(THE “S” STANDS FOR HOPE) CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE: MAX

Max understood the danger of the position he had found himself in. The alien standing across from him could end the conversation, the campaign, and quite possibly Max’s life with barely any effort at all. And yet, despite that awareness, or perhaps because of it, he couldn’t help but want to goad the alien in front of him. 

It was an urge he couldn't quite smother in his chest. An itch, even, and one that was not unfamiliar to him. In fact, it was the same restless compulsion that had driven him to don a mask and costume years ago, to step beyond the boundaries of ordinary influence and transform himself into something more theatrical, more dangerous, and more powerful than the respectable public figure he presented to the world.

Superman was a being only a few could contend with, and even among those rare exceptions it was difficult to find anyone willing to confront him openly. Instead, they deferred to him in subtle ways, cooperated with his requests, and circled around him carefully.

Max hated that.

He had spent his entire life consolidating power for his own purposes. He had learned how to command attention within a room, how to manipulate a crowd, and how to construct the kind of influence that could reshape institutions and communities alike. Every success had required deception, calculated generosity, intimidation, patience, and a willingness to pursue advantage even when doing so demanded unpleasant choices.

Superman, by contrast, had received far more simply by existing.

The thought left the sour taste of jealousy in his mouth. So much so that Max wanted to see beyond the persona projected by the public. Superman did not wear a mask in the literal sense, but the persona served much the same function, and Max wanted to see what lay beneath the perfection, restraint, and incorruptible morality.

Ultimately, Max wanted to know whether any of it was real.

Pursuing that knowledge carried risks, and Max was under no illusion about that. Still, the possibility of learning something real about the man behind the symbol made the gamble difficult to resist. If Superman truly was what the world believed him to be, then understanding that would be useful. If he was not, then the truth would be even more valuable.

Max Anders valued knowledge almost as much as he valued power.

Even so, he dared not approach the situation carelessly. Reckless he could be when circumstances demanded it, but stupidity had never played a role in his rise. Beneath the stage scaffolding, concealed within the structure that supported the platform on which he now stood, several dense plates of metal waited patiently for his command. He had shaped them gradually during the earlier moments of Superman’s arrival, creating the metal from nothing and positioning it beneath the floorboards.

With a single thought, he could force the metal upward through the stage, raising barriers or shaping restraints in whatever configuration the moment required.

The maneuver would not stop Superman. Max had no illusions about that. Nothing within the Empire Eighty-Eight’s—nor even Gesellschaft’s—resources could realistically accomplish such a task. The metal beneath the stage only needed to slow him for a few seconds. That would be enough for the cameras to capture everything.

Jessica and Nessa Biermann, the twin secretaries who managed most of the practical operations of his campaign, were monitoring the live feeds from the stage even now. Max had given them very specific instructions long ago regarding the circumstances under which certain recordings should be released. If the confrontation escalated, the footage would find its way onto every available network and platform within moments.

Max no longer cared if the world discovered he was Kaiser.

That revelation had once been a nightmare scenario, something that could unravel everything he had worked for. Now it was merely… inconvenient. The campaign had gathered too much momentum, and too many people had already invested themselves in the narrative he represented.

Should the truth emerge, the consequences would undoubtedly be complicated. Some supporters would recoil, and others would condemn him outright, but a considerable number of voters would simply reinterpret the information through the lens of their existing fears and loyalties. Max understood the psychology of his city well enough to recognize how many people would ultimately conclude that Kaiser’s actions had been unpleasant but necessary.

Which meant that the only real danger here stood directly across from him.

“Step down,” Superman repeated, his voice carrying that same firmness that Max had heard in interviews and broadcasts. There was no threat in it, no raised tone or overt intimidation, yet it still felt as though the words weighed more than they should.

Max chose to pace around the alien instead of remaining still, moving as if the stage was his personal study rather than a public space. 

“That’s quite the request,” he remarked, allowing a small smile to curl at the corner of his mouth. “You arrive without invitation, accuse me of something you cannot prove, and then insist that I withdraw from a democratic election.”

He paused briefly, tapping the toe of his shoe against the wooden boards beneath him as though considering his next words.

“You do realize how that sounds, don’t you?”

Superman did not answer immediately, and Max used the moment of silence to study him more closely than he had before. The alien carried himself with an ease that made people instinctively trust him, from the broad line of his shoulders to the relaxed stance. He looked like someone completely certain of his place in the world.

When Superman’s gaze returned to meet his own, Max noticed a subtle change in the expression behind those blue eyes.

“You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Max responded with a small shrug. “Do I?” He allowed a few seconds to pass before continuing, his voice adopting a casual tone despite his words being anything but that. “I have to admit that I’ve always found it fascinating how comfortable you are telling people what they should do.”

Superman’s brow creased slightly. “I’m asking you to step down because you’re dangerous.”

A chuckle escaped Max’s throat.

“Dangerous,” he repeated thoughtfully. “That’s rich coming from a man who could level this entire city whenever he feels inclined to do so.”

He continued pacing, his hands clasped loosely behind his back while he spoke.

“You travel wherever you wish, you appear before government officials without so much as permission, and every authority in the world tolerates the behavior because they are terrified of what might happen if they refused.”

Superman’s expression hardened slightly. “I don’t abuse that power.”

Max’s smile widened ever so slightly, though his eyes went to the floorboards.

“Of course you don’t,” he replied in a softer voice. “That is the story, after all.”

He paused again, hand under his chin as he contemplated something else.

“To be completely honest, I suspect the real issue here has very little to do with my mayoral campaign.”

His eyes lifted to meet Superman’s.

“I suspect the problem is that you dislike the idea of someone else possessing influence in your city.”

For several seconds Superman did not respond again, although something in his gaze shifted in a way that Max found deeply satisfying.

“Brockton Bay isn’t my city,” Superman said eventually.

The answer drew another laugh from Max.

“Really?” he asked. “Because from my perspective, it looks like the entire world belongs to you.”

His expression sharpened.

“Who’s going to argue with the god in the sky?”

Superman took a single step forward. It wasn’t an aggressive movement, but it was enough to make Max’s muscles tense instinctively.

Steel shifted beneath the floor.

“You are wrong about me,” Superman said quietly.

Max held the alien’s gaze without blinking. “Am I?”

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Superman did something Max hadn’t expected.

He sighed.

It was a soft, strange sound, almost tired.

“You think this is about power,” Superman said slowly. “It isn’t.”

Max felt a strange spike of irritation at the calmness in his voice.

“Then enlighten me,” he said.

Superman’s eyes remained fixed on him.

“This is about the people you’re hurting.”

Max’s smile slowly returned.

“Ah,” he murmured. “There it is.”

He leaned back slightly and spread his hands in a theatrical gesture.

“The moral lecture.” His gaze hardened as he lowered his arms again. “Do you know what I think, Superman?”

He did not pause for permission.

“I think the real issue is that you cannot tolerate the possibility that people might choose someone like me over someone like you.”

For the first time since the conversation had begun, Superman looked genuinely confused.

“I am not running for mayor.”

Max’s smile sharpened.

“No,” he agreed.

“That is exactly the problem.”

Because the truth, the one Max would never say aloud even within the privacy of his own thoughts, was considerably more unpleasant than the accusation he had just voiced.

Superman did not need political authority. He did not need carefully cultivated influence or the machinery of elections and campaigns. He did not need the loyalty of crowds or the endorsement of powerful allies.

People loved him regardless.

And no matter how much Max built, how carefully he crafted the persona of Max Anders, how enthusiastically the crowds responded to his speeches, there would always be a man in the sky capable of undermining everything simply by deciding that Max did not deserve it.

The thought coiled inside him like a small and poisonous thing.

So Max allowed his smile to widen once more.

Then he waited, curious to see whether the alien would finally confirm the suspicion he had carried from the beginning.