut in. "But you can't protect her forever. Not if things keep getting serious."

"They are," Clark admitted. "Serious, I mean. Last night we were working late on the Metallo story, and she just... looked at me. Said she'd never had a partner she trusted so completely before. That with everything going crazy in the world, I was her constant."

"You've got that same look your father used to get," Martha smiled. "Still gets, actually."

"Still do," Jonathan agreed with a wink at his wife. "But son, about this challenge - what are you going to do?"

"I can't just ignore it," Clark sighed. "Not with the whole world watching. But fighting him feels like giving them exactly what they want. This public spectacle of alien versus human... it's everything I've tried to avoid."

"Then don't give them what they want," Martha said simply. "Find another way."

"How?"

"By remembering who you are," Jonathan replied. "Not Superman, not the alien they're trying to provoke - but the boy we raised to see the good in people. To help, not hurt."

Clark looked at his parents - these remarkable humans who had taught him everything that mattered about being human. "He's in pain," he said quietly. "Under all that metal and radiation and hate... he's just a wounded soldier who wanted to keep serving."

"Then maybe that's your way in," Martha suggested, getting up to check on the pie. "Not fighting the weapon they've made him into, but reaching the man underneath. And Clark? Bring Lois out to dinner sometime. We'd love to meet her properly."

Clark checked his phone and winced at the missed messages. "I should head back. She's probably already terrorizing half the newsroom looking for those shipping manifests."

"Let us know how it goes," Jonathan said, clapping him on the shoulder. "With both situations."

Clark hugged them both, the familiar scents of home - engine grease, fresh pie, his mother's perfume - wrapping around him like a blanket. "Thanks. For everything."

"That's what family's for," Martha smiled, pressing a wrapped slice of pie into his hands. "Now go. Save the world, get the story - and maybe bring that girl of yours by soon."

Clark laughed as he headed outside, Krypto following hopefully. "Stay boy. I'll be back soon." He walked a few steps into the yard, then gracefully lifted off the ground. As he accelerated skyward, his form grew smaller against the vast Kansas sky.

His parents watched from the porch as their son became a distant speck among the clouds.

"He'll find a way," Martha said softly. "He always does."

---

Gotham

Rain drummed against steel and glass, turning Gotham's docks into a maze of shadows and reflected neon. The persistent downpour masked the sound of movement in the warehouse rafters, where Batman watched Falcone's men unload military-grade weapons from unmarked trucks. Their nervous glances at darker corners told him the stories had done their work - five years of carefully cultivated fear had turned him from urban myth into the underworld's boogeyman. Criminals were all the same at the end of the day beneath their posturing of power and mentality that they were above the law after all: A cowardly and superstitious lot.

He counted eight men below, their movements revealing a mix of veterans and newer recruits. The veterans kept to practiced patterns, maintaining sight lines and checking corners. The newer ones bunched together, hands too tight on their weapons. Scared. Good. Fear made them sloppy.

The warehouse spread below him like a tactical map: two main exits, multiple shipping containers creating natural choke points, and catwalks offering superior positions. Through the cowl's enhanced vision, he could make out military markings on the crates they were unloading. M4 carbines. AT4 rocket launchers. Even a few cases marked with Stark Industries logos - weapons that definitely weren't supposed to be in civilian hands. Enough firepower to arm half of Gotham's gangs.

"Check the perimeter again," the leader barked, one hand resting on his holstered .45. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the cold. "Falcone wants this done clean. No mistakes. And somebody wake Sal up - he's supposed to be watching the back door!"

Batman recognized him - Marco Vitti, mid-level enforcer who'd worked his way up through extortion and violence. Three priors, known for excessive force. Currently out on bail thanks to expensive lawyers. The kind of criminal who'd slipped through the system's cracks until a different kind of justice found them. His file included notes on a particular fondness for breaking fingers - sending messages to those who crossed Falcone.

"This whole thing feels wrong," one of the newer guys muttered, flashlight beam jerking between shadows. Barely out of his teens, probably recruited from the narrows. His hands shook slightly as he swept the light across the ceiling, the beam catching droplets of water that leaked through the rusted roof. "Falcone's been acting strange lately. Ever since that thing in Metropolis... My cousin says he's scared, you know? Of what's coming."

"Shut it," his partner hissed, but his own eyes kept searching the darkness. More experienced, but still green enough to show his fear. The way he positioned himself suggested some military training - dishonorable discharge most likely. His trigger finger twitched every time thunder rolled across the harbor. "You wanna bring him down on us?"

"The Bat?" The rookie laughed, too loud, too forced. Trying to convince himself more than anyone else. The beam of his flashlight trembled against the rafters, casting dancing shadows that seemed to move with minds of their own. "Come on, that's just stories to scare kids. Urban legend stuff. Nobody could do the things they say he—"

A strangled scream pierced the air, cut off almost instantly. The rookie's flashlight spiraled through the darkness, casting wild patterns before clattering against the concrete. His pistol followed a moment later, the metallic sound echoing through the warehouse like a death knell.

Silence fell, broken only by the rain and the rookie's gun spinning to a stop. Seven pairs of eyes stared at the empty space where their friend had been. Batman watched from above as primitive fear took hold - the same fear that had kept early humans alive in the darkness beyond their caves. In the shadows of the rafters, the rookie hung unconscious, safely secured. No permanent damage, just enough of a warning to maybe make him reconsider his career choices.

"Jesus," someone whispered, voice trembling. "Jesus Christ."

"Spread out!" Marco shouted, drawing his .45. His voice carried the edge of someone trying to maintain control of a situation rapidly spiraling away from him. Sweat gleamed on his forehead despite the cold. "Find him! Rico, check the catwalks! Tony, get those lights fixed! Joey, watch the—"

The sound of running footsteps cut him off as Joey broke ranks, sprinting for the side exit. He made it three steps before something whistled through the air. The batarang caught him behind the knee, sending him sprawling. His gun skittered across the concrete, disappearing into shadows.

"Nobody leaves," Batman's voice resonated from everywhere and nowhere, the cowl's modulator giving it an inhuman quality that seemed to bypass rational thought and trigger something deeper, more primal. "Eight armed men. Military hardware. Illegal weapons trade."

Rico opened fire at a moving shadow, the muzzle flash temporarily blinding him. When his vision cleared, the shadow was gone. "Where—" Something hard struck his wrist, and his gun went flying. Before he could cry out, an armored gauntlet clamped over his mouth. The last thing he saw was a black cape unfurling like demon's wings before consciousness fled.

"That makes all of you accessories to felony weapons trafficking," the voice continued, now seeming to come from a completely different direction. The remaining men fired wildly, their shots echoing off steel containers and creating a chaotic symphony of panic and cordite.

Tony finally reached the circuit box, fumbling with the switches. "Got it!" he shouted. "Just need to—" Something black and terrible descended behind him. A precise strike to the neck dropped him before he could scream - a move learned from a monastery in the mountains, perfected in Gotham's alleys. The figure vanished again as bullets tore through where it had been.

"He ain't human!" One thug backed toward the exit, gun shaking. Former boxer turned enforcer, according to the file Batman had memorized. Now reduced to primitive fear, his professional fighting stance abandoned for pure animal panic. His back hit a shipping container. "The stories are true, he ain't—"

A black cable whipped around his ankle, yanking him upward with impossible speed. His scream dopplered into the darkness above. There was the sound of a brief struggle, then silence.

The remaining men clustered together, backs to a shipping container. Basic pack mentality taking over - but it only made them easier targets. Four left now, not counting Marco. Their shots were getting wilder, less controlled. Fear was doing half of Batman's work for him.

"Watch the shadows," Marco ordered, voice cracking. His façade of control was slipping. "Just watch the goddamn—"

The lights went out.

Lightning flashed, briefly illuminating the scene - three men firing blindly, Marco trying to maintain some semblance of control, and a fifth figure, Giovanni, who had dropped his gun entirely. In the sudden darkness, Giovanni started praying in rapid Italian, the words tumbling out between panicked breaths. "Santa Maria, Madre di Dio, prega per noi peccatori..." According to Batman's intel, he'd been with Falcone for three years, but his mother still made him go to confession every Sunday. "Adesso e nell'ora della nostra morte..."

A scream from the left was cut off mid-cry. Muzzle flashes strobed as panicked shots filled the air. Batman moved through the chaos like a ghost, each strike precise and devastating. A broken wrist here - the hand would heal, but the nerve damage would make holding a gun difficult. A shattered knee there - enough to end a criminal career without crippling permanently. The carefully controlled violence he'd spent years perfecting.

Giovanni's prayer grew more desperate with each scream from the darkness. "Santa Maria... oh God, please... Santa Maria..." His rosary beads clicked together as his trembling hands fumbled through the ritual.

"Where is he? WHERE IS HE?" The shout came from above - one of the men had managed to reach the catwalk. The beam of his flashlight swept wildly across the warehouse.

"Here." The word came from directly behind him. Before he could turn, powerful arms locked around him. "Let me show you the view." The man's scream faded as Batman grappled them both higher into the rafters. There was a dull thud, then the sound of a body being secured to a beam.

Two men opened fire on Batman's last known position, but he was already moving. The cape snapped like thunder as he dropped between them. An armored elbow caught one man's temple while a sweep kick took out the other's legs. Both dropped without ever getting a clear look at their attacker.

Only Marco remained, backing toward his truck with a gun in each hand. Lightning flashed, illuminating the warehouse in stark bursts. His men lay scattered and broken in the rain-swept darkness. Giovanni curled into a fetal position, still clutching his rosary and muttering prayers. The scene looked like something from a nightmare - which was exactly the effect Batman had cultivated.

"Stay back!" Marco fired desperately at moving shadows, his shots going wide. The echo of empty chambers clicking told Batman the enforcer had exhausted both weapons. "I'm warning you!"

"I am the warning." The voice seemed to come from everywhere at once - another trick perfected over years of practice. Fear multiplied itself when the target couldn't locate its source.

Marco spun, bullets sparking off containers and concrete. His back hit the truck. When he turned again, Batman stood before him - a demon carved from shadow and precision. The white lenses of the cowl reflected nothing, giving no hint of humanity behind the mask.

"The weapons." Batman's voice dropped lower, a sound like granite grinding against steel. "Where did Falcone get them?"

"I don't know! I just move the shipments, I don't—"

Batman's hand closed on his throat, lifting him off his feet. The grip was calculated - enough pressure to induce panic without causing real damage. "Try again."

"Please!" Marco's bravado crumbled completely. "They'll kill me if I—"

"I'm not going to kill you." Batman brought him closer, letting him see nothing but those blank white lenses. "But by the time I'm done, you'll wish I had."

The words came spilling out between gasps: "The Russians... Anatoli Knyazev's crew... they're running everything through dummy corporations." Marco's eyes darted frantically between shadows. "Shell companies registered in the Caymans - Agricultural Solutions International, Baltic Trade Partners..."

"Names," Batman growled. "Contacts."

"Viktor Mikalek handles the shipments... works out of a warehouse on Dixon Dock. Wednesday nights..." Marco swallowed hard. "The manifests are coded - farming equipment on paper, weapons in the containers. AT4s listed as tractors, M4s as irrigation supplies..."

"The Stark weapons?"

"Black market... salvaged from conflict zones. Knyazev has a guy in Lagos who—" Marco's eyes widened as Batman's grip tightened slightly. "Warehouse 23B on the south pier! That's where they store the high-end stuff before distribution. But Falcone's been stockpiling lately, more than usual. Says something big is coming, need to be ready..."

Batman's cowl recorded everything while his trained memory cataloged the important details. A complex network of weapons distribution that had been invisible until now - Russian arms dealers working through shell companies, shipping routes disguised as legitimate trade, stockpiles building up across the city. The pieces were forming a disturbing pattern.

"What's coming?"

"I don't... I don't know! Falcone's paranoid lately. Ever since Superman showed up in Metropolis... talks about power shifting, new players..." Marco's voice cracked. "Please, that's everything I know! I swear to God!"

He kept one ear tuned to approaching sirens. Gordon would be here soon, right on schedule. Five years of working together had streamlined these operations into a grim routine. The GCPD handled the arrests and evidence collection while Batman provided the intelligence and initial takedowns. An unofficial partnership that had slowly begun to turn the tide in Gotham.

When Marco finished talking, darkness claimed him too. A precise nerve strike to the junction of neck and shoulder - one of the many techniques Batman had learned during his years abroad. The enforcer would wake with a headache and stiff neck, but nothing permanent. Just another reminder that Gotham's shadows held teeth.

Through the broken skylights, rain poured into the warehouse, washing blood and shell casings toward the drains. Police sirens wailed in the distance, growing closer. Their sound mixed with the constant background noise of Gotham at night - ship horns from the harbor, the elevated train's rattling passage through the Narrows, distant gunshots that might or might not warrant investigation. Five years, and the city's dark symphony hadn't changed.

Batman secured the weapons cache, mentally cataloging the arsenal. Military-grade hardware that had no business on civilian streets. The kind of firepower that could turn gang disputes into urban warfare. He'd seen too many bodies in Crime Alley, too many kids caught in crossfire, to let these weapons hit the streets.

Police units approached, their red and blue lights painting the rain in shifting patterns. The colors caught the edges of Batman's cape as he melted into shadow, watching Gordon's car pull up. The commissioner hadn't changed much in five years - same glasses, same mustache going grey at the edges, same way of carrying himself like a man who'd seen too much but hadn't lost hope.

"Hell of a mess." Gordon's voice carried across the rain as he approached, hands kept carefully visible at his sides. They'd learned these protocols the hard way, back when trust was new and fragile. Gordon still had the scar from that first misunderstanding - a batarang that had caught his shooting arm when he'd drawn too quickly. "Though I gotta admit, cleaner than your early work. Remember that thing with Zsasz? Three broken arms and a dislocated jaw."

Batman emerged from the shadows, cape heavy with rain. "He was carving up homeless kids. He deserved worse."

"Yeah, well, can't say I lost sleep over that one." Gordon surveyed the unconscious men, professional eye noting the precision of their injuries. No permanent damage, just enough pain to make them reconsider their career choices. His gaze lingered on Giovanni, still clutching his rosary even in unconsciousness. "Quite a change from those first months. You were raw then. Angry."

"Still am. Just learned to control it better."

"The city's noticed." Gordon lit a cigarette, cupping the flame against the rain. The smell of tobacco mixed with gunpowder and wet concrete - Gotham's perfume. "Though nowadays you've got competition in the fear department. Times are changing. First you, now Superman in Metropolis... makes people nervous. Especially after what happened with Cobblepot."

Batman's jaw tightened at the memory. The Penguin's first attempt to establish himself in Gotham had ended with three dead cops and a warehouse full of military-grade umbrella guns. "Cobblepot's in Blackgate. These weapons would have armed half the gangs in Gotham. Found shipping manifests in the office - same supplier arming Maroni's crew."

"Russian connection?"

"Knyazev. Moving everything through shell companies."

"Christ." Gordon exhaled smoke that mixed with the mist. "Falcone's really lost it. First Sionis muscling in on the drug trade, now this? Man's getting desperate."

"He's scared. They all are."

"Of Superman?"

"Of change." Batman moved slightly, keeping the warehouse's interior in his peripheral vision as Gordon's people began securing the scene. "Gotham's underworld operated one way for decades. Now there are people who can fly. Aliens. Cyborgs. The old power structures are breaking down."

"Speaking of which." Gordon tapped ash from his cigarette. "You see the show LuthorCorp put on? That Metallo character?"

"Been looking into it."

"Yeah, figured you would be." Gordon's voice carried years of familiarity with Batman's methods. "World's changing fast. Used to be our biggest problem was keeping mobsters from shooting each other. Now we've got aliens and cyborgs. Makes me miss the simple days - if you can call anything in Gotham simple. Even that business with the Joker seems almost quaint now."

Batman's posture shifted slightly at the mention of his first real nemesis. The clown was secure in Arkham now, but the scars he'd left on Gotham still ran deep. "Nothing simple about the Joker. Or Gotham."

"No, guess not." Gordon studied his friend - and after five years of shared battles, that's what they were. "City's changing though. These powered types showing up, technology advancing... sometimes I wonder if there's still room for old-school police work. Or vigilantes in bat suits."

"Gotham still needs us," Batman said quietly. "Maybe more than ever. Superman can't be everywhere. And some shadows need to be fought from within."

"Always will, I suppose." Gordon managed a tired smile. Rain dripped from his glasses as he watched his officers leading the unconscious men to waiting vans. "Though I wouldn't mind some super-help with the paperwork. Speaking of which..."

Gordon's radio crackled as dispatch cut through the rain: "All units responding to armed robbery at First National on Kane Street. Suspects armed and dangerous, shots fired. Officers requesting backup."

"Never ends in this city," Gordon sighed, turning to where Batman had been standing. The shadow was empty now - typical. "One of these days, you'll actually say good—"

The rest was lost in a thunderous roar as something massive and black erupted from between the warehouses. The Batmobile's armored hull gleamed wetly in the police lights, its matte black finish seeming to absorb more light than it reflected. Gordon couldn't help but smile - no matter how many times he saw it, the car never failed to impress.

The vehicle responded to Batman's remote signal with predatory grace, sliding to a stop beside him. This wasn't the crude prototype from his early days - the machine had evolved alongside its creator. Custom titanium-alloy plates covered the chassis like scales, overlapping in patterns that channeled both air flow and bullets away from vital components. The wheels were massive, reinforced with experimental polymers that could maintain traction even after taking anti-tank rounds.

Batman dropped into the driver's seat, the canopy sealing with a pneumatic hiss. The interior lit up with holographic displays, tactical data projecting across bulletproof glass. He engaged the starter sequence, and the modified jet turbine engine roared to life. The sound echoed off warehouse walls like mechanical thunder, red warning lights pulsing along the rear thruster assembly.

"Got to get me one of those," Gordon muttered, watching the car's rear thruster flare blue-white in the darkness. The Batmobile leapt forward with controlled violence, accelerating from zero to sixty in less time than it took to draw a breath.

Rain streamed off the canopy as Batman guided the car through Gotham's maze of back alleys. The city surrounded him like a dying thing, beautiful in its decay. Gothic spires pierced pollution-stained clouds while neon reflected off wet streets in patterns like spilled blood. Steam rose from manhole covers, carrying the breath of ancient tunnels below.

The Batmobile's tires gripped wet pavement with unnatural tenacity as he took a corner at speeds that would have sheared axles on a normal vehicle. The onboard computer tracked multiple pursuit routes, highlighting optimal paths through the city's cramped streets. Five years of nocturnal warfare had taught him every shortcut and blind alley in Gotham.

His mind drifted briefly to the prototype taking shape in the Cave. Where his current vehicle balanced speed and power, the new design was more tank than car - a brutal approach to urban warfare that incorporated everything he'd learned about fighting Gotham's evolving threats. Lower, wider, with sloped armor reminiscent of modern tanks. A machine built for a world where the enemies might have superhuman abilities.

The current car was still lethal in its own right. Automated systems tracked movement in the shadows as he accelerated down narrow streets. Weapon hardpoints remained concealed but ready - non-lethal options like tear gas launchers and sonic disruptors, alongside more aggressive measures for extreme situations. The rear thruster could double as a makeshift weapon, its plasma exhaust hot enough to melt steel.

Police bands crackled with updates as he approached Kane Street: "Suspects heading east in two vehicles—" "Officers in pursuit—" "Be advised, suspects are heavily armed—"

Batman pushed the throttle forward. The turbine's pitch climbed higher as the car surged ahead, thruster leaving a trail of superheated air. This was his city - not the Gotham of tourist brochures or financial reports, but the real Gotham. The city of shadows and secrets, of broken dreams and desperate hopes. He knew every alley, every rooftop, every hidden path where light never reached.

The Batmobile growled through another turn, suspension compensating for the uneven streets. Rain caught the glow from the thruster, creating a momentary rainbow in the car's wake. Even after hundreds of nights behind this wheel, he could appreciate the machine's deadly beauty - like a predator perfectly evolved for its environment.

His mind kept returning to the footage he'd reviewed before patrol. Luthor's press conference. The cybernetic soldier with his glowing green core. Superman's barely concealed reaction to the radiation. The game was evolving beyond street crime and mob wars. New players with powers that could reshape the world.

But Gotham's shadows would remain. They always did. And as long as they existed, the city would need its Dark Knight - and the black car that carried him through the night like a modern-day warhorse.

Hours later, the waterfall entrance parted smoothly as he approached the Cave. What had started as a natural cavern beneath Wayne Manor had grown into something else entirely - a fortress built from shadow and cutting-edge technology. Multiple levels carved from living rock housed his equipment, vehicles, and command center. The constant sound of water echoed through the space, mixing with the hum of servers and electronics.

The waterfall entrance parted smoothly as Bruce approached the Cave, water cascading around the Batmobile's armored hull. What had started as a natural cavern beneath Wayne Manor had grown into something else entirely - a fortress built from shadow and cutting-edge technology. Multiple levels carved from living rock housed his equipment, vehicles, and command center.

As the Batmobile settled onto its turntable, Bruce caught sight of the evidence cases lining the main platform. Five years of battles had filled them steadily - a playing card from his first Joker encounter, edges still charred from the explosion at Ace Chemicals. Cobblepot's custom umbrella gun, modified to fire armor-piercing rounds, seized during the Iceberg Lounge raid. Zsasz's blade with its tally marks still visible. The black wooden mask Sionis wore during his power play against Falcone. Crane's crude gas mask and a sealed vial of his fear toxin. Each item told a story of how Gotham's underworld had evolved in response to the Bat.

"I see you've managed to return without adding to our little collection tonight, sir." Alfred's voice carried from the upper level, dry as vintage wine. The butler descended the metal stairs with practiced efficiency, a steaming cup of coffee in one hand. "Though given recent trends in Gotham's criminal element, I'm sure it's only a matter of time."

Bruce pulled off the cowl, running a hand through sweat-damp hair. At twenty-eight, his face carried the lean hardness of someone who'd burned away everything except purpose. A thin scar traced his jawline - a souvenir from his second year, when Zsasz had proven that even perfect technique couldn't stop every blade.

"The weapons cache will be going to GCPD evidence."

"How disappointingly mundane." Alfred set the coffee down beside the main computer. His sharp features were schooled into their usual careful neutrality, but Bruce caught the slight tension in his bearing. "Though I suppose we should be grateful it's just arms dealers tonight. That business with Sionis last month was quite enough excitement."

Bruce's lips twitched slightly as his gaze drifted to the black mask. "He's still in Blackgate's medical wing."

"Yes, along with half of his organization." Alfred's eyes moved to the newest addition - the charred playing card. "The Joker's been quiet since his capture."

"Too quiet." Bruce secured his suit in its armored case, the latest version incorporating enhanced ballistic weave and impact-resistant plates. Each upgrade marked another night where standard protection hadn't been quite enough. "Arkham says he's been watching the news obsessively. Particularly the Metropolis coverage."

"Wonderful. That's precisely what we need - that homicidal maniac drawing inspiration from current events." Alfred gestured to another case containing a sealed canister. "Though I suppose we should be grateful he hasn't started experimenting with chemical weapons like Dr. Crane."

"Crane's early compounds were crude." Bruce studied the evidence. "But his later formulations showed real pharmaceutical knowledge. The fear toxin could have killed hundreds if we hadn't stopped him at the university."

"Ah yes, the good doctor's 'research project.' Such a charming euphemism for mass terror." Alfred's sarcasm couldn't quite mask his concern. "I see you've been reviewing the LuthorCorp footage again."

Bruce settled into the command chair, still wearing the suit's base layer. The computer system he'd built rivaled military installations, multiple screens displaying different aspects of the investigation. "I took the liberty of compiling those shipping manifests you requested," Alfred continued. "Rather interesting connections to our ongoing investigations."

"The weapons cache tonight matches the pattern. Same region of origin."

"Afghanistan?" Alfred's eyebrow arched slightly. "The same area where Tony Stark vanished, as I recall."

Bruce nodded, fingers flying across keyboards as he began correlating data. Behind him, the trophy cases stood as silent witnesses to how quickly Gotham's criminals had evolved - from common thugs to something darker. The Joker's calculated madness. Sionis's ruthless power plays. Crane's twisted experiments. Each one pushing the boundaries of conventional crime into something more theatrical, more symbolic.

"Too many coincidences." Bruce brought up satellite imagery and shipping routes. "First Stark disappears investigating weapons shipments. Three months later, Stane shows up with experimental technology and mystery minerals from the same region."

"And now working with Lionel Luthor, of all people." Alfred studied the screens. "A rather unexpected partnership. Though I suppose compared to some of your recent adversaries, corporate conspiracies seem almost refreshingly straightforward."

"Nothing straightforward about this, Alfred." Bruce's eyes narrowed at the data before him. The game was changing again. Gotham's criminals had evolved from simple thugs to symbolic villains in response to Batman. Now something bigger was coming - something that went beyond masks and madness.

"Play the press conference footage again..."

The screens lit up with Luthor's grand reveal. Bruce's eyes narrowed as he studied the faces in the crowd. "Freeze it there. Look at the press reactions when Corbin opens his chest plate."

"Ah yes, the dramatic green glow." Alfred leaned closer. "Though I notice not everyone seems equally affected."

"Clark Kent." Bruce zoomed in on the Daily Planet reporter. Where other journalists reacted with amazement or fear, Kent showed signs of physical discomfort. "He's the only one who backs away. Micro-expressions suggest pain, not surprise."

"Perhaps he's simply sensitive to radiation?" Alfred suggested. "The mineral does have rather unique properties."

"Properties that shouldn't exist according to any known physics." Bruce brought up shipping manifests, geological surveys, classified military reports. "The radiation signature appeared three months ago in the Hindu Kush mountains. Right after a meteor shower that no observatory recorded."

"The same area where—"

"Where Stark went missing. And where Stane's people have been conducting classified operations." Bruce's fingers flew across keyboards, connecting data points. "LuthorCorp's shell companies started moving heavy equipment into the region within days."

"Rather quick response for a random discovery."

"Nothing random about it." Bruce pulled up more files - power grid anomalies, unusual equipment purchases, classified military contracts. "They were looking for something specific. The question is: what tipped them off?"

"And how did they know what to do with it once they found it?" Alfred studied the footage of Corbin. "The integration of mineral and cybernetics suggests extensive prior research."

"Research that should have taken years." Bruce isolated thermal scans of Metallo's systems. "This technology is too advanced. Even for Luthor and Stane combined."

"Perhaps they had help?" Alfred's eye caught a personnel file Bruce had minimized. "The reporter seems to interest you."

"Kent's been covering Superman since the beginning. Gets exclusive interviews no one else can get." Bruce brought up the Daily Planet archives. "But his reaction to the mineral... it's personal. Like he recognizes it."

"You suspect he knows something about its origin?"

"I suspect he knows more than he's writing." Bruce highlighted passages from Kent's articles. "Look at his Superman coverage - he focuses on the humanitarian aspects, downplays the power demonstrations. Almost like he's trying to make him seem more human."

"Admirable journalism, one might say."

"Or careful messaging." Bruce pulled up more files on Kent - background checks, travel records, credit card statements. All perfectly normal. Almost too perfect. "His paper trail before Metropolis is sparse. A few international freelance pieces, but nothing substantial."

"Unlike a certain billionaire's missing years?" Alfred's voice carried gentle irony. "Not everyone who travels has something to hide, sir."

"No. But everyone has something to hide." Bruce studied Kent's press photo. "And he was the only one in that room who showed physical distress from the mineral. The same mineral that affects Superman."

"An interesting correlation," Alfred noted carefully. "Though perhaps we should focus on more immediate concerns? Such as how Luthor and Stane acquired their new toy?"

Bruce nodded, switching screens to display shipping routes and military contracts. "The mineral shipments are being routed through a maze of shell companies. Final destination is always classified military installations."

"The same ones handling Mr. Stark's missing weapons, as I recall."

"The weapons are a cover." Bruce overlaid multiple data streams - power consumption, radiation readings, personnel movements. "They're building something bigger than Metallo. The cybernetic soldier is just a proof of concept."

"For what exactly?"

"That's what I need to find out." Bruce brought up satellite imagery of suspected research sites. "And why I need to know if Kent's connection to Superman goes deeper than bylines."

"Careful, sir." Alfred's voice carried genuine concern. "Investigating extraterrestrial materials and corporate conspiracies is one thing. But if you start pulling threads connected to Superman..."

"Knowledge is preparation, Alfred. Not necessarily intention." Bruce studied the screens, where Kent's photo sat alongside Metallo footage and shipping manifests. "But something bigger is coming. Luthor and Stane, Kent and Superman, Stark's disappearance and this mineral - it's all connected. I just need to figure out how."

"As you say, sir." Alfred gathered the empty coffee cup. "Though might I suggest some rest before you unravel the entire conspiracy? The Foundation meeting is in five hours, and even Bruce Wayne occasionally needs sleep."

"After I finish analyzing these radiation patterns."

"As you wish." Alfred's footsteps receded toward the upper levels. "Though do remember your father believed in being prepared, but he also believed in discretion, especially when dealing with beings who can hear through walls."

Bruce's jaw tightened slightly. "Point taken."

The Cave's darkness pressed around them, broken only by the screens' glow and the distant sound of water. Somewhere above, Gotham stirred in its restless sleep, while beneath it, its protector pieced together a puzzle whose scope grew larger with each new discovery.

---

At Tony's Malibu mansion, Tony swiped his hand over his desktop, bringing to life a virtual keyboard far more advanced than standard computers. After a few quick keystrokes, he glanced up at the ceiling. "JARVIS, you up?"

"For you sir, always," the AI responded smoothly.

Tony leaned back in his chair, eyes scanning the two screens before him. One displayed the schematics of his first Iron Man suit, the other streaming data about the kryptonite sample they'd analyzed. His fingers moved automatically to the arc reactor in his chest, the new design's blue glow a reassuring presence.

"I want to open up a new project file," he said, grabbing a computer pen. "Index it as Mark II." With practiced precision, he dragged the schematics onto a holographic board.

"Shall I store the designs on the Stark Industries Central Database?" JARVIS inquired.

"Actually, I don't know who to trust right now." Tony stood, approaching the holographic board and enlarging the image. "Until further notice, why don't keep everything on my private server?"

"Working on a secret project, sir?"

Tony didn't respond, instead focusing on the Iron Man helmet display. Without hesitation, he began moving components to the trash can in the corner. "I don't want this winding up in the wrong hands."

He rotated the display, methodically rejecting elements from the design. His voice grew softer, almost contemplative. "Maybe in mine, it can actually do some good."

In his workshop, Tony hunched over the boot assembly, DUM-E hovering nearby like an eager puppy. "Stay," he instructed the robot as he positioned the welding torch. Every movement was precise, calculated. "Down at the toes. No- actually, you're no help at all. Just... don't move."

The familiar smell of hot metal filled the air as he worked, making adjustments based on his calculations. When he finished welding, Tony pushed a button, watching with satisfaction as the back of the boot opened smoothly.

Time for the first test. Tony suited up in the prototype pieces - boots on his feet, guards on his arms, control handles gripped firmly. The camera recorded everything as he positioned himself in the testing square.

"Okay, let's do this right." He settled into position, adjusting his stance. "Start mark, half-a-meter, and back and center."

The camera zoomed in as Tony rolled his shoulders. "DUM-E! Look alive. You're on standby for fire safety." He glanced at the camera. "YOU. Roll it."

"Activate hand controls." The systems hummed to life around him as he adjusted his grip. "We're gonna start off nice and easy. Ten percent thrust capacity." His heart raced slightly despite his confident tone. "And... three... two... one!"

The repulsors fired with unexpected force, sending Tony into an uncontrolled flip. He slammed into the ceiling before crashing back to the floor with a painful thud. Before he could even catch his breath, DUM-E enthusiastically doused him with the fire extinguisher.

Later, nursing his bruises at his desktop, Tony sipped tea while LuthorCorp's press conference replayed on a side screen. He studied Metallo's demonstration, watching how the kryptonite core pulsed with each display of strength. The silver components of the prototype Mark II scattered across his workbench caught the green glow from the screen.

"JARVIS, pull up everything we have on John Corbin. Military record, medical history, police reports - the works."

"Including the domestic disturbance calls, sir?"

"Everything." Tony's eyes narrowed as data filled the screens. "Multiple commendations for valor in Iraq, then comes home to a system that can't handle wounded warriors. PTSD untreated, marriage falls apart, loses access to his daughter..." He scrolled through police reports. "Arguments with his wife Sarah, neighbors reporting shouting matches. She tried to get him help..."

"The VA hospital records show multiple cancelled appointments," JARVIS noted. "Extended waiting periods for treatment. Until-"

"Until LuthorCorp picked him up," Tony finished. "And suddenly he's their star guinea pig." He pulled up medical data alongside the press conference footage. "Compare his bio-readings during this demonstration to my blood work from Afghanistan. Focus on cellular degradation patterns."

The holotable lit up with complex molecular diagrams. "The kryptonite radiation signature matches what we detected in your original reactor," JARVIS reported, "but at significantly higher concentrations. The psychological impact is particularly concerning."

"Yeah, they're feeding his anger, his need to prove himself." Tony stood, pacing as he thought. "Take a decorated soldier, add untreated PTSD, a broken family, then pump him full of alien radiation that affects brain chemistry? It's like they're trying to create a weapon."

"The emotional instability appears to be accelerating, sir. His speech patterns during the press conference show increased aggression, paranoid ideation-"

"Because the kryptonite isn't just powering his cybernetics - it's changing him." Tony returned to his desk, pulling up molecular models. "Look at these neural readings. The radiation's affecting his limbic system, amplifying emotional responses. They haven't just given him a new body - they're rewiring his brain."

He swiveled to face the half-assembled Mark II components. The silver armor gleamed under his workshop lights, still more potential than reality. "We need to modify our approach. This isn't just about building better armor anymore. We need a way to contain that radiation before it turns him into something he can't come back from."

"Perhaps a dampening field?" JARVIS suggested. "Though our understanding of kryptonite's properties is still limited."

"Start with what we know." Tony pulled up test data from his original reactor. "The mineral affects biological systems, disrupts normal cellular function. But it's not just radiation - there's an energy signature we still don't understand." His fingers flew across the holographic controls. "If we can develop a containment system that neutralizes the radiation without killing the host..."

"A considerable challenge, sir. The integration with his cybernetic systems complicates matters."

"Yeah, well, I work best under pressure."

---

On the SHIELD helicarrier's bridge, Nick Fury stood at his command station watching the LuthorCorp gala unfold across multiple screens. His single eye tracked every detail of what he was already mentally cataloging as "another corporate disaster waiting to happen."

"The nation's getting crazier by the day," Maria Hill observed, approaching with a fresh batch of data on Metallo's cybernetic systems.

"More marvelous," Fury corrected, his mind drifting back to a desert in 1995. "We've been heading this way since Carol. Some people just weren't paying attention."

"Director," a communications officer called out, "the World Security Council is requesting an immediate conference."

Fury's expression could have soured milk. "Of course they are." He turned to Hill. "How long before they suggest putting the cybernetic time bomb on the Initiative?"

"They already have," she replied, holding up her tablet. "The proposal just came through."

"Perfect. Because that's exactly what we need - an unstable cyborg powered by alien rocks on a response team." He straightened his coat, heading for the secure conference room. "Monitor those radiation readings. Something tells me this whole show is about to get real interesting."

The Council members materialized as shadowy figures on the screens around him, their faces obscured but their attitudes clear in their voices.

"Director Fury," Councilman Pierce began, "I assume you've reviewed our proposal regarding John Corbin's integration into the Avengers Initiative?"

"Oh, I've reviewed it." Fury's tone could have stripped paint. "Just like I've reviewed his psychological evaluations, his deteriorating neural patterns, and the radiation readings from that fancy green rock in his chest."

"Mr. Corbin represents a unique opportunity," Councilwoman Hawley interjected. "A decorated soldier with advanced capabilities-"

"A wounded veteran being exploited by corporate interests," Fury cut in. "Or did none of you bother to read his full file? PTSD, untreated trauma, family breakdown - and that was before they started pumping him full of alien radiation."

"His military background makes him an ideal candidate," another Council member argued. "Someone who understands chain of command, who can be properly directed-"

"Directed?" Fury's laugh held no humor. "Have you people actually watched him? The kryptonite isn't just powering his systems - it's changing him. Every hour that stuff stays in his chest, we lose more of the soldier and get more of whatever LuthorCorp's creating."

"The technical data from his cybernetic systems-"

"Shows exactly what I'm talking about." Fury pulled up readings on their shared displays. "Neural degradation. Increased aggression. Deteriorating impulse control. But sure, let's put him on a response team. What could possibly go wrong?"

"Director," Pierce's tone grew sharper, "the Council has made its decision. We believe Metallo's potential outweighs the risks-"

"I recognize the Council has made a decision," Fury cut in, his voice carrying that dangerous calm that meant someone was about to have a very bad day, "but given that it's a stupid-ass decision, I've elected to ignore it."

The silence that followed could have frozen hell.

"That is not your call to make," Hawley said finally.

"Actually, it is. That's why you people gave me this job - to make the hard calls when you're too busy playing politics to see what's right in front of you."

Fury ended the Council's transmission with a decisive tap, turning back to his command center. "Hill," he called out, "get me Faraday."

"Agent King Faraday is already on his way up, sir."

The veteran intelligence agent stepped onto the bridge moments later, his sharp eyes already fixed on the monitors showing the LuthorCorp gala. Faraday carried himself with the measured confidence of someone who'd seen things most agents wouldn't believe - and had the clearance level to prove it.

"This feeling familiar?" Fury asked, gesturing to the screens showing Metallo's display of power.

"Not since '95," Faraday replied, studying the kryptonite's energy readings. "Though at least Danvers knew what she was doing with her powers."

"Exactly why I need you in Metropolis." Fury pulled up the latest data. "Coulson's handling Stark, and this situation needs someone who's dealt with powered individuals before. Someone who was there when we first learned we weren't alone."

"The Council pushing for Initiative recruitment?"

"Despite all evidence suggesting it's a terrible idea." Fury's eye narrowed. "You saw the raw data we got when Danvers was here. The energy readings we're getting from Metallo's core? They're worse."

Faraday nodded, already reviewing the numbers on his tablet. "Similar pattern to what we saw in '95 - power signature that doesn't match anything in our physics. But this is more unstable."

"Start with Lane and Kent at the Planet," Fury instructed. "They've got better Superman access than anyone. And Lane's father might be more willing to talk to you, given your military intelligence background."

"What's my official cover?"

"Corporate espionage investigation. Gives you reason to be around both the Planet and LuthorCorp." Fury brought up more readings. "But your real priority is assessment. You helped me handle first contact with Danvers - I need that experience now."

"You think this is headed the same way?"

"I think we've got an alien with godlike powers and a cyborg running on unstable alien radiation. At least with Carol, we knew which side she was on."

Faraday studied the footage of Superman's latest rescue alongside Metallo's increasingly aggressive display. "Rules of engagement?"

"Your discretion. You've been in this game long enough to know where the lines are." Fury's expression turned serious. "Find out who Superman really is. What he wants. And most importantly - if he's someone we can trust when Metallo breaks. Because that's not a question of if, just when."

"Time frame?"

"48 hours for preliminary reports. And King?" Fury's eye carried a warning. "Watch that radiation. What we learned from Carol's energy signature was just the beginning. This kryptonite? It's something else entirely."

As Faraday left to prepare, Hill approached Fury's station. "You think he can get close enough to either of them?"

"Faraday helped me handle first contact with a Kree-powered pilot who could shoot photon blasts from her hands. Right now, everyone's watching the gods and monsters. Nobody notices the quiet professional doing his job."

He turned back to the monitors, where Metallo's challenge to Superman continued to escalate. "Besides, we need to know - is Superman really what he appears to be? And is there anything left of John Corbin to save?"

"And if the answer to either question is no?"

Fury's expression hardened. "Then we better hope the Man of Steel is ready for what's coming. Because sometimes the hardest part isn't dealing with the extraordinary - it's stopping the ordinary from destroying itself trying to match it."

The helicarrier continued its patrol through darkening skies, while somewhere below, two beings with the power to reshape the world moved closer to their inevitable confrontation. And in between, as always, SHIELD worked in the shadows - trying to prevent disasters before they happened, and clean them up when they couldn't.

---

Back in Metropolis, the media frenzy reached fever pitch. Every channel ran endless analysis of the coming confrontation. Military experts debated tactics. Scientists argued about kryptonite's properties. Pundits speculated about the political implications.

By the fourth day, betting pools sprang up in Vegas. Odds favored Superman slightly at 3-to-2, but Metallo's kryptonite core was a wild card that kept the gambling interesting. Underground bookies reported millions flowing in from around the world as everyone from dock workers to hedge fund managers wanted action on the fight. The Daily Planet's headline that morning read: "SUPERMAN SILENT AS METALLO CHALLENGE ENTERS THIRD DAY."

Cat Grant stood in Metropolis Park, trying to maintain her professional composure while covering what felt like the most mundane assignment possible - the dedication of a new playground. Perry's words still rang in her ears: "Someone has to handle the local interest pieces, Cat." As if she hadn't proved herself with her exposé on city council corruption last month.

"And of course," she muttered into her recorder, "our star reporter gets the Metallo investigation while I'm stuck with-"

A child's excited shout cut through her self-pity: "Look! Up in the sky!"

Others quickly joined in, their young voices carrying across the playground: "It's a bird!"

"No, it's a plane!"

Then a chorus of delighted children: "IT'S SUPERMAN!"

Cat's head snapped up, her heart suddenly racing. A familiar red and blue figure descended from the clouds, sunlight catching his cape in a way that made several nearby mothers audibly sigh. Cat couldn't blame them - no photo had prepared her for seeing Superman in person. He touched down with impossible grace, his boots barely disturbing the grass beneath them.

Children immediately broke away from their parents, rushing toward him with the pure enthusiasm only the young could muster. Superman knelt to their level, his smile warming in a way that made Cat mentally cancel her dinner plans for the next month, just in case.

"Finally," she breathed, clicking her recorder on and stepping forward. Reporters from WGBS and the Metropolis Star were already moving in, but this was her story - her park, her assignment, her Superman. "Ladies and gentlemen of Metropolis," she began, pitching her voice to carry, "this is Cat Grant reporting live for the Daily Planet. Superman has just made his first public appearance since Metallo's challenge, choosing our own Metropolis Park as his stage."

He stood as she approached, and Cat found herself having to look up... and up... and up. Photos really hadn't done him justice. "Superman," she managed, proud that her voice remained steady, "I have to say, you certainly know how to make an entrance. Though some of us were beginning to think you were playing hard to get."

A slight smile touched his lips, but his eyes remained serious. "Ms. Grant. I hope I'm not interrupting your coverage of the park dedication."

"Trust me, this is a much better story." She moved closer, recorder extended. "Care to comment on why you've kept Metropolis waiting? Though I have to say, the strong, silent routine has been... intriguing." She emphasized the last word with a smile that had once convinced three different senators to go on record.

Before he could respond, Ron Troupe from WGBS pushed forward: "Superman! Will you address Metallo's accusations about aliens interfering in human affairs?"

"Because if you're looking for better ways to interact with humanity," Cat interjected smoothly, "I know this wonderful little Italian place..."

"This isn't about dating or violence," Superman said firmly, though there was a gentleness in his tone that made Cat seriously consider finding that corrupt senator's phone number again. "This is about protecting people from harm."

"Why now?" Angela Chen from the Metropolis Star called out. "After days of silence, why choose this moment?"

Superman's gaze swept across the playground, taking in the children who still watched him with unwavering faith, the parents who stood protectively nearby, the community that had gathered to celebrate something as simple and important as a safe place for kids to play.

"Because this," he gestured to the playground, "is what we should be building. Places of joy and community. Not weapons or challenges meant to prove superiority."

"Are you saying Metallo poses a genuine threat?" Linda Park from Channel 8 shouted.

"I'm saying John Corbin is a decorated soldier who sacrificed everything for his country, only to be transformed into something else entirely. The radiation affecting him is unstable, growing stronger every day. This needs to end before that instability puts innocent people at risk."

He turned to face Cat's camera directly, knowing Corbin would be watching: "I accept John Corbin's challenge," he said simply, his voice carrying the quiet authority that came from his parents' wisdom rather than his powers. "Not because I have anything to prove, but because this needs to end before someone gets hurt. Centennial Park, tonight at sunset. Just you and me, John. No crowds, no collateral damage."

"Well," Cat murmured, just loud enough for her microphone to catch, "there go my dinner plans. Though I suppose Lois can keep Clark Kent - I've got my sights set higher."

The response was immediate. LuthorCorp stock jumped ten points. Live coverage preempted regular programming. Every network scrambled to position cameras around Centennial Park's central plaza. Police evacuated the area, but surrounding buildings filled with reporters jockeying for position.

And soon the world would watch the battle that would put even the clashes of ancient empires, the unbridled ambitions of would be conquerors, the Horrors of nuclear warfare born from the worst, bloodiest war in human history to shame: Man of steel vs Man of steel. Alien savior vs human protector.

But in Superman's mind, all he really hoped was that he could reach out to the wounded, broken and slighted soldier underneath the monster LuthorCorp had turned into and save him before it was too late.

---

Author's Note:

You guys, I can't tell you how much fun I had writing this chapter. What was supposed to be just the setup for Superman and Metallo's confrontation turned into this sprawling exploration of how one event ripples through the entire universe. I honestly couldn't stop writing, especially when it came to Batman and Tony's sections.

Batman's scenes in Gotham kept growing because I couldn't stop exploring how someone like him would react to all this and that quiet moment with Alfred in the Cave, discussing how the world is changing while the batcomputor is running in front of them. That's where Batman really lives.

And Tony in his workshop with JARVIS, pushing through failure after failure on the suit while analyzing kryptonite data... those scenes just flowed.

Finding King Faraday was this perfect accident while doing research. I needed someone who could investigate both Superman and Metallo without feeling like just another government suit. Learning about his history and realizing I could tie him to Fury's early days with Carol Danvers - it added this whole other layer to SHIELD's involvement.

I know some of you might think I spent too much time away from Superman this chapter, but I really wanted to show how his actions ripple out.

Cannot wait for Superman (2025) to hit theaters July 11th, but I've got to say - there's something incredibly freeing about exploring this universe through writing.

Huge thanks as always to .4545 for the brilliant editing and for putting up with my endless rambling about comic book lore while figuring out how to make all these pieces fit together.

Your support keeps me going, and I can't wait to share what happens when these two Men of Steel finally meet.

Best wishes,

Mtle232

---

Face Claims List:

Main Cast:

David Corenswet as Clark Kent/Superman

Rachel Brosnahan as Lois Lane

Nicholas Hoult as Lex Luthor

Kevin Costner as Jonathan Kent

Diane Lane as Martha Kent

Russell Crowe as Jor-El

Ayelet Zurer as Lara Lor-Van

John C. McGinley as Perry White

Finn Wolfhard as Jimmy Olsen

Alexander Skarsgård as John Corbin

Gary Sinise as General Sam Lane

Ciaran Hinds as Lionel Luthor

Justice Smith as Pete Ross

Jane Levy as Lana Lang

Supporting Cast:

Emma Stone as Cat Grant

Aldis Hodge as Ron Troupe

Chris Wood as Steve Lombard

Eiza González as Mercy Graves

Bruce Greenwood as Alan Scott

Melissa Fumero as Monica

Iron Man Characters:

Robert Downey Jr. as Tony Stark

Gwyneth Paltrow as Pepper Potts

Don Cheadle as James "Rhodey" Rhodes

Jon Favreau as Happy Hogan

Jeff Bridges as Obadiah Stane

Shaun Toub as Ho Yinsen

Faran Tahir as Raza

Clark Gregg as Agent Phil Coulson

Batman Characters:

Brandan Sklenar as Bruce Wayne/Batman

Charles Dance as Alfred Pennyworth

Government/Military:

William Sadler as President Ellis

William Hurt as General Thaddeus Ross

Samuel L. Jackson as Nick Fury

Robert Redford as Alexander Pierce

Viola Davis as Amanda Waller

Krypton:

Michael Shannon as General Zod

Antje Traue as Faora-Ul

Richard Cetrone as Tor-An

Other MDCCU Connections:

• A white German Shepherd as Krypto (CGI enhanced)

• Sophie Turner as Dr. Jean Grey (TV appearance)

• Bryan Cranston as Commissioner Gordon (mentioned)

• Patrick Stewart as Professor Xavier (mentioned)

Note: These face claims are just how I've been picturing the characters while writing, particularly with the upcoming Superman movie in mind. However, I want to emphasize that these aren't set in stone - they're just suggestions to help readers visualize the characters. I chose David Corenswet because I'm excited about his upcoming portrayal of Superman, but please feel free to imagine whoever you think best fits each role. The beauty of reading is that everyone can picture their own perfect cast.

I'm always interested in hearing your casting suggestions. If you have different actors in mind who you think would better embody any of these characters, I'd love to hear your thoughts. After all, this story is inspired by you the readers.