Superman: Man of Tomorrow

The weight of a trillion breaths hung in the balance as a tall, dark-haired man walked briskly through the ornate halls of the Auraplex. The lower level, composed of a material that to an Earthling would resemble marble but with a distinct metallic sheen, was transformed into a massive labyrinth of maze-like cubicles. Here, thousands of students were engrossed in learning simulations, their headsets glowing with varying colors to indicate performance. The dreaded red light signaled failure, promptly summoning a Brainiac AI unit for intervention and specialized tutelage.

Usually, such a scene would instill in Jor-El a sense of nostalgia or hope for the future. But today, as he traversed the familiar corridors, his expression was as hard as steel. Only those who knew him intimately could detect the profound grief hidden in his eyes.

"Jor-El!" A youthful voice broke through his reverie, causing him to pause and turn. Approaching him was a young man in his early twenties, adorned in purple robes that shimmered with an enigmatic technology. He reached out, clasping Jor-El's arm in a familiar greeting.

"Brother," Jor-El acknowledged with a strained smile, his greying temples betraying his seniority. To outsiders, their relationship might appear paternal, but those familiar with the House of El knew better.

"How fares your studies?" Jor-El inquired, his tone reflecting both interest and formality.

Zor-El, the younger man, beamed with a mix of eagerness and apprehension. "They progress well, but I've been focusing more on my sculptures. I've applied new techniques, blending ancient Kryptonian art with modern concepts. Brother, do you have a moment to see them?" His eyes conveyed a deep-seated yearning for approval.

Jor-El's eyes briefly softened with a touch of regret. "I wish I could, Zor, but time is a luxury I don't have today," he said, his voice bearing the weight of unspoken apologies. "I'm sure they are as remarkable as your passion for them. I wish you well in your artistic endeavors."

As they parted, Jor-El's attention was momentarily caught by a young woman approaching Zor-El. Alura Zee, her hair like a cascade of starlight, moved with a grace that was unmistakably born of nobility. Jor-El found himself contemplating, almost absent-mindedly, that she would make a suitable companion for Zor. The thought was fleeting, a rare intrusion of personal musings in a mind usually occupied by matters of greater consequence.

Jor-El strode purposefully towards the council chamber, his mind a tumult of anxious thoughts. As he approached the clerk's desk, a polished structure of gleaming metal and glowing panels, he was greeted with a forced smile from the young attendant.

"Ah, Jor-El, we weren't expecting you so soon," the clerk said, his voice carrying a hint of feigned surprise. He busied himself with some documents, avoiding eye contact.

Jor-El frowned. The meeting was on the agenda for in precisely five minutes. This was odd to say the least.

"I have urgent matters to discuss with the council," Jor-El stated, his tone resolute yet laced with an undercurrent of frustration.

The clerk, meticulously adjusting his spectacles, glanced up briefly. "I'm afraid the council is currently in a closed session. You'll have to wait, perhaps quite a while."

Jor-El's eyes narrowed slightly, recognizing the subtle barriers being erected before him. The hallways echoed with the low murmur of conversations, the walls adorned with symbols of unity and progress, yet the air was thick with unspoken agendas.

"I see," Jor-El replied, his voice calm but the strain of urgency palpable. "Please inform them of my presence immediately."

"Of course," the clerk responded, his tone overly polite, yet there was a slowness to his movements, a deliberate delay as he made a show of noting down the request.

As the man did so, Jor-El took note of the clerk's clothing and insignia. House Zod.

Jor-El took a step back, his lips quirking downward into a frown. The feud between the House of Zod and House of El was well known and existed for generations. Jor-El sighed. Such feuds would have to be put aside. There were larger matters at play.

Jor-El let his eyes rest on the sealed doors of the council chamber as he took a seat. An hour passed. Then two. He felt himself growing fidgety and began bouncing his foot. His wife Lara called it a nervous tick. Personally, he would argue that their race had evolved past such weaknesses and it was a sign that he was supposed to be moving and working, but then again Lara was a bit of a maverick in her views, something which occasionally damaged his own standing in the scientific community but her oddities would prove their worth. They would save their own race.

"Lord El, the council will see you now," the clerk's voice finally broke the silence and Jor-El nodded, not deigning to give the man more courtesy than that.

As he stepped into the grand council chamber, the vastness of the space seemed to amplify the gravity of his mission. The room, a marvel of Kryptonian architecture, was designed to reflect both the glory and the order of their civilization. High above, the ceiling was adorned with intricate murals depicting the history of Krypton, while the semi-circular arrangement of elongated tables below emphasized a sense of unity and discourse among the council members.

Each councilor, a representative of a distinct sector of Kryptonian society, turned their attention toward Jor-El as he was announced. "Esteemed Council, presenting Jor-El of the House of El," the chamberlain's voice echoed, imbued with a formal cadence that resonated through the chamber. The councilors, garbed in attire reflecting their regions and roles, offered nods of acknowledgment, their expressions a complex tapestry of anticipation, curiosity, and skepticism.

Jor-El observed the political rituals that commenced the session. A customary silence was observed, a brief moment that paid homage to Krypton's revered principles of truth and knowledge. The Chief Councilor, Ro-Bell of House Bell was figure who commanded respect through both wisdom and political acumen, then broke the silence. "Jor-El, you have been granted this audience to share your findings. We trust your insights will contribute to the continued prosperity of our world."

The chamber's ambience shifted as Jor-El stepped forward. He could feel the weight of their eyes upon him and behind those eyes lay a web of political alliances, personal ambitions, and deeply ingrained ideologies.

"Thank you, Chief Councilor," Jor-El began, his voice steady yet tinged with an underlying urgency. "I stand before you not just as a scientist, but as a citizen of Krypton, deeply concerned about our planet's future." He inserted his data crystal into the podium, and holographic images sprang to life around the room, casting ghostly lights on the faces of the councilors.

Whispers and murmurs filled the chamber as the councilors leaned forward to examine the projections. Some faces reflected genuine concern, while others bore the hardened look of skepticism. The hologram in the room showed the planet of Krypton, with a wildly pulsating core. Jor-El swallowed, his mouth dry, and began to speak.


"Councilors," Jor-El began, his voice resonating with a blend of gravitas and urgency, "the data before you reveals a disturbing truth. Our planet's core is deteriorating at an alarming rate."

A murmur of concern rippled through the chamber. Councilor Tym-An, a representative known for his scientific acumen, leaned forward. "Deteriorating, Jor-El? Could you elaborate?"

"Certainly," Jor-El replied, gesturing towards the swirling images. "For decades, we've harnessed the core's energy, believing our methods sustainable. However, our latest simulations reveal a critical destabilization. The core's energy output is fluctuating wildly, far beyond safe parameters."

"Fluctuations in the core are not unheard of, Jor-El," Tym-An stated in a heavy voice, "Why should we consider this an imminent threat?"

Jor-El met the man's gaze, his expression solemn. "Because, Councilor , these are not mere fluctuations. Our core is on the brink of a cataclysmic reaction. If left unchecked, it will lead to a planetary implosion."

A tense silence fell over the chamber. The gravity of Jor-El's words seemed to hang in the air.

"And how long do we have?" asked the Chief Councilor, his voice steady but laden with concern.

Jor-El paused, knowing the weight his next words would carry. "Based on our projections, Krypton has, at best, two years before its destruction."

The council chamber erupted into a cacophony of voices, each councilor voicing their disbelief, fear, or skepticism.

Jor-El stood resolute, letting the conversations play out. He was a scientist, not a politician.

The Chief Councilor raised his hands, commanding silence with an authority that resonated through the chamber. "Councilors, please! We must approach this with the clarity and logic that befits our people." The room gradually settled into a tense quietude, all eyes turning back to the central dais.

"Brainiac," the Chief Councilor addressed the AI unit, its lights pulsing in a steady, hypnotic rhythm. "We request your evaluation of Jor-El's data. Is Krypton truly in such peril?"

The AI, a pinnacle of Kryptonian technology, hummed as it processed the information. "Analyzing Jor-El's data," Brainiac's voice was emotionless, yet it carried a weight that seemed to anchor the room. Moments later, it responded, "The core fluctuations are within acceptable limits. The probability of planetary destruction in the next two years is statistically insignificant."

Jor-El's brow furrowed in surprise and confusion. His simulations were thorough, the result of painstaking research and analysis. To hear Brainiac flatly contradict his findings was not only unexpected but deeply concerning.

The councilors, visibly relieved by Brainiac's assessment, began to murmur among themselves. The air of skepticism that had been momentarily displaced by fear seemed to return, bolstered by the AI's reassurance.

"Councilor Zara, you have the floor," the Chief Councilor indicated.

Zara stood, her gaze fixated on Jor-El. "Jor-El, while your dedication to Krypton is unquestioned, we must consider all factors. Tell us, were these simulations solely your work, or did Lara Lor-Van contribute?"

The council shifted their attention to Jor-El, their expressions a mix of curiosity and doubt. Jor-El, feeling the shift in the room, responded, "My wife, Lara, did contribute. Her mathematical models were instrumental in these projections."

A subtle change swept over the council. Lara's unconventional methods, often at odds with mainstream Kryptonian science, were no secret. Her involvement, to some, cast a shadow of doubt over the reliability of Jor-El's findings.

"Thank you, Jor-El," the Chief Councilor said, his tone neutral yet final. "The council will deliberate further on this matter. You are dismissed."

——
In the quiet of their bedroom, under the serene glow of Krypton's moons, Jor-El and Lara lay side by side, a stark contrast to the turbulence of the day's events. The frustration in Jor-El's voice was palpable as he vented about the council's inaction.

"They completely dismissed our findings," Jor-El said, his voice tinged with anger. "They place blind faith in Brainiac, ignoring the clear evidence."

Lara, her blue eyes reflecting a fierce intelligence, turned towards him. "Our data was irrefutable, Jor. My math doesn't lie. It's precise, predictive."

Jor-El met her gaze, "I know. Your models were essential in predicting the core's instability. Brainiac's contradiction is baffling."

With a spark of defiance, Lara sat up, her mind working rapidly. "Have you considered that someone might be tampering with Brainiac? Manipulating its outputs?"

Jor-El paused, absorbing the implication. "Tampering? But who would have the audacity to do such a thing?"

"Consider the politics at play," Lara said, her voice steady but laced with concern. "There are those in the council who would go to great lengths to preserve their power and influence."

The suggestion struck a chord with Jor-El. "If that's the case, this isn't just about convincing the council. It's about exposing a potential conspiracy against Krypton."

Jor-El sat up, a new determination in his eyes. "We'll start our own investigation. The truth must come out, for the sake of our planet."

Lara grew silent. A heavy weight hung in the air. Jor-El looked at the woman with concern, "Beloved?"

"I'm pregnant."

And all his plans changed in an instant.

A year passed. Jor-El to convince anyone who would listen. Some did. Most did not.

Funding dried up.

He lost his position.

The fall of the House of El.

A baby boy was born. They named him Kal-El and began to build Krypton's last hope.

A second year passed and Krypton remained strong. Jor and Lara were named mad and insane. Doomsday conspiracy theorists.

A third year passed and Kal-El turned two.

Continents fell into the sea. A breaking of the world unlike any Krypton had ever seen occurred. The core fluctuated…and went nova.

A single lone vessel fled the destruction. A single vessel holding Kal-El. A single vessel holding the one who would become:


Hello and welcome to my newest quest. Not sure how far I'll get with this, but hey, could be fun. Leaning more system narrative than dice rolls and such this time around. Let's get started with the first vote.


——

The vessel traversed the stars, buffeted by asteroids, warped by Black Holes, time itself became strange in the journey, but every path led to earth and your vessel landed in:

[] 1990s Kansas
[] 1990s Gotham
[] 1990s Themyscira
[] Cold War Era Moscow
[] Cold War Era USA
[] 1910 USA
[] 1910 Europe
[] 1910 Themyscira
[] Victorian England
[] Feudal Era Japan
[] Medieval Europe
[] Roman Republic
[] The Stone Age
[] Write-In?