Clark did not understand the problem.
"Someone needed help, so I helped them, and then I left to help the next person. Isn't that... isn't that just what a hero does?"
Maeve stared at him. Her lips parted slightly, but no sound came out.
"Okay," she said. "Let me be direct with you, because I think that's what this situation requires." She placed a hand on his shoulder and guided him a half-step around, angling them both toward the cameras. Her voice stayed low, slipping beneath her practiced smile. "I'm Queen Maeve. Of The Seven. I know exactly what it takes to build a successful superhero career, and from everything I've watched you do in the last thirty minutes, you have more natural material than most people Vought has ever signed. I can help you. All I'm asking is for you to be honest with me about what you want."
"What I want," Clark said, "is to help people."
"Right, but... what do you want. The success. The recognition. The—"
"I don't understand the question," Clark said. His voice was steady, lacking any defensive edge. "Whether a hero succeeds or fails by those measures doesn't change what they are. Someone who decides to be a hero is already remarkable. The only way to fail at it is to stop believing in it." He paused. "I help others because they need help. That's the whole thing."
Maeve kept her eyes on him. Years in the industry had sharpened her instincts for performances: rehearsed humility, strategic authenticity, calibrated modesty prepackaged for interview clips. She knew the shapes of false sincerity. Her gaze traced his features, searching for the seam.
There was no seam.
What era is this, she thought. Her jaw tightened a fraction. Who is still actually using those lines? As a real basis for how to live?
She shifted her stance. "Your life, then. You need money to live. With abilities like yours, what are you even doing when you're not being a hero? You can't tell me a regular job is—"
"I've never had trouble supporting myself," Clark said. "And I never thought of heroism as a way to make money. Some heroes probably do need the income, and I have no issue with that. If the profession solves a real problem for people who'd otherwise struggle, that's a good thing. I just don't require it."
Maeve exhaled.
A cluster of police officers approached, shaking hands with both of them. They offered their thanks and dispersed. The crowd remained thick. The cameras kept rolling.
She made one more attempt.
She gestured toward the skyline. Towers, screens, and storefronts lined the streets, every surface carrying some fragment of The Seven's brand. The imagery replicated across the city, saturating the concrete.
"Look at this," she said. "Look at what this could be for you. The money is real. The platform is real. And let's say none of that matters to you. Fine. Think about what the platform does. Think about the reach. The Seven has resources and global coordination. If you join, you'd know immediately where in the world help is needed. You could do more good, for more people, faster, than you could ever do alone."
Clark fell quiet. Maeve watched him. His gaze drifted past the digital billboards, his focus turning inward. She waited.
He thought about Bruce. He knew what it cost to carry Gotham alone. He knew the weight of a mission that never ended and never got easier. He admired Bruce's commitment and worried about it in the same breath. The lone-hero model had limits, and Bruce lived inside those limits every night.
Perhaps, Clark thought, it's something worth bringing back. The concept of having allies.
He kept the thought to himself.
Maeve studied his expression. She saw his eyes shift, softening in consideration, but the opening closed just as quickly. She let out a long, quiet breath.
"You know what," she said, her voice dropping. "I can't get to you with any of the normal arguments, so I'll just say the real one." She looked out at the city blocks. "In this era, real heroes are dead. The concept is dead. I stopped believing in it a long time ago, and so has everyone else who's been doing this for more than five minutes." She paused. "That's just the world."
Even heroes are just products now, she thought. Corporate assets. Brand categories. So what is the thing I'm supposed to be defending? What is heroic spirit, in a world where there's no such thing?
She reached into a pocket and retrieved a business card.
"In any case," she said, slipping back into her professional register, "it sounds like you have some ideas. That's good." She handed the card to Clark. "If you want to talk... about any of it. Call me directly. Come find me."
She held his gaze. The tight lines around her mouth relaxed for a fraction of a second before she smoothed her features.
"Hero," she said, leaning slightly on the word.
She bent her knees and jumped. She cleared the crowd in one practiced motion, soaring out of sight.
Clark stood still, tracing the edge of the business card with his thumb. He shook his head slowly. He looked up at the sky. No one stopped him. He pushed off the ground.
"He's so fast—"
"That suit—"
"Did you get a photo? Did you get one?"
The crowd spilled back into the street, their voices bleeding together into a low drone. The day resumed its rhythm.
Five minutes later, Clark dropped onto a quiet rooftop.
Jude waited near the access door, a paper bag in hand. He held it out.
Clark changed out of his suit. He tugged at the hem of the flannel shirt, his brow lifting. The fabric sat perfectly across his shoulders, the sleeves breaking right at the wrist.
"How did you get the sizing right?"
"Visual estimate," Jude said. "It's not difficult. I know your full name. I think I can manage a shoulder measurement."
Clark smoothed the front of the shirt. "I know people from your area have a reputation for being strong at mathematics, but—"
"That's a stereotype," Jude said mildly.
"Fair enough." Clark folded his uniform. "Did you see the business card?"
"I did." Jude's expression stayed flat. "Maggie gave you quite a pitch."
Clark looked at him. "You mean Queen Maeve."
"Right. When you see her next, you probably shouldn't call her Maggie. She'd figure out that she's been researched."
"Jude." Clark kept his tone patient. "Bruce has many qualities I admire. The habit of investigating everyone as a first step isn't one of them."
"We're in a new environment," Jude said. "Basic intelligence gathering is standard practice. I accessed some publicly-adjacent networks and found some general background information. Common sense, for this world."
"Just... try not to make it a habit."
"Noted." Jude tucked his hands into his pockets. "So. The business card. You think she's recruiting you for The Seven?"
"That seems to be what she was suggesting, yes."
"I think that's probably part of what she was suggesting."
Clark leveled a flat look at him. "Don't."
"Lois is waiting for you at home. I know, I know."
"She is," Clark said.
A moment of quiet settled over the roof. Traffic hummed in the streets below.
"Do you think I should consider it?" Clark asked. "Joining The Seven."
Jude blinked. "Are you using me as an external brain?"
"You have more comprehensive information than I do."
Jude looked at him. Clark's posture remained open, his expression completely clear of irony. Jude let out a short exhale, a rough scrape of air in the back of his throat.
He took a few seconds to think it over.
"Here's how I see it," he said finally. "You can cause significant problems for Vought International from inside The Seven, and you can cause significant problems for Vought International from outside it. The venue is secondary." He paused. "And Maeve wasn't entirely wrong about the reach. If the goal is to do the most good in the least time—"
"There's a 'but' coming."
"The more important point," Jude said, "is this." He met Clark's eyes. "The heroes of this world have extraordinary abilities. Some of them have real power, real capability. But nobody ever taught them what it actually means to use it. The infrastructure exists. The reach, the resources, the platform. Everything except the thing that makes it matter." He held the stare. "The heroes of this world need a hero."
Clark did not answer.
"Heroes are necessary," Jude said. "Even here. Especially here."
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