>>6037271
>>You give his hand a gentle squeeze, your voice tinged with understanding. "The world needs Superboy. I’ll be here when you get back."

>>6037840
You give his hand a gentle squeeze, your voice tinged with understanding. "The world needs Superboy. I’ll be here when you get back."
It's a tough gig, loving someone who belongs as much to the world as to you, especially when you have no powers of your own. You can't chase after him into danger, can't always be part of his battles. All you can do is wait for him, be there when he returns, battered or triumphant.
"I love you, Jay," Jon says, his words wrapping around you like a warm blanket. He kisses you deeply, his lips skilled and tender, momentarily easing the ache that comes with being left behind. But the comfort is fleeting, only just taking the edge off.
As he pulls away and soars into the sky, you stand there, a solitary figure framed by the vast cityscape. You watch until he becomes a mere speck against the vast canvas of blue, the flutter in your chest a mix of pride and longing. Today, like many days before, you're reminded of the bitter-sweet tale that is your love life.

>You'll wait for him, no matter how long it takes, always there when he returns.
>Jon is the love of your life, but doubts creep in, whispering that maybe you're more of an anchor than a sail.
>Other

>>6037853

>Other
You'll wait for him, but you can't just spend your time doing nothing. Devote your time to studying maps, learning various technologies, and getting familiar with the art of investigation.

Everyone needs a guy in the chair, we'll have thigh high socks on sure. But we'll be at the chair none-the-less.

>>6037271
>>6037855
Support. Oracle's gonna be suing us for copyright infringement once we're done.

>>6037855
Supporting.

>>6037853
>Jon is the love of your life, but doubts creep in, whispering that maybe you're more of an anchor than a sail... But you don't have to be!

>>6037855
>>6037881
>>6038092
Jon is the love of your life, but doubts creep in, whispering that maybe you're more of an anchor than a sail. But you're determined not to be!
You'll wait for him, but you can't just spend your time doing nothing. You will devote your time to studying maps, learning various technologies, and getting familiar with the art of investigation.
Everyone needs a guy in the chair, you'll have thigh-high socks on sure. But you'll be at the chair nonetheless. Just like Barbara Gordon, or Oracle, was for the bat family.
You recall how Lois Lane, Jon’s mother, played a vital role for Clark Kent, Jon’s father. They weren’t just partners in life but in heroics too.
You can make this work, loving a superhero as a civilian isn't easy, but Jon is worth the challenge.
It's late when Jon finally comes back. "Sorry, it was Brainiac, I needed to—" he starts, trying to explain the urgency that pulled him away earlier.
You cut him off with a deep, understanding kiss. "It's okay. You don't need to explain," you tell him softly. Jon reciprocates your kiss, a sign that no more words are necessary tonight. He lifts you effortlessly, carrying you back to his bedroom. The rest of the night is spent in each other's arms, making love and drifting off to sleep, secure and content in the embrace of the superhero you love.

>You delve deeper into tech knowledge, hoping to be Jon's reliable tech support in times of need.
>You train in the art of investigation, eager to offer Jon crucial insights and support on his missions.
>Other

>>6038172
>You train in the art of investigation, eager to offer Jon crucial insights and support on his missions.

I apologize, but I've decided to stop writing this story. Writing a quest from the viewpoint of a non-superpowered love interest in a superhero world has proven more challenging than anticipated. I might explore a similar theme from the perspective of a superhero with an unpowered partner in a future quest.

>>6039030
Disappointing, but thanks for letting us know. Do you mind if I take up the torch?

>>6039099
DO IT!

>>6039099
Sure go ahead.

>>6038223
>>6039030
>>6039410
>>6039334
You resolve to delve deeper into the art of investigation, determined to support Jon in any way you can. Every moment outside of school and your part-time job is dedicated to this new pursuit. Your room gradually fills with stacks of maps, notebooks filled with scribbled observations, and a growing collection of borrowed library books on various investigative techniques and law enforcement strategies.

You start small, testing your skills around the neighborhood. Mrs. Hernandez’s missing cat turns into your first case. You methodically piece together clues, keeping a journal of your findings, strategies, and, admittedly, your missteps. Through trial-and-error and late-night internet searches, you eventually locate the feline hiding in an abandoned shed, earning heartfelt gratitude from Mrs. Hernandez.

Bolstered by this initial success, you take on more complex tasks. The graffiti artist defacing the local park? Identified. The mysterious late-night noises plaguing your apartment complex? Traced back to a malfunctioning boiler. Each solved case hones your skills further and deepens your understanding of what it takes to be the support Jon needs.

Yet, it's not without its costs. Your fingers are often smudged with ink, your eyes red from long hours poring over documents and camera footage. You find yourself growing distant even when you're together with Jon. He starts noticing your late-night absences and the fatigue etched into your features.

"Jay, I've been worried about you," Jon says one evening as the two of you walk through the park. His expression is a blend of concern and confusion. "Lately, you've seemed distracted, always busy with something. And all those true crime podcasts... I know, I know, I'm one to talk, with my 'job'. But I have to ask, are you alright?"

You pause, taking a deep breath. You knew this question would come eventually, but are you ready to reveal your efforts? He’s already got so much on his plate; should you burden him with this, or continue your work in the shadows, supporting him unseen?

>Tell Jon everything: Let him know about your investigation work and why you've been so committed.
>Keep it secret: Assure him everything is fine and that he doesn’t need to worry; continue your efforts in the background.

>>6039444
>>Tell Jon everything: Let him know about your investigation work and why you've been so committed.

>>6039444
>>Keep it secret: Assure him everything is fine and that he doesn’t need to worry; continue your efforts in the background.

>>6039501
>>6039749
You took a deep breath and finally looked up from the maps and notes scattered across your desk. The late-night efforts were beginning to show under your eyes. Jon’s worried look was hard to ignore.

"Jay," Jon began gently, "I've noticed you've been pushing yourself hard lately. What’s going on?"

You bit your lip, feeling guilty. You couldn't keep your secret much longer. "I've been studying. Maps, tech knowledge, investigation techniques. I want to be more useful to you, Jon. As Superboy, I mean."

Jon's face softened. "Jay, you're already enough. But I get it. If it helps you feel more involved, then it’s worth it. Just, promise me you won’t overdo it."

He leaned in, and you shared a tender kiss, sealing your unspoken promises. But you knew you couldn't share every detail yet.

Later that week, you were sitting in a quiet corner of one of Metropolis’ supportive housing centers, reviewing some notes, when you felt a shadow fall over you. You looked up to see Azim, a fellow Gamorran refugee and a friend from the old days back home. The worry etched in Azim’s face instantly set you on edge.

"Azim, what are you doing here?" you asked, swallowing the lump forming in your throat.

"It's good to see you, Jay," Azim said, the relief in his voice evident but short-lived. "But we have a problem."

"Azim, what’s wrong?"

"It's Intergang, Jay. They're lurking around the housing areas, and people are disappearing. I think it’s connected," Azim said urgently.

Your heart raced. Intergang had a notorious history. Founded by Moxie Mannheim, it was later revived by Morgan Edge, who used advanced weaponry from another world. Intergang had been involved in a multitude of criminal activities, including typical gang activity but also interstellar human trafficking and even goverment and media infiltration and cover-ups. They had once even kidnapped Superman, albeit in his 'secret identity' of Clark Kent. Recent efforts by law enforcement and the superhero community had broken up their ranks, but fragments always remained scattered and dangerous.

>>6039907
"What do we do?" you asked, feeling the weight of the situation.

"I don’t know. I thought you might," Azim replied, eyes pleading.

You thought quickly. The police might be compromised, and media attention could backfire. Jon, as Superboy, had the power to handle Intergang but asking for his help meant deeper involvement. Or you could use your developing skills to investigate further without putting Jon at risk.

"Don’t worry, Azim. We’ll figure this out."

You felt the responsibility settle heavier on your shoulders as you considered the options:

> Tell the police: Report the suspicious activities and disappearances, relying on formal investigation.
> Reach out to a newspaper: Use media connections to expose Intergang’s actions and pressure authorities into action.
> Ask Jon Kent as Superboy: Seek Jon’s help to directly confront Intergang with the power of Superboy.
> Investigate yourself: Use your growing investigative skills to look into Intergang’s operations without involving Jon directly.

>>6039909
>> Ask Jon Kent as Superboy: Seek Jon’s help to directly confront Intergang with the power of Superboy.

>>6039909
>> Reach out to a newspaper: Use media connections to expose Intergang’s actions and pressure authorities into action.

File: Lois.Lane.(My.Adventures.(...).jpg (1.08 MB, 1450x2000)

1.08 MB JPG

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of your dilemma lift. Azim’s words lingered like a shadow, but the path forward was clear.

"Azim, we're not alone in this. I know exactly who we need to talk to," you said with newfound determination.

That evening, you paced Jon’s living room, the words ready but sticking in your throat. Jon sensed your unease and touched your arm gently.

"Jay, whatever it is, you can tell me," he reassured you, his eyes full of concern.

"Jon, it’s about Intergang. They’re targeting Gamorran refugees, kidnapping them right under our noses."

"Are you sure?" he asked, now serious.

You nodded. Jon’s brow furrowed. "We need to act fast. I’ll get Mom involved. If anyone can expose this, it’s her."

Lois Lane-Kent — a name that invoked reverential awe. Fearless, unwavering, and kind without being soft. You had always admired her work from afar, and now you needed her help.

You arrived at the Kent’s apartment with Jon and Azim. Lois was at the dining table, flipping through notes. She looked up and smiled.

“Hey, Jon,” she greeted , her gaze quickly shifting to your serious expressions. "What’s going on?"

Jon didn't waste a second. "Mom, we need your help. Intergang is targeting and kidnapping Gamorran refugees. Jay has some details."

Lois’s demeanor transformed into that of a seasoned reporter, ready to dive in. “Tell me everything.”

You laid out the entire situation: Azim’s account, the disappearances, and what you’d uncovered. Lois listened keenly, her eyes narrowing with each new fact.

"This is serious," she finally said, her voice steady. "I’ll activate my sources and start digging. We need concrete proof to expose this."

Azim looked anxious. “What if they realize we’re onto them?”

Jon squeezed your hand reassuringly. “With Superboy involved, they won’t stand a chance.”

Lois nodded, flashing a brief, proud smile at Jon before focusing on you. "Jay, you’ve done a great job, but be cautious. Getting your name attached to this will put a big target on your back."

You felt a blush rise. "I... I wanted to contribute something real, not just be a burden."

>>6040169
Lois’ expression softened.

“You know, Jay, when I started out, my first big story was nothing glamorous—just corruption in a local housing project.”

She leaned forward, eyes softening with the memory. “I didn’t have Clark or Superman watching my back. No name recognition, no fame. But I had determination. I worked late nights, met sources in secret, and helped those with nowhere else to turn. It wasn’t about being the loudest; it was about making a difference quietly.”

You listened intently, soaking in every word.

“Jay, there’s a misconception that you need to be out front, wearing a mask or a cape, to matter—to be useful or a hero. But utility and heroism take many forms. Some of the most impactful work happens behind the scenes. Your bravery, your intelligence, your heart—that’s what counts. And that’s what will help us bring Intergang down."

Jon squeezed your hand again. "Mom’s right, Jay. You’re already doing so much. We need people like you—whether you're in the field or behind the scenes."

Feeling both humbled and invigorated, you considered your next steps.

>Hang back and provide emotional and logistical support to Jon, Lois, and the refugee community

>Join Lois in her investigations at The Daily Planet

>Don a mask and adopt a false identity, to investigate the incidents more directly

>>6040170
>Join Lois in her investigations at The Daily Planet

>>6040244
"You're right, Lois... Mrs. Lane-Kent, I mean. I can make a difference without a mask. Here. At the Daily Planet, with you."

"Are you sure?" Lois asked. "I can't pay you. I don't do 'checkbook journalism', after all."

"It isn't about money. It's about helping my community..." You look to Jon, who smiles back and nods. "...And the people I love."

Lois smiled, seeing the determination in your eyes. "Jay, I’m certain this is the right move. Let's get to work," she said, her voice steady with conviction. "We'll tackle this head-on. Meet me at the Daily Planet tomorrow morning."

The rest of the evening passed in a blur, filled with anticipation. The thought of diving deep into Intergang's operations, guided by Lois Lane herself, filled you with both anxiety and excitement.

---

The next morning, you stood outside the iconic Daily Planet. The sprawling edifice seemed to hum with energy. With a final deep breath, you stepped inside.

Lois greeted you with a confident nod. "Glad you’re here, Jay. Let’s get started. Our target is Morgan Edge. Ever since he was exposed for corruption, he's become a gangster in earnest. I just know he's behind a lot of recent Intergang activities. The question is: why target the Gamorran refugees?"

She led you through the bustling newsroom to a small, cluttered office. The walls were plastered with clippings and photographs, each telling a story of heroic and journalistic triumphs. Lois's desk was a controlled chaos of notebooks, files, and half-empty coffee cups. She cleared a space for you, handing over a thick dossier labeled "Intergang Ops."

"To understand Intergang, we need to understand its roots," Lois began. "Morgan Edge has been neck-deep in shady dealings for a long time. After his connections to off-world entities like Apokolips were revealed, the government came after him, and he went underground. He’s been rebuilding Intergang into a more covert and dangerous organization."

You flipped through the dossier, noting names and faces staring back at you. Many high-profile figures twisted towards criminal agendas. The pages detailed Edge's connections, from corrupt politicians to international arms dealers.

“Edge has always been a master manipulator,” Lois continued. “Originally, he did this using his media empire, Galaxy Broadcasting System, as a tool for disinformation and control. He’s far more dangerous than an ordinary mogul. And now, he’s targeting Gamorran refugees. But why them specifically?”

File: gamorra.png (1.17 MB, 947x806)

1.17 MB PNG

>>6040466
"Well, Gamorra Island has a dark history." Lois looked up, and you gulped nervously but continued: "It was once ruled by Kaizen Gamorra, who conducted horrific cybernetic experiments and waged terrorist campaigns. The island's inhabitants, even after liberation, carry the trauma and stigma of those times. Edge could be exploiting that history. By targeting the Gamorran refugees, he might be trying to stir up fear and exploit their desperation."

"That makes sense," Lois affirmed, her eyes bright with determination and respect. "The Daily Planet has been on Edge’s tail for years, even before his Intergang connections came to light. But this? This is a new angle we can use. We need concrete proof of his connections and illegal activities, especially how and why he's manipulating the refugee crisis."

"You know," you said slowly, "there's another factor. An unusual number of Gamorrans are metahumans. Many have genetic mutations that give them super-human abilities—some activated under harsh conditions on the island."

You couldn't help but reflect on your own lack of powers. Growing up among those with extraordinary abilities always made you feel somewhat... ordinary. Your strength was in your heart and mind, but seeing those like Jon wield such power sometimes reminded you of how small you could feel.

"That's true," Lois replied, pacing the room. "If Edge is targeting the Gamorran refugees, it could be for recruiting purposes. Imagine the leverage he'd have with an army of metas at his disposal." She flipped through some files, her eyes narrowing. "Or worse, trafficking. Selling meta abilities to the highest bidder. Weaponizing those powers for his own gain."

The room fell into a heavy silence as the gravity of the situation sunk in. Options swirled in your mind, each presenting its own set of risks and rewards. You knew every step had to be calculated, precise, and driven by both logic and bravery.

>>6040468
Lois laid out the possibilities. "We have three potential paths," she said decisively. "First, Jay, you and Azim could ask around the community. You'd gather firsthand intel from those directly affected, but it’s risky. If Intergang catches wind, you could be in danger."

"Second, we could reach out to my superhero contacts. They might have noticed an uptick in meta-criminal activity, pointing us towards Intergang's operations. But we'd be tipping our hand, and once they know capes are onto them, they'll start covering their tracks."

"And third," Lois continued, "we can ask Jimmy Olsen to dig into Morgan Edge’s known contacts and his past. Jimmy has a knack for uncovering hidden truths, and his connections could lead us to solid evidence linking Edge to recent disappearances within the Gamorran community. However, Jimmy's known in those circles and it might raise suspicion."

She looked at each of you in turn, eyes fierce with the passion of a seasoned journalist. "Whatever we choose, we need to commit and execute it perfectly."

You took a deep breath, weighing the options. The room seemed to hold its breath with you, Jon’s hand brushing reassuringly against yours.

>You and Azim asking around the community

>You and Jon reaching out to superhero contacts

>You and Lois' coworker Jimmy Olsen investigating Morgan Edge’s known contacts and past

>>6040469
>>You and Azim asking around the community

>>6040469
You and Azim spent the next day discreetly talking to members of the Gamorran refugee community. Your goal was simple but fraught with peril: gather information about the disappearances without drawing attention to yourselves or your mission.

A brisk breeze rustled through the neighborhood, echoing the unease that seemed to permeate every corner. The Gamorran community, representing a myriad of ethnicities forcibly relocated to the island for experimentation, was tightly knit yet wary of outsiders. That trepidation extended even to fellow refugees like you and Azim, especially when discussing something as grave as the recent spate of vanishings.

You decided to start with Minh's Grocery, a small but bustling store run by an elderly Vietnamese couple who had experienced firsthand the horrors of Kaizen Gamorra's reign. "Let's make it look casual," you whispered to Azim as you stepped inside, the bell above the door chiming softly.

Inside, Mrs. Minh greeted you with a warm yet weary smile. You made some small talk first, discussing the latest produce shipment and local events. It wasn't long before the conversation turned to shared concerns. "Have you heard anything more about those missing people?" you asked casually, pretending to examine a head of lettuce.

Mrs. Minh's smile faded slightly. She glanced around to ensure no one else was listening before responding, her voice low. "It's terrible what's been happening. Families torn apart again even after escaping from that wretched place." Her eyes flickered to Azim, who nodded in understanding.

"Do you know if there’s a pattern? Maybe something connecting the people who went missing?" Azim's voice was gentle, but there was an underlying urgency that Mrs. Minh didn't miss.

"From what I've heard, it's mostly the younger ones... and those with, uh, special abilities." She hesitated, her gaze shifting to the store window nervously. "They're targeting those of us who might still have some use. And many of the victims are from families who...” she leaned closer, “...who have roots in China."

Azim's face tightened. "Intergang?"

Mrs. Minh's eyes widened and she quickly shushed him. "Don't say that out loud here! Yes, there are whispers. Most believe there's involvement from the Chinese government, possibly through Intergang as intermediaries."

>>6040747
This solidified your suspicions but left you uneasy. The connections seemed credible but circumstantial. You thanked Mrs. Minh and made your purchases before continuing on your way.

Next, you visited a small community center. It was a vibrant hub filled with refugees of various ancestries—from Japanese, like yourself, to Middle Eastern like Azim, and many others in between. The director, Mr. Chen, was known for being particularly well-connected and knowledgeable about the community’s undercurrents.

You and Azim approached Mr. Chen as he was setting up chairs for an evening class. He greeted you with a nod, his eyes appraising. "Jay, Azim. To what do I owe this visit?"

Azim hesitated, but you stepped forward. "We’re concerned about the recent disappearances. We’ve heard people with metahuman abilities are primarily being targeted."

Mr. Chen sighed heavily, looking around before motioning you both into his office. "Close the door behind you," he instructed.

Once inside, Mr. Chen didn't waste any time. "It is true. Those with minor powers, like your ability to slow your fall, Azim, or telekinesis and heightened senses in others—they are the ones going missing. Many of them have Chinese ancestry."

"But why?" you pressed.

Mr. Chen folded his hands on the desk. "There is speculation that Intergang, potentially under indirect orders from the CCP, is reclaiming assets they can use to achieve their geopolitical goals. They see an opportunity to harness these minor abilities for their purposes. The CCP has long had its eyes on enhancing its own power, both metaphorically and literally."

Azim’s frown deepened. “So, it’s not just about getting these people back under control but actually using them against rival nations?”

Mr. Chen nodded, his expression grim. "That’s what many here believe. Gathering those with even minor abilities could give them a trove of metahuman resources to exploit—whether it be for espionage, experimentation, or other nefarious activities."

The room fell silent as the weight of Mr. Chen's words settled in. You shared a glance with Azim, both understanding the severity of the problem you were up against.

“We need to find out more,” you said finally. “Thank you, Mr. Chen. We’ll keep what you said in confidence.”

He gave a tight smile. “Be careful, Jay. The wrong questions could bring unwanted attention to you both.”

>>6040748
The weight of Mr. Chen's words lingered in the air, heavy and oppressive. Jay turned to gaze out the small office window, lost in thought. "It's disheartening," he began softly, "how the Chinese government’s recent actions mirror the horrors of our own past. Kaizen Gamorra's reign was marked by brutal experimentation and ruthless exploitation, driven by a desire to dominate through any means necessary."

Azim nodded solemnly. "We escaped one nightmare only to be shadowed by another. The pursuit of power at the cost of human lives isn't exclusive to any one regime."

Jay continued, "It's as if histories are repeating—new oppressors, but the same relentless hunger for control. And now, it's these people with minor metahuman abilities who are falling victim," he gestured towards Azim. "Just like the younger ones here and those with ties to China."

Azim glanced down, a flicker of unease crossing his features. "They seem to be targeting those who are easier to overlook, those whose abilities, like mine, might not immediately seem significant. But even surviving a fall from any height," he paused, his voice tinged with a hint of vulnerability, "it’s enough to land me on their radar."

>You and Azim should split up and continue canvassing the area

>Maybe you should use Azim as bait for a 'sting' by Jon

>You should report your findings back to The Daily Planet

>>6040749
>>You should report your findings back to The Daily Planet

>>6040750
You sat across from Lois Lane-Kent in the bustling newsroom of The Daily Planet, your heart hammering in your chest. The mix of urgency and apprehension was palpable as you relayed every detail of the past few days. Lois listened intently, her eyes narrowing with each new piece of evidence you revealed.

When you finished, she leaned back in her chair, rubbing her temples thoughtfully. "Jay, if what you're saying is true, we're looking at something far more complex and dangerous than just a few missing persons cases."

"I know," you replied, frustration edging into your voice. "But we can't just sit here and wait while more people go missing. We have to do something now."

Lois sighed, her gaze distant for a moment as she delved into her own memories. "You know, Jay, my heritage as a Korean-American has made me acutely aware of the intricacies in dealing with China. We've had diplomatic and historical tensions for decades." She paused, considering her words carefully. "From the Korean War to the Cold War, and even during the periods of better relations in the late '80s and '90s, there's always been an underlying current of cautious diplomacy and mistrust."

She continued, her voice steady and full of the weight of experience. "I've also heard rumors about the CCP's attempts to create their own knock-off version of the Justice League, through something they call 'The Ministry of Self-Reliance'. They even have this thick-skulled pretty-boy who they've dubbed the 'New Superman' of China. But what you're suggesting—that they're targeting metahumans and refugees here in Metropolis as part of some broader scheme—is a serious claim."

You nodded vehemently. "The pieces fit, Mrs. Lane-Kent. They're looking for specific abilities—ones that might not seem impressive alone but could be game-changing if combined. And it’s not just about powers; it’s about control, exploitation, and silencing dissent."

Lois' eyes met yours, grim and resolute. "I believe you, Jay. But we need concrete proof before we can take this story to print. It'll be irresponsible to jump to conclusions too quickly, despite how much my own suspicions align with yours."

The frustration bubbled up again, and you clenched your fists on the table. "And while The Daily Planet takes its time verifying, more people are at risk. We can't afford to wait that long."

>>6041048
She softened slightly, leaning forward. "I understand, but if we get this wrong, if we accuse someone without undeniable evidence, we could cause mass panic and endanger even more lives. This is the sort of story that can spark a war, Jay, or prompt hate crimes against the Chinese community. Let me reach out to my diplomatic contacts; they might offer us a route to gather more crucial intel discreetly."

You took a deep breath, trying to reign in your frustration. "So what do we do in the meantime, Lois? More people might disappear."

She hesitated for a moment before continuing. "You're resourceful, Jay. Use that. Just be careful not to incite unnecessary fear."

You nodded, feeling the weight of the decisions before you. It wasn’t easy, knowing that whatever path you chose could have drastic consequences for the people you were trying to protect.

Lois gave you a small, encouraging smile. "We've got this, Jay. You're not alone in this fight."

You stood up, feeling the support from her words even as uncertainty gnawed at the edges of your resolve. There were several routes you could take, each fraught with its own risks and rewards.

What will you do next?

> Use unofficial internet channels to warn people, alerting the community anonymously
> Ask Jon to focus his superhero patrols on protecting your fellow refugees
> Organize a protest outside the Chinese embassy in Metropolis to draw public attention to the disappearances
> Wait patiently, trusting in Lois and focusing on your relationship with Jon to take your mind off of things

>>6041049
>> Use unofficial internet channels to warn people, alerting the community anonymously

>>6041177

You decide to delve into the shadows of the internet, using your investigative skills to warn the community anonymously. Adopting the username "Gossamer," you begin by making discreet posts on various forums.

First, you turn to the social network 'Lex' (formerly Twitter, before its recent acquisition by lex Luthor). Its new owner has turned it into a contentious platform, but it is still popular for its reach. You carefully draft your message, anonymously exposing the presence of Intergang targeting the Gamorran refugees, hinting at their connection to human trafficking and other sinister activities. You make sure not to reveal too much information that could directly trace back to you or Azim.

Next, you venture into the vast labyrinth of 4chan, dropping messages on relevant boards where discussions about metahuman activities often surface. Your posts are simple, food for thought for the vigilant and curious, urging the community to be aware of a rising threat targeting vulnerable groups.

Lastly, you find your way to Chinese-language forums, navigating through various dialects and subcultures. Here, you emphasize the potential involvement of Chinese intermediaries working with Intergang to reclaim assets. Your words are carefully chosen, presenting scenarios that resonate deeply with those who may already have suspicions.

The posts start to spread, gaining traction as people discuss the alarming possibilities. You keep a close watch, monitoring reactions and feedback. The virtual world is alight with concern, and for a moment, you feel a sense of accomplishment.

But the weight of this secrecy presses heavily upon you. You hide behind the screen, knowing that while your words protect, they also put you at great risk. Jon notices your increasing preoccupation.

One evening, Jon corners you in the dim light of your shared apartment. "Jay, we need to talk," he says, his voice firm but gentle.

You gulp, your heart pounding. "What is it, Jon?"

"I know what you've been doing. Posting on forums under the name Gossamer. Using Luthor's network and those other sites. You're putting yourself in danger," his voice is mixed with worry and frustration. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I... I couldn't risk you stopping me," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "I needed to do something, Jon. I can't just stand by while my people are being targeted. I need to protect them, and this is the only way I can."

>>6041576
Jon steps closer, his expression softening. "Jay, I understand your need to help, but this isn't safe. If Intergang or anyone else figures out who you are, they won't hesitate to come after you. And there's too much information on those forums; they can find you if they really try."

You inhale deeply, trying to steady the whirlwind of emotions inside you. "Jon, this isn’t just about them. It’s about feeling safe myself. I’ve seen what people like this do, how they rip families apart. If I don’t fight back, it feels like they’ve already won."

Jon's eyes soften even further, filled with a mixture of understanding and the desperation of wanting to keep you safe. He steps closer, wrapping his arms around you, pulling you into a protective embrace. "I promise, Jay. I’ll keep you safe. I’ll always be here for you."

You feel the warmth of his body, the strength of his grip, and it soothes some of the tension you've been carrying. "I just... I need to do this, Jon. I can’t just sit around and do nothing. My people need to know what’s happening."

Jon sighs, resting his chin on your head. "I know. And I admire your courage. Just promise me you'll be careful. Promise me you won't take unnecessary risks."

"I promise," you whisper, your resolve firm but touched by his concern. Your hands clutch his back tightly, refusing to let go.

Jon pulls back slightly, enough to look into your eyes. "We'll figure this out together. If this is what you need to do, then we'll find a way to keep you safe while you’re doing it. But I won't let you do this alone."

His words are a balm to your worried mind. You nod, feeling a bit of the heavy burden lift from your shoulders. "Thank you, Jon. I love you."

"I love you, too, Jay," he says, and his lips find yours.

>>6041578
The morning sun filtered through the blinds, casting a gentle glow across your shared apartment. The aftermath of your intimacy with Jon still lingered in the air, a sweet reminder of your connection. His warmth had left an imprint on your skin, both physical and emotional.

Suddenly, Jon’s communicator buzzed to life on the nightstand. The sound pulled you both from your brief moment of bliss back into the harsh reality that always seemed to demand more from him. His face tensed as he answered the call.

“Superboy here,” he said, his tone shifting to the professional, heroic manner you admired yet resented for taking him away so often. A few terse exchanges later, Jon turned to you, regret evident in his eyes. “There’s an urgent situation. I have to go.”

“I understand,” you whispered, giving him a reassuring smile. He leaned down, placing a tender kiss on your lips before donning his suit and flying out of the window, disappearing into the brightening sky.

Left alone, you sighed and reached for your laptop, burying yourself in your feeds and the constant pulse of information. Scrolling through the notifications on your ‘Gossamer’ account, one message stood out. It was from an anonymous source, claiming to have actionable intelligence on where the disappeared people were being stored for transport.

Your heart raced as you read the details. This could be groundbreaking information, the kind that could finally bring some clarity and perhaps even a solution to the crisis plaguing your community.

The message read: “Meet me at Warehouse 14 by the docks at midnight. Bring someone you trust.”

You stared at the screen, weighing the potential risks and benefits. This could be a trap, but it could also be the lead you’d been desperately searching for.

What should you do next? You needed to make a decision, and fast:

>Take this to Lois at The Daily Planet, letting her experience and resources guide the next steps
>Report this to the police, relying on their formal investigation to handle it properly
>Investigate with Azim, trusting your old friend to have your back in potentially dangerous terrain
>Wait for Jon to get back and go with him, assuring you have Superboy's strength and protection on your side

>>6041580
>>Investigate with Azim, trusting your old friend to have your back in potentially dangerous terrain

>>6041580
>>Investigate with Azim, trusting your old friend to have your back in potentially dangerous terrain

>>6041580
>Investigate with Azim, trusting your old friend to have your back in potentially dangerous terrain

>>6041591
>>6041611
>>6041638
You stand beside Azim, your mind weighed with equal parts anxiety and determination. The message from the anonymous source was still fresh in your mind, guiding you as you prepare to dive head-first into danger with only your wits and loyalty to guide you.

“Are you sure about this, Jay? This feels like it might be a trap,” Azim says, his voice low, laden with concern. "Maybe you shoudl call your journalist friend? Everyone knows Lois lane knows Superman. I heard they even dated, before she got married."

You nod, hands trembling slightly as your eyes scan the nearby streets, making sure no one is watching too closely. “I know it’s risky, but if we call in any superheroes now, it could scare off our contact. Worse, Intergang might find out we’re onto them. We need something concrete before going loud.”

Azim shakes his head, frowning. “And you’re okay with just the two of us walking into this? No backup? Why not at least bring your boytoy?” The snide edge to his words barely conceals the insecurity lurking beneath.

You take a deep breath, feeling a prickle of irritation but keeping your temper in check. "We won't risk tipping them off. And for the record, Jon is more than just my boyfriend. But this is something I need to do. For my community. For pour community." The determination in your voice brooks no argument, and Azim, his face flushing slightly, reluctantly drops the subject.

He hands you a bandana, and the two of you tie them around your faces to obscure your identities. With cautious steps, you make your way to the warehouse, your heart thrumming in your chest. Every creak of the pavement and rustle of the wind feels like it could be an ambush waiting to spring.

Inside, you encounter a young Chinese-American man who seems relieved to see you. He glances at you both before speaking in a rushed murmur, his eyes darting around nervously. “My girlfriend—they took her. She’s part Chinese, and a Gamorran, with meta abilities."

"How do you know where they took her?" Azim asks.

"I've been tracking her phone. I installed an app on her phone,” he admits sheepishly, “out of jealousy. But it’s what led me here.”

Azim’s brow furrows, skepticism clouding his features. “And you're sure she's the one holding the phone? What if they took it off of her? This could be a set-up."

The man shakes his head vigorously, his desperation palpable. “I saw them take her. And why try to set me up? I'm nobody. Please, you have to help.”

He shows you his phone, the app displaying a red dot blinking steadily on the screen, pinpointing the location, near enough to easily reach on foot. You exchange a glance with Azim, your gut churning with uncertainty but your instincts telling you to press forward.

“We’ll help. Stay behind us and keep quiet,” you instruct, leading the way inside while Azim covers your back.

>>6041716
You move cautiously, the dimly lit alleyways offering only scant cover as you, Azim, and Justin approach the secondary warehouse. The structure looms ahead, its shadowy presence an ominous reminder of the potential dangers within. Every step feels heavy with anticipation; Justin’s agitated breathing amplifies the tension.

Azim gives you a curt nod before he moves ahead, effortlessly climbing up the outside scaffolding to peer through the windows and skylights thanks to his meta abilities. to scope out the interior. You wait nervously. Eventually, a faint noise catches your attention. Azim’s figure reappears at the edge of the warehouse, signaling you. You scramble for your phone, and read the text he has just sent you.

"Jay," Azim's text reads. "There's movement inside, and I can hear voices. It's pretty dark, though. What's the plan?"

"The skylight is open, see?" Justin points out, raising his arm and pointing.

You text Azim back to relay this, and he pops it open. He can use his metahuman ability to defy gravity in order to gently descend inside.

As Justin lowers his arm, his sleeve rides up just enough to reveal a glimpse of striking ink. An involuntary chill runs down your spine as you recognize the triangular tattoo—it’s a symbol associated with the Shan Triad, notorious for their control over the Golden Triangle’s drug trade and numerous other illegal operations, including human trafficking.

Your mind races back to the information you came across while posting online: the Triads are heavily involved in crimes that include narcotics, gambling, and, more pertinent to your current situation, human trafficking. The Shan Triad, in particular, had a history of brutal enforcement and cunning manipulation, now held firmly under the iron grip of a man known as 'General Tsu'.

An uneasy feeling settles over you. Why would a member of the Shan Triad be helping locate metas, particularly those from a vulnerable community like the Gamorrans? Justin's fervent plea for help now seems laced with suspicion. Could he be affiliated with Intergang?

You try to maintain a calm facade, but your heart pounds louder with each passing second. An internal debate wages within: should you trust this man, or not?

You take one last glance at Justin, weighing the odds. Your grip tights around the strap of your bag.

>Shout a warning to Azim
>Run away before a trap is sprung
>Demand an explanation from Justin
>Attempt to attack and incapacitate Justin

>>6041718
>>Demand an explanation from Justin

>>6042005
You tighten your grip on the strap of your bag, eyes locked onto Justin, your apparently gang-affiliated contact. "Before we go any further," you demand, "you need to come clean. Why should I trust you, especially with a tattoo like that?"

Jiahang winces, clearly understanding the gravity of your suspicion. "Wait, wait, I can explain," he says quickly, raising his hands in a placating gesture.

"Go ahead," you urge, tension evident in your voice.

Taking a deep breath, Jiahang begins his story. "My name is Jiahang, and I was born in China. Yes, I have ties to the Shan Triad, but it's not what you think. The Triad has been under intense scrutiny and cut down in recent years, especially with the collapse of our Gotham City operations." He pauses, the weight of his past evident in his eyes.

"General Tsu united the scattered remnants of the Shan Triad under his control, but it soon became clear that internal tensions were going to tear us apart. After our operations in Gotham were dismantled, I saw an opportunity to leave that life behind. I moved to Metropolis to start fresh, to go straight."

You stay silent, absorbing his words but not letting your guard down. "Then why are you here? Why should I believe you're not part of Intergang or still tied to the Triad?"

Jiahang continues, earnestness in his voice. "The Triad's fragments were absorbed into larger organizations, including Intergang. They tracked me down here in Metropolis, threatening to harm my girlfriend unless I helped them with whatever they needed." He looks at you, desperation clear in his eyes. "I didn't have a choice."

Your mind races, trying to process his confession. "Didn't have a choice?" you repeat back, fearful realization dawning. "Justin... Jiahang... What did you do?"

Just then, a piercing scream echoes from inside the warehouse—Azim's voice, unmistakably. Your head snaps towards it, and Jiahang bolts in the opposite direction without a second thought.

Options flood your mind, each with its own set of dire consequences:


>Go after 'Justin', or Jihang, or whoever he is
>Rush to Azim's aid
>Run away before you suffer the same fate as Azim
>Call Jon Kent, because this looks like a job for Superboy

I guess there isn't much steam left in this quest anyway. Thanks for playing anyway to the anons who stuck with it.

>>6042273
>>Go after 'Justin', or Jihang, or whoever he is

Oh ho! We have some interest after all?

>>6043605

"Stop!" you shout, but Jiahang bolts, his footsteps echoing off the rusted metal structures around you. The alleyways twist and turn, and you sprint after him, fueled by the fear for Azim's safety. The wind bites at your skin, and each breath turns colder with the winter night.

You open your mouth to cry out again, but then stop yourself. Jiahang shows no signs of slowing, and you don't want to attract more attention. You realize quickly that he has the advantage in this situation; you need to end this chase before he loses you entirely, or gets help.

You push yourself harder, knowing that every second counts. Memories of your self-defense classes flash in your mind—moments of sparring and drills, learning the necessary tactics to protect yourself. You were no expert, but in situations like this, you had to trust your instincts.

As you round a corner, you see Jiahang's figure illuminated by a flickering safety-lamp. With a surge of adrenaline, you leap forward, tackling him to the ground. The impact sends both of you sprawling, and you fight to retain the upper hand.

He struggles fiercely, throwing wild punches and kicks in an attempt to break free. The desperation in his eyes makes it clear: he’ll do anything to escape.

Drawing upon your training, you block a few strikes and, with a burst of strength, manage to pin one of his arms behind his back. Jiahang's free arm flails, and he’s starting to wriggle out of your grasp. You know you have to end this now.

Gritting your teeth, you pull back your fist and punch him squarely in the jaw. Pain explodes through your hand as you feel the bones crunch—your technique was sloppy, but it did the job. Jiahang's eyes roll back, and he goes limp beneath you.

Gasping, you clutch your injured hand, the pain sharp and unrelenting. There’s no time to dwell on it, though. You grab Jiahang by the collar and drag him behind a stack of crates near the perimeter of the docks.

Panting and cradling your throbbing hand, you peek out from your hiding spot, just in time to see a group of thuggish-looking men loading Azim's unconscious body into a vehicle. Your heart pangs with dread and helplessness at the sight. The men appear organized and efficient, their faces hard and unforgiving, most of them of East Asian ethnicity, though you can't be sure they are Chinese.

File: silver monkey.png (228 KB, 237x429)

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>>6044224
One figure among them stands out—a tall, muscular man clad in a skintight grey suit over which he wears a robe. His hands are clad in armored gauntlets, and a helmet that obscures his features, bearing the strange motif of a grinning monkey or ape. He moves with a predatory grace, directing the others with a series of sharp gestures and commands.

"Get him in quickly," the imposing figure orders in accented English. He exudes an aura of authority and menace that sets him apart. You’ve never seen him before, but the sight of him sends a chill down your spine. His presence is commanding, foreboding—a real supervillain.

Desperation claws at your insides. They have your friend! Yet what can you do about it, alone and injured? You're helpless, useless... Or are you?

>Get close enough to listen in and figure out who they're working for
>Take out your phone and snap some photos of the monkey-man and the vehicle
>Hunker down and wait for them to leave

>>6044225
>Get close enough to listen in and figure out who they're working for
I n f o r m a t i o n is...the only real power we've got here.

>>6044225
>>Get close enough to listen in and figure out who they're working for

Rolled 2 (1d2)

>>6044539
>>6044684

>>6044764
You crouch low behind the stack of crates, clutching your injured hand to your chest as you peer around the corner to get a better look at the scene unfolding in front of you. The steely figure in the monk-like attire stands tall, commanding respect and fear from his subordinates.

As the men load Azim into a vehicle, you strain to hear their exchange, knowing that information is the only real power you've got in this dire situation.

"They better hurry," one thug mutters, voice tinged with tension. "The powers-that-be aren't patient, especially not when they know we've got fresh metas."

"Yeah, well, tell that to the guys from the Neon Dragons," another replies. "We had to start grabbing more metas here n Metropolis, after that botched job in Gotham."

The commanding figure, the one in the grey suit with the armored gauntlets, turns sharply to face the talking men, his voice a low growl. "Enough! The Brotherhood of the Monkey Fist was hired to ensure that you could make your quota, but not to listen to your petty squabbles! We are to deliver these metas to Wang Baixi, as instructed."

You blink, the pieces of the puzzle starting to fit together. Various organizations, not just Intergang or the Shan Triad, were working together to fill some sort of 'quota' of trafficked metahumans for this 'Wang Baixi'. As the men continue their tasks, their fragmented conversations reveal more:

"Do you really trust Edge with handling this? Seems like he's got his hands tied with the FBI manhunt."

"Hell no. He's a real bèn lǎowài, and he's soft. But orders are orders. We don't work for him, just with Intergang."

"And the American government stands no chance of catching him anyway," another adds, nervously glancing at the looming figure. "Not like ours, if we mess up..."

You tense up as the realization sinks in. This is bigger than anything you'd previously believed—multiple criminal organizations, each with their own agendas, are working together on a common front, in service to a rival government... Possibly China's.

Just then, the imposing figure in the grey suit barks another order. "Get the last two metas, and move quickly. We need to be out of here in five minutes, tops. Failure is not an option, and we're obviously starting to attract attention. This one might have back-up."

Sweat beads on your forehead. You've already gathered quite a bit of information, but you have no proof, and these criminals have Azim. They also apparently have other captured metahumans they are planning to transport tonight.

(Rolled a 2: you have no been detected yet)

Will you...

>Try to create a diversion to free the captured metahumans
>Quit while you're ahead, and wait for them to leave
>Sneak closer to see how many people they have loaded up, and what kind of powers they might have

>>6044767
>>Try to create a diversion to free the captured metahumans

Rolled 1 (1d3)

>>6044948

>>6045379
Your mind races, heart pounding as you try to formulate a plan to create a diversion. You know it's a desperate move, but there’s no other choice. You scan the dockyard for anything that could serve as a plausible distraction. Your eyes settle on a loose piece of dockyard debris—a rusty old pipe lying near one of the cargo crates.

You grab the pipe gingerly, cradling your injured hand, and size up the angles. You aim for a stack of crates located at the far end of the loading area, hoping the clatter will draw their attention long enough for you to make a move and potentially free the captured metahumans.

Taking a deep breath, you line up the shot. You muster every ounce of strength left in you, ignoring the searing pain in your injured hand, and hurl the pipe. It sails through the air, and a surge of hope rises in your chest.

But then, it clanks loudly against a metal container nearby, the sound echoing through the warehouse. The men immediately swivel, their attention now firmly focused on your hiding spot.

"Who's there?!" the imposing figure growls, his voice filled with suspicion.

Panic floods your veins. In a desperate bid to escape, you try to retreat back into the shadows, but it's too late. Two of the thugs from the group advance quickly, their footsteps pounding like drums in your ears. You scramble, trying to evade their grasp, but your fatigued body and injured hand betray you.

One of the thugs grabs you roughly by the collar, dragging you painfully from your hiding spot. You struggle, kicking and flailing wildly, but they easily overpower you with practiced efficiency. The larger thug pins you down while the other sneers.

"Looks like we found ourselves a rat," he growls, tightening his grip on your arm.

Just then, the man in the silver monkey mask approaches, his presence casting a long shadow over you. His eyes glint menacingly through the slits in his helmet as he assesses you, his expression unreadable.

"Pathetic," he says, his voice a low rumble. In a swift, almost superhuman move, he strikes. Pain explodes in your head, and the world tilts violently before going dark.

(Rolled a 1: you were detected and captured)

>>6045386
When you come to, the first thing you notice is the cold, hard metal beneath you. Your head throbs painfully, and it takes several moments for your eyes to adjust to the darkness. Any movement sends jagged pain lancing through your skull. You're bound tightly, wrists and ankles restrained, and a makeshift gag muffles any attempts at speech.

You blink, willing the fog to clear from your mind. Dim, flickering light reveals your surroundings—you're in a shipping container, the rusted interior walls looming around you, echoing with distant sounds and muffled voices.

Your heart sinks as you recognize some of the faces around you—fellow Gamorrans, all of East Asian descent except for one. Azim lies unconscious nearby, his breathing shallow but steady, while the other captives stare back at you with dead, defeated expressions. You think you recognize some from your investigations.

Your body aches, bruised and battered from the scuffle and the subsequent capture. Escape seems impossible in your current condition, but every instinct screams at you to fight, to free yourself and the others.

But then you remember Jon's words, Lois’ guidance, and your own determination. This may not be the right moment to fight back—you can't afford to act recklessly, not with so much at stake.

With the situation heavy upon you, you weigh your options:

>Rest and recover
>Try to struggle free

>>6045388
>>Try to struggle free

Rolled 3 (1d4)

>>6045805
I will try to write when I have time, but there may be some delays over the next few days.

>>6046261
You grit your teeth and begin to struggle against the restraints binding your wrists and ankles. The metal bites into your skin, sending sharp pangs of pain shooting through your limbs, but you refuse to give up. The dim light of the shipping container dances eerily, casting shadowed reminders of your precarious situation.

The minutes crawl by agonizingly slowly as you wriggle and twist, trying every angle to loosen the binds. Your muscles scream in protest, sweat drips down your face, and still, you make little progress. The feeling of helplessness gnaws at you, fanning the flames of despair. 'Why am I here, bound and powerless, when all I want is to help?' The thought haunts you, a cruel reminder of your limitations.

You glance over at Azim's unconscious form and the resigned faces of your fellow captives. For a moment, you consider giving in, letting fate decide your outcome. But then, as fleeting as a summer breeze, the image of Jon’s reassuring smile and the memory of his touch fill your mind. He believes in you, and so do the other refugees who look to you for hope.

With renewed determination, you continue your desperate attempt to free yourself. The process is excruciating, each movement sending a searing jolt through your already exhausted body. A sharp stone on the floor, the edge of a metal panel—any tool becomes a potential ally in your struggle.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, you manage to loosen the restraints around your wrists. Your hands are bloody, fingers trembling from the sustained effort. Ignoring the pain, you fumble with the bindings around your ankles, the feeling of urgency mounting with every heartbeat.

There is a loud clank as the last restraint falls away, and you're free. In an instant, you leap to your feet, staggering slightly before regaining your balance, and rip the gag from your mouth. The door to the container groans as it begins to open, light flooding in and blinding you momentarily.

A familiar red cape flutters in the wind, instantly filling you with hope. Jon! He's here! Your heart leaps with relief, believing Jon, your beloved Superboy, has come to rescue you.

But as your vision clears, the harsh reality sets in. The figure in the red and gold suit is not Jon. Instead, it's a young man with a smug, overconfident expression. The black-and-white emblem on his chest gleams defiantly. And his face, though handsome and chiseled, is older and without Jon's mixed-Caucasian features.

File: kenan kong.png (1.01 MB, 622x943)

1.01 MB PNG

>>6046324
A wave of disappointment and confusion crashes over you. The super-stranger’s gaze sweeps the interior of the container, and his eyes settle on you with a derisive smirk. "Well, well, what do we have here?" he says, his voice dripping with condescension. "A pink-haired punk of a prisoner playing the hero. How cute."

"Who... who are you?" you stammer, still reeling from the unexpected appearance.

He arches an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Super-Man,” he declares, rolling the title off his tongue with a hint of arrogance. "But let me guess, you thought I was your American Superman? Sorry to disappoint."

You flush with a mix of shame and anger, struggling to find your voice. "You... You shouldn't be wearing that uniform, that symbol. You're helping kidnappers and serving a despotic regime. You don't deserve to use the name 'Superman'!"

The so-called Super-Man chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest. "Relax, pretty boy. The big, bad Chinese government isn't going to harvest your organs or anything. They just want to ask you a few questions. But first..." His gaze travels over you appraisingly. "It's amusing seeing someone like you trying to play 'hero'. I thought you American girly-men liked being trussed-up and gagged, anyway?"

You bristle at the veiled insult, feeling a surge of indignation. "I don't care about looks. I'm trying to help my friends."

The false Super-Man's smirk widens, and he steps closer, invading your personal space. "Oh, I believe you,” he says, his tone turning vaguely teasing. “But let’s be real, pinkie. You’re way out of your depth here." His eyes roam over you with a mix of amusement and something you can’t quite pinpoint.

Panic rises within you. This isn't the rescue you'd hoped for. The so-called Super-Man's demeanor is far from heroic. "Please, you don't understand. These people... my friends, they're innocent of any crime. They’re just scared refugees."

The Chinese Super-Man regards you with a mix of amusement and something you can’t quite pinpoint. "Alright, alright. No need to get all worked up." He tilts his head slightly, looking like he's enjoying a private joke.

>>6046330
It dawns on you in an unsettling rush—there's an underlying tension beneath his mocking. His condescending attitude, the unwarranted bravado—it all clicks into place. You're familiar with the signs of a closeted man, especially one grappling with severe societal pressure. China, with all its restrictive and judgmental views on homosexuality, would be a harsh place for anyone struggling with their identity. Could it be that this Super-Man is more moting tongzhi than zhí nán?

In that instant, an idea forms—an unpleasant one but perhaps your only shot. You level your gaze at him, determined not to show any more fear. "You’re hiding something, aren't you? You can fool everyone else, but not me."

Super-Man's eyes narrow, his posture stiffening. "What are you talking about?"

"You don’t have to pretend to be someone you're not," you continue, sensing his discomfort. "I’ve seen this before. You're putting up a front because you're scared too. Scared of what your leaders will think if they knew the real you."

His jaw tightens, but the sneer doesn’t vanish. "You don’t know what you’re talking about."

You press on. "I do. I know what it's like to hide who you are. But hurting others won't make that go away. You can still be the true hero—you want to be a great Superman, don’t you?"

He steps back, looking uncertain for the first time.

You're faced with a critical decision and contemplate your next move carefully.

>Appeal to his pride as a superhero by telling him of the injustices and criminal involvement
>Flirt with him to throw him off-guard and make a break for it
>Plead for his aid and protect as you pretend to cooperate and learn more about your predicament
>Offer to put in a good word with the real Superman and Superboy, who know you and will be looking for you

>>6046333
>Appeal to his pride as a superhero by telling him of the injustices and criminal involvement
We can't really go with pretending and hiding if we're prattling on about our true selves. And outing that the real Supers are after us will just spook everyone

>>6047038
You take a deep breath, pushing down the fear and uncertainty. There’s no way you can pretend to be interested when you're not after a speech like that, let alone play along with your kidnappers' wishes—you have to make an appeal to something deeper, stronger. This 'Super-Man' may be arrogant, but he’s also proud of his superheroic mantle, even if he wears it with a sneer.

“You know, your job as Super-Man is to protect people, right?” you begin, forcing your voice to stay steady. “We’re being kidnapped and trafficked by criminals. It’s not just me they’ve taken. They’ve targeted an entire community of refugees—they’re innocent people! They’re my friends.”

Super-Man raises an eyebrow, folding his arms across his chest. “So you say. But how do I know you’re not a criminal making this up to get free?”

Panic pulses through you, but you steel yourself, speaking with urgency. “I’m not. We’ve been investigating Intergang; they’re collaborating with various factions, including elements linked to organized crime organizations like the Shan Triad and your own government.”

His eyes narrow, suspicion lacing through his expression. “Sounds like more of that Sinophobic American propaganda to me.”

“It's true,” you urge, desperation making your voice rise. “They’re targeting metahumans and refugees because they’re vulnerable. We’ve got evidence—conversations, intel gathered from multiple sources. These people are being trafficked, manipulated, and subjugated. Don’t you want to make things right? Don’t you want to uphold justice?”

His posture shifts, uncertainty creeping in as he processes your words. You take the chance to summarize the evidence painstakingly collected from your investigations. Accounts from people like Mr. Chen, Mrs. Minh, and others, connections pointing to Intergang exploiting the refugee crisis for their sinister agenda. You emphasize the involvement of the mysterious figure with the silver monkey mask.

Super-Man chuckles wryly. “Silver Monkey?"

"You've heard of him?" you ask.

"I've kicked his uncreatively-named ass a few times, yeah. But... Why would he be involved? He and his whole cult of killers are wanted criminals in China."

File: 9186809-batofchina3.jpg (71 KB, 426x640)

71 KB JPG

>>6047124
While the Super-Man is mulling over this, the door of the shipping container creaks open wider, and several officials walk in. Their presence is authoritative, draped in crisp, imposing uniforms of the Ministry of Self-Reliance. The Super-Man’s doubts seem to deepen, his suspicion turning towards the officials.

One of the leading Ministry members steps forward, adjusting his glasses. “What’s the meaning of this disturbance? These detainees are here for subversive activities. We do not require your assistance with this matter, Super-Man.”

The Super-Man’s eyes narrow at the vague explanation. Though you get the impression he is a patriot, sure, he also has the air of a rebellious spirit, with an egotistical demeanor. “And why are super-criminals like Silver Monkey working with you?”

Before the official can respond, another figure answers, having entered in utter silence. He projects a presence both severe and commanding. "Stand down, Super-Man. These operations are under my jurisdiction.”

The man is clad in a highly stylized blue-black suit, sleek and menacing, with a golden Bat emblem on his chest. His cool demeanor and precise movements immediately signify someone not to be trifled with. His eyes cut sharply towards as he adds: “You’re interfering with a well-coordinated initiative.”

“But why are known criminals aiding in these detentions? If this is about subversive activities, why not target those who are known subversives, instead of these pathetic-looking people?” Super-Man counters.

The Bat-Man steps closer, his gaze unwavering. “Stand down, Kong. Orders come from the top. We’re to ensure national security, and any interference will be dealt with accordingly.”

The tension in the air escalates quickly as the Chinese Super-Man and the Chinese Bat-Man face off. Super-Man’s stance is defiant, and a powerful aura begins to emanate from him—a mix of light and darkness, swirling around his form like an ethereal storm. You can practically feel the energy crackling in the air.

"Are you really going to fight me over this?" sneers the Chinese Bat-Man. "Do you think your brute power can override the orders from above?"

Super-Man narrows his eyes, the air around him shimmering with energy. "I don’t trust you or your methods, Bat-Man. And I certainly don’t trust this ‘operation.’" His voice is firm, brimming with restrained power.

Without warning, Super-Man unleashes a vibrant blast of energy that lights up the container like a miniature sun. The Bat-Man deftly sidesteps, a device already in his hand. Before Super-Man can regain full focus, Bat-Man activates the device, and a strange, transparent field envelops Super-Man.

>>6047128
"You think your glorified magic tricks can stop me?" Bat-Man taunts as the device beeps ominously. Super-Man’s aura shudders, then flickers erratically. His eyes widen, realizing too late what's happening.

The device—some kind of inhibitor—interferes with Super-Man’s strange powers. His bright, pulsating energy begins to wane, and he’s forced to the ground, struggling to retain his composure as his powers start to slip away.

Super-Man grits his teeth, summoning every ounce of willpower to resist the inhibitor. He begins to rise from the ground, levitating a few inches before the inhibitor’s influence proves too strong, cutting him off from the very source of his strength. For the first time, you see genuine fear in his eyes.

You glance around the container, spotting Azim and the other captives. Freedom is so tantalizingly close, yet so perilously far—everything hinges on the next few moments.

The captives’ desperate hopes rest on you. Your chest constricts with anxiety, weighing your options as the clash between Super-Man and Bat-Man intensifies around you. Your mind races, debating your next course of action amid the chaos:

> Try to make an escape while the Chinese heroes are distracted
> Focus on freeing Azim and some other captives during the confrontation
> Attempt to aid Super-Man by distracting Bat-Man and causing further disarray

>>6047132
>> Focus on freeing Azim and some other captives during the confrontation

>>6047132
> Focus on freeing Azim and some other captives during the confrontation
Torn between this one and helping superman (because without him to tank batman were toast) but if the captives are meta humans then maybe one of them can distract batman long enough for superman to rally.

>>6047132
> Focus on freeing Azim and some other captives during the confrontation

>>6047337
>>6047572
>>6047573
The clash between China's cocky young Super-Man and officious Bat-Man is a cacophony of strange energy blasts and technological wizardry you can't comprehend, filling the foreign dockyard with a dazzling lightshow. Amid the chaos, you focus on your true objective: freeing Azim and the other captives. You scuttle across the shipping container, your own safety secondary to the urgency of the moment.

"Azim!" you whisper urgently, shaking your friend gently. He stirs groggily, his eyes fluttering open. Relief washes over you as he begins to regain consciousness.

"Jay... what's happening?" Azim murmurs, disoriented.

"Focus, Azim. We need to get out of here. Help me wake the others," you urge, grabbing at the bindings and tugging them free. The other captives glance up, their faces etched with fear and confusion. They shelter in the sea-can that brought them here, quaking as the government-sponsored Chinese 'heroes' clash. You know that some or all of these Chinese-Gammorans have weak metahuman abilities—powers that, while not particularly impressive on their own, might just give you a fighting chance in this dire circumstance.

You take a deep breath, your voice as firm as possible. "Listen up, everyone. We have to work together. We're not powerless. If we combine our abilities, we can help this Super-Man fight off the government's Bat-Man and his cronies."

The captives exchange hesitant looks, their spirits dampened by recent captivity. One of them, a young woman, nods resolutely. "I'm in. I have the ability to sort of possess clothes... I'll do what I can to keep him busy."

Another captive, an older man with a rotund belly and his shirt rolled up into a 'Shanghai bikini', eyes the ongoing battle with caution. "I can use my belly to bounce most things away. I don't think it will last long, though."

Lastly, a young boy steps up. "I can reverse time in an area for someone, sort of... De-aging them temporarily for as long as I can sing without stopping for breath. Maybe I can undo whatever that fake Batman did... It's not much, but it might just work."

With the plan set, you coordinate the group’s efforts. The young woman reaches out, her eyes glowing as she channels her power into Bat-Man's uniform. The clothing suddenly becomes animated, constricting tightly around him, disorienting and disabling his tech momentarily.

The older man steps forward, summoning his inherent metahuman ability. He lunges at Bat-Man, using his prodigious belly to bounce him away. The impact sends Bat-Man stumbling backward, creating a window of opportunity.

The boy closes his eyes and begins to sing a haunting melody in operatic and somewhat antiquated Chinese, pouring his soul into the notes. The music resonates through the air, its temporal energy wrapping around Super-Man and gradually reversing the inhibitor's effects. Super-Man's defiant energy seems to return, his aura pulsing brighter.

>>6047810
You help the others rally and coordinate, binding together in this makeshift resistance. With the combined efforts, the Super-Man of China rallies and rises once more, overpowering the inhibitor’s grip. With renewed vigor, he grabs the shipping container gesturing to you and your allies.

"Get inside!" he cries.

You scramble to do as he says and, to your discomfort, he hoists it into the air with Herculean strength. You and the other Gamorran refugees cling to the interior and to each other. The Super-Man flies it away to a nearby mountain range, the cold wind whipping around everyone as you cling to the container for dear life.

The adrenaline rush subsides as Super-Man lands the container gently on a rocky ledge, and you feel the cold mountain air nipping at your skin. The moment of triumph is fleeting as the Chinese Super-Man lands beside the container, his face a mask of fear and confusion.

"What's happening? What have I done?" he rants, pacing erratically. "When the party finds out I disobeyed orders, if they discover I helped enemies of the state—I'll be finished! I don't know what—”

You step forward, taking in his panic. The finely crafted superhero visage is cracking, revealing the terrified young man beneath. He might call himself a Super-MAN, but in truth he doesn't look much older than the Superboy you know and love.

You step forward and:

>Slap him to snap him out of it, and Super-Man up and take action, and ask about his powers and affiliations
>Talk him down soothingly, offering a comforting shoulder and learning about his civilian identity
>Actually, you have a plan for how to fix this... (Write-in)

>>6047813
>>Slap him to snap him out of it, and Super-Man up and take action, and ask about his powers and affiliations

>>6047813
>Actually, you have a plan for how to fix this... (Write-in)
>What have you done? You protected us. You saved us. You've done nothing Super-Man wouldn't do. So, thank you.
>I won't pretend to know what you're going through, but I want to help. All we have to go on now is Bat-Man's word, right? And with Silver Monkey and what happened just now we don't know if he really is acting under official orders or is just using them as a cover for his own agenda. Let me help you figure out the truth.

He's a patriot so going "party bad!" straight out of the gate will probably lead to him being more defensive or rage against us, he'll need to figure things out for himself. And he doesn't really trust us at this stage so trying for his civilian identity so early may lead him to accuse us of being a plant? At least this way he choses what info he gives us.