CHAPTER FORTY-THREE - SUPERMAN

Superman blinked as the world resolved around him: a corridor, pristine and endless, stretched before them. White tile underfoot, white walls to either side, and an equally white-tinted ceiling of seamless glass filtered fluorescent light across the hall. Everything glowed, yet nothing cast a shadow. And the air felt clean, chemically filtered, as if it had never been touched by anything living.

“Welcome to Cauldron,” Alexandria said, her voice echoing slightly despite her soft tone. “You’re near the Ivory Coast. Technically.”

Superman looked around. “This isn’t on any map.”

“No,” she replied. “It’s not supposed to be.”

They walked in silence. Each footstep echoed with faint precision. The corridor branched often—identical halls leading to unmarked doors. No windows. No signage. Just the soft tap of Alexandria’s heels and the ever-present drone of hidden machinery.

Superman’s gaze lingered on a sealed door they passed. He could hear something on the other side: slow breathing. Deep. Heavy. Massive.

“How large is this facility?”

“No one knows,” she said. “Not even us. Wings of it are scattered across continents on different Earths, connected only by the Door. It is to keep us safe”

“Safe from what?”

“From everything,” she said simply. “The Endbringers. Scion. Surveillance. We needed a place to plan, to operate, without oversight. It’s where we developed the formulas. Where we gathered parahumans and scientists who weren’t bound by… conventional morality.”

Superman said nothing. His silence was not approval, nor was it condemnation. It just was. 

They turned a corner. The corridor narrowed, flanked by glass panels revealing sterile rooms beyond: clean labs with blood analysis stations, radiographic scanners, and compact MRIs. Superman’s x-ray vision flicked through the walls: biological samples, racks of labeled vials, and in one room, a stasis pod filled with amber fluid. The creature inside it was alive. Heart beating.

He frowned. “These are medical labs.”

“They’re also containment cells,” Alexandria replied. “You’ll understand soon.”

The further they walked, the more the design changed. White tile gave way to matte grey. The lights dimmed, the air cooled. Metal doors replaced minimalist panels. The tension thickened—palpable, like the facility itself was holding its breath, waiting to see his reaction.

“The basement,” she said. “Where we house the Deviants. Case 53s. Failed subjects. Others who were never fully human to begin with.”

Superman slowed as they passed a cell without a door—just three concrete walls and a single white line across the floor. Inside, a blue-skinned figure sat perfectly still, though slightly hunched. Its eyes were closed, but the moment Superman looked at it, those eyes opened.

They were too human.

“Why no door?”

“They know the line,” she said. “Cross it, and we shut them down. Most prefer confinement to what comes after.”

He didn’t respond.

They passed other cells, larger and slightly more humane. Furnished. One held a woman with no visible mouth, staring at a wall. A mirror hung cracked above a sink. A shelf held three worn books.

“First floor basement,” Alexandria explained. “Short-term subjects to the left. Long-term assets to the right.”

“You mean staff,” he said.

She didn’t correct him.

They descended.

The second level felt heavier somehow, more industrial. Reinforced doors lined either side, labeled only with serial numbers. Superman scanned them—some held humanoid shapes, others didn’t resemble people at all. One floated midair, tethered by fibrous roots that stretched into the walls. Another hissed softly, hundreds of eyes blinking independently.

“How many?”

“Two thousand and forty-eight,” she said. “Case 53s. Most from before the formula was perfected.”

They descended again.

The third level was silent.

“These are the outliers,” Alexandria said. “Too unique to neutralize. Too dangerous to ignore. Contessa believes some of them may be useful one day, if even as distractions.”

One of the cells activated as they passed. Inside sat a woman with iridescent skin, meditating. The air around her shimmered with distortion. A nameplate beneath the glass read: Silence.

Then the fourth level.

The walls here were wide. The cells spaced far apart. The lighting dimmer. These were creatures twisted beyond recognition, parahumans whose powers had completely overridden their forms. Superman could feel them even before he saw them. Their powers pressed against his senses, wrong in a way even he couldn’t articulate.

One cell contained a writhing mass of organic architecture—a ribcage the size of a minivan, pulsing with heat. Another was simply empty, save for a series of whispers that echoed from within, voices that didn’t seem to have a source.

“This level is for those who’ve lost themselves completely,” Alexandria said, her voice low. “The ones who became something else. We have countermeasures between every cell. Weapons positioned around as a fail-safe.”

Superman’s gaze fell on a row of untouched showers.

“Showers,” he said. “But no one uses them.”

“Most did,” she replied. “When they remembered they were humans.”

He closed his eyes for a long time.

Then came the last door.

Matte black, featureless save for a single gold line along the seam.

Alexandria gave a discreet nod. 

The door opened. 

Superman entered first.

The chamber beyond was circular and wide. Machinery lined the walls: suppressors, vitals monitors, control panels. In the center, encased in a tangle of restraints and containment lines, was Noelle.

Or what was left of her.

From the waist up, she looked almost human—almost. Her face was pale, eyes sunken but intact, framed by matted brown hair that had once been brushed behind her ears. Superman recognized the shape of her cheekbones, the way her expression softened as she blinked in disbelief. She could have been any other teenager, exhausted and afraid.

But below the waist, her body unraveled into something else entirely.

Flesh swelled outward, a massive, tumorous mass from which limbs and parts jutted at wrong angles. Animal heads twisted from the bulk—one bovine, one canine, fused together and the size of a horse’s skull. A set of forelegs ended in a hybrid of claw and hoof. Tentacles, mottled with chitin and sucker pads, slithered out from under her, some coiling, others limp. One limb was an enormous arm, knotted with muscle and blistered tissue, and from its palm grew yet another arm—smaller, twitching with unconscious motion.

Her lower body was a grotesque patchwork of textures: smooth, dark green and brown plates of hide collided with blistered red flesh that looked burned and swollen, as if it had never finished healing. 

She didn’t struggle. She didn’t roar or scream.

She simply watched him.

Superman took a slow step forward, ignoring the red warning light that started flashing above him.

“Noelle,” he said softly. “I’m Superman. Clark Kent. I’m here to help you.”

Her eyelids fluttered, slow and uncertain. As if she was unsure he was real. 

And then, barely more than a whisper: “Kill me.”

The words reverberated in his mind.

He stood there, unmoving.

Behind him, Alexandria lingered by the door. “This is her reality,” she said. “Her body regenerates. Her mind deteriorates. We tried stasis. Containment. Everything. She is stuck as she is.”

Superman glanced at her over his shoulder. “You did this.”

“She made a choice. It was wrong.”

“And now,” he said quietly, “you have turned her into a lab rat, content to watch her suffer.”

A voice crackled overhead from the speakers—a woman. Older. Well-spoken, with a French accent, yet emotionally detached.

“We preserved her because her powers might be useful. Not because it was right.”

“Her boyfriend asked me for help,” Superman said. 

“I’m afraid she's beyond even your help,” said another woman, appearing through a doorway that hadn’t existed a heartbeat ago. She wore a tailored suit and a fedora. 

He turned back to Noelle. Her breathing was shallow, her eyes wet.

“I’m not going to leave you here,” he whispered. “Not like this.”

Her lips trembled. A broken smile.

“Then do it.”

He shook his head. “I’ll find another way.”

He turned toward the exit.

“This ends today.”

His tone brooked no argument.

And for a moment, silence followed. Brittle. Then the speakers crackled to life again. 

“Can you guarantee all our enemies are gone?”

Superman kept walking. Didn’t answer.

“Then no,” the voice replied coldly. “It doesn’t end today.”