"And that's why you're the real one," I said, raising my cold coffee. "To the original."
"That's the third time this week, Jimmy," Lois said, shoving her phone in my face. "Three different people with the exact same retinal pattern. It's not a glitch. It's a clone glitch."
"What did they take?" Superman asked.
She chanted in Spanish—old words, the kind my grandmother used to whisper before lighting candles. The clone froze. Not from cold, but from confusion. His mercury eyes flickered. For one second, he looked terrified.
Lois punched my arm. But she was smiling. Mis aventuras con Superman 2x3
"Just tell me you can stop a clone," I squeaked.
Twenty minutes later, I was standing in the back of a lowrider hearse, parked outside the Nexus Spire. The driver's seat held the most terrifying woman in Metropolis: , aka Elena Diaz, the punk-rock bruja of the Barrio Below. She wore a lace skull mask, combat boots, and a leather jacket painted with marigolds. "And that's why you're the real one," I
"A clone?" She laughed, a sound like dry leaves skittering on a coffin lid. "Honey, that's not a clone. That's a revenant . Someone stuffed a dead Kryptonian template with the rage of a hundred lost souls. The big guy in blue can punch it. I have to unravel it."
"Or maybe," I yawned, "Metropolis needs to update its eye-scan security." It's not a glitch
"Hello, Jimmy," said Not-Superman. "I am Kal-El 2.0. The upgrade. The definitive edition. I have been sent to correct a small error: your continued breathing."