CHAPTER FORTY-NINE - REBECCA

The press conference was over.

Cameras were packed up, microphones unplugged, and reporters filed out in murmuring clusters, their notebooks heavy with praise and questions they didn’t yet know how to ask. Outside the conference hall, scattered voices still clung to the last echoes of Superman’s words, playing them back like scripture—soft repetitions, reverent and uncertain, trying to hold onto the gravity of what had just been said.

Rebecca Costa-Brown—Alexandria—stood in the shadow of a structural pillar just beyond the exit doors, arms folded across her chest. Her perfect memory filed away every statement, every inflection, every pause. Not because she didn’t trust him. No, that decision had already been made. This was just a habit. Procedure.

Superman had stepped up. 

He hadn’t wanted to. Not really. He knew the risks of the world depending solely on him. But he had understood what the moment needed. And despite the weight pressing down on him from all sides—loss, expectation, legacy—he had met it. Calm. Honest. Clear-eyed.

As expected, he had chosen to lead.

And Alexandria allowed herself one long breath. Let it out through her nose. 

Not because the burden was any lighter now. It wasn’t. But because someone was finally willing to carry it with her—with Cauldron.

. . . . .

Brockton Bay stretched out beneath her, still a silhouette of ruin backlit by the setting sun. Weeks had passed since Leviathan’s death, but the city hadn’t recovered—caught between what it had been and what it might one day become. 

Some parts would never recover. Too much had been lost. 

Alexandria stood near the edge of the PRT headquarters rooftop, hands clasped behind her back, watching the streets below. She didn’t turn when she heard the air shift, the faint pressure change that came with a figure descending at controlled speed.

“You’re late,” she said.

“I stayed behind,” Superman replied. There was no rebuke in his tone. No defensiveness. Just the truth, said with the kind of calm that disarmed people without trying. “Some children wanted to talk to me.”

She turned then, and for a moment, they regarded one another in silence. His suit had been replaced since the last battle—no scorch marks, no torn seams—but the fatigue hadn’t left his face. The weight of Earth Bet had fully settled on his shoulders, and though he bore it better than most, it still showed. 

“You handled the press well,” she said finally. “They believe you.”

Superman didn’t smile. “They want to believe in something. That’s not the same thing.”

“No,” she agreed. “But it’s enough. For now.”

He stepped beside her, arms loose at his sides, his gaze sweeping the city’s skyline. “You said you had something important to tell me.”

“I do.” She hesitated, not out of fear, but calculation. Then, without ceremony: “I want to tell you about Scion.”

That name brought a flicker of emotion. Not surprise. Recognition. A tightening of the jaw. A slight shift in posture.

“I’ve heard the name,” he said. “Rumors. Speculation. Nothing solid.”

Alexandria inclined her head, not particularly surprised. “That’s because no one knows what he really is. Not even us. But I can tell you what we do know—and why we exist.”

And she did.

About the golden man who first appeared in 1982. About the emergence of parahumans and the horrifying conclusion Cauldron had drawn: that Scion was not a human and likely not a typical alien either, and was deeply connected to the origins of powers. 

She spoke of Doctor Mother and Contessa. Of the creation of Cauldron. Of choices made in the name of survival. About the End of the World scenario they feared—and the lengths they went to in preparing for it.

She told him everything.

When she finished, the sun had begun to dip, bleeding long shadows over the ruins below.

For a long time, Superman didn’t speak.

Then: “Were you behind Eidolon’s death?”

It wasn’t an accusation. Just a question.

“Yes,” she said.

“Why?”

“Because he made his choice—and we couldn’t afford to let him spiral again.” She looked away, jaw clenched. “He was the embodiment of Cauldron’s purpose: to prepare for the end. And in that, he became both our greatest achievement… and the price we paid for it.”

“You made him into a weapon for your own agenda,” Superman said. “And when the weapon cracked, you discarded him immediately.”

“We made a lot of things, most of them awful,” she said. “But we see it as a necessary evil—to buy time because it is our only chance at survival. You’ve seen the world we live in. You know how close we are to the edge. Do you think any of this—any of the heroes you saw today—would still be standing if we hadn’t done what we did?”

There was no triumph in her tone. Only grim honesty.

Superman let out a breath, stirring the dust between them, but it was not one of judgement. Or rage. Or even disappointment. It just was. 

“And what about the people you hurt? The lives you destroyed along the way?”

Her voice softened. “We never had the luxury of being clean. You probably come from a world where the line between good and evil is clearer. Here… we make do with grey.”

Superman looked away, his jaw tight.

“You were desperate, I get that,” he said. “A part of me even understands why you do what you do. But desperation doesn’t make it right.”

“No,” she agreed easily. “It doesn’t.”

Silence fell again. The wind moved her hair slightly, whipped his cape against the rooftop.

Then, finally: “You should’ve told the world.”

“You should’ve told the world.”

“And what would they have done?” she asked, her voice cracking. Just slightly, but it was there. “Panicked? Rioted? Tried to confront Scion with pitchforks and torches? Tried to fight something they can’t even hope to touch? Our best hope died trying to feel worthy of the mission we gave him. And now, we have none.”

He didn’t respond. But she saw the tension in his shoulders relax slightly. Not acceptance.

Understanding.

“You need me to take his place,” he said finally.

“We need someone who can lead,” Alexandria said. “Who can fight Scion—who can be the symbol Eidolon was supposed to be. You’re not like us, Superman. You haven’t been broken by this world. Not yet.” 

He didn’t say anything immediately. His hands curled once at his sides, then released. He looked out over the city again.

“I’m not yours to command.”

“I know.”

“I won’t be part of Cauldron.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to be.”

He turned to face her fully then, and for a moment, the setting sun caught in his eyes.

“I’ll help,” he said. “Not because I believe in your cause. Not because I agree with your methods. But because I believe this world deserves to be saved. And because the people here deserve a future.”

Her relief didn’t show on her face. But she nodded once, respectful.

“And if I find out you’re still hurting people to protect your secrets,” Superman added, “I’ll stop you too.”

Her mouth twitched. Almost a smile.

“Fair.”

And with that, he turned to leave.

Rebecca didn’t stop him. She only watched the wind ripple his cape as he lifted off the ground floor and into the air with barely a sound, becoming a streak of red and blue fading into the dusk.

She allowed herself a small, measured smile.

He would never belong to them.

But he would be what they needed.

And that was enough.