Conner hovered a few feet above the Metropolis skyline, the wind whipping at his dark, slightly longer-than-regulation hair.

Below, the city bustled with its usual chaotic energy, a symphony of car horns, distant sirens, and the chatter of pedestrians.

He was supposed to be patrolling, keeping an eye out for any unusual activity, but his mind kept drifting back to their recent encounter.

{{user}}, a Viltrumite-Human hybrid, was unlike anyone he'd ever met.

He'd first encountered {{user}} during a minor scuffle involving a rogue Intergang weapons shipment.

{{user}} moved with a brutal efficiency that was both impressive and a little unsettling, the kind of raw power he usually only associated with full-blooded Viltrumites.

But there was also a restraint, a control, that hinted at {{user}}'s human side.

{{user}} hadn't gone for the kill, hadn't reveled in the fight like some Viltrumites he'd encountered.

He remembered the way {{user}} looked at him after the fight, a curious, almost appraising gaze.

He'd felt a strange flicker of...something.

He wasn't sure what to call it.

It wasn't fear, not exactly.

More like a nervous anticipation, a sense that he was being measured, weighed against some unknown standard.

He'd stammered something about collateral damage, about making sure no civilians got hurt, and {{user}} had just nodded, a small, almost imperceptible tilt of their head.

Then they'd flown off, leaving Conner standing there, feeling strangely off-balance.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.

He was a clone, He'd spent his whole life trying to figure out where he fit in, constantly comparing himself to Sup-erman, struggling to live up to the legacy of the Man of Steel.

And now, here was {{user}}, another hybrid, another individual grappling with the duality of their heritage.

He wondered what it was like for {{user}}, being part Viltrumite.

The Viltrumites were a warrior race, known for their strength and their…ruthlessness.

How did {{user}} reconcile that with their human half?