3

The morning sun cast a golden hue upon the sprawling oil rig, its metallic structure a stark contrast against the vastness of the ocean stretching endlessly in all directions. The hum of machinery and the shuffle of workers filled the air, creating a symphony of industry.

Mack, a burly man with a grizzled beard, stood on the rig's edge, his eyes squinting against the glaring sun. "Rise and shine, boys! Another day in the goddamn paradise," he roared, his voice cutting through the clatter of tools and the distant crashing waves.

Joe, a wiry mechanic with oil-stained overalls, was hunched over a panel, trying to coax life back into a rebellious piece of equipment. "This piece of junk's on its last legs, Mack. We need a new one," he grumbled, wiping sweat from his brow.

Mia, a no-nonsense safety officer with a meticulous eye, surveyed the scene with an air of authority. "You fix it, Joe, or we'll be sending your resume to the unemployment line."

As the routine of the rig played out, the workers moved like cogs in a well-oiled machine. Yet, beneath the surface, tensions simmered. The oil rig, a relentless beast of labor, demanded constant attention, and any hiccup threatened disaster.

Down below, a machine groaned, a metal beast in need of taming. Joe cursed under his breath, a litany of colorful language that only the rig could provoke. The malfunction sent a shudder through the platform, setting off a chain reaction like a live wire sparking.

"Son of a—!" Joe's expletive was drowned out by alarms blaring, a cacophony that echoed the urgency of the situation. The once-ordered chaos of the rig devolved into pandemonium as workers scrambled for safety.

Amid the chaos, the radio crackled to life with a desperate plea, "Mayday! Mayday! We got folks trapped down here!"

Back on land, in a nondescript living room, Larry slouched on the sofa, boredom etched on his face. The remote control danced between his fingers as he channel-surfed with a lackadaisical air. Helsa, his nanny, strolled into the room, her discerning eyes sizing up the situation.

"Larry, three hours on that sofa? I'm starting to think it's grown attached to you. How 'bout we shake things up? Arcade, maybe?" Helsa suggested, her tone a blend of playful and encouraging.

Larry's eyes brightened at the prospect. "Arcade? Yeah, that sounds kind of cool!"

Just as the spark of excitement ignited, Larry's nimble fingers accidentally landed on a news channel. The TV screen flashed images of the oil rig, flames licking the sky.

News Reporter: "Breaking news! An oil rig disaster has left workers trapped below. Emergency services are on their way, but time is running out."

The room fell silent as Larry's expression shifted from joy to somber concern.

"Larry, what are you doing?"

"There are people in trouble, Helsa. I gotta do something about this," Larry declared, his boredom evaporating like morning dew.

In a swift move, Larry shed his disinterest and donned his makeshift hero costume—a blue denim jacket with a fur collar, a black shirt, blue jeans, and white-blue rubber shoes.

"Not without me, you're not," Helsa said, changing her clothes to a nun-like uniform with a twinkle in her eye. This was the garb that a priestess of the goat mother was required to wear.

Larry, attempting to assert independence, protested, "Helsa, I got this. No need for you to come along."

Helsa countered with a teasing smile. "Oh, really? Do you even remember where the rig is?"

Larry's embarrassment flushed across his face. "Um, well, not exactly."

Undeterred, Helsa scooped up Larry on a piggyback ride, despite his protests. "Guess we're in this together, superhero."

"Hey, put me down!"

"nope."

And with that, they vanished, leaving behind the TV broadcasting the unfolding disaster on the oil rig, a stark reminder of the impending challenge awaiting the unlikely duo.

As they reappeared near the oil rig, Larry, still perched on Helsa's back, took in the chaotic scene. The once-orderly platform now resembled a battleground, with flames dancing amidst the metallic structures like vengeful spirits.

"Whoa, this is way more serious than I thought," Larry muttered, his youthful exuberance replaced by a newfound gravity.

Helsa, maintaining her calm demeanor, surveyed the situation.

The oil rig was a blazing inferno. The fire had started spreading faster with a leak in one of the pipes and had quickly spread to the rest of the structure. The flames were so hot that they melted the metal and ignited the oil. The smoke was thick and black, choking the air and blocking the sun.

The workers on the rig had no chance of escape. The helicopters and boats that had tried to rescue them had been driven back by the heat and the explosions. The only safe zones were the emergency shelters, but they were running out of oxygen and water. The workers knew they were doomed. Some of them had called their families and said their goodbyes. Some of them had prayed to God and asked for forgiveness. Some of them had cried, screamed, and cursed.

The fire raged on, consuming the oil and the rig. The sea around it was boiling and bubbling, killing the fish and the birds. The oil spilled into the water, creating a slick that covered the surface. The fire burned the oil, creating a ring of fire that surrounded the rig.

The scene was a nightmare. hell on earth. A disaster beyond measure. There was no hope. There was no miracle. There was only fire and death.

The heat was a living entity, wrapping around Larry like a demonic shroud. It was an oppressive force, a wall of fire that threatened to consume everything in its path. But Larry was not afraid. He had Helsa and he can handle it forever.

"Larry." Helsa's voice was calm and steady amidst the chaos. "Remember, you are safe."

Larry smirked, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Safe? Helsa, when have I ever been in danger in the first place?"

Helsa smiled, her ancient eyes softening. "Just remember, Larry, confidence is good; overconfidence can be dangerous."

With that, she turned and walked into the fire. Her movements were graceful, almost ethereal, but there was an eerie quality to her that sent shivers down Larry's spine. The flames seemed to recoil from her, parting to create a path. It was as if they recognized her otherworldly nature and feared it.

As she moved, a haunting melody filled the air. It was 'Baba Yaga', a tune that seemed to resonate with the very fabric of reality. Larry watched her, a sense of awe filling him. This was Helsa, his caretaker and protector. And she trusted him.

Inside the safe zone, the trapped workers huddled together. Their oxygen was running low, and their hope was dwindling with each passing second. Then they heard it. Three knocks echo through the sealed door. Their hearts pounded in their chests as the door was torn open.

"What's that?" one of them gasped, his voice hoarse from smoke inhalation.

"Is it helping?" another ventured, hope flickering in his eyes.

But what they saw... It was indescribable. A sense of dread filled them, a terror so profound it threatened to consume them. But then the figure stepped forward, revealing herself to be Helsa. Her voice was soothing, a balm to their fear. "It's alright," she said, offering them aid. "Follow me."

And so they did, following Helsa out of the inferno and into safety. As they emerged, they saw Larry standing unharmed amidst the chaos. His eyes met Helsa's, a silent communication passing between them. She had done her part. Now it was his turn.

Larry took a deep breath, channeling the power of 'division.' He closed his eyes, picturing molecules and atoms slowly breaking apart in his mind's eye. His small hands began to move in a deliberate dance, a conductor orchestrating a symphony that only he could hear. The flames hesitated, as if the very fabric of their existence was being questioned.

One worker, squinting through the smoke, muttered to his colleague, "Is that... Super-kid?"

The colleague, squinting at the unfolding drama, nodded. "Yeah, looks like him."

"Yeah, the youngest superhero on the block. Guess we're getting a front-row seat to his gig," the other replied, awe and disbelief evident in his voice.

His companion nodded, awe and disbelief mingling on his face. "I heard about this kid, the youngest superhero on the block. Guess we're getting a front-row seat to his gig. If anyone can save us, it's got to be him."

News crews circled overhead, capturing the surreal scene below. A reporter's voice crackled through the airwaves: "Ladies and gentlemen, we are witnessing an unprecedented event. Super-kid, the youngest superhero known to us, is taking on the flames with powers we can only describe as extraordinary."

Down on the rig, a group of workers gathered, their eyes glued to Larry's spectacle. One worker, awestruck, muttered, "I heard he can manipulate matter or somethin'. Like, on a molecular level. That's insane!"

His colleague shook his head in disbelief. "Well, if he can do what they say he can, we might just get out of this mess alive."

As Larry continued his metaphysical ballet, using his powers to create a vacuum and smother the flames, murmurs spread among the onlookers. A reporter, gripping his microphone with intensity, narrated the unfolding drama: "Super-kid appears to be creating a vacuum, depriving the flames of oxygen and heat. It's as if he's rewriting the laws of physics right before our eyes."

A worker, staring wide-eyed at the spectacle, remarked to his companion, "Did you see that? He just shut down those flames like it was nothin'."

His friend nodded, a mix of admiration and disbelief on his face. "That kid might be our ticket out of here."

News crews transmitted live updates, capturing the moment when Larry, with a dramatic flourish, shifted his focus to the clouds. As rain poured down on the rig, extinguishing the last embers of the inferno, the reporters marveled at the sheer magnitude of Super Kid's abilities.

Another reporter, excitement in her voice, chimed in, "He's literally conducting the elements! Look at that, the flames are subsiding. It's like he's taming the fire itself!"

As Larry shifted his focus to the clouds, a collective gasp echoed among the trapped workers. One of them, wiping sweat from his forehead, muttered, "Did he just... control the weather?"

The news anchor's voice resonated through the airwaves: "Super-kid seems to be controlling the weather now. Rain is dousing the flames, cleaning the rig of oil and providing relief to the trapped workers."

Larry, undeterred, shifted his attention to the ruptured pipes. The workers, now witnessing the complexities of his powers, exchanged hushed conversations. "He's like a one-man rescue team," one worker remarked, "fixing everything like it's no big deal."

The news anchor's excitement echoed, "And now, Super-kid is using his powers to mend the damaged pipes. This 10-year-old prodigy is rewriting the rules of disaster response."

As Larry finished his intricate work, shrinking the oil spill to microscopic proportions, the rig fell into a stunned silence. Workers, reporters, rescuers, and viewers alike held their breath, awaiting the culmination of this extraordinary display.

With his work complete, Larry took a dramatic bow. The workers, reporters, rescuers, and viewers erupted into cheers, realizing that they were witnessing a feat beyond the realm of normal comprehension. Superkid, the youngest superhero, had emerged victorious against the chaos that had threatened to consume them all.

***

In the sleek conference room at Vought Tower, the Seven sat in front of a massive screen, broadcasting the chaotic events unfolding at the oil rig. Stan Edgar, the stoic face of Vought, observed the proceedings with an unreadable expression. The tension in the room was palpable.

Homelander, A-Train, Queen Maeve, The Deep, Starlight, Black Noir, and Translucent all fixed their eyes on the screen. The news report narrated the extraordinary feats of Super-kid, the youngest superhero, orchestrating nature itself to combat the disaster. The Seven, icons of heroism, watched in silence.

Stan Edgar's voice cut through the room like a blade. "Well, this is quite the spectacle, isn't it?" He leaned forward, his gaze unwavering. "Any thoughts, any insights, or are we all just going to sit here and enjoy the show?"

Homelander, always poised and confident, raised an eyebrow. "I don't see what the fuss is about. The kid's just a side act. We're the real deal."

Stan Edgar, unfazed, paused the video right when it focused on Super-Kid. He turned to the seven with a pointed look. "Anyone care to enlighten me on what's wrong with this picture?"

Silence hung in the room until The Deep, attempting to impress, spoke up. "That's Superkid."

Stan Edgar gave him a sarcastic nod. "Congratulations, Deep. You win the observant award. Now, care to tell me why a 10-year-old is the one responding to an incident like this?"

The confusion on the faces of the seven was evident, and Translucent finally voiced it. "What's wrong with that? The kid's got powers, apparently."

Stan Edgar leaned back, his stoic persona intact. "Rumors are spreading, and I'm sure you haven't heard them yet. So, I'll lay them out for you right here." He locked eyes with each member of the Seven. "People are starting to question why, with all our resources and the top heroes at our disposal, it was a child who responded to the incident, not one of you."

A-Train, Homelander, and Queen Maeve exchanged puzzled glances. Stan Edgar clarified, "Let me break it down for you. Some, like Translucent and Black Noir, might have an excuse—they can't just zip across the globe. But A-Train, Homelander, Queen Maeve—no excuse. The world is wondering why the so-called Guardians of humanity were nowhere to be found in a crisis. It's damaging our reputation, and by extension, Vought's."

The room fell into a heavy silence as the weight of Stan's words sank in. The Seven, icons of strength and heroism, were being questioned, their legitimacy hanging in the balance. The very foundation of their image was crumbling, and the reality that their actions—or lack thereof—had consequences was a bitter pill to swallow.

Stan Edgar's stern gaze remained fixed on the Seven as he delivered the cold reality. "Considering the damage this incident has done to our reputation, I've decided to suspend any and all contracts related to merchandise, movies, and the like."

The room filled with a chorus of disgruntled murmurs and discontented glances exchanged among the Seven. The notion of losing their lucrative deals did not sit well with the heroes.

Homelander, the embodiment of power and leadership, spoke up. "This is ridiculous, Stan. You can't just—"

But Stan cut him off with a stern look. "I can, and I just did. Remember, I'm your boss. You might want to keep that in mind."

The Deep added, "I've got bills to pay, you know? You can't just leave us hanging."

Homelander leaned forward. "This is unacceptable, Stan. We've done nothing wrong."

Stan raised an eyebrow. "Wrong or not, it's the reality we're facing, and if you want those contracts back, you'll have to do something about the mess you've created."

Homelander, while visibly fuming, could do nothing but listen as Stan continued, "If you want to reinstate those contracts, then focus on fixing your reputation. Right now, it's hanging by a thread, and if you're not careful, it'll be buried."

A-Train, ever concerned about his financial gains, couldn't hold back. "How are we supposed to make money in the meantime?"

Stan's response was blunt. "That's your problem. Until you earn back the people's trust, Vought won't be aiding you in any way or manner."

The Seven's shocked expressions painted a vivid picture of the gravity of their predicament. Without Vought's support, their image and income were in free fall.

A-train, unable to contain his frustration, yelled out, "This is insane! How are we supposed to—"

Stan's icy gaze silenced him. "It's your problem now. Fix it."

Frustration bubbled within the Deep. "How are we supposed to do that? Super-kid just stole our spotlight. We can't control what the kid does."

Stan's response was blunt. "Figure it out. You're the Seven, aren't you?"

With those final words, Stan Edgar left the room, leaving the Seven to grapple with the harsh reality of their situation.

Homelander, unable to contain his mounting anger, focused on the image of Super-Kid on the screen. His eyes glowed with an otherworldly intensity, and with a bellow of frustration, he released his laser vision. The beams of searing energy cut through the air, burning the television screen and shattering the silence in the room.

"Damn it!" Homelander roared, the intensity of his anger echoing off the walls. "A 10-year-old? Are you kidding me?!"

The remnants of the burning television flickered, casting an eerie glow on the infuriated Homelander. The Seven, now facing the daunting task of rebuilding their tarnished reputation without Vought's support, exchanged uneasy glances, realizing the magnitude of the challenge ahead.

"We're not going down because of some 10-year-old!"