(THE “S” STANDS FOR HOPE) CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN: SUPERMAN/FAULTLINE

Superman remained where he was for a few moments, watching Noelle talk to her friends. Francis looked as though he couldn’t quite believe what he was seeing, even as he held on tightly to her waist. Jess stood frozen with wide eyes until Noelle laughed and pulled her into the hug as well, and the last of the hesitation melted away as the rest of the Travelers crowded around her. 

The smile on Clark’s face lingered as he stepped away and took to the air, leaving the reunion to those who had earned it. They deserved the chance to celebrate without an audience, and he had another responsibility waiting for him.

Fixing Noelle had only been the beginning.

Her transformation had been completely undone. As far as Clark could determine, there was nothing left to heal. She wasn’t suppressing the mutation or holding it at bay. It was simply… gone.

Which meant every Case 53 on Earth Bet had just been handed something they had believed impossible.

As such, he needed the PRT.

The machine existed, but it would accomplish very little if only a handful of people knew about it. Every Protectorate department, every regional office and every team that regularly encountered Case 53s would need to hear the news, and from there it could spread to those who had spent years believing there was no cure waiting for them.

He angled his flight toward Brockton Bay’s PRT Headquarters.

The first successful patient was from Brockton Bay, and it felt right that the announcement should begin here. Brockton Bay had endured more than its fair share of disasters over the past few months. For once, it deserved to be remembered as the place where something extraordinary had happened for all the right reasons.

Rebecca Costa-Brown would eventually have to be involved. As Chief Director, she had the authority to coordinate a nationwide effort in a way no one else could. But that would come after. 

Director Piggot received him alongside Armsmaster and Miss Militia, and none of them looked convinced after hearing his explanation.

“I understand why you’re excited,” Piggot said, folding her arms. “But you’re asking us to believe you’ve permanently reversed a mutation most thought permanent.”

“I am.”

“One successful treatment isn’t enough to establish definitive proof of effectiveness,” Armsmaster added. “Results must be replicated to rule out chance, bias, or hidden errors.”

Clark nodded. “I know.”

Miss Militia exchanged a glance with Piggot before looking back at him.

“But if this machine works consistently, it changes everything for Case 53s.”

“It does.”

Piggot leaned back in her chair, her expression thoughtful rather than dismissive. “Then we verify it.”

Clark had expected that answer, so he only responded with a nod.

“We aren’t making a public announcement until we’ve confirmed the results independently,” she continued. “One demonstration in front of PRT personnel, with medical staff present and documentation from beginning to end. If it succeeds again, I’ll contact the Chief Director myself.”

The only complication was its location. Cauldron wasn’t exactly known for opening its doors to outside observers, and he doubted Doctor Mother would be enthusiastic about inviting the PRT into one of her facilities.

Fortunately, the machine could simply be moved.

It had been designed to be transported if necessary, and Brockton Bay already had several Case 53s living within the city. There was no need to search across the country when suitable volunteers were practically on the PRT’s doorstep.

Clark found himself smiling as the meeting drew to a close.

Now all that remained was finding someone willing to step into the machine.

Faultline had built her reputation on surviving, and survival often meant recognizing the difference between an opportunity and a trap before anyone else did. Jobs that sounded too good to be true almost always were, which was why she’d spent the last few years steering her crew away from anything likely to attract unnecessary attention.

That approach had left them free to pursue the one question she actually cared about.

Cauldron.

Every lead uncovered new questions, yet each answer brought them a little closer to the people responsible for creating the Case 53s in the first place.

Then Trickster showed up.

She hadn’t expected to see him again so soon, much less standing outside her office with an expression that looked dangerously close to excitement.

“You’re smiling,” she observed.

“I’ve got a good reason.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.”

He didn’t argue, instead telling her that Superman had found a cure for monstrous capes.

For a brief moment, Faultline simply stared at him.

She’d heard plenty of ridiculous claims over the years, and every single one had fallen apart the moment someone started asking questions. Monstrous capes had searched for cures, paid fortunes to tinkers, trusted healers with terrible reputations, and clung to every rumour that promised an answer. Every last one of them had turned out to be nonsense, scams, or wishful thinking.

If anyone else had walked through her door with a story like that, she would have thrown them back out before they managed another sentence. Trickster, however, knew better than to waste her time with a joke this elaborate, yet that only made the situation more absurd. Either he’d witnessed a miracle, or he’d convinced himself he had.

“You expect me to believe that?” she asked.

“I expect you to look at the evidence first.”

Trickster reached into the bag slung over his shoulder and produced a large envelope, setting it on the desk between them before sliding it across. Faultline opened it carefully and found a stack of photographs waiting inside.

The first photograph showed a brown-haired woman standing beside the rest of the Travelers, dressed in jeans and a plain shirt, with a smile that reached her eyes.

“Who’s this?”

“Noelle.”

Faultline frowned and pulled out the next photograph.

Her gaze settled immediately on the grotesque mass of forelegs, tentacles, and oversized limbs that dominated the frame, while the comparatively normal upper body barely registered. Noelle’s face was twisted with fear and frustration as the monstrous lower half lashed out in every direction, destroying the room around her. The expression struck Faultline as one directed less at the person behind the camera than at herself.

She looked back at the first photograph, then at the second.

They were unmistakably the same woman.

“So?” Trickster asked.

Faultline looked up. “You swear these are real?”

“I won't lie about something like this.”

She searched his face for any hint of deception and found only lingering excitement.

That should have been enough, but hope had a habit of making intelligent people believe foolish things. She wasn’t about to let her crew chase another fantasy without seeing proof with her own eyes.

Even so…

She gathered the photographs, slipped them back into the envelope, and rose from her chair.

The rest of her crew deserved to hear this.