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POV: 3rd person
Aleksei Sytsevich the Rhino restrained and cuffed is put in the back of a armored police van and driven away his mechanical suit is left behind.
A heavy duty truck is ready to take it.
How the hell are we supposed to move this thing? One officer asks looking up at the huge suit of armor.
Another near by shrugs thier shoulders
The groan of metal on metal made two NYPD officers step back fast, hands twitching toward their holsters. The battered husk of Rhino's mech-suit shifted, the steel frame screeching like it might come alive again.
"Sorry—didn't mean to scare you," a calm voice said.
Superman emerged from behind the wreckage, cape trailing in the city wind. With casual strength, he bent down, got his hands under the armor, and lifted. The entire suit—several tons of twisted steel and scorched plating—rose above his head as though it were nothing more than a toolbox.
The officers froze. Firefighters stopped mid-step. EMTs, covered in dust, stared wide-eyed.
Superman carried the wreckage over to the flatbed waiting at the curb. Camera shutters snapped like machine gun fire, and news crews leaned over their barricades to capture every angle. He set the mech-suit down carefully on the bed. The driver, still dumbfounded, gave Superman a shaky thumbs up. Superman smiled faintly, returning the gesture before stepping back and letting the truck roll away.
He didn't leave.
Much to the surprise of every cop, firefighter, and reporter, Superman stayed. He lifted concrete slabs off crushed cars, pulled mangled streetlights out of the road, and stacked debris into waiting containers with thunderous booms. Every move was careful, measured, his strength balanced with precision.
People shouted for him from behind barricades. Questions flew from every direction—Who are you? Where are you from? Why are you here?—but Superman answered calmly when he could, his voice steady even amid the chaos.
For a little while, the panic in New York quieted.
At last, he stopped, standing in the middle of a street littered with shattered glass and twisted metal. He looked around. The emergency crews had taken over. People were safe. It was enough—for now.
With a slow breath, Superman crouched, then shot upward in a blur of red and blue, leaving only gasps and silence in his wake.
---
The screen flickers to life. A sharply dressed anchor sits behind a desk, the skyline of Manhattan glowing behind him. The chyron reads: "BANK HEIST OR WARZONE? SUPERMAN VS. RHINO."
"Good evening. What began as a brazen bank robbery in downtown Manhattan turned into something much larger—almost like a battlefield. Not between police and criminals, but between a masked hero and a mechanical giant."
Images roll across the screen: grainy phone footage, still photos from helicopters, shaky camera recordings.
"Aleksei Sytsevich better known to organized crime as the 'The Rhino' a Russian mercenary and mafia enforcer, led a broad daylight heist earlier today. Witnesses say his armored exosuit tore into the bank vault with brute force, ripping open the steel doors as if they were paper."
Video plays: the massive Rhino suit plowing through the bank's façade, debris raining down, men in black masks and duffel bags flooding in behind him. Gunshots echo faintly in the background.
"New York police responded quickly, securing the perimeter and evacuating civilians. But despite their bravery, they had no way to contain a mechanical threat of this scale. Under heavy fire, our officers were saved by an unexpected arrival by the mysterious figure only known, for now, as Superman."
The screen shifts: phone footage of a blur of red and blue darting past gunmen. In slowed replay, Superman drops masked thugs at the feet of NYPD officers, then rises calmly into the air with crushed gatling guns in each hand.
"Dozens of videos, from all angles, now circulate online. They show the figure floating above the chaos before confronting Sytsevich directly. What followed… was nothing short of extraordinary."
Clips run rapid-fire: Superman landing in front of Rhino, the ground cracking beneath them. A charging clash, concrete splintering from the shockwave. Superman forcing back the mechanized horn. Aleksei laughing as electricity arcs across Superman's body. Then Superman ripping wires and parts free from the mech, ending the fight abruptly.
"Though the battle looked apocalyptic, it lasted less than five minutes. Several officers and bystanders were injured during the confrontation, many suffering from the sonic weapons deployed by Rhino's suit. Miraculously, authorities report no fatalities."
The anchor reappears, shuffling his notes with a grave look.
"The question remains who is Superman? A savior? A vigilante? Or something else entirely? Tonight, New York has more questions than answers."
The feed cuts to talking heads analysts, politicians, eyewitnesses all speaking over one another as the scene fades.
Norman Osborn, hands folded neatly behind his back, stands in the glow of the monitors. His reflection glares back at him from the glass.
"As you can see, Osborn, the test was not without merit. Superman's heightened senses can be overwhelmed debilitated, even by intense sonic output.
Whether the effect causes lasting damage… that, I cannot yet say. But it did bring him to his knees." Octavius said his body hidden in the shadows of the dark laboratory.
Osborn's sharp eyes narrow as the footage repeats in slow motion, Superman writhing in pain.
"Yes… I can secure access to the military's prototype cannons. Much more powerful than that crude rig Sytsevich deployed. We'll refine the design make it… subtler," Osborn said coldly.
At his words, a holographic image flares to life beside him: a bulky vehicle-mounted sonic cannon, its maw shaped like a massive speaker. The soundwave animation pulses outward from its core.
Octavius adjusting his glasses, tone measured "That would be prudent. But if you desire versatility, perhaps a more portable option is worth considering. Something handheld. Something… specialized."
With a flick of his hand, Octavius replaces the cannon hologram. In its place appears a figure in a red-and-gold armored suit, his arms encased in gauntlets bristling with emitters and amplifiers. His name and file details scroll above him:
Herman Schultz – Alias: "The Shocker."
Expertise: Sonic Weaponry, Advanced Engineering, Safe-Cracking.
"Herman Schultz. The Shocker. An apt name and his criminal record is extensive a useful pawn."
He studies the hologram, intrigued.
"Very well. Send Hammerhead to recruit him. But… this shocker... he won't stand a chance against Superman alone."
Octavius dips his head knowingly, already prepared.
"Of course not. Which is why I suggest… more hired help."
The room darkens as the hologram expands. One by one, new figures flicker into view: silhouettes of mercenaries, assassins, and criminals. Each projection brings with it a profile of weapons, specialties, and crimes. A rogues' gallery in waiting.
Osborn's reflection in the glass now looks less like a businessman and more like a predator hungry and patient. His grin widens.
"Yes… let's build a team."
The camera lingers on the wall of holographic villains before the screen cuts to black.
---
Nick Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D., stood at the head of the dimly lit briefing room. Holographic screens floated around him, replaying the chaos of Superman's fight with the Rhino. Every angle—news footage, civilian phones, even satellite feeds—was displayed.
"So… what's your assessment?" Fury asked, his tone flat, unreadable.
Natasha Romanoff spoke first, arms crossed as her sharp emerald eyes scanned the data.
"He's holding back. So much so that I don't think our eggheads can even calculate his true strength. Whatever the numbers are—they're wrong."
Clint Barton leaned back in his chair, boots propped lazily on the table, though his eyes stayed locked on the screens.
"Flyboy lost control. Right… here."
He tapped a control, freezing the frame where Superman gripped Rhino's electrified horn. Then, moving it frame by frame, Clint showed the moment Superman's fist curled—then opened into a shove instead.
"Changed a knockout punch into a push in less than two seconds," Agent Phil Coulson observed, leaning forward with interest. The screen advanced, showing the palm strike leaving a hand-shaped crater in Rhino's armored hide.
Fury's one eye narrowed. "Which means he has trouble controlling his strength. Possibly his other abilities." His tone was neutral, almost cold.
"But he has self-control," Coulson countered quickly. "He realized mid-strike it was too much. Even while being electrocuted, he pulled back. That shows training… or insane willpower."
Natasha shook her head slightly. "If I had to guess, it's the latter. Look at his movement—raw power, no refinement. He hasn't had formal combat training. At least not martial arts."
"So…" Clint smirked faintly, though the tension in his voice betrayed him. "We've got an unknown with godlike power, no clear limits, and maybe the right intentions. Sound about right, boss?"
Fury didn't answer immediately. He just stared at the hovering images of Superman one of him pulling people from wreckage, another of him standing, cape rippling, against the burning skyline. Finally, he nodded once.
"Time we make contact. Who's available?"
The silence hung for a moment before Natasha spoke "I suggest Barbara Morse. Codename: Mockingbird."
A hologram shimmered to life beside Superman's footage a young blonde woman in a sleek black-and-white S.H.I.E.L.D. uniform.
"Bobbi?" Clint frowned, his posture shifting from lazy to cautious. "She's good, but…" He trailed off, hesitant.
"She's ready," Natasha said firmly. "And she's the right choice for first contact. Trust me."
Clint's eyes flicked to Coulson, who gave a small nod. Clint exhaled through his nose, then nodded as well.
Fury studied them all for a moment, weighing their words in silence. Then his gaze shifted to the floating projection of Mockingbird.
"Fine," he said at last. "She makes contact. Let's see how the Man of Tomorrow handles the world of today."
The hologram of Superman flickered beside Mockingbird's, two figures poised now destined to meet.
---
POV: Clark Kent
I landed softly on the fire escape, boots rattling the metal. The city wind tugged at my cape as I crouched low and slipped the window open. One step, and I was back inside my apartment, shutting the world out behind me.
Finally.
I let out a long breath, shoulders sagging. The fight had taken more out of me than I wanted to admit.
Not the electricity, not even the weight of Rhino's suit no, what left me tired was holding back. Always holding back. Every punch, every move, measured, controlled. Sometimes I felt more exhausted from restraint than from the fight itself.
It just left me mentality drain i cant help but wonder how the original super did it all the time.
"A world made of cardboard..." I muttered under my breath.
All I wanted was to pull off the cape, sink into my chair, and forget about it for a while.
Knock-knock-knock.
I froze mid-step, cape still on my shoulders.
"Of course," I muttered.
In a blur, I had the cape folded, the suit hidden, and jeans with a plain T-shirt on. By the time I reached the door, I looked like nothing more than a tired teenager.
I pulled it open and blinked.
A girl stood there, about my age, with auburn hair tucked neatly behind one ear and bright eyes that seemed to size me up instantly. She smiled.
"Hi! You must be Clark Kent. I'm Lisa Lasalle. Just moved in down the hall."
For a second, I just stared. Then I cleared my throat. "Uh... hi. Yeah, that's me. Welcome to the building."
She tilted her head, friendly but curious. "I heard you go to Midtown High? I'm transferring there for a few weeks while I'm in town. Thought it might be nice to know someone before I start."
"Yeah, I go there," I said, trying to sound casual even though I still felt like I'd been caught off guard. "I could walk with you tomorrow, show you around. If you'd like."
Her grin widened, playful. "Perfect. Sounds like a date."
My brain short-circuited. "A... uh... date? I didn't—"
But she was already turning, waving as she headed back down the hall. "See you in the morning, Clark."
The door shut quietly, leaving me frozen in place, staring after her.
I rubbed the back of my neck, still flustered. "What… just happened?"