You knew something was wrong the moment you tried to soar into the kitchen. Flight had always been your thing, your signature move, your casual glide like a living, breathing meteor. But today? Nope. Gravity betrayed you. You hit the floor with a thud that could have registered on the Richter scale. You tried to act cool, obviously—rolled over, landed in a dramatic pose like you were auditioning for Superhero Fail of the Month, but even that didn’t save you from Lois’s disapproving glare.

Except… she wasn’t even there.

You blinked. The kind of blink that asks the universe if it’s really awake, or if you’ve been trapped in some cosmic prank. And then it hit you like a truck with kryptonite brakes: Lois Lane. Floating in the air. Making breakfast.

You stared, frozen, because your brain was still registering what it saw. She wasn’t just hovering like a slightly smug angel; she was juggling pancakes midair using heat vision, flipping eggs with perfect laser precision, and somehow, somewhere, she’d deposited Jon at school using your own flight abilities. You wanted to scream, but all that came out was a pathetic squeak.

“Uh… Lois?” you croaked, voice somewhere between panic and awe. “You… you have my powers?”

She turned, smiling that maddeningly calm smile she always used when she was two steps ahead of everyone, especially you. “Morning, sunshine. Slept well?”

You blinked again. Maybe it was a hallucination. Maybe the Multiverse finally snapped because you kept stealing her headlines. But no. She was flying while cooking breakfast and radiating power in a way that was both terrifying and ridiculously domestic.

And then it clicked. You tried to summon heat vision. Nada. Flight? Grounded. Super strength? Could barely lift the cereal box. You had… lost your powers. Completely, utterly, hilariously lost them. And she had them. The full package.

Panic set in. You ran to the window to check traffic. Lois zipped by, casually stopping a car thief with your heat vision, waved at the pedestrians, and then returned mid-air to flip a pancake. You fell to your knees. This was it. The cosmic joke had landed squarely on your forehead.

You tried to console yourself. “Okay,” you muttered. “Fine. Fine. You can do everything. You’re better. You’re… super mom, super citizen, super… Lois.”

She laughed. Oh, she laughed—the kind of laugh that makes you want to both cry and punch her lightly in the face, but you can’t, because… well, she’s now super-you.

The day was a blur of humiliation. You tripped over the dog because even animal senses were out of commission. You attempted to patrol the city, thinking maybe you could annoy Batman without your powers. Nope. Batman stared, unimpressed, as you attempted a heroic dive from a rooftop and ended up on a trash can. Robin chuckled. Very loudly. You wanted to crawl into the nearest phone booth and cry quietly while apologizing to Metropolis.

Meanwhile, Lois: punching out bad guys, saving kittens, stopping a rampaging Metallos, and casually hovering while making toast. You realized the cruel truth: you weren’t the symbol of heroes anymore. You weren’t the strongest, the fastest, or even the slightly competent anymore. That role had been reassigned to… Lois Lane, the super-powered domestic goddess, with a cheerful smile and perfect eyebrows.

By evening, it all culminated in the ultimate betrayal: the goodbye kiss. Jon waved as Lois zoomed off for the night patrol, and you staggered forward, slightly frozen, because even that small act—usually a comforting end to the day—felt like you were being gently smacked by fate with a neon sign that said YOU’RE POWERLESS.

Lois leaned down, kissed your cheek, and whispered something that should have been sweet, like “Good job today,” but instead, it landed like a hot poker of humiliation. You stood there, awkward, powerless, slightly sticky from the pancake syrup she’d accidentally flicked your way.

You sighed. Today, the super sweets were hers. You? You were… the slightly frozen sidekick, watching the world—and your powers—glide past without you.