Everyone stared at the impossible scene in front of them.
"What the hell is that thing?!" one of the gunmen stammered, trembling so hard he nearly dropped his weapon. There was already a damp stain spreading down his pant leg.
He couldn't bring himself to let go of the Desert Eagle in his hand, but it was useless anyway. His precious muscles, his precious guns, none of it meant a damn thing. Against that man, all their bullets might as well have been water pistols.
Down below, Jameson had seen Clark's godlike descent with his own eyes.
"Even if I don't believe in God, I'm still saying it now. Dear God..." He stared at the blue figure below and instinctively reached for a camera, only to realize he hadn't brought one down.
"Ben... are the monsters Ross has been chasing around really this insane too?"
Ben was sweating just as much. He knew exactly how absurdly impossible it was for someone to tank bullets with their bare body and come away untouched. This was practically Superman.
"Maybe close," Ben answered vaguely, because his eyes had locked onto the S on Clark's chest.
And that symbol dragged up an old memory.
The same mark had been on the ship that had fallen from the sky all those years ago.
And inside that ship had been his son.
Clark Parker.
"Is that... him?" Ben stared at the figure below, at once familiar and utterly alien, and simply could not believe that the man standing there was Clark.
Clark stood still, and that alone was enough to scare every last attacker into freezing.
Inside his head, the little devil had changed into a Superman suit of his own, complete with a flashy red cape, and was practically dancing with joy at Clark's overwhelming entrance.
Look at those idiots' faces! This is our power! A max-level boss just walked into the starter zone and started farming rabbits! Go on, Clark, show them what Kryptonian strength looks like. Kick them around like soccer balls!
The little angel, this time, didn't even bother arguing. He straightened the halo on his head, pulled a pair of sunglasses from behind his back, and acted like he had seen and heard absolutely nothing.
I still vote for peace. But these people were trying to kill Dad. Clark, try not to kill them if you can. There are a lot of cops watching. That said, the government might as well just start issuing disability checks to this whole group in bulk.
Clark found that perfectly reasonable.
"That's enough."
He lowered his head and glanced at the suit he was wearing. Good thing he had gotten the right material from Oscorp. Otherwise, after that last volley, there was a decent chance his clothes would have been shredded into strips.
And doing this in front of the Daily Bugle tower only to end up becoming known as the "streaking freak" would have been deeply unfortunate.
Clark might have been effectively invincible now, but some of the men in front of him were too drugged up or too desperate to know fear.
"Use grenades! Machine guns! Rockets! The high-tech gear too!"
Someone in the crowd shouted the order, and the men, half-crazed on adrenaline and chemicals, obediently chose to keep charging toward death.
Hands went for grenades at their belts.
"Too slow."
Clark didn't crouch. He didn't gather himself. He didn't even look like he was about to move.
He simply took one casual step forward.
Super-speed kicked in.
To everyone present, a streak of blue flashed through the crowd, and the loudest man, the one who kept shouting orders, suddenly found himself lifted one-handed into the air.
The grenade dropped from his hand.
Clark picked it up.
"These are dangerous," he said mildly. "You really shouldn't throw grenades around. Someone might hurt the flowers."
Then he crushed it in his hand.
The talkative thug nearly died on the spot just watching that. All he had done was yell a few instructions, and somehow that had made him the first one to get singled out.
A second later, he felt like his jaw had disappeared, followed by all strength draining from his limbs.
But that was only the beginning.
Clark's figure started moving through the crowd of nearly a hundred attackers.
He didn't need flashy martial arts.
There was no point.
Against absolute strength, absolute speed, and absolute durability, technique started to look a little silly.
One punch, and an armored thug went through a wall with his rifle still in his hands.
One squeeze, and a mercenary's knife crumpled into scrap metal before Clark casually flicked the ruined blade into the man's forehead, sending him flying into a dumpster in a perfect arc.
One clap of both hands, and the shockwave of wind blasted through the street, sending gangsters and mercenaries airborne.
Clark checked the timing in his head.
Fifteen seconds.
Not bad.
The mixed gang-and-mercenary force that had rolled up planning to level the Daily Bugle was instantly wiped out.
Across the whole street, besides spent shell casings and ruined vehicles, all that remained were groaning attackers scattered everywhere. Some had broken legs. Some had shattered ribs. Some were embedded so deep into car doors that no one was getting them back out without tools.
Not a single one of them was still standing.
Clark, obviously, did not count.
Even the SWAT officers inside the building who had been fighting room to room were stunned.
The surviving attackers still inside were even more stunned. They immediately dropped their weapons and surrendered.
Who knew whether the man outside might decide, in a bad mood, to just kill them all? Surrender at least meant prison and a chance to live. The alternative meant maybe picking up soap in the afterlife.
Gwen, Peter, and Cindy had just arrived, and they were truly speechless.
They had come ready to prove themselves. To show Clark they could be heroes worthy of his approval.
"My God..." Cindy whispered, almost unable to accept what she was seeing. "Is that Clark?"
She couldn't make out the man's face clearly. Even when she looked right at him, it somehow still didn't fully register.
Gwen felt the same way, though at least the crisis seemed to be over. Still, her eyes stayed on Clark. Childhood friend or not, even with those years apart, some part of him was familiar.
"'S'... does that stand for super?" she murmured. "I don't know why, but it feels weirdly familiar. Do you feel that too, Peter?"
Peter's jaw had already fallen halfway to the ground.
He couldn't quite see the man's face either, but unlike the others, Peter had grown up with Clark.
He knew.
His brain was making a sound like gears slamming into each other.
Fragments of his whole life started replaying in his mind.
The little kid in the backyard who used to stumble around clumsily, only to somehow end up with a swing beam crashing harmlessly into his back.
The "pure-hearted" nerd who, in the school cafeteria, only needed Felicia Hardy to lean in a little too close before turning bright red and fleeing like a startled rabbit.
And now this.
This unstoppable figure moving through armed criminals like a force of nature.
Peter clutched at his mask, trying to fit all of those images together into one person.
"That guy..."
He pointed shakily at the godlike figure in the street below, his voice shooting up an octave like a shrieking rubber chicken.
"That guy is my brother?! Clark Parker?! The same Clark Parker who, growing up, never had any real advantages except being tall?! The same big dork who turns into a stammering mess if a girl teases him?! What the hell?!"
Then he immediately slapped a hand over his own mouth, realizing it was rude to talk about his brother like that.
Peter suddenly felt like he had spent his whole life trapped inside some giant Truman Show.
"Peter, are you okay?" Gwen turned to him after hearing the outburst. "You felt it too? That sense that he's familiar?"
"I... maybe I know him, and maybe I don't..." Peter said, covering his face. "My brain is kind of melting right now, Gwen. I need like five minutes to rebuild my entire worldview."
He crouched down on the spot, fully spiraling into existential shock.
His head had already started running in directions he could barely control.
Was he going to become like that someday too?
Could Uncle Ben or Aunt May do this too?
Was this some kind of bloodline thing?
Did you just automatically unlock it at sixteen?