Oh shit.

He found us.

Shut it down, shut everything d-

It used to be called Project:433-Kent.

These days we just call it Project Rasputin. You would too if you witnessed as much as we all have. The way that Clark Kent survives.

Human cockroach, the Unkillable, Metal Man, Clark Kent. All synonymous.

Like any of us, one eventually knows too much; gets too close. Even if he didn’t work for us, he couldn’t leave well enough alone when it came to Lex Luthor. It’s a shame, really, I would have liked to see that guy finally get what’s coming to him. Even so, you can’t punch up the system without getting put out. Not with how Mr. Luthor owns half the city, at least.

That’s why we all thought it’d be easy. Get in, get rid of the issue, get out. Have the local police turn a blind eye. We didn’t account for Clark to be the goddamn beast he actually is. The man eats bullets for breakfast, I swear to God. Then he gets up, goes to work, and doesn’t notice until lunchtime that there’s a hole in his shirt.

I wish I could tell you what color he bleeds, but we haven’t got that far. Not yet. Maybe he’ll kill us all before we get the chance. Then again it’s like he doesn’t even notice us; he probably thinks we’re annoying at best.

Bullets, poison, bits of metal in his food, all unnoticed and ineffective. Made no progress with explosives. Poisonous gas leak? No dice.

That being said…

Advice?

The door bursts open and slams against the wall violently, putting yet another dent in your rent-controlled apartment. You resist the urge to roll your eyes when you see who’s standing in the doorway, looking pissed.

“What the fuck, Chris?” Damien shouts, red eyes narrowed to slits.

You sigh heavily, pinching the bridge of your nose. You knew this was coming. “Now, before you get started, just listen for a-“

“No! Fuck you and your ‘conflict resolution’!” Damien hisses, punctuating his words with air quotes. He stomps into your shared living room and points an accusatory finger at your chest, his sharp claw worrying close to you.

“You killed my brother’s fiancée! You’re a real piece of work, you know that? You knew how excited I was to be an uncle!”

You curl into yourself a little, biting the inside of your cheek. Your boss told you to make sure to prevent vampire reproduction wherever you could, so when you heard that Damien’s brother was trying for a kid…

“Look, man, I’m sorry. I really am; but you know how Church is. If I don’t bring him results, I don’t get paid, and I’m already hard on cash.”

Damien scoffs, crossing his arms over his chest. His red-eyed glare could probably burn through titanium, judging by how harshly your feel it burning through you. You can’t find it in yourself to look him in the face.

Eventually, after a few tense minutes pass, Damien sighs.

“She was kind of a bitch anyway.”

You shrug your shoulders. “Yeah. She tried to sell out your brother instead.”

Damien’s mouth falls open in disbelief “Seriously?”

“Yep.”

“That bitch!”

You nod, standing up from the couch and finally looking Damien in the face. “Sorry about your brother’s loss, though. Really.”

“Oh, please. This is the fourth fiancée he’s gone through in the past two hundred years,” Damien says, waving one hand dismissively at you. “He’ll get over it. He always does.”

You clear your throat, scratching the back of your neck in a nervous tick that you’ve never managed to grow out of. “I’ll take your word for it.”

“So…” Damien starts, drawing out the word for a while.

“Yeah?”

“Can we call it even for when I killed your aunt?” he offers, giving a crooked grin. You look down to see he’s extended a clawed hand to you. After a moment, you chuckle, reaching down to take it.

“Alright. We’ll call it even. …For now.”