Marvel: A Lazy-Ass Superman

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The story of Audrey Hepburn's harrowing flight made headlines across the globe. But for once, her name wasn't splashed across entertainment columns or red carpet retrospectives—it was on the front pages of politics and society.

The political angle? The incident had occurred in the midst of a coup in Somalia. The humanitarian trip that Hepburn had embarked on—intended to spotlight child welfare—ended up becoming the symbolic curtain call for the Somali Democratic Republic, founded in 1969. Her visit was the last calm before the storm.

The social side of the story? The miraculous emergency landing. A mid-air miracle performed under cover of night, with no fuel, no runway lights, and eight lives hanging in the balance. And yet—everyone walked away unscathed.

Aviation experts worldwide dissected every detail of the landing. Captain Luca Rizzo, the Italian pilot, was lauded as a hero. His textbook gliding maneuver? Flawless. His calm under pressure? Inspirational.

But most agreed—none of it should've worked. Not really. Not without a runway. Not without lights. If the landing angle had been even slightly off, the plane would've cartwheeled through the sand. Instead of celebrating a hero, the world would've been mourning a humanitarian icon.

The media focus narrowed to two people: Audrey Hepburn, whose presence elevated the event to international significance, and Captain Luca, the man who brought her home in one piece.

And Henry Brown?

Well, in the rare mentions he did receive, he was the "lucky assistant"—a former Hollywood extra turned personal aide who happened to survive a once-in-a-lifetime crash. Some called him fortunate, others said cursed. Either way, he slipped back into obscurity exactly the way he wanted.

No headlines. No interviews. No photos.

But as the saying goes: wherever you walk, you leave footprints.

Sure, the public had no clue who really saved the plane. But Henry knew better than to think everyone was fooled. In a world full of psychics, surveillance, and people who could smell a lie before you spoke it, keeping a secret like his was a ticking clock.

He didn't think Brian or his team of CIA operatives would leak anything—they were professionals. Still, secrecy had limits in a world full of extraordinary people.

And if someone did figure it out and decided to go public? Well... he'd just have to deal with it. What was he gonna do—kill them all? Not exactly his style.

Short of moving into a cave in the Rockies, he couldn't stay hidden forever. His powers were out. It was only a matter of time before someone tried to knock on his door—whether with a badge, a lab coat, or a cape.

But that was a problem for later.

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New York City, 1990s.

The most alive place on Earth.

Even in this decade—before smartphones, streaming, and social media—Manhattan throbbed with energy. The towering skyscrapers, the kaleidoscope of neon ads, the never-ending parade of cabs, models, brokers, street performers, and pigeons who gave no damns—all of it screamed this is the center of the world.

And in a way, it was.

Henry walked its streets, blending in better than he ever had before. He kept his head down and his senses sharp. And for once, he allowed himself to simply exist. Anonymous. Human. Hungry.

He wandered past the towering colossus of the Empire State Building, the same building King Kong once climbed for love—or, as Henry irreverently put it, to "jerk off into the clouds."

But this was also the center of Marvel's cosmic chaos. The city where aliens invaded, Avengers assembled, and someone was always trying to take over the world—or save it.

Not exactly the best place to stay off the radar.

Still, Audrey was here. She was due to speak at the United Nations soon, delivering a report on global child welfare through UNICEF. She could've come later, but opted to stay in Manhattan to recover—and to attend a few high-profile charity galas while she was at it.

Rumor had it her elusive soulmate, Robert Wolders, had flown in to join her. Even her two sons, Sean Ferrer and Luca Dotti, managed to carve time out of their packed schedules to visit her in New York.

Today, though, was a rare off-day.

Her manager hadn't packed her schedule to the brim like they used to in her youth. Audrey valued time with her family, and no assistant, agent, or official could argue her out of that.

Which left Henry to his own devices.

And right now, his device of choice was food.

Traveling on the company dime was great—until you realized fancy restaurants had fixed portions. The high-end Western cuisine they'd been eating? Tasted great. Filled him? Not a chance. And trying to sneak an extra portion? Risked getting death-glares from the chef.

Which was a problem—especially for someone with Kryptonian physiology who could burn through calories faster than a marathon runner in a heatwave.

So, whenever he could sneak out, Henry did. He'd walk the city, hunt down a burger, and devour something greasy, hot, and not served with truffle foam.

Audrey was staying in a high-rise near Central Park, not far from the UN. Which meant Henry had the rare pleasure of living like an Upper East Sider—at least for now.

Central Park was as famous for its real estate footprint as it was for its beauty. In a borough where square footage cost more than gold, this much open land felt like a joke played by the rich on the richer.

As he strolled across its paths, Henry couldn't help but imagine: What if I scooped up a bucket of this dirt, walked into a Manhattan bank, and said, "I'd like to make a deposit"?

Would they take it seriously? Maybe kneel in reverence?

Kneel before dirt… from Central Park.

He snorted to himself.

And then, a voice broke through his wandering thoughts.

"Henry. Over here!"

He turned—and of course, there she was. Audrey Hepburn, standing by the artificial lake like she'd walked out of a painting.

She wore an ivory sunhat with a wide brim, a soft yellow sleeveless top accented by an oversized butterfly bow on her shoulder, and a plaid skirt in soft beige and yellow, cinched with a white belt.

It was girlish. It should've looked ridiculous on a woman of sixty. But on her? It was radiant. The way the sunlight danced off the lake and caught the folds of her outfit made her look less like a human being and more like a dream painted into the scenery.

Henry jogged over.

"Boss? What are you doing out here by yourself? Weren't you supposed to be resting at the hotel with your family?"

She smiled, eyes twinkling. "I had an errand—an old friend I wanted to visit. But the boys had other plans. Even Robert's off doing his own thing today."

She offered her hand with that signature grace.

"So, Henry. Will you accompany me?"

He grinned. "Of course, boss. Lead the way."

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