Clark found himself nodding slowly as Ben's words settled into his consciousness like seeds taking root in fertile soil. The philosophical framework his friend had provided felt both liberating and terrifying in its stark simplicity.
Perhaps humanity needed more than just a gentle savior, they needed someone willing to establish boundaries, to demonstrate that kindness shouldn't be mistaken for weakness. A family couldn't thrive with only a nurturing mother; sometimes it required a firm father figure to provide structure and consequence.
The moral complexity of his situation weighed heavily on Clark's enhanced senses. His superhuman hearing made him acutely aware of the world's constant suffering, thousands of crimes occurring simultaneously, countless people crying out for help he couldn't possibly provide. The cacophony of global anguish was a persistent reminder of his limitations despite his godlike abilities.
"I struggle with the right to choose who lives and who dies," Clark admitted, his voice heavy with the burden of space responsibility. "When I can only save some people, what gives me the authority to decide who deserves rescue?"
"You have that right because without you, they'd all die anyway," Ben replied with characteristic directness. "You're not choosing who dies, you're choosing who gets to live. There's a fundamental difference."
Ben's pragmatic worldview cut through Clark's philosophical anguish like a laser through fog. "Anyone who questions your right to choose who lives should probably consider whether you also have the right to choose who dies."
The implicit threat wasn't directed at innocents, but at those who would dare to criticize the very person keeping civilization from collapse. From Ben's perspective, Clark's moral anguish was almost incomprehensible, save whoever you want to save, and let critics worry about surviving your heat vision if they have complaints.
Of course, Ben understood the deeper source of Clark's distress. This wasn't really about external moral judgment, it was about Clark's own perfectionist expectations creating crushing guilt over his inability to achieve impossible standards. Like Peter Parker, Clark's greatest enemy was often his own conscience.
"If I had to choose," Ben continued, "I'd prioritize the people I care about. That's not selfishness, it's human nature."
The admission revealed something important about Ben's moral framework. He wasn't evil, but neither was he bound by the selfless martyr complex that plagued many heroes. He'd established the Plumbers, fought space threats, and upheld justice across multiple universes, but he refused to sacrifice himself on the altar of abstract moral purity.
Clark absorbed this wisdom with visible relief, as though someone had finally given him permission to be imperfect.
"Here's a practical solution," Ben added, noting Clark's heavy expression. "Don't let these situations happen in the first place."
"If you feel overwhelmed by global disasters, build a team. Recruit other heroes to share the workload. If you're worried about threats to your loved ones, maintain your secret identity and eliminate problems at their source."
"Being merciful to your enemies is just stupidity with extra steps."
"A superhero team?" Clark's eyes brightened with genuine excitement for the first time in their conversation.
The concept resonated deeply with his experiences of isolation and alienation. Throughout his life, he'd felt like the only person carrying impossible burdens, hiding extraordinary abilities while yearning for understanding. Surely other enhanced individuals faced similar struggles, fear of their own power, confusion about their purpose, loneliness born of fundamental difference from those around them.
"What would be a good name for such a team?" Clark asked, his enthusiasm building as possibilities multiplied in his imagination.
"In my universe, I founded the Plumbers organization," Ben replied, though his attention was clearly wandering toward other concerns. His eyes had taken on the characteristic expression of someone mentally organizing complex logistics. "You could call yours the Justice League or something equally dramatic..."
Ben's casual dismissal of the naming process reflected his broader attitude toward this universe's problems. With Superman active and engaged, catastrophic threats would be manageable. If things went completely sideways, DC's traditional solution was always available, universal reboot and try again.
"Actually, let's call it the Plumbers too," Clark decided after brief consideration.
The Justice League sounded impressive, but also somewhat pretentious, like they were presuming to define justice for everyone else. Besides, Ben had done more for him in a few days than anyone else in twenty-three years of life. The man had prevented a catastrophic war with Zod's forces, enabled Clark's mastery of his abilities, and even provided hope for Krypton's restoration. Calling his organization by the same name felt like appropriate honor.
"Wait, what?" Ben's expression shifted to something approaching alarm.
This wasn't part of his plan. If Clark's team became the Plumbers, what happened to the Justice League's canonical role in DC continuity? Would Batman still develop his trademark paranoia about superpowered allies? Would the traditional team dynamics still emerge?
Then again, names were ultimately just labels. Whether they called themselves the Justice League, the Avengers, the Justice Gang or the Plumbers, the same individuals would likely gravitate toward each other and face similar challenges. Batman would still be Batman, Wonder Woman would still embody classical heroism, and the Flash would still struggle with the moral implications of his power.
"Since you're planning to use the Plumbers name, I need to explain our organizational principles," Ben said with sudden seriousness, his expression shifting to something that might have been used for addressing funeral arrangements.
The Plumbers represented Ben's largest organizational legacy, Created to honor the universe where the Omnitrix originated from and expanded across multiple universes. He had no intention of allowing that reputation to be damaged by poor management or ethical compromise.
What followed was a comprehensive briefing on Plumber operational procedures, ethical guidelines, and chain of command structure. To Clark, these seemed like basic common sense, help people, minimize collateral damage, respect civilian authority when possible, don't abuse your position for personal gain.
But Ben's real audience wasn't the earnest farm boy from Kansas. These rules were being established for future members who might have more complex moral frameworks, individuals like Bruce Wayne, whose paranoid brilliance could be either asset or liability depending on how it was channeled.
The Dark Knight alone possessed enough contingency planning to account for eight hundred possible scenarios, while Superman's trusting nature left him vulnerable to at least half that many. Getting them to work together effectively would require clear organizational structure and explicit behavioral expectations.
Ben concluded the briefing by officially designating Clark as the first Sheriff of the DC universe's Plumber branch, a rank that carried significant authority while acknowledging his relative inexperience with space-scale operations.
As their conversation wound down, Clark's thoughts turned toward home and the difficult conversations that awaited him there. The familiar landscape of Kansas spread below him as he flew, endless fields of corn creating geometric patterns across the rolling countryside.
Martha would be waiting, probably worried sick about his prolonged absence. The family dog had already detected his approach, racing across the farmyard with tail spinning like a helicopter rotor. Through the kitchen window, he could see his adoptive mother's face light up with relief and joy.
"Clark! Look at you, my boy!" Martha called out, her weathered features creasing into a smile that banished years of accumulated worry. "You're finally home."
"My child, you're home."
The simple words carried weight that transcended their literal meaning, acceptance, belonging, unconditional love that had shaped him into the man he'd become. Soon he would tell her everything: his alien heritage, his space responsibilities, the team he planned to build and the future he intended to create.
But for now, it was enough to be Martha Kent's son, returned safe from a journey that had changed everything.
Meanwhile, in the crushing depths of Earth's most ancient ocean, Ben marveled at the architectural wonders surrounding him. Atlantis spread before his enhanced vision like something from classical mythology, soaring spires that seemed to grow from living coral, streets that flowed like crystallized water, technology that blended seamlessly with the natural beauty of the deep ocean.
The kingdom of philosophers and poets, Ben thought with genuine appreciation. The nation of the sea.
Golden-armored figures moved through the water with fluid grace, their enhanced physiology perfectly adapted to the crushing pressure and alien environment. Advanced technology hummed with power that had no equivalent on the surface world, while architectural principles created beauty that human engineering couldn't approach.
But it was his own reflection in a polished coral surface that brought the biggest smile to Ben's face.
Ripjaws stared back at him, his Piscciss Volann transformation perfectly suited for aquatic environments, with gills that extracted oxygen directly from seawater and hydrodynamic design that made him indistinguishable from Atlantis's native population.
"You know what?" Ben said to himself, his voice carrying perfectly through the dense medium. "I've actually been Atlantean all along."
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