Marvel: A Lazy-Ass Superman

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"Damn it!" Andy Thompson cursed. It was hard to tell whether he was swearing at that troublesome woman or at the mess unfolding in front of him.

In fact, vehicles were allowed on the internal roads of the zoo. Driving straight to the big-cat area and removing Kitty with minimal witnesses wouldn’t have been difficult at all.

Or they could have waited until closing time and transported the tiger then, reducing the chaos to the bare minimum. As long as both sides coordinated properly, it would have been simple. Henry wasn’t so unreasonable as to insist on making a huge spectacle.

But faced with that female keeper’s enthusiasm, Henry no longer wanted to bother with anything. He just wanted to leave as soon as possible. Whether the zoo descended into chaos or not was none of his concern—Kitty was right beside him. With her clearing the way, moving through the crowd was effortless.

If anyone raised objections, he could just say it was approved by the FBI. The paperwork had been signed, the money paid, everything was legal and compliant. What—was he not allowed to take his own pet?

His tabby cat was clearly gentle. She hadn’t bitten anyone. If people wet their pants from fright, who was to blame for that?

Amid the turmoil, Henry and Kitty—one man, one tiger—strolled out of the zoo at ease and got into Henry’s car.

The zoo’s chaos was quickly left behind. There was no need to dwell on distant matters—he still had to deal with his rental apartment.

Returning to Old Gary’s apartment building, the flamboyant landlord gave Henry a huge hug. It wasn’t sexual in the least, just the enthusiasm of an old friend. Knowing Gary’s personality well, Henry accepted it without resistance this time.

"Hey, you alright, kid?" Gary asked. Then he suddenly panicked and glanced around. "You’re not here to grab some stuff and run, are you? You need to leave now. The FBI practically emptied your place. If the cops come back, you won’t be able to get away."

"Relax, Gary. I’m fine." Henry waved an FBI check in front of him. "The FBI admitted their mistake. This is the compensation check they issued.

"You don’t seriously think they’d sign something like this willingly if they weren’t in the wrong, do you? I also have copies of their written statements, but those aren’t important. This check is what really matters."

Gary, suddenly very interested, took the check and examined it closely. "I’ve never seen an FBI check before. This is a first. But... seven hundred grand? What exactly is this compensating for?"

"I heard they hauled off quite a lot of stuff from my place. But since all of it conveniently disappeared, this is the compensation for those items."

"What?! Do you realize they practically stripped your apartment bare?"

Henry frowned. "That bad?" In truth, Henry had already checked privately and knew exactly what the situation was. But when acting, one had to commit fully—maintaining logical consistency in one’s behavior was already second nature to him.

Besides, out with the old, in with the new. Using a pile of obsolete junk to screw over thieves and federal parasites alike could be considered a good use of resources. Expecting someone else to foot the bill on top of that would have been excessive.

Gary said with lingering fear, "Honestly, even burglars wouldn’t have been that thorough. Charlize and I helped clean up a bit. Speaking of her—she’s been really worried about you these past few days."

Henry chuckled and was about to crack a joke when a shrill cry sounded behind him.

"Henry!"

A leopard-like pounce followed, and suddenly a body slammed into him, nearly knocking the Kryptonian over.

Two legs wrapped around his waist, arms clutching his head tightly to her chest. Charlize Theron’s emotional outburst was hard for outsiders to comprehend.

Imagine it: just as her life had begun to show a glimmer of hope, the man she relied on had been driven away by the FBI—rumor had it they’d even issued a kill-on-sight order. For her, it was nothing short of the sky falling, the end of the world.

Nearly hysterical, she shouted, "What happened? I don’t know anything! No one would tell me anything—not the FBI, not the police. I didn’t even know where to ask questions!"

As Henry comforted the koala-like girl clinging to him, he couldn’t help but sigh inwardly—youth really was something else.

If this were the fully realized future Charlize, she’d be wrapped in icy detachment, keeping others at arm’s length. She’d never display emotions so openly.

Henry knew Hollywood well enough to understand how many child stars with promising futures had been destroyed by hidden darkness.

Rebellion was the mild outcome. Some became mentally impaired or morbidly obese. Some lost their lives entirely. Beneath the glamorous spotlights of Hollywood lurked unimaginable shadows.

Charlize Theron, coming from South Africa, had no star-family resources, no old-money background. She had fought alone to carve out her path.

That was why, in the future, she would appear on screen with such cold detachment—not just because it suited her roles, but because her environment had shaped her.

Without that armor, her fate might have been even worse than those child stars saddled with toxic parents. It wouldn’t have been surprising if she’d faded into obscurity before ever reaching the summit.

Henry held the emotionally overwhelmed girl, comforting her while pondering her future.

Nearby, her agent, J.J. Harris, watched the scene with thoughts similar to Henry’s.

Charlize Theron was undeniably talented—but romance was the biggest variable in a woman’s life. And now she’d crossed paths with such a... special man.

With J.J. Harris’s seasoned eye for people, even she couldn’t quite define Henry.

Should Charlize keep her distance from him—or draw closer?

Would he lift her higher, helping her climb to greater heights? Or would he drag her down, plunging together into an abyss?

In J.J. Harris’s long career, she had rarely encountered someone who left her so conflicted.

While this side was a bittersweet sort of happiness, the situation elsewhere was bleak beyond words.

Henry had thought he was merely destroying some small handmade Kryptonian equipment. Unfortunately, the charge he used turned out to be a bit excessive.

At Sony America’s Los Angeles building, an entire floor had been blown open—walls breached on all sides. Not a single window remained intact; every pane of glass was shattered.

Because his main goal was to melt and destroy equipment, Henry hadn’t used standard explosives.

In fact, as an ordinary civilian, he couldn’t have obtained real explosives anyway. The destructive device he designed was a homemade compound, concocted using his knowledge of chemistry—one of the reasons it slipped past inspections.

That same reason also led to a miscalculation in explosive power. The only consolation was that the blast was stronger rather than weaker. At least his target—the handmade equipment—was completely destroyed.

The researchers working on that equipment, and Sony America’s Los Angeles building itself, were far less fortunate.

Henry’s primary agent was thermite, chosen specifically to melt equipment. Thermite was extremely effective against metal—and living beings—but far less effective against reinforced concrete.

The result of Henry’s handiwork was devastating: an entire floor of researchers wiped out, equipment destroyed. Worse still, many of the researchers had been flown in from Japan and had arrived that very day—only to be greeted by such warm hospitality the moment they stepped into the lab.

Thankfully, the building didn’t collapse. Otherwise, the scale of the disaster would have been even greater.

Even so, this marked the greatest loss Sony America had suffered since its establishment.

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