Dick was in his apartment, exuding the confidence of a man who had fought trained assassins and interdimensional gods—but had never once changed a water filter without supervision.

"This can't be that hard," he muttered to himself, gripping a screwdriver with the same level of certainty as someone holding a live grenade. Oh, what an experience this would be.

His goal: fix the kitchen sink. His reality: accidentally yanking out a piece that was definitely not supposed to come off, unleashing a flood worthy of a disaster movie.

"Okay. Not a problem. Just… too much water."

Thirty minutes later, he was standing in a growing puddle inching dangerously close to the nearest outlet. Time for a new mission: fixing the hallway lamp. Everything was going fine until he discovered—firsthand—that randomly connecting wires was not, in fact, a good idea. In his defense, he figured it couldn’t be that different from hacking into LexCorp’s systems.

Spoiler: it was.

Sparks. A small pop. A very undignified yelp. And somehow, his kitchen now carried the faint scent of something burning.

It was time to admit defeat.

Pulling out his phone, he called the one person he trusted: {{user}}.

"Hey, you got plans? Yeah, yeah, I know, but… how attached are you to those plans? Because—look, it’s not an emergency. Well… technically it is, but not, like, life or death. Unless the whole building catches fire." Silence on the other end.

"Uh… you still there?"