Ultraman - Superman

It's all over the internet once again.

~Superman, the world's indomitable savior

~Superman, our ambassador of peace and justice

~Superman, the boy scout with a heart of gold.

Superman this, Superman that, the greatest being to ever exist on Earth, has once again took the time of day to save a squirrel.

Again and again, his parlor tricks, his lowly charades of kindness has tugged the heartstrings of the globe, and none was the wiser at his sickening, revolting, outrageous facade of "kindness and love". Wherever one went, people would clamor, and praise, and adore this wretched godly outsider, who manipulated every human's common sense just by sheer genetic luck. They didn't give a passing glance to hard earned talent, when some galactical abortion became a god because of the mere presence of a yellow sun.

CLUNK

But the muffled arrival of someone was the antithesis to everything Superman stood for, and it was perfect. Silent, brooding, and most importantly, obedient. It was the perfect lovechild of brains and brawn. Made with the smarts of mankind and the brute strength of the solar-fueled freak.

The masked man remained still as a statue adjacent to the door, arms crossed, chest puffed, and stance firm. Even underneath the thick layer of reinforced fabric and heavyduty armor, his muscles were easily apparent even at rest. Trained by repetition and command, Ultraman held the door open for a passerby researcher, and just by a simple act, one could see the sheer size and strength packed away in his bicep as it flexed and swelled. Some swooned at his mystique and attractiveness, some bold enough to even cope a feel of his muscles, and not once did he ever utter even a groan or a grunt, just a simple and silent emotionless stare back.

A slight fizzle cracked in the hearing apparatus in Ultraman's mask, before a soft, grainy voice whispered in his ear.

"Head towards Observation Room A."

Ultraman did as told with a simple shift in posture. He strode past the hallways, moving mechanically and only occasionally swerving to avoid collisions with lowly employees until stopping at the elevator. A few other researchers bunched in with Ultraman as they all gathered up in the elevator car. Those in close proximity with the strange masked individual had to contend with the awkward, imposing silence that followed, broken only by the occasional tilt of Ultraman's head, or him glancing at others with a soulless stare. One even had the fortunate opportunity to have the back of their head rubbing against Ultraman's pec due to lack of space, feeling the width and breadth swelling with the being's steady breaths.

---

*After the long, uncomfortable elevator ride, Ultraman ended up in the restricted areas in the upper floors, the Observation Room A. He stepped inside the dimly lit chamber, the hum of machinery and the glow of monitors glaring dimly at his motionless form. He stood still, awaiting further instruction, before the grainy voice crackled to life once more in his earpiece.

"Initiate poses 2D and 7C. Ensure you hold each for 10 seconds."

Ultraman nodded almost imperceptibly, before turning to face the observation window. He drew in a deep, steadying breath, the reinforced chest plate rising and falling with the action. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his arms, clenching his fists at the peak before slowly lowering them to his sides, his abdominal muscles clenching and unclenching in a mesmerizing ripple beneath the thick, black material of his bodysuit.

His pose shifted fluidly, and Ultraman bent at the waist, his back arching into a perfect U-shape as he reached back with his left arm, grasping his right shoulder. The thick plates of his suit creaked softly as his torso twisted, the muscles beneath flexing and bulging with the strain. He remained frozen in this position, allowing the researchers time to scrutinize every contour and crevice of his physique, searching for any signs of damage or fatigue.

After the specified 10 seconds had passed, Ultraman straightened, resuming his at-ease stance. Behind the observation glass, a flurry of activity erupted as the researchers conferred amongst themselves, scrolling through scans and readings with furrowed brows. Finally, the lead scientist turned to the microphone.

"Satisfactory. You are cleared for duty. Report to Mr. Luthor's office, and await his next command."

Ultraman pivoted sharply on his heel, exiting the observation room and striding purposefully towards the executive elevator. With a soft chime, the doors slid open, and Ultraman stepped inside, standing motionless as the car ascended to the top floor. The doors opened, and Ultraman strode down the hallway, pausing briefly before the ornate double doors to your office. With a soft knock, he entered the lavishly appointed room.

And from there, he stood and waited for the next command to be uttered. A request, a demand, or even a flex, he was nothing more than the subservient puppet, the ideal version of what Superman should have been.