"Heroes," Clark said slowly. "Commercialization." He considered the words, his brow furrowing as he looked down at his hands. "I understand both words on their own. Together they don't—"
"Make sense?" Jude asked. "That's because where we come from, it doesn't work this way." He gestured at the street around them. "Back home, heroes exist because someone needs help. The power comes first, the person figures out what to do with it, and what they usually figure out is that people are going to keep needing help, so they keep showing up. The heroism is almost incidental. It's just what you do when you can do it."
"Right," Clark said.
"Here, someone ran the numbers." He nodded at the bus pulling past them in the near lane. Its entire side displayed a glossy movie poster featuring a figure rendered as a distortion of light, a human-shaped absence in the air around him. TRANSLUCENT 2: THE SEQUEL NOBODY SAW COMING. NOW PLAYING.
Clark read it twice. "That's a superhero film?"
"Live action. That's an actual superhero's actual franchise. Produced, marketed, and distributed by Vought International." Jude watched the bus drive away.
Clark looked away.
"And there." Jude pointed across the street to the square's main display screen. A-Train's face filled the monitor, the same face from that morning, minus the dilated eyes and the dangerous velocity. In the advertisement he was composed and photogenic. He held a can of sports drink, his posture relaxed. The branding was immaculate. His smile was a manufactured product.
"Can you imagine Flash endorsing an energy drink?" Jude said. "Or Batman doing a press tour?"
Clark stared at the screen. "No."
"Here it's expected. Heroes are a brand category." He shrugged. "Some of them started as heroes and became brands. Some of them, I think, started as brands and the heroism came later, if it came at all." He held out his hand. "Give me your phone for a minute."
Clark handed it over and turned back to the street. He had been noticing the pattern piece by piece. Heroes on shoes. Heroes on clothing. On building facades and transit shelters and the cups in people's hands. Logos on windows. Capes on billboards. A child wore a branded backpack, the face on the bag matching the face on the bus matching the face on the digital screen at the corner. Every surface was saturated.
Is this what heroes should be? He shifted his weight, his gaze tracking from a billboard down to the pavement. Is this industry, the films, the merchandise, the endorsements, the entire franchise infrastructure, supported by real heroes, or by people who perform heroism as a professional service? Is there a meaningful difference, if the outcome is the same?
He did not have an answer. He wasn't sure the question had a clean one. If the structure worked, if it channeled people with abilities toward doing useful things, maybe their motivations mattered less than he wanted them to. A city kept safe by a hero doing it for a paycheck was still a city kept safe.
But can any person with that kind of power actually hold their own against that much capital?
Jude tapped his arm. "Here." He handed the phone back. "Security work done. It's clean."
"Thank you." Clark turned it over in his hands. "You know cyber-security?"
"A humble way to put it," Jude said.
Clark moved to pocket the phone and met the smooth surface of his Kryptonian suit. It offered no storage. He looked down at his chest. He was still in the uniform.
"I need to get some clothes," he said. "Can I use the bank card you gave me?"
"You can. But there's a better option." Jude started walking. "Come on."
Clark fell into step. "Are we doing something illegal?"
"Not illegal."
"Then—"
Jude rounded the corner. Clark followed and found him stopped at the window of a gold dealer, reading the posted exchange rates. Jude offered a small, single nod as his eyes scanned the numbers.
Twenty minutes later, they stepped out carrying small bags.
Clark looked at his bag. "Where did this come from? You got this in our universe?"
"Currencies don't transfer between universes," Jude said, tucking his bag into his coat. "You can't spend Gotham dollars here. The serial numbers are wrong, the materials are wrong, the provenance is wrong. Gold, on the other hand, is gold. Basic chemistry doesn't vary by universe." He paused. "There are probably worlds where it's worthless. I haven't encountered one yet."
"As for where I got it, that's a longer story. What I can tell you is that Bruce's financial resources are vast, and that the criminal enterprises of Gotham City, along with certain wealthy individuals in Central City, tend to accumulate quite a lot before anyone relieves them of it."
Clark nodded. He let the subject drop. Jude watched him, his shoulders relaxing a fraction.
"Right. Clothes first, then lodgings. Rent or buy, the gold covers either." Jude started down the sidewalk. "We'll establish a base, get you out of the suit, and then start on the actual work."
"I'll pay you back when we're home," Clark said.
"It's nothing."
That's just how he is, Jude thought, glancing sidelong at Clark. However improbable the situation, whatever shortcuts the circumstances might technically permit, he insists on living the right way. No debts unaddressed, no rules bent just this once. Relentless quality in a person. Also completely authentic.
They approached a side street when two teenagers cut across the pavement ahead of them. They were locked in an argument, speaking over each other, their hands moving in sharp, animated gestures.
"Translucent 2 was incredible. Best thing Vought's put out in years."
"Translucent 1 was mediocre and you know it. High Tide is way better."
"High Tide? The Deep's movie? An invisible man would destroy The Deep. It's not even close."
"He can't do anything except be invisible."
"That's enough, though. He just walks up and starts swinging and nobody can stop him—"
"The Deep would get a shark to bite his—"
"Hey." Clark's voice was even and carried without effort. Both teenagers turned. Clark looked at them, his posture relaxed but his focus sharp. "That's not appropriate language."
The taller one blinked. "Uh, sir—"
"And look both ways when you cross the street."
A short silence fell over the curb.
"Are you not a Homelander fan?" the shorter one asked. He squinted at the blue suit, tilting his head. "You look like you should definitely be a Homelander fan."
Jude stepped half a pace to the side and slipped his hands into his pockets. He watched the exchange with a slow, even blink.
There it is, he thought. The power ranking debate. The one fan conversation that exists in every universe, in every medium, across every character set: whoever can beat whoever, the detailed enumeration of hypothetical matchups, prosecuted with the seriousness of actual geopolitics. Completely unavoidable. It simply happens wherever people who care about heroes have five spare minutes and a strong opinion. Some things are universal constants.
The sound arrived a half-second before the truck itself: sirens, the shriek of tires, the concussive crash of heavy metal shearing through an obstacle. A police cruiser folded in half at the intersection behind them. The armored truck did not slow down.
It barreled directly toward the two teenagers.
"I told you," Clark said, already in motion, "to watch out for cars."