After breakfast, Colin leaned lazily against the balcony railing, gazing at the view. A gentle breeze brushed past him, rustling through the large tree not far away. The soft, rhythmic sound of the leaves was far from noisy—in fact, it was unexpectedly soothing.
The peaceful scenery lifted his mood. And when Colin was in good spirits, he often found himself wanting to help someone.
After a while, he spread his arms and soared into the sky, breaking through the clouds in the blink of an eye.
Not far ahead, an airplane sliced through the misty layer of white. From where he hovered, Colin could see the passengers clearly, though they, of course, couldn't see him.
Let's see who needs help today…
He scanned the world below, his enhanced vision sweeping across cities and countryside alike, seeing everything with absolute clarity.
Soon, he spotted a scene that caught his attention—a terrorist wielding an AK rifle had taken an entire elementary school class hostage.
"Do you want to die?!" the man roared, slamming the butt of his gun against a white woman's head. She crumpled to the ground, blood trickling down her temple, but he didn't stop hitting her.
All she'd done was plead to take the others' place as hostage.
To him, that was unacceptable—more hostages meant more safety.
Turning toward the trembling children, the terrorist sneered. "Don't be scared. As long as you behave, I won't kill you. But if anyone tries to run…" He gestured with his rifle. "Don't blame me for what happens."
The power to decide life and death thrilled him. His gaze shifted to a Black female teacher nearby—plain-looking, perhaps, but with an attractive figure that stirred his lust. He raised his gun, motioning for her to crawl over, then pointed suggestively to his groin.
The woman froze. She knew exactly what awaited her, humiliation twisting like a knife in her chest. Yet with the children watching, she forced herself forward on her knees, tears already burning in her eyes.
But before the nightmare could unfold, the ceiling exploded.
With a thunderous crash, Colin descended like a meteor, smashing through the roof and landing behind the man in an eruption of dust and debris.
Everyone turned in shock—the children, the teachers, even the gunman.
The terrorist spun around, eyes wide, and immediately recognized him.
"C-Colin…" he stammered. He swallowed hard, then dropped to his knees, tossing aside his weapon. "I surrender!"
The Black teacher's eyes welled with tears. "Thank you," she whispered hoarsely. "Thank you so much—I'll repay you someday, I swear…"
Colin glanced at her briefly and activated his mind-reading ability. In a flash, he saw her thoughts—fear, rage, humiliation—but also genuine gratitude. She meant what she said.
He stepped closer, smiled, and gently helped her to her feet.
"It's over now," he said softly. "Go on and keep teaching. The kids still need you."
For a moment, she just stared at him, dazed. In that instant, Colin looked almost divine—kind, powerful, untouchable. His words felt like a blessing, like he'd given her a purpose reborn.
"I will," she said fervently, nodding with tears in her eyes.
Colin took off again, leaving the scene behind.
And from that day on, she would teach with a new sense of devotion—one born of the mission he'd given her.
Hovering above the clouds, Colin smiled faintly.
As long as the world stayed balanced, he could relax—watching his wealth quietly grow.
"He's so strange…" Lois Lane muttered, frowning at the news broadcast. On the screen, the rescued teacher was practically worshiping Colin, speaking of him with fanatical reverence.
It was as if she'd been brainwashed.
"Does he have the power to control people's minds?" she asked.
Clark walked over with a mug in hand. "He does," he admitted. "But he rarely uses it—and not this time."
He repeated to Lois exactly what Colin had said to the teacher.
Lois fell silent. She tried to imagine herself in that woman's place—about to be violated, when a godlike being descends from the heavens to save her.
He comforts her, tells her to keep teaching, to keep nurturing children…
It wasn't hard to see how that could change someone's life.
"So what kind of man is he, really?" Lois finally said. "He loves money, yet helps people for free. He kills without hesitation, but also saves countless lives. He's cruel and kind, selfish and selfless… and somehow, people still adore him."
Clark smiled faintly. "He's a man who does whatever he pleases. He's said it himself—if someone annoys him, he'll make sure they regret it."
Lois laughed and wrapped her arms around Clark. "You're much better. If I were Colin's girlfriend, I'd be terrified of making him angry and getting killed for it."
Clark chuckled. "He's not that dangerous."
Of course, Colin heard their entire conversation.
"Lois doesn't even qualify to be my girlfriend," he said with mock arrogance. "She's not even half as good-looking as I am."
Clark merely chuckled.
"What's so funny?" Lois demanded, squinting at him.
"Nothing," he said, smiling fondly as he pulled her close.
Colin shuddered in mock disgust. "Ugh… disgusting."
He shook his head. "Alright, let's find someone else who needs saving."
Gotham City
Bruce Wayne watched the same news report from his car, expression grim.
Colin's gentle smile on the screen didn't fool him. Something about that man reeked of hidden motives.
"That guy's no saint," Bruce muttered, steering his car through the dark streets.
Just then, an all-too-familiar laugh echoed through the night—sharp and manic.
The Joker.
He fired a shot into a man's leg, watching him collapse in agony.
It had been a while since the clown had attacked ordinary civilians. Not since he appeared.
Ever since Colin's rise, Gotham's criminals had adapted. They'd studied his actions, learned the rules.
Hurting people was fine—killing them, however, was suicide.
Because if you killed, you didn't live to see the next day.
The Joker grinned wide, almost admiringly.
He'd figured it out—Colin was the true ruler of this world. His power was far greater than Superman's, and his morality far more… unpredictable.
As long as he stayed alive, the clown would play by the rules.
But once he tired of Batman?
Then maybe he'd pick up a Gatling gun—and paint the streets red again.