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Henry didn't believe for a second that Bryan Mills and his so-called "security team" had any designs on a retired movie star. No, their interest in Audrey Hepburn had nothing to do with her celebrity status—it was more likely that she was the perfect cover.

Just like those "diplomatic" UN staffers, they were using her as a human shield while carrying out their real mission.

And when it came to shady American agencies pulling strings abroad? You didn't need to guess. Three letters practically flashed in neon: C-I-A.

The entire visiting delegation in Somalia—besides Henry and Audrey herself—was basically a traveling circus of ulterior motives. It was like someone had dropped a Halloween party into a war zone: spies, agents, double-dealers—pick your poison.

And tonight, while Henry sat alone in his sweltering room working on reports, his Kryptonian vision and super-hearing kept tabs on the others.

Audrey, predictably, had gone to bed early. But the rest of the crew? Very much awake.

One was on a shortwave radio, tapping out coded transmissions. Another was oiling and inspecting weapons. A third was having a hushed conversation with a local warlord right outside the compound walls.

No, Henry wasn't arrogant enough to think he just happened to walk into the one visit where all this was going down. He figured every one of Audrey's missions had this crap happening behind the scenes. It's just that, until now, nothing had exploded. No scandals. No "collateral damage." So it all stayed hidden.

In fact, keeping Audrey's image clean and saintly was in everyone's best interest. If the public ever caught wind that her goodwill tours were a smokescreen for covert ops, the backlash would be devastating. And then what? No more cover. No more protection. No more missions.

So Henry didn't interfere.

As long as his employer was safe, he saw no reason to shatter her idealistic worldview. Let her live in the fairy tale. Let her keep doing the work she loved. He'd protect that dream—no matter how rotten the world around it might be.

Still… he was curious.

With all these people crawling around under his metaphorical nose, how could he not peek? A little X-ray vision here, a little eavesdropping there. It wasn't like he was spying. He was… monitoring.

Okay, fine—he was snooping.

He got into the habit of scanning through their briefcases, documents, and gear whenever things got slow. Eventually, he got so good at it, he could flip through papers with his eyes like a speed-reader—without ever leaving his seat.

The contents? As expected. Communications with Somali warlords. Plans to destabilize the current regime. Diagrams of troop movements and equipment inventories. Assessments of firepower, mechanization levels—everything you'd need to engineer a coup.

The target? President Mohamed Siad Barre—a dictator hanging onto power by a thread.

Henry wasn't sure whether the plan was to hand the data to the president as a test of loyalty or to one of the factions plotting to overthrow him. Maybe both. Maybe neither. Maybe the CIA had something bigger in mind. It was impossible to say.

But it all smelled familiar.

The same old vultures, circling the same broken nations. Superheroes or not, the world hadn't gotten any cleaner. Powers had changed, faces had changed—but the game? Still the same.

If anything, it had gotten worse.

In Henry's old world—before the powers, before the second life—he'd seen how even medicine or data could be turned into weapons. Anything could become a tool for domination. The sharper the tool, the more devastating the result.

The real question was always: "Who's holding the blade?"

Henry didn't try to stop them. It wasn't his war. Not his country. Not his fight.

This was a world with mutants, with Captain America, with Tony Stark. It already had heroes. Henry wasn't one of them. Not by his own reckoning, anyway.

After twenty years of being imprisoned—twenty years of silence, isolation, and a life half-erased—he'd learned how to avoid the pressure points that might make him snap.

Because he knew himself. He knew that once he crossed that line, there would be no going back.

If he ever gave in to the darkness, let himself truly unleash the power of a Kryptonian without restraint, the ending would only go one of two ways:

Either the world would break… or he would.

Of course, there was always the third option—the fan-favorite fantasy ending where he became so powerful, he ruled the multiverse itself. Life, death, reality bent to his will. A cosmic puppet master playing god.

But that kind of godhood required a kind of detachment Henry didn't want. Not really.

Because what stops someone from falling into the abyss isn't power. It's anchor points. A reason to hold back. A place to return to.

A home.

Without a home, it's easy to go full villain. Even easier to justify it.

Because once you start? Every step forward burns the bridge behind you. Even if you wanted to stop, you couldn't—because the consequences of turning back would swallow you whole.

And that's the kind of person who scares the hell out of the world—someone with nothing to lose.

For Henry, watching black-and-white films on a dusty old TV in Alaska had once been his way of staying sane. Those classic images, those performances—they'd kept the shadows at bay.

But serving Audrey Hepburn, the woman now sleeping peacefully in the room next door, had become something far more powerful.

She was his anchor.

No one knew the full truth of Henry's past. He hadn't told anyone. But some people—Audrey and Katharine included—were perceptive enough to sense it. And they'd responded not with suspicion, but kindness.

They treated him like a kid. Not in a patronizing way—more like an adopted family member. Katharine had no children of her own. Audrey did. Maybe that's why the way she looked at Henry wasn't like a boss… or even a friend.

It was like she was looking at a son she hadn't seen in years.

Henry had no illusions. He wasn't looking for a mother. And he definitely didn't have any twisted feelings for a sixty-year-old retired actress. But he couldn't deny the warmth that came from being seen. Cared for. Remembered.

Like maybe—just maybe—he belonged somewhere in this crazy world.

And if anyone tried to take that from him?

He might just break his own rules.

Not to the point of bloodshed, no. Not unless it became absolutely necessary. But if someone did endanger Audrey… well, he wouldn't just sit by and watch.

Because this wasn't his world, and he wasn't its Superman. That cape, that burden? He never wanted it.

But he'd be damned if he let her light get snuffed out by some government spook chasing power plays.

Outside, the stillness of night was broken by a distant dog barking. The warm breeze carried with it the scent of dust, heat, and tension.

This was Henry's first time stepping foot on the African continent. He didn't feel particularly moved.

The wind was still wind. The heat didn't bother him. The bugs couldn't bite through Kryptonian skin.

But the darkness?

That never slept.

Henry sat there in silence, watching. Waiting. And as long as the storm didn't come for him or the woman in the next room… he'd let it rage on.

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