Beyond the Crisis

You ever have one of those days where everything seems normal, and then, out of nowhere, your entire world flips upside down? No? Just me? Cool, cool.

Let me tell you a little something about myself. I'm just your average, nerdy, Marvel-loving guy. And when I say Marvel-loving, I mean I had opinions. You know the type—the guy who'd get into heated arguments about why Iron Man could totally beat Batman in a fight (and yeah, he could, don't @ me). And DC? Pshh, don't even get me started. Gods walking around acting all high and mighty. Where's the fun in that? Give me Peter Parker's broken life over Superman's invincibility any day.

So there I was, chilling with my friends, and the usual argument broke out. You know the one—Marvel vs. DC.

"Dude, how can you not see that Batman's a better character than Iron Man?" Josh leaned forward, practically foaming at the mouth like this was the argument to end all arguments.

I sighed, rubbing my temples like I was the only sane person in a room full of lunatics. "Bro, Batman's just a dude with too much money and not enough therapy. Iron Man? Now that's a guy with layers. Genius, billionaire, playboy, philanthropist. Plus, you know, he made a super suit in a cave. Out of scraps. Batman's just running around with a utility belt full of bat-shaped gadgets like some emo trick-or-treater."

Josh glared at me like I'd insulted his entire family. "At least Batman doesn't need a suit to be a hero."

"Yeah, well, Iron Man doesn't sulk on rooftops in the rain for three hours trying to figure out why he's sad."

That got a snort out of Kyle. Always the peacemaker, he decided to jump in with his usual "voice of reason" nonsense. "Both have their merits, guys. But what about Superman? He's a symbol, you know? He's hope."

I rolled my eyes so hard I thought they might get stuck. "Hope? More like 'hopelessly boring.' Seriously, what's the deal with Superman? He's got every power under the sun and somehow manages to still have the personality of soggy bread. You know what's interesting? Characters who actually have problems. Relatable problems. Superman's biggest problem is 'Oh no, I might've hugged Lois too hard.' Please. Marvel's heroes actually struggle."

Josh's face lit up like he'd just thought of the perfect counterpoint. "You can't compare Superman to Spider-Man or Iron Man. He's more than just a hero. He's a symbol. Like... an ideal we can all aspire to!"

I scoffed, leaning back in my chair. "Yeah, well, maybe I'd be more inspired if he didn't solve every problem by punching it into the sun. Where's the drama, man? Where's the conflict? Superman's just too... easy."

The room went quiet for a second. I figured I'd won that round—like always—when suddenly my head started to feel fuzzy, like someone was turning the volume down on the world. Weird buzzing, like static, filled my ears. I blinked, trying to shake it off.

"You okay, dude?" Kyle asked, his voice sounding like it was coming from the bottom of a well.

"Yeah, I—" But before I could finish, the whole world tilted, and next thing I knew, everything went dark.

When I came to, the first thing I noticed was... chickens. Yeah, chickens. And not like, city-chickens or anything (do those even exist?), but full-on barnyard chickens. My head was spinning, my body felt... wrong. Smaller. Like someone had shoved me into a too-tight suit, but not the cool kind with web-shooters.

I blinked, trying to get my bearings. I was lying in a crib. An actual crib. The kind they put babies in.

What the—?

I tried to sit up, but my limbs didn't cooperate. My hands—if you could even call them that—were tiny, pudgy little fists that didn't seem to want to obey basic commands. Panic surged in my chest, and I flailed helplessly.

That's when two blurry shapes hovered above me. A man and a woman, their voices warm and soft, but their faces all kinds of wrong. Way too big.

"There's our little guy," the man said, smiling like I wasn't having a full-on existential crisis in his crib.

"Oh, sweetie," the woman cooed, scooping me up and holding me against her chest. "You gave us such a scare!"

Sweetie? Scare? Oh no. No, no, no. This was not happening. I wasn't in my room. I wasn't even in my body. I was a baby. A full-blown, drooling, helpless baby.

What cosmic joke had I fallen into?

Over the next few months, I tried not to lose my mind completely, but it was tough. I had all my old memories, all my old thoughts, but none of the perks of being, you know, me. I had to learn how to crawl, to talk, and eventually, to walk again. Spoiler alert: it sucked. A lot. It was like someone had hit the reset button on my life, and now I was stuck living in the world's most boring tutorial mode.

And let me tell you, there's nothing more humiliating than trying to speak and only managing to babble like a baby, while everyone around you thinks it's adorable.

The couple who took care of me—Pa and Ma, as they liked to be called—were good people. They seemed to genuinely love me, which made this whole experience slightly less terrifying. But the nagging question remained: where the heck was I?

The answer came about a year later, on a sunny afternoon when we had visitors. Pa opened the door, and in walked a couple with a baby of their own. Nothing too unusual—farm life, neighbors visiting and all that—but then Pa said the words that sent my brain into overdrive.

"Jonathan! Martha! Good to see you again!" Pa shook the man's hand, then gestured toward the woman holding their baby. "And this must be your little one."

My ears perked up, and I sat up straighter (well, as straight as a one-year-old could sit). The man smiled warmly. "Yep, this is our boy. Say hi to Clark."

I froze. My brain started doing gymnastics, trying to connect the dots, but my disbelief was screaming louder. Clark. As in... Clark Kent? The Kents? Jonathan and Martha Kent?

No. It couldn't be. This had to be some cosmic joke. A cruel, cruel prank played by the universe itself. I mean, what were the odds that I'd end up living next door to a kid named Clark whose parents were Jonathan and Martha? Was I seriously supposed to believe this was a coincidence?

But the more I thought about it, the clearer it became. Jonathan and Martha... on a farm... with a son named Clark. That was Superman's origin story. It all fit together like the pieces of a weird, twisted puzzle.

So here I was, sitting in my own house, trying not to freak out while I stared at the tiny face of baby Clark Kent. The future Superman. The actual Man of Steel... currently drooling on his mother's shoulder.

I couldn't decide if this was some kind of fever dream or if I had really been dumped into the DC Universe. Either way, I was stuck here now, with front-row seats to the life of the guy I'd spent years calling "boring."

And here's the kicker: I had no idea what was going to happen next.

Days passed, and I couldn't stop obsessing over it. I mean, how could I? I'd been plopped into a fictional world, one I never thought much of, and now I had to figure out how to live in it. Worse still, I had to grow up knowing that my neighbor was going to become the freaking Man of Steel.

Part of me was like, "Oh, awesome! I'm in a world with superheroes." But then the other part of me remembered that the DC Universe wasn't exactly the safest place to live. Alien invasions, metahuman battles, and the occasional planet-threatening crisis were all par for the course here. Yeah, fun times ahead.