Chapter 23: SUPPORT ROLE
[National City, Industrial District — November 2016, 9:47 PM]
The warehouse loomed against the night sky, dark windows reflecting the distant city lights. Our strike team was positioned around the perimeter—DEO tactical units at the cardinal points, Kara overhead providing aerial reconnaissance, and me at the eastern evacuation route.
Alex's voice crackled through the comm. "All units, confirm positions."
"Alpha in position. East perimeter clear."
"Bravo in position. North secured."
"Supergirl holding at altitude. No movement visible inside."
My turn. "Support at evacuation point. Three civilian families identified in the adjacent buildings. Ready to guide them clear."
"Confirmed." Alex's tone was crisp, professional. "Remember your role, Mon-El. Civilian safety is your only priority. Do not engage the primary target."
"Understood."
The wait was the hardest part. Standing at my position, listening to the operation unfold through comms, every instinct screaming to move. Kara breached the warehouse from above—I heard the crash of reinforced glass, the shouts of surprised hostiles. Weapons fire followed, the distinctive whine of alien energy weapons mixing with the crack of conventional firearms.
Inside, they were fighting. I was outside, watching residential windows.
A light flickered on in the apartment building across the street. A face appeared at the glass—elderly woman, confused by the noise. I moved toward the building entrance.
"Movement at civilian structure," I reported. "Initiating evacuation protocol."
"Proceed with caution," Alex responded between what sounded like direct combat. "Keep them clear of the engagement zone."
The apartment building's door opened with a firm push—I didn't need to force it, but my enhanced senses told me the lock mechanism was old, barely functional. Inside, three floors of residential units. Families sleeping, watching television, living their lives unaware of the alien weapons cache fifty meters away.
I knocked on doors. Explained there was a police operation in progress, suggested they move to the building's basement as a precaution. Most complied without argument—the authority in my voice helped, and the DEO had provided a badge that looked official enough.
The elderly woman from the window was harder to convince.
"Young man," she said, blocking her doorway with surprising force for someone her size, "I've lived in this neighborhood for forty years. I've seen police operations. This doesn't feel like a police operation."
"Ma'am, please. For your safety—"
"Those aren't regular weapons I'm hearing." Her eyes were sharp, intelligent. "What's really happening out there?"
Through the comms, I heard Kara shout something in Kryptonian. The building shook slightly—impact from enhanced combat. The old woman's expression shifted from suspicious to concerned.
"Okay," she said. "Basement. But you'd better explain later."
I guided her down the stairs, then returned for the remaining families. A young couple with a toddler. A single father with two teenagers who asked too many questions. A middle-aged woman who grabbed her cat before leaving.
The little girl from the couple—maybe four years old—started crying as we descended to the basement. The combat sounds were louder now, more intense. She clutched her father's leg and wailed.
"Hey." I crouched to her level. "It's going to be okay. See that?" I pointed to my badge. "I'm one of the good guys. My friends are making sure everyone stays safe."
"Promise?" Her voice was small, trembling.
"Promise."
She reached out and pressed something into my hand. A rock—smooth, gray, probably collected from a playground somewhere. "For being brave," she whispered.
I closed my fingers around it. Felt its weight, its ordinariness. A child's trust, given freely.
"Thank you."
The combat upstairs reached a crescendo—a massive crash that rattled the building's foundations. Then silence. My comm crackled.
"Primary target neutralized. Cache secured. All units, begin cleanup protocol."
Relief flooded through me. I stayed with the civilians until DEO personnel arrived to process them—standard memory-adjustment protocols for those who'd seen too much. The little girl waved at me as her family was led away.
I waved back.
Alex found me at the evacuation point afterward, still holding the rock.
"You stayed where you were supposed to," she observed.
"You told me to."
"I did." She studied me for a moment. "Heard you got everyone out. Including Mrs. Martinez—she's lived in that building since before I was born. Stubborn as hell."
"She had questions. I didn't have good answers."
"Standard cleanup will handle it." Alex paused. "The families—they were calm when we processed them. Not panicked, not traumatized. Just... calm."
"I talked to them. Tried to keep things low-key."
"That's not easy during an operation. Keeping civilians calm while combat happens nearby." Something shifted in her expression—grudging acknowledgment. "You did good work tonight."
"Thanks."
She almost smiled. Not quite—Alex Danvers didn't hand out smiles casually—but the corner of her mouth twitched in a way that suggested the possibility.
"Debrief in thirty minutes. Don't be late."
She walked away. I stood in the industrial district's orange sodium lights, the rock still warm in my palm.
One mission. Followed orders. Stayed in my lane. It wasn't much—wasn't the dramatic heroism of the fire rescue or the combat engagement I'd been training for.
But it felt like progress.
Note:
Please give good reviews and power stones itrings more people and more people means more chapters?
My Patreon is all about exploring 'What If' timelines, and you can get instant access to chapters far ahead of the public release.
Choose your journey:
Timeline Viewer ($6): Get 10 chapters of early access + 5 new chapters weekly.
Timeline Explorer ($9): Jump 15-20 chapters ahead of everyone.
Timeline Keeper ($15): Get Instant Access to chapters the moment I finish writing them. No more waiting.
Read the raw, unfiltered story as it unfolds. Your support makes this possible!
👉 Find it all at patreon.com/Whatif0