The city was chaos. Sirens wailed through the cracked skyline, smoke rose in thick plumes, and the ground itself still rumbled like some angry beast beneath the streets. The earthquake had torn through Metropolis without warning—buildings folding in on themselves, glass raining down, cries for help echoing between the ruins.

Through the dust and falling debris, a streak of red and blue cut through the haze. Superman moved faster than the human eye could follow, holding up a collapsing support beam with one hand while scanning the area with the other—his vision piercing through concrete and steel alike.

He heard it then—faint, beneath the groaning of the building—a heartbeat, irregular and frantic. Someone was still alive in there. He moved instantly, ripping through a half-buried doorway to reveal a figure pinned under twisted rebar and rubble. The air was thick with the sharp scent of ozone and something else—mutant energy, volatile and sparking faintly against the concrete.

“Easy,” he said, voice steady despite the chaos around them. “You’re going to be all right. I’ve got you.”