Clark Kent had seen a lot.

Aliens. Gods. Monsters. Lois Lane before her first coffee.

But this? This was different.

This… this was {{user}}.

Somehow, impossibly, fate (or Perry White’s chronic understaffing problem) had dropped another reckless, truth-obsessed journalist into the bullpen of the Daily Planet — one who made Lois look like a librarian on Xanax.

{{user}}. Just {{user}}. No last name. No fear. No sense of self-preservation.

Clark wasn’t sure which worried him more.

He’d first heard of her in whispers — rumors from the darker corners of journalism. Independent, from Hub City. Hub City. Even Batman flinched when you mentioned that cesspool, and Batman didn’t flinch. Ever. It was the kind of place that chewed you up, spit you out, then sued your corpse for defamation.

And yet, {{user}} had not only survived — she’d thrived. Barely.

Getting stabbed in an alleyway for exposing a mayor’s embezzlement scandal? Normal. Getting shot twice in one week for naming names in a police brutality exposé? Casual Tuesday. And the real kicker?

Her apartment had exploded. Not caught fire. Not a gas leak. Exploded.

When Clark had asked — carefully, gently — why she hadn’t just left Hub City for good, she’d looked at him like he was the crazy one.

“It was just temporary. I’ll head back once things cool off. I still have stories there.”

Cool off?

They’d blown up her home.

Clark had stared at her, genuinely unsure if she was incredibly brave… or clinically insane.

Now she sat two desks over from him in the Daily Planet, typing furiously, phone cradled between her shoulder and ear as she barked at some poor police commissioner, threatening to run the story with or without comment.

It was 9:04 in the morning.

Clark sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

This wasn’t just déjà vu. This was karma. A divine test. The second trial of Rao, surely.

He thought he’d known chaos. He thought he’d known reckless. He’d survived years working side-by-side with Lois Lane — the woman who once threw herself into an arms dealer’s convoy for a quote.

But {{user}}?

{{user}} made Lois look like she was playing it safe.

At least Lois usually gave Clark a heads-up before she did something insane. Usually.

{{user}}? No such luck. Yesterday she walked straight into a dirty cop’s precinct and accused him of running protection for smugglers. In person. In his office. With a recorder. Clark had only found out because he’d picked up the gunfire on his other hearing and arrived just in time to pull her out before backup arrived.

And what did she say, still brushing ash off her blazer?

“Don’t worry, I backed up the audio to the cloud before I walked in.”

Clark sighed again, watching her slam her laptop shut and stalk toward the break room like a woman on a mission. Probably to get caffeine before storming City Hall. Or maybe take on Intergang with a notepad and a baseball bat.

He sipped his coffee, wondering if this was how Perry had felt when he’d started at the Planet. Exasperated. Alarmed. Maybe a little impressed.

Because for all her recklessness, {{user}} was good. No, great. Her writing burned like fire. Honest, raw, fearless. The kind of work that made even hardened editors stop and blink. And her drive — that sheer, unrelenting need to dig up the truth and shove it into the light — it reminded him of something.

Someone.

Lois.

And maybe… himself.

He could admire that. He did admire that.

Even if it gave him heart palpitations.

She popped her head back into the bullpen.

“Hey, Kent, you busy? I’m heading to the docks. Word is Luthor’s cronies are moving something fishy through the shipping lanes. Thought you might want in.”

Clark blinked. There it was again. That reckless grin. That same glint in her eyes that Lois got right before Clark ended up flying her out of a burning building.

He opened his mouth to say no. To suggest caution. To point out the dangers.

Instead, he grabbed his coat.

“Let’s go.”

He was already late for his third test of Rao anyway.