Confessions

"Behind me is the Metropolitan underground mall where the crisis has been averted—thanks to the unparalleled efficiency of the authorities. Reports indicate the incident resulted from a gas leak explosion. Details have yet to be disclosed by officials, but all trapped citizens have been rescued."

Jay lounged on his living room couch, watching the television reporter deliver a sequence of words that—if not for "underground mall accident"—would have contained no credible information. He couldn't help but admire the psychological fortitude of modern media professionals.

But he was accustomed to it by now—ever since the World Federal Government was established, spinning tales became the new media playbook. Despite continual opposition, the rising desire for safety post-apocalyptic scare had overridden other concerns, leading most to accept the narrative.

Unsurprisingly, the news omitted any mention of the two-story-tall rampaging monster. As Jay listlessly watched the uninformative follow-up reports, Mrs. Reynolds's voice echoed from the study.

"Jay! Come here," she called.

"Coming," he replied.

He set aside the remote and walked into the study. The Reynolds couple sat opposite each other on the sofa, with a chair placed in front of them, seemingly for Jay. The interrogation-like setup involuntarily summoned thoughts of a detective movie scenario, leaving Jay with a sense of unease.

Yet this conversation was anticipated, considering what they had just experienced. Jay had concocted several reasons for his solo return to the mall, weighing which to use as he sat down.

After exchanging glances, Mr. Reynolds began, "Jay, we—we know."

"Know?" Jay blinked, "Know what?"

"About your uniqueness." Mr. Reynolds fidgeted with his nose, struggling to navigate the topic, "And your mother and I are so grateful—thanks to you, we were unharmed."

Jay was taken aback. He had considered the possibility his parents might discover his abilities, but he never imagined the conversation unfolding in such a surreal atmosphere. He shifted uncomfortably, questioning, "Are you sure you're talking about the same 'uniqueness' as I am? Because neither of you seem shocked."

After another glance at each other, Mrs. Reynolds spoke up, "Because we've known for a while."

"For a while?" Jay was genuinely surprised; he had thought his secret well kept. "Since when?"

"About a year and a half after we brought you home from the orphanage," Mrs. Reynolds revealed. "You'd be surprised how difficult it is for a child to keep secrets from their parents."

A touch of disappointment crept into Jay's voice, "Then why didn't you say anything? Or tell any authorities? Weren't you afraid?"

Mrs. Reynolds smiled softly, "Silly. You are our son, nothing can change that."

"And we chose to trust you," added Mr. Reynolds. "We are natives of Metropolis, we've seen Superman rise in this city. No one understands better than us what that 'S' stands for here. He vanished six years ago, and then you appeared, possessing extraordinary abilities just like him. We like to believe there's a special reason for your arrival."

Pointing at himself in disbelief, Jay stammered, "You mean, you hope I'd take over? As Superman?"

"We don't 'hope' you do anything, Jay," Mrs. Reynolds assured. "We just felt that maybe your appearance at this time was orchestrated by fate."

"We want you to be whoever you wish to be," Mr. Reynolds expressed. "As parents, we couldn't be prouder. But in the mall, when you told us you had to do something, we guessed you were going to help people, to make a difference with your abilities. We saw a growing hero's heart in you, and we couldn't be more content."

Pondering for a moment, Jay admitted, "I only acted because I could. I just couldn't walk away."

"That's all a hero is, son," Mr. Reynolds said with a smile. "I was much the same in my youth—whenever I saw something wrong, I felt obliged to expose it. I've challenged the powerful and faced dangers. Looking back, I consider it an honor, and I've kept every article I wrote as a badge of my life's achievements."

"I remember," Jay smiled, "I've seen them."

Mrs. Reynolds huffed, "That's all in the past. Why bring up things from so many years ago? Look at what you write now—pet beauty tips, life hacks?"

Mr. Reynolds seemed pained by the remark, heaving a sigh but offering no defense.

"Um, I appreciate your guidance, really," Jay said. "But I don't think I can be like Superman."

Mrs. Reynolds touched his head gently, "It doesn't matter. Whatever choices you make in the future, we have faith in you. After all, you've always been the best."

Elsewhere, at that moment.

This was a place of such enveloping darkness, one might marvel that such a shadowy corner existed on Earth. An icy breeze wafted through the pitch-black, the only light emanating from several ring-shaped, massive screens, illuminating a solitary figure before the computers.

And on every screen, there affixed was Jay Reynolds's portrait.

"Are you certain it's this kid?" The shadowed figure leaned forward, elbows propped on the desk, inquiring.

"I'm positive," Huntress's voice traveled through the comm channel. "You know I have a good memory."

"Did you tell anyone else?"

"No," she replied. "You're the only one I've informed."

"The right decision."

Silence fell between them, settling into an awkward pause for nearly half a minute. The shadowed figure continued to stare intently at Jay's image on the screen, as if seeking a special truth in his gaze.

"So," Huntress broke the silence, "what are you going to do with him? If he really is Kryptonian?"

The figure sat in stillness, his knuckles rhythmically tapping on the desk.

"I'm still thinking," he said.