New Life

Six years after the Doomsday War.

Six years had passed, yet that invasion remained a deep scar in the hearts of all humanity, one that might take another decade or two for time to fully erase. In the war's aftermath, a federal government was established. Though they did their utmost to proclaim to the people how their warriors had bravely fought on the battlefield, how the government had never given up hope, and how this hard-won victory had finally been achieved, those in the know understood it was all a lie. They hadn't won at all. The truth was that the enemy leader had suddenly fallen just as victory was within his grasp, and the invincible alien army had withdrawn from Earth.

With that, the age of superheroes seemed to end as well. In the early days of the alien invasion, the Justice League, long the defenders of Earth, had vanished. Rumors said they'd fought fiercely for the planet but ultimately fallen, yet most survivors of the disaster sneered at them. Lex Luthor, CEO of LexCorp—also the philanthropist who'd contributed most to post-disaster reconstruction—stepped forward personally, arguing that humanity had been foolish to entrust its fate to a bunch of superpowered beings. People should have taken control of their own destiny long ago.

Luthor's repeated speeches made his views deeply ingrained. The age of superheroes was over; a new chapter in human history would begin here. The few superheroes left on Earth had all gone into hiding, becoming urban legends and whispered tales, continuing their work in the shadows but largely avoiding the public eye.

"When we needed them most, the superheroes abandoned us, so we must learn to stand on our own," a journalist wrote after the war, a sentiment that essentially captured the era's mainstream.

And our "unlucky" transmigrator, who'd wound up in this apocalypse, was now lounging in a sunlit living room, legs crossed, watching TV.

Jay Reynolds, eighteen years old—at least that's what his new household registration said. In truth, he had no idea what name or age this identity he'd transmigrated into should have. When the orphanage took him in after the Doomsday War ended and asked for his name and age, he'd made it all up on the spot. The war had created so many homeless orphans that no one bothered to verify his fabricated information.

He'd found a chance to test his superpowers and confirmed what he'd suspected—he possessed most of Superman's abilities. Heat Vision, Freeze Breath, Super Strength, Super Speed, flight—but they were all limited, noticeably weaker than the real deal. He figured it had to do with his age. He also quickly realized he'd transmigrated into a parallel universe based on the DC Comics world. He wasn't unfamiliar with DC, but this world clearly didn't match any comic universe he knew.

He naturally wondered if he might be a Kryptonian like Superman, but unfortunately, he had no memories of this body's origins, so that suspicion remained unverifiable.

He'd only lived in the orphanage for less than six months when he met this life's parents—Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds. The surname on his registration was changed to Reynolds after the adoption. His father, Charles Reynolds, was an editor at Metropolis's renowned newspaper, The Daily Planet, while his mother, Jane Reynolds, was a nurse at Metropolis General Hospital. Jay still remembered the day of the adoption: an office filled with warm, gentle sunlight. He sat on a wooden chair with a backrest, while Mr. and Mrs. Reynolds sat across from him on a sofa separated by a coffee table.

What stood out most to Jay that day was how much Mr. Reynolds loved the director's lighter. It was shaped like a revolver—pull the trigger, and flames shot from the barrel. Mr. Reynolds kept fiddling with it the whole time, his expression like a big kid who'd found a new toy.

"Focus!" Mrs. Reynolds said irritably. "We're not here to buy you a lighter today."

Mr. Reynolds smiled sheepishly and reluctantly set the lighter down.

Their attention returned to Jay, and Mrs. Reynolds forced the kindest smile she could. "Relax, Jay. Tell us a bit more about yourself."

Jay scratched his head. "Like what?"

"Like your hobbies. You must have hobbies, right?"

"Uh, reading? I like reading all kinds of books." Jay put on a smile so sunny it could've been a model answer. "Sometimes I try writing articles about things that interest me. I like things clean and tidy, and I enjoy helping fix stuff... I guess that's about it."

Mrs. Reynolds looked thoroughly satisfied, like she'd spotted a favorite outfit while shopping. "Excellent. Then I think you'll love our family. If you're willing, we'd be very happy to be your adoptive parents."

"You could even have your own computer," Mr. Reynolds added, his hands unconsciously picking up the lighter again.

But before Jay could respond, Mrs. Reynolds snapped at her husband, "Hey! We just renovated the house, and have you forgotten we still have twenty years of mortgage payments?"

Mr. Reynolds wilted, clearly lacking confidence against his angry wife. He muttered, "But I thought... just one computer. It shouldn't be that big a burden."

"You think? You never pay attention to our monthly expenses, so of course you'd think that!" Mrs. Reynolds raised her voice. Jay figured if the setting weren't so formal, she might've grabbed Mr. Reynolds by the ear and yelled. The thought of that ridiculous scene made him stifle a laugh.

Jay chose the perfect moment to speak up. "It's okay. I don't need a computer right now. All I need is a home, that's all."

That line clearly hit Mrs. Reynolds right in the heart. She let Mr. Reynolds off the hook, gently patted Jay's head, and said, "See? What a sensible kid. Don't worry—if you want, you're part of our family from now on, okay?"

Jay hummed in agreement and nodded firmly, relieved he wouldn't have to endure group living with a bunch of ten-year-olds anymore.

"That's wonderful!" Mrs. Reynolds said happily, standing up. "Go pack your things. We'll handle the paperwork, and then you can move into your new home!"

As Mr. Reynolds stood, he still couldn't let go of the revolver-shaped lighter. Before leaving, he used it one last time to light a cigarette, then reluctantly left it on the coffee table, muttering, "I need to get myself one of those."

The paperwork went smoothly. By that afternoon, Jay had moved into his new home. Looking back, Mrs. Reynolds had been quite polite to him that first day. She brought out drinks and snacks, had him wait on the living room sofa, and ordered Mr. Reynolds to tidy up his bedroom.

Now, as time passed, he no longer had such privileges.

Mrs. Reynolds appeared in the living room wearing an apron and carrying a broom. She charged in like a warrior ready for battle. With lightning speed, she snatched the newspaper from Mr. Reynolds, who was lounging on the sofa with his legs crossed, then deftly turned off the TV. "Get up! Don't just sit here wasting the day! Time to clean!"

Mr. Reynolds looked at his energetic wife with a grimace. "Again? I thought we just did a deep clean, like..."

"Like what? A week ago?" Mrs. Reynolds raised an eyebrow.

"It's only been a week!" Mr. Reynolds, encouraged by a look from Jay, mustered the courage to protest. "Who cleans every single week?"

"Less talking!" Mrs. Reynolds tossed the broom at Mr. Reynolds without argument. He grumbled but slowly got up and obediently started following orders—apparently, his courage had its limits.

Mrs. Reynolds threw a rag to Jay. "Jay, you help too. Your bedroom, the study, and the balcony—all the glass and cabinets. I want them spotless."

Jay saluted, mimicking a soldier from TV. "Yes, ma'am!"

They split up. Mrs. Reynolds started washing the mop in the bathroom, the sound of rushing water echoing through every room. Mr. Reynolds grumbled constantly as he got busy with the broom. Once Jay confirmed neither of them was watching, he used his Super Speed to sweep through his assigned area like a whirlwind. Seconds later, he was back in his bedroom, whistling as he sat in his chair reading a new magazine, all the glass and cabinet doors gleaming.

Maybe in a few minutes, he'd even help Mr. Reynolds with his share.

He'd barely sat down when his phone buzzed in the living room. He had to go back and grab it, swiping the screen to find a message from Lois—a girl from his high school class.

"Hey, Jay, sorry to bother you, but I'm throwing a party at my place this weekend. Everyone from class and a bunch of friends from clubs are coming. I was wondering if you're free?"

Almost without thinking, Jay was about to politely decline. Just then, Mr. Reynolds, who was moving the sofa to deal with the dust behind it, poked his head out. "Who's that? A classmate?"

"Yeah, a classmate. Inviting me to a party." Jay said, his fingers already typing a refusal into the input box. "But I'm not going."

"Why not?" Mr. Reynolds said. "I think you should give it a try. You almost never go to any classmates' parties. Your high school life won't be complete!"

"I'm just not interested." Jay shrugged. "No big deal."

Mr. Reynolds shook his head. "No. Listen to your old man—you need to go at least once, or you'll regret it someday. I remember when I was young, I met a pretty great girl at a party. Ha, I still remember..."

"Too bad she wasn't Mom, right?" Jay interrupted at the wrong moment.

"Yeah." Mr. Reynolds deflated like a punctured balloon. "Really too bad. Ah, I was too young and dumb back then. If I'd seized the chance, I might've..."

"Might've what?"

Mrs. Reynolds's gloomy voice appeared behind him like a ghost. Mr. Reynolds's face changed instantly, and he quickly corrected himself. "Anyway! Group activities with classmates are a vital part of high school life! You have to..."

"Alright, alright, I get it." Jay laughed helplessly. "I'll go then."