"Mommy, what's happening? Why are those men walking around like that? Aren't they supposed to sit? They could get hurt…"
The little girl's innocent question made Catherine's heart twist.
Her daughter—barely six—clung to her arm, wide-eyed and confused as she looked down the aisle.
Catherine followed her gaze.
Four men.
Two near the cockpit door. Two moving slowly between the seats.
Their faces were tense. Their movements deliberate.
And in their hands—
box cutters.
Her breath hitched for a fraction of a second.
Then she forced herself to stay calm.
"It's okay, sweetheart… everything's going to be fine," she said softly, pulling her daughter into her arms.
The lie came out naturally.
Too naturally.
Catherine Grant—Cat, to the few people she trusted—had learned long ago that lies were often easier to say than the truth.
Especially the kind that sounded comforting.
Her fingers tightened slightly around her daughter as she held her close, resting her chin lightly over the girl's head.
Anna trusted her completely.
That trust hurt.
Because Cat knew exactly how convincing lies could be.
She had believed them once too.
Promises. Reassurances. Words that sounded warm… until they weren't.
Her expression didn't change, but her eyes hardened just a little.
Life had taught her quickly—too quickly—that no one came to save you.
Not family. Not promises. Not faith.
Only yourself.
And right now—
she had someone else to protect.
Her grip around Anna tightened.
She shifted slightly in her seat, positioning her daughter closer to the window, instinctively trying to shield her from the aisle.
Her mind raced.
Hijacking.
Weapons.
No resistance from the crew.
This wasn't going to end well.
She knew that much.
And that terrified her.
Not for herself—
but for the small girl in her arms.
I'm sorry… she whispered silently, pressing her lips gently against Anna's hair.
If she had taken a safer job… she had options. The Daily Planet in Metropolis. A quieter life. Something stable.
If she hadn't rushed into this opportunity in Hollywood…
if she had just stayed where she was—
maybe they wouldn't be here.
Maybe her daughter wouldn't be in danger.
But regrets didn't matter now.
Only survival did.
And Catherine Grant had no intention of letting her daughter die on this plane.
Thankfully, she had managed to divert some of the men's attention earlier with her acting and slip out a quick message to the authorities—short, precise, and as detailed as she could make it without being noticed.
Hopefully, someone took it seriously.
Although with every passing second, that hope grew thinner.
She was also aware that there wasn't much anyone could do once a plane was already in the air.
"Sweetie… why don't you look out the window for a bit?" she said gently, brushing Anna's blonde hair back with a soft, strained smile. "You wanted to see the clouds, didn't you?"
"Okay!" Anna replied, her mood lifting instantly as she leaned toward the window, pressing her face close to the glass.
Catherine swallowed hard.
Anna had been so excited for this trip. Her first time on a plane.
And now—
She forced the thought down.
Crying wouldn't help.
Thinking would.
Her eyes moved carefully, subtly scanning the cabin without drawing attention.
Four men in the aisle.
One had already gone into the cockpit.
Five in total.
Armed. Coordinated.
The passengers, on the other hand, sat in tense silence. No one dared to move. No one dared to speak louder than a whisper.
What broke her heart the most—
were the children.
There were more of them.
Scattered across the cabin.
Too young to understand. Too scared to stay quiet.
Every now and then, one would cry—
and one of the men would move in, blade flashing under the cabin lights, his voice low and threatening until the parents forced their children into silence.
All the hijackers kept repeating the same thing.
"This will be over soon."
But the way they said it—
the tone, the certainty—
it didn't reassure Catherine.
It made her skin crawl.
"Mommy, look!" Anna suddenly whispered—far louder than she should have. "There's someone outside… in the clouds!"
At that exact moment—
the plane jerked.
A sharp, unnatural lurch that rippled through the cabin.
Gasps broke out instantly.
"Shh—!" Catherine reacted on instinct, quickly covering Anna's mouth, her heart leaping into her throat. "Quiet, baby… please…"
She forced an apologetic smile toward the nearby passengers—and more importantly, toward the man who had already turned in their direction, his grip tightening around the box cutter.
After a tense second, he looked away.
Only then did Catherine slowly lower her hand.
"I told you not to speak so loudly, sweetheart," she whispered, trying to keep her voice steady.
Anna leaned closer, her voice dropping to an urgent whisper.
"But Mommy… there really was someone. He was flying… right toward the plane." She pointed toward the window. "I think it was a man… and he had a cape."
Catherine frowned and glanced outside.
Clouds.
Nothing but clouds rushing past.
"It must be your imagination," she murmured, though her voice lacked conviction.
"No, I saw him," Anna insisted quietly.
Catherine exhaled softly and pulled Anna closer into her arms.
"Okay… Mommy believes you," she said, her voice gentler now, more for comfort than conviction.
Almost as if the words themselves had triggered it—
the plane lurched again.
This time harder.
A ripple of gasps spread through the cabin as a few passengers cried out, gripping their seats in panic.
Catherine's brows drew together.
Something was wrong.
Not just the hijacking—this felt different.
The movement wasn't like turbulence. It wasn't the usual shaking or sudden drops she had read about or experienced before.
It felt… controlled.
As if something outside was forcing the plane to slow down.
Her eyes slowly drifted back toward the window.
Anna's words echoed in her mind.
A man… flying toward the plane…
was he here to save them?
It sounded absurd.
Impossible.
The kind of thing you told a child so they wouldn't be afraid.
And yet—
Catherine felt her chest tighten as a fragile, unfamiliar thought surfaced.
A lie.
Another lie.
She had spent years learning to see through them, to reject them, to survive without believing in anything that sounded too good to be true.
But this time—
for the first time in a long while—
she wanted to believe.
Not for herself.
But for the small girl in her arms.
For every frightened child on this plane.
If there was even the slightest chance that someone was out there…
coming to save them—
Then just this once—
Catherine Grant chose to believe in a lie.
---
Few minutes earlier
Even as I flew at full speed, my thoughts refused to settle.
This was 2001.
For months now, the possibility had lingered in the back of my mind—that the tragedy of the Twin Towers might still occur in this world. From my memories of my previous life, I knew that in many DC timelines, it had happened exactly like that.
And in those timelines…
Superman hadn't been there yet.
But I was.
Even if I was only nine years old, I had never intended to stand by and do nothing. That was why I had started going out at night in the first place—testing my powers, dealing with criminals, pushing myself beyond controlled training. I needed to understand what I could do in the real world, not just in theory.
At the same time, I had asked Jor-El to monitor global communications and search for any signs of large-scale terrorist activity. For months, he had combed through everything he could access across the world, but the results had been frustratingly vague. There were hints—scattered fragments suggesting a possible attack in this country, something that might involve aircraft—but nothing concrete enough to act on.
According to him, the biggest obstacle was the nature of this world itself. The people behind it weren't relying on advanced systems or traceable networks. There were no clear digital trails, no reliable communications to intercept. Everything was fragmented, disconnected… primitive.
Ironically, the very sophistication of Kryptonian technology became a limitation. It was built to process structured, traceable data—not to chase shadows deliberately kept off the grid.
Still, after repeated discussions with both Jor-El and Lara, we managed to narrow things down. A major attack. Somewhere in this country. Sometime around September. Most likely targeting a landmark.
I did have my memories of what was supposed to happen—
but they weren't reliable here in this Alternate world.
In my previous life, the World Trade Center had stood in New York.
In this world, it stood in Metropolis.
That alone was enough to prove that I couldn't depend on memory for exact details.
So I made my own plan.
I would stay in Metropolis for the entire month of September, as close to the Twin Towers as possible, while Jor-El monitored every distress signal and emergency channel he could access. If something happened, I would be there.
Thankfully, both Ma and Martha had been more than happy with the idea. As far as they were concerned, I was just spending time in the city—getting out more, acting like a normal kid my age.
Martha had even taken it a step further, bringing me along to high-profile events and gatherings across the city. By sheer coincidence—or perhaps luck—most of them were near the World Trade Center, giving me the perfect excuse to stay close without raising suspicion.
I had even spent the entire 11th of September inside the Twin Towers, walking through them like any other tourist.
When nothing happened, I had allowed myself to relax—just a little.
A part of me had hoped… that maybe this world was different.
That maybe this tragedy wouldn't happen at all.
But today—
Lara's warning echoed in my ears, and the aircraft came into view, cutting through the sky toward the towers.
That fragile hope shattered instantly.
A wave of panic surged through me.
The weight of it—the realization that so many lives were about to be lost, that all of it might rest on me—
it was overwhelming.
For a moment, it felt like too much.
Like I wasn't ready.
But then—
Lara's words came back to me.
They weren't meant to comfort me.
They were meant to stop me.
To remind me that this wasn't my world. That these people weren't mine to protect.
And yet—
they had the exact opposite effect.
Instead of pushing me away, they forced me to confront something I had been trying to avoid.
If I had truly been reborn as Superman…
then I couldn't just accept the power and turn away from the responsibility that came with it.
If I was here—
then I had to act.
And if that meant stopping this tragedy before it ever happened—
then I would.
All those thoughts came to a halt as I reached the aircraft.
It tore through the sky ahead of me, already descending below the clouds as it lined up with Metropolis.
I steadied my breathing and focused.
My vision pierced through the metal hull in an instant.
The pilot and co-pilot were down—faces bruised, hands and feet bound.
Someone else, dressed like a civilian, was in control of the aircraft.
Inside the cabin—
fear.
Everywhere.
Passengers huddled together, whispering reassurances to one another—friends, parents, children.
And moving among them—
four men.
Calm. Controlled. Armed.
Even on the way here, I had been scanning the aircraft, tracking everything as it unfolded. And It was sheer luck that no one had been critically harmed yet.
But now came the real problem.
How to save them.
I couldn't just break in. Opening the aircraft mid-flight would cause a catastrophic pressure drop—lethal for everyone inside.
I couldn't stop the plane instantly either. Dropping from hundreds of kilometers per hour to zero in a moment would kill the passengers just as surely.
And I knew that for a fact—
because I had already tried.
In simulations.
Highly detailed, near-perfect recreations run by Jor-El and Lara.
One of the many advantages of having Kryptonian AIs guiding me.
We had tested scenarios. Dozens of them.
And every mistake ended the same way.
Catastrophe.
That was when I understood just how precise this needed to be.
This wasn't just about strength.
It was about control.
Timing.
Execution.
One wrong move—
and everyone inside that plane would die.
I narrowed my eyes, locking onto the aircraft as it sped toward the city.
Dangerous or not—
this was something I had to do.
"I've scanned the aircraft," Lara said quickly. "Uploading structural integrity data now."
"Got it," I replied.
A translucent overlay spread across my vision. The plane's body lit up in shifting colors—blue marking reinforced sections, red highlighting stress points that could give way under the wrong force.
I absorbed it all in an instant.
"This is it," I murmured, my gaze flicking to the countdown.
60 seconds.
I moved.
The wind howled as I dropped beneath the aircraft, matching its speed in a heartbeat. The engines roared above me, deafening, violent—like I had thrown myself under a falling mountain.
Carefully—
I raised my hands and pressed them against the underside of the fuselage.
No sudden force.
No mistakes.
I adjusted my position, spreading the pressure across the strongest sections I could find, aligning myself with the plane's momentum instead of fighting it, remembering every failed simulation—
every version where this ended in disaster.
And then—
I pushed.
Not to stop it.
But to take control of it.
The metal groaned.
The entire aircraft shuddered violently, a deep vibration running through its massive frame.
For a split second—
it felt like I was trying to hold back something far bigger than myself.
Like the sky itself was trying to tear past me.
My jaw tightened as I held steady, forcing my strength into something precise… something controlled.
The aircraft trembled under my grip, its massive weight fighting me every second as I bled off its speed inch by inch, refusing to let it slip—refusing to lose control.
The engines roared above me, still pushing forward, still resisting, and I adjusted accordingly—not just slowing it, but guiding it. I balanced its momentum against my own strength, forcing the aircraft into a controlled deceleration instead of a violent stop.
The metal shuddered beneath my hands, and this time, I felt it in my arms as well. The strain wasn't overwhelming, but it was there—constant, unrelenting—demanding focus, demanding control.
Still, I held on.
Seconds slipped by faster than I liked.
And then the Twin Towers came into view, right in front of me.
The aircraft was still moving—still heavy, still resisting—but it was no longer beyond control.
My jaw clenched. My grip tightened.
I pushed harder, knowing this was the final stretch—
and this time, I wasn't going to let history repeat itself!