(THE “S” STANDS FOR HOPE) CHAPTER SEVENTY: TAMMI II

Tammi knew who Superman was. At this point, if someone did not know him, then they were either willfully ignorant or spectacularly out of touch with reality in a way that felt almost impressive in its commitment. He was impossible to avoid, a constant presence on screens and billboards, the man who had turned survival from a fragile hope into something people could now take for granted. He smiled for cameras, saved cities, and somehow managed to still feel larger than life even when he was doing nothing at all.

What she did not know, and could not for the life of her immediately comprehend, was why he was here.

He hovered a few feet off the ground, cape barely stirring behind him, and deep blue eyes fixed on her with an expression that was neither accusing or hostile, but undeniably attentive in a way that made her uncomfortably aware of how small she must have looked to him.

Tammi forced herself to take a deep breath, running through the last few weeks in her head, searching for mistakes, for anything loud or violent or stupid enough to draw the notice of someone like him, and coming up empty. 

Hell, apart from Hookwolf’s idiotic dog-fighting ring getting raided, which had been all over the news and had involved Superman himself and, somehow, Bitch from the Undersiders, the rest of the Empire had remained uncharacteristically quiet.

With Kaiser running for mayor under his civilian identity, the order had gone out for everyone to lie low, to play civilian and avoid unnecessary confrontations, public spectacles, or trouble that might reflect badly on a respectable mayoral candidate. Even Hookwolf had been ordered to keep his head down, something he complied with despite his vocal annoyance, only because getting revenge on the Undersiders was one thing and testing Superman was another entirely.

So why was he here?

Why her?

Her mind kept circling the same questions, growing more panicked with each pass, until she barely registered that he had spoken.

“What’s wrong?”

The question was simple and spoken gentle in a way she was not prepared for, as if they were meant for a friend rather than someone like her, completely devoid of threat. But as unassuming as it might have been to anyone else, even somewhat nice to hear, at that moment, understanding hit her all at once.

Oh.

Oh no.

Heat rushed to her face as the truth settled in with a humiliating clarity that made her want to disappear into the concrete beneath her feet, or throw herself off the roof. He had not tracked her. He had not come to confront her about the Empire despite being a known member. He had heard her.

Super hearing. 

Of course. 

She had come up here to cry in private, far from anyone who might see, convinced that the world was too busy to notice one miserable villain on a forgotten rooftop. Instead, Superman himself had listened to every shaky breath and muffled sob.

Of all the ways this night could have gone, this was somehow the worst and most unexpected.

She forced herself to take another deep breath before she could spiral further. 

Yes, this was humiliating on so many levels, but it was also grating. So what if Superman had heard her crying? It was honestly none of his business. 

Super hearing or not, he had crossed a line, and she had every right to dislike it. He could float there and look concerned all he wanted, but it did not obligate her to explain herself, to bare anything else, or to play along with his sudden interest. He would take all of it and fuck right off because she had not invited him here and she certainly had not asked to be seen like this. 

It was just pitiful that all of those self-righteous, indignant thoughts died an ugly death the instant she considered actually saying them out loud.

This was Superman.

Yeah. There was no way she was saying any of that to the man who had killed two Endbringers and fucking Eidolon.

Superman might have been a symbol to the rest of the world, a hero who smiled for cameras, saved kittens from trees, and gave comforting promises, but none of that meant anything here. On this rooftop, there were no witnesses, no cameras, and no conveniently placed cameras, and no third party to step in if something went wrong.

If he decided to do something to her, then that was it. Even if, by some absurd stroke of luck, someone somehow witnessed it, even if questions were asked, nothing would happen to him. He was the most powerful being on the planet, and the greatest hero, and she was just a two-bit villain most people even forgot existed. 

The story would be whatever he said it was. 

Her fingers curled slightly at her sides, she fought the urge to fidget as her brain scrambled for options, for anything that resembled a plan. 

She could try to escape, maybe dart past him and take to the air before he reacted, but the idea fell apart the moment it formed. He was faster than her, far faster than everyone but the teleporters. That was not even accounting for the fact that he was already watching her closely, attention fully on her, like he had all the time in the world.

She glanced at the loose debris scattered across the rooftop. She could throw something at him, a rock, a pipe, or anything within reach. Pelt him and hope he flinched, hope he was distracted for just long enough that she could buy he self s second or two and get some distance.

But the mental image was laughable in the worst possible way.

A rock. At Superman.

As if that would ever work. 

Tammi swallowed hard, shoulders tensing as the silence stretched between them. He was not moving closer, or raising his voice or issuing a command, or doing anything overtly threatening. He simply hovered there patiently, as though certain she was not going anywhere and did not feel the need to rush her. Like this was a conversation he fully expected to have.

She did not know what to do, and even her irritation was wiped away by how helpless that made her feel. 

She was used to knowing the limits of a situation, used to understanding exactly how much danger she was in and what choices she had. This had none of that. Only power so overwhelming that resistance felt theoretical at best.

Her entire plan, such as it was, amounted to hoping very hard that nothing went wrong.

That was why, despite everything twisting uncomfortably in her chest, she found herself strangely grateful that Superman seemed to just want to talk. It was not comforting, and it certainly was not a pleasant thing to look forward to, but it was better than the alternatives her imagination kept offering up.

Barely.

Even if, deep down, she suspected that talking to him might somehow be worse than fighting him.