Awakening Kryptonian Bloodline In Marvel.

Even the wealthy and powerful were powerless in the face of chaos.

Fearing an attack from the hovering Helicarrier, they didn't dare to risk helicopters. Instead, they had no choice but to return to their luxury cars and follow the gridlocked traffic like everyone else.

Ironically, their helplessness brought a strange comfort to the masses. The sight of the rich stuck in the same jam as ordinary citizens helped calm some of the panic spreading through the city.

Some people climbed onto their car roofs, staring out at the endless sea of honking vehicles. Then they'd look back and see limousines and armored cars—vehicles belonging to politicians and elites—trailing at the end of the line like everyone else.

Someone popped open a beer and raised it with a bitter laugh.

After all, there might be a nuclear bomb hanging over their heads at any moment.

The kind of apocalyptic knowledge they never cared about in school was suddenly at their fingertips—Googled in seconds. The internet was full of charts showing nuclear blast radii and radiation fallout zones.

Everyone could feel the clock ticking.

But then, a shift.

If they were going to die, then at least the so-called "untouchables"—the billionaires, the corrupt officials, the ones usually protected behind tinted glass—were going to die right beside them.

Suddenly, death didn't seem like such a bad deal.

In the traffic, whether it was a construction worker, a teenager, or a grandmother with a cane—people would glance toward the rear of the traffic jam. If they spotted someone they recognized from the news—a senator, a CEO—they'd pound on their car roof and shout:

"Screw it! If we're dying today, we're taking the bastards with us!"

And that was just one street corner in Warsaw.

A city of millions was now collapsing.

Public services were barely functioning, and law enforcement had long been overwhelmed. The entire city was being evacuated spontaneously, but the roads were clogged, and order had broken down.

Screams echoed from alleys, shops were being looted, and gunshots occasionally rang out.

And this was only thirty minutes after Pierce's threat was released online.

If things kept unraveling, the city wouldn't need a nuclear warhead to be destroyed—its own citizens would do the job.

---

Malrick flew silently over Warsaw.

Below him, smoke and flames rose into the sky. Car horns cried out in a never-ending dirge, echoing through the choking air like a dying beast.

Without slowing down, he soared higher, locking onto Agent K's signal. She had just finished escorting Fury's team to safety.

They exchanged a silent nod in the sky before parting ways.

Malrick ascended toward the Helicarrier. Agent K hovered midair and activated the broadcast module embedded in her armor.

A high-resolution live feed began transmitting via satellite. The signal streamed directly to the Rising Tide's Sky Fortress, where Agent M added a discreet watermark labeled Tide and pushed it to the homepages of major websites and apps.

It wasn't just a leak—it was a strategic broadcast.

The Agents had essentially created a Superhero PR agency overnight. In the realm of new media, they weren't just operatives—they were master tacticians.

They handled filming, editing, narrative control, and social media manipulation like seasoned professionals.

Even the decision to blame the Rising Tide for the leak hadn't come from Malrick. One of their embedded agents in the Rising Tide had suggested it herself, swearing the group would love to take credit.

She wasn't wrong.

---

Thirty minutes later, the internet had become a battlefield of emotions.

Some people mocked the situation. Others condemned Hydra or surprisingly cheered them on. But the loudest voices came from the three cities trapped under the Helicarriers.

Survivors began live-blogging their descent into panic.

From the moment they decided to flee, to the despair of sitting in unmoving traffic, to the resignation of realizing there was no escape before nightfall.

Some wrote their wills on social media.

Others knelt on camera, reciting prayers from the Bible, begging for divine protection.

Desperation had many faces.

And in the midst of it, one strange voice rose.

It came from users in the Middle East and Afghanistan, calling themselves followers of the "New Protestant Superman Church."

They posted messages of hope, encouraging people not to despair.

"Superman will come," they wrote. "He has defeated worse. He will save you."

At first, it sounded delusional.

But as their posts spread, they triggered a memory. The world suddenly remembered the man who had vanished more than a month ago.

A man who once stood unharmed in the blast radius of a Jericho missile.

Wasn't someone like that meant to be a savior?

Soon, trending posts began to flood every platform:

"Where is Superman?"

"Only Superman can stop Hydra."

"Superman, the world needs you!"

Some fans even offered risqué rewards in exchange for his help. "If you save the city," one influencer wrote, "you can have me for a whole night."

And then—just when belief turned to longing—a new live stream appeared.

It had the Tide watermark and a bold title: "Superman's Arrival."

Users swarmed the feed.

The first thing they saw?

Malrick, dressed in his suit, cape billowing behind him, flying straight toward the hovering Helicarrier.

---

"Superman! Oh my God! It's really him! He heard us!"

"He's even better looking than the comics!"

"Who's filming this? A drone?"

"Wait, what if he's Hydra too?"

"No way—he's the one person who can survive a nuclear bomb. If anyone can stop this, it's him!"

Comments flooded the stream in real time.

As Malrick approached, the camera caught his cape whipping violently in the high-altitude winds. He soared beneath the Helicarrier, placed both hands under its hull...

And pushed.

The massive vessel shuddered, visibly.

Then it started rising, slow at first, then faster.

The camera zoomed out as the Helicarrier, a ship weighing tens of thousands of tons, was lifted higher into the atmosphere.

Malrick didn't stop.

He ascended until both he and the carrier vanished into the clouds.

---

"I'm in Warsaw! It's true! That airship just disappeared into the sky!"

"He's—he's not human! He's a god!"

"Why didn't he come to San Francisco first?!"

"I mean… yeah, okay, he can move it—but that's still a nuclear bomb. He could die in the explosion!"

"No way. If he can lift that thing, you know how dense his body must be? He could tank anything!"

"Well, what about radiation? He could be dying up there right now!"

---

It wasn't just the internet in shock.

Inside Hydra's command center, panic erupted.

At S.H.I.E.L.D. headquarters, Pierce was in a frenzy.

"You idiots! Rumlow, how the hell did Fury escape? We're not even an hour into this and you've already let Superman show up?!"

He kicked over a chair.

Then another.

"And this—this Superman! Where the hell is he taking our Helicarrier? I want him dead. Kill him. Now."

Three light screens hovered in front of him, showing the command centers of the three Helicarriers.

Rumlow stood at attention in the center feed, tight-lipped and tense.

"We tried, sir. But Superman... he took a direct Jericho missile once without flinching. We currently have no effective method to injure him."

---

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