Marvel: A Lazy-Ass Superman

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Henry swung by the actors' guild again, half hoping to try out some newly learned flirtation lines on Marianne, and maybe check if there were any new casting calls posted.

But the always-seated front desk goddess was nowhere in sight today. In her place sat a middle-aged man with square-rimmed glasses.

Henry had no intention of flirting with a middle-aged man, so he silently nodded as a greeting and kept his thoughts to himself.

Disappointed—but not surprised—he found no suitable job postings on the bulletin board. No new audition notices either. Another day of going home empty-handed.

Joining the Under Siege production had been a move to pad his resume with something eye-catching.

But getting kicked off halfway through… Yeah, not exactly a shining line on a CV. Should he even bother listing it on his actor profile? Henry mulled over the dilemma.

After picking up groceries for dinner, he didn't feel like hitting the library, so he headed home early—to his long-neglected rental apartment.

It hadn't been totally uninhabited for the past month. Whenever the film crew was on break, Henry would still return, so the place wasn't blanketed in a layer of dust.

Using his super-speed, he gave the apartment a full once-over. Groceries that needed refrigeration were tossed into the fridge, and he cracked open a cold beer from the side compartment.

Not that Henry could get drunk—he just wanted something cold and refreshing. Screw all those "drink warm water" health theories.

Soda was another option, but believe it or not, some of the off-brand rural beers were cheaper than Coca-Cola or even bottled water.

Ah, America.

After analyzing it, Henry concluded that there was nothing particularly "high-tech" about beer. The only reason these dirt-cheap local brands weren't popular?

They were bitter as hell.

So it came down to this: either super-sweet fizzy drinks or icy bitter beer. The third option was tap water—but the old plumbing in this building gave it a rusty taste.

For someone with Kryptonian-level taste buds, it was torture.

Maybe it was time to buy—or build—a proper water filter. Henry made a mental note.

He was just about to throw on a record and let his Kryptonian slacker soul dissolve into music when the phone abruptly rang.

"Hello?"

A voice came through:

"Yo, Henry. Heard you got yourself into some serious trouble."

"Channing? Goddamn, that news traveled fast. I only just got back from San Diego this morning."

"This is Hollywood, bro. Gossip rags got nothin' on the actual industry rumor mill," said Channing, the head of the stunt team Henry had worked with, sounding amused.

"So what now? Word on the street is I'm about to get blacklisted?"

"That's the talk. You really stirred the pot this time. But the funny thing is, the guy at the center of it all hasn't demanded anything, which has everyone else confused as hell."

"Why not just go scorched earth and boot me out? Make it clean and easy."

"Oh, come on, man. You clearly don't know how tricky it is when it comes to the Stark family. People in this town think they're getting signals, act on it, and then bam—end up getting publicly humiliated by them."

"The Starks?" Henry perked up. That was interesting.

He had assumed Tony Stark was still in college—unaware that the guy was already pursuing a doctorate. Unless Tony was out seducing starlets while barely out of puberty, he shouldn't have had that much influence yet.

Which meant… it must be Howard Stark.

Back in his original timeline, Henry recalled that Howard Stark's character was loosely based on a real-life tycoon—Howard Hughes.

Hughes had been a legendary businessman, pilot, aviation engineer, philanthropist, and movie producer. He'd even run one of the Big Eight studios in the 1930s—RKO Pictures. A dyed-in-the-wool Hollywood insider.

So it stood to reason that this world's Howard Stark had a similarly intertwined relationship with the film industry.

As if to confirm his suspicion, Channing said over the phone:

**"You didn't really think Stark Industries had nothing to do with Hollywood, did you? Their film equipment is still some of the best in the business. Most of the cutting-edge tech used in movies comes from them.

"Old Man Stark? He was a producer, cinematographer, even acted in some of his own films. And don't even get me started on how many Golden Age actresses he had on speed dial."**

The old Stark was a playboy, and his son clearly inherited the genes. No doubt about it.

"Well damn. The Starks really are a different breed," Henry muttered.

"So, Channing, let me guess. You didn't call just to laugh at me, right? At this point, no one cares about the truth—it's all gossip and damage control."

"Nah, man. I called to help. This whole mess can actually be fixed real easy. Just go apologize to Tony Stark, give him a little bow, and if he lets it go, boom—problem solved. Don't tell me you're too proud for that."

Apologize? Henry mulled it over.

Sure, if he were being the noble, prideful Kryptonian type, Tony Stark would only get to see the top of his head if Henry was headbutting him.

But this wasn't comic-book morality. This was real-world survival.

And based on his pre-reincarnation life experience working thankless jobs, Henry knew all too well—swallowing your pride wouldn't kill you. And it had nothing to do with whether you were from Krypton or Kansas.

His real concern? Tony Stark might not have been an A-lister in the comics, but in the movie universe, he was the central figure.

Getting close to someone like that might break Henry's "stay low, grow slow" strategy.

Still, before worrying about all that, there was a practical issue to resolve:

"Wait, Channing—you're saying you can arrange for me to meet Tony Stark? How would I even apologize to him if I can't get near him?"

"Bro, be serious. You think I have that kind of pull? I appreciate the compliment, but no. I did hear about an opportunity though."

"What kind of opportunity?"

Channing's tone turned serious:

**"Sometimes my stunt team moonlights as bouncers or security at private events. I just landed a job like that. It's a private party, mostly Caltech rich kids and their Silicon Valley alumni. Word is, Tony Stark will probably show up.

"They're bringing in some small-time celebs, a few models, make it all fancy. You want in? Come work as one of the staff. It's a shot at clearing your name."**

"That kind of opportunity, huh…" Henry dragged out the words, clearly not enthused.

"Alright, I'll level with you," Channing sighed. "I'm a bit short on manpower. So consider it a favor. The job's easy, there'll be pretty girls, and you can probably sneak a drink or two."

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