Accident

I felt a surge of confidence as I began my descent toward Earth, controlling my flight better with each second.

The silence of space faded, replaced by the roar of the atmosphere as I plunged toward the planet.

Heat built around me quickly, and flames engulfed my body as I hurtled down like a meteor.

My clothes began to disintegrate, burning away into ash as the air friction grew uncomfortable.

The shirt, shorts—everything gone. The skin beneath, though scorched and glowing, miraculously held up, thanks to the borrowed physiology from Bizarro. I was a burning comet, streaking toward the ground.

As I neared the city below, I could see the chaos unfolding between Bizarro and Superman. This was my moment. I clenched my fists and aimed straight for Bizarro, pushing myself to accelerate faster and faster, like a missile with only one target.

The ground rushed up in a blur of destruction. In my mind, I knew what was coming, but nothing prepared me for the impact.

I crashed into Bizarro like a bomb.

The street buckled beneath us, collapsing into a crater as the shockwave rippled outward, shattering windows and blowing cars off the road like toys. Asphalt exploded into the air, chunks of concrete and metal debris flying in all directions. Bizarro let out a guttural roar as I slammed into him, his body cratering deeper into the earth with the force of the collision.

The impact felt like being slammed between two freight trains, but somehow, I stayed conscious. I was embedded in the rubble, the air thick with dust and smoke. Bizarro lay sprawled beneath me, groaning as he struggled to rise, his body shaking off chunks of destroyed pavement like it was nothing.

The entire block was levelled.

I dragged myself out of the crater, coughing through the dust, barely registering the destruction I'd caused. Superman hovered above, his eyes wide with shock, surveying the wreckage below.

"Well," I groaned, brushing off bits of debris. "That's… one way to make an entrance."

I barely had time to get to my feet before a gust of wind slammed into me, and suddenly Superman was standing right in front of me. He wasn't hovering above now—he was face to face, and he looked furious.

"What have you done?" His voice was low but dangerous, each word dripping with restrained anger. "Do you realize what you've just done? You levelled an entire city block! People live here! People work here!"

I stumbled backwards, barely able to think straight after the crash. The heat of reentry still radiated from my skin, and my body—naked and grey like Bizarro's—felt alien. I tried to speak, but the words stuck in my throat. "I didn't… I didn't mean to—"

"Look around!" Superman barked, cutting me off. He gestured wildly at the destruction. Buildings lay in rubble, fires were raging from where cars had exploded, and people—innocent people—were either running in panic or trapped beneath debris. Screams filled the air, and my stomach twisted at the realization.

I hadn't even thought about it. I had caused even more destruction.

Superman's eyes burned into me, his gaze flicking down my body with a mixture of anger and disbelief. "And you—" His voice grew cold, almost disgusted. "You look just like Bizarro. Grey skin, no control, no clothes. You show up, cause more damage than he ever has, and I'm supposed to believe you're not here to destroy this city?"

I instinctively covered myself with my hands, embarrassment rising in me, but it was drowned out by the crushing guilt and confusion. "I'm not Bizarro!" I managed to blurt out, my voice shaky. "I… I can explain, I—"

"Explain what?" Superman stepped closer, his voice was hard as steel. "That you're another weapon? Another clone? Another experiment gone wrong? Because whatever you are, you just killed people. You didn't save anyone."

I felt like I'd been punched. My mind scrambled for something to say, but the reality of the devastation around me was overwhelming. He was right. I hadn't saved anyone. I had only made things worse.

"I didn't mean for this to happen," I said, my voice barely audible. "I don't know… I don't know what I'm doing."

Superman's jaw clenched, his eyes cold as they bore into mine. "That much is obvious. And until I figure out exactly what you are, you're not going anywhere."

He stared at me with a mix of suspicion and disgust, his eyes locking onto mine as if he were searching for some clue, some reason to trust me.

"I didn't mean for this to happen," I stammered, trying to steady my voice. "I was just trying to help—really. I don't know how to control this… these powers. I didn't even know I had them until—"

Superman raised a hand, cutting me off. His expression didn't soften. "Help?" he repeated, his voice sharp. "Do you call this helping?" He gestured again to the wreckage surrounding us—the rubble, the fires, the shattered buildings, and the people still fleeing in terror. "This isn't help. This is reckless destruction. People died because of your 'help.'"

His words cut deep, guilt gnawing at me as I stood there, exposed and powerless to explain. "I didn't know it would happen like this," I said, the desperation creeping into my voice. "I'm not like Bizarro—I'm not trying to hurt anyone. I just—"

Superman's jaw tightened, his frustration palpable. "Not like Bizarro? You look exactly like him. You drop out of the sky, destroy everything around you, and expect me to believe this was just an accident?" His voice was growing louder, the anger unmistakable.

I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could get another word out, a deafening roar cut through the air. My heart jumped in my chest as the ground trembled again. Superman's eyes darted to the side just as Bizarro charged, his face twisted in fury.

"SUPERMAN! You no ignore Bizarro!" Bizarro's voice echoed through the ruins as he crashed into Superman with a force that shook the entire block. I stumbled backwards, barely managing to keep my footing as the two collided.

Superman was forced backwards, digging his heels into the ground to stop Bizarro's onslaught. "We're not done here!" he shouted over his shoulder at me, his voice filled with frustration. "Stay out of this!"

But Bizarro had no intention of giving Superman any breathing room. He swung wildly, landing a punch that sent Superman skidding across the street, creating a trench in the already destroyed asphalt as he braced himself.

"Bizarro no let bad Superman hurt!" Bizarro bellowed, his fists slamming into the ground as he advanced.

I watched helplessly, feeling the weight of my mistakes crash down on me. I wanted to help, to do something—anything—but every attempt I made only seemed to make things worse. I wasn't ready for this.

My eyes scanned the destruction, searching for a way to be useful—something I could fix. Across the rubble, I saw movement. A small figure—no older than seven or eight—was struggling to lift a chunk of concrete, desperately trying to free someone pinned beneath it.

A man, likely the kid's dad, was trapped under the debris, his leg caught beneath the wreckage. He groaned in pain, barely conscious, while the child sobbed, pulling at the slab with all the strength they could muster, but it wouldn't budge.

Panic gripped me again, but this time, it wasn't about my own mistakes. It was about the lives I could still save.

I glanced at Superman and Bizarro, still trading blows in the distance, their fight too far gone to notice the scene unfolding nearby. Without thinking, I willed my body into motion, ignoring the aching protests in my muscles. This time, I had to do something right.

I sprinted toward the child, my heart pounding as I closed the distance. The kid's tear-streaked face looked up at me, their small hands trying desperately to lift the slab of concrete that pinned their dad to the ground.

I knelt beside them, panic flooding my mind. I placed my hands under the concrete, but when I tried to lift it, something felt off. I couldn't feel the weight. I had no sense of how much pressure I was applying, and that terrified me. One wrong move, and I could crush the man beneath it.

But I had to help. I had to figure this out.

"Step back," I said gently to the child, motioning them away. They nodded, wiping their tears as they backed up, trusting me despite my uncertainty.

Taking a deep breath, I focused. I didn't need to rip the slab off; I needed to be careful, controlled. Slowly, I applied just enough pressure, lifting the edge of the slab little by little. My muscles barely registered the effort, but I moved with extreme caution. I could see the man's leg, caught but not crushed, and I carefully shifted the concrete away just enough for him to pull free.

The child rushed forward, hugging their dad as he groaned and reached for his leg. He was injured, but he was alive.

I stood there for a second, barely able to believe I had done it. I hadn't destroyed anything. I hadn't hurt anyone. I had controlled it.

But I wasn't done.

That's when I noticed the faintest sound—muffled cries coming from somewhere deeper in the wreckage. My ears twitched, and I focused, using my newly enhanced super hearing. I tuned out the battle between Superman and Bizarro in the distance, zeroing in on the sound. Another group of survivors was trapped beneath a collapsed wall about fifty feet away.

Without wasting time, I ran toward the source of the sound. When I reached the wall, I could hear them clearly now—there were at least three people underneath, their voices filled with fear. They didn't have long.

I placed my hands against the debris, taking another steadying breath. I focused on lifting—not fast, not hard, but just enough to shift the heavy wall without causing it to collapse. Slowly, I applied pressure, feeling the wall shift in my grasp. I didn't yank or tear; I simply lifted it with careful precision.

I heard gasps from beneath as I freed the survivors. The weight of the wall barely registered to me, but the control I needed did. I gently lowered the wall to the side, revealing the frightened faces of those I had just saved.

I offered a quick nod to reassure them before I moved on.

Again, my hearing picked up more voices—farther away this time. I tuned out everything else—the chaos, the destruction, even Superman's shouts—and focused. The cries for help were faint, but they were there.

I pushed forward, searching the wreckage, using my hearing to pinpoint the trapped and injured. Each time I reached someone, I slowed down, carefully lifting debris, controlling my strength with a precision that surprised me. It was strange, learning how to manage something so powerful, but with every rescue, I felt myself gaining confidence.

I wasn't a hero. But at least I wasn't the bad guy.