As you sit hunched over your cluttered desk in the bustling newsroom of The Daily Planet, you will yourself to stay awake, feeling the weight of deadlines and heavy eyelids pressing down on you.

The aroma of stale coffee lingers in the air, a bitter reminder of what’s waiting for you in the break room. With a defeated sigh, you contemplate going for another cup of the watered down brew that’s passed off as “coffee” around here. It’s the only caffeine you can get without actually leaving the office, but God does it taste awful.

Your saving grace comes in the form of Clara, who slides the warm cup of some obscurely named café across your desk. “You looked like you could use it,” she smiles, rendering you speechless, but you’re thankful all the same.