The snap

Captain America runs his mouth off again. 

First, he tells the entire world about their defeat at the hands of Thanos, directly leading to a spike in hate crimes against Aliens like they’ve never seen before (not to mention the conspiracy theories frenzy). A walking PR nightmare. And now he lists all the fallen at the Battle of Wakanda in a CatCo exclusive: ‘Setting the record straight’, confirming Supergirl among the disappeared. 

If Kara weren’t such a fan, Alex’d… Actually, scratch that: superserum be damned, if their paths ever cross, Captain America sure as hell won’t make it out unscathed, earnest blue eyes and all. She understands what he’s trying to do, why it’d seem necessary even, what with the mass demonstrations and the TruthNow movement. But the execution just fucking leaves a great deal to be desired.

This prompts CatCo, in the same issue, to list its own disappeared employees. Cat Grant’s homage is well written, personal enough to feel heartfelt. She closes the magazine at the first sign she’s tearing up and throws it away. Arms wrapped around herself, it takes her a while to get the trembling under control. She’d sort of known, of course. She’s not stupid. Still…

Command confirms Nicholas Joseph Fury among the past weeks’ many victims, along with his right hand woman, Maria Hill. The DEO holds a minute of silence for the fallen, during which Alex grits her teeth and does not think of Kara. The Governor’s team asks her to do some media interviews, speak at a few public events. She (not so) politely tells them to fuck off. Tony Stark miraculously returns, carried home by a flying Human torch. The photos of a tear streaked Pepper Potts, holding a shell of a man up, are plastered all over every single news outlet. 

Kara, however, stays disappeared.

She gets a text message from a person she’s ashamed to admit she hadn’t really spared a thought for. She’d guessed that Lena must be among the survivors. L-Corp had risen to the occasion too quickly and efficiently to be without its CEO. But it’s one thing to suspect and quite another to see it confirmed on her screen. The knowledge that Lena’s alive, that someone else from their friend group survived, even if said person is one she wasn’t so close to, is… comforting and disturbing at the same time. 

Five words that etch themselves into her lock screen: “I’m sorry about Kara.” 

Kara. Her sister. Her responsibility.

She ignores the message and turns her attention back to the debriefing on the latest supply convoy attack.

She looks for Kara’s name in her contacts, that night, her thumb hovering over the call button. It’s a mistake of course, yet she still presses down and brings the phone to her ear. “Hi, you’ve reached Kara Danvers’ phone. I’m away at the moment, but leave me a message and I’ll call you back as soon as possible” comes in Kara’s chipper voice. She hangs up before the tone.

The sobs rise up, reach her chest, before she wrangles them back down with a furious half-moan half-scream. She curls up on her mat and in the room’s blinking lights and constant thrum, allows a few silent tears to spill.

She’s never met the guy, but Captain America can fuck right off.

It takes three months for the US to establish a tentative death toll.

Kara’s among the announced 166 million dead. 

166 million. 

There’re other familiar names there. So many familiar names. 

One hundred. Sixty six. Million. Americans.

Who can possibly process such a number, let alone comprehend the sheer enormity of it all?

166 million people, Humans and Aliens alike. Disappeared in what the press has now coined “The Snap” or killed in the ensuing disasters and violence. (Either way, they’re not here anymore.) 

Turns out, Thanos didn’t stop there: he apparently cut the animal population in half, too. (What a crazy sentence: how could one person, one being, ever gain anything close to such power over all life? And then exercise it…) And if anecdotal evidence from the Yosemite Park Rangers and claims from farmers are to be believed, plant life – or at the very least trees and crops – didn’t escape his trail of destruction either.

166 million people. 

And that’s just for the US, mind you. The total number: 4 billion, is too abstract. 4 billion more than the Second World War’s death toll. 4 billion more than the deadliest recorded conflict in history. 

Four billion.

They dispatch an interim NCPD Chief to National City, but the Governor asks that the DEO remain in charge of overall crisis management. Haley sends her home with the demand not to hear anything from her in the next three days. Alex tries to bargain her down to one. They settle on two. 

It doesn’t look like anyone’s broken in. She turns the key in the lock – it takes four separate attempts to get her trembling hands under control – and pushes the door open. It’s slightly stuck: she has to lean on it to swing it inwards. She stands there, on the threshold, looking in, assaulted by memories of moments with Kara: sister nights and game nights and brunches and… She stumbles inside, if only to put an end to the onslaught, lets the door fall shut behind her and stills. 

She’s been crashing at the DEO lately, it’s the first time she sets foot in her flat since the madness began. It feels strange, surreal. She wonders how many of her neighbours are left: how many disappeared, how many died, how many relocated? The quiet, though not unwelcome after so many weeks immersed in the constant noise of conversations and radio static, is unsettling.  

She sidesteps the pile of waiting mail – bills, no doubt – ignores the fridge’s foul smell and goes to open the windows to get the stale stillness of an enclosed place that hasn’t breathed fresh air in months out. She turns the TV on and regrets it instantly.

“Is going through your disappeared’s personal admin making your head hurt? Is sorting through your loved one’s personal belongings too painful? We at CleanCut can help! You don’t have to face it on your own. Our teams can take care of it all. Call us anytime at 856-342-776 or request a quote online on our website: www.cleancut.com. And remember: the sooner you contact us, the faster you can move on.” 

Fuck. She really doesn’t need a reminder that Kara’s flat and her mother’s house sit vacant. She’ll have to do something to maintain them, at least ward them off from looting and squatting. (The idea of going there herself is not one she’s able to stomach. And liquidating both places is out of the question.)

She opts for a shower, resolutely avoiding the many framed pictures of her, Kara, their mother and friends on her way to the bathroom.

The light flickers on. She strips: the pants fall away easily and she lets out a sigh when she extricates herself from the sports bra she’s been wearing 24/7. She steps onto the scale, an old habit, but the numbers don’t make much sense. She gets into the shower and turns the water on. It feels both heavenly and foreign: to be able to take her time, with no one waiting in line on the other side of the shower curtain. The time to soap up her body, the sweet smell of vanilla softly enveloping her. The time to comb her hair with her fingers, letting the shampoo untangle a few knots.

She closes her eyes, sees a battlefield. Corpses rotting in the sun in a city in ruins. She should have been there. She should have insisted on following Kara to Wakanda. They’re supposed to keep each other safe.

She cranks the heat up a notch, turns her face towards the stream and tries to relax her shoulders. The sting of the scalding water feels divine.

She should have been there. She should have helped Kara fight Thanos. Maybe together… 

She stays until the water cuts off (water – like so many things – is rationed in all major cities across the US), her skin raw from the heat. She steps out and towels herself off. Suddenly overcome with a wave of dizziness, she leans against the sink. Her distorted image in the fogged-up mirror looks nothing like her. 

And even if it hadn’t changed anything, why the fuck is she here instead of Kara? 

How could the father who’d murdered his two daughters before committing suicide just last night have survived the Snap and not sunny, generous, selfless Kara? Perfect sister, perfect daughter, Kara. Kara, a refugee who’d dedicated her life to helping others in her new home. Kara, who’d saved her from injury and certain death countless times. Kara. Kara. Kara.

How is this fair? 

None of this makes any sense whatsoever. 

She brushes her teeth, her eyes lingering on the second toothbrush that sits unused in the dirty glass. She throws it into the bin, exits the bathroom and catches the end of the WHiH World News’ Newsfront segment.

“We now cut to L-Corp’s headquarters. Will, over to you.

- Miss Luthor, despite the stock exchange’s crash and all signs pointing to an unprecedented global recession, L-Corp stunned analysts yesterday with its hostile takeover of the energy giant Exxon Mobil. Admittedly, with the halting of operations at many of its oil plants, the company was at its most vulnerable. What motivated such a move? 

- Exxon was not vulnerable because of recent events. Its misguided strategy from the 2000s onwards made it a company of the past. The Snap simply brought that to light. L-Corp has the technology to unlock Exxon’s potential. The synergies will help build the green planet of the future.”

She stills, eyes glued to the TV, water dripping onto the carpet. Turns out there’s a world of difference between knowing Lena’s alive and actually seeing her. It feels like taking a Hellgrammite’s stinger to the gut. Her poise is, all things considered, quite remarkable – remarkable and infuriating: nothing in her appearance betrays the fact that they recently lost more than half of all life on Earth. Power suit, polite smile, discrete make-up, not a hair out of place. How is she able to look so unaffected? 

It reminds her of the text message that sits unanswered in her inbox.

“- Exxon Mobil hasn’t particularly made a name for itself in the world of renewable energy, with what many have described as a lacklustre green agenda at best.

- This is why it is the best place to start. 

- Many players in the sector and across the board, really, are struggling with large-scale supply shortages, faulty production and plummeting sales. Meanwhile, L-Corp’s just announced a major hiring spree to replace its missing workforce. Are you not bracing for a contraction of the world market? 

- L-Corp is uniquely poised to respond to the challenges we’re facing. The ones of today and the ones of tomorrow. Our investors know that. I can confidently announce we expect to grow this year and have as of yesterday revised our numbers upwards. But this is not about profits and numbers: this growth is for the American people. This growth is for a better – a more sustainable – future. 

- You’ve also made it a point to stress L-Corp’s looking for new talent among both Humans and Aliens, indiscriminately. The move could be described as quite bold in the current political climate. What would you like to say to those who call for bans on Aliens, based on security concerns? Some of these voices, might I add, are rumoured to be quite close to the Ellis administration.

- The Snap – Thanos – took Humans and Aliens alike. It took our partners, our friends, our colleagues. That is a fact. We’ve been and still are all in this together: all victims, all survivors, all now faced with the difficult question of how to move on. It’s important to remember we all want the same thing: to rebuild, together, what’s been broken. L-Corp is working closely with President Ellis and his team to achieve that and will continue to do so. 

- Experts predict L-Corp is on a collision course with Stark Industries, given Tony Stark’s astonishing reappearance and his own ambitions to control the energy market. We all know, of course, the now infamous rivalry that existed between your respective parents...” 

Sounds like business is booming for L-Corp, she notes bitterly. She glimpses her reflection on the TV screen. Her hair’s getting long: she’ll have to cut it soon. She looks… tired, gaunt. The juxtaposition and contrast with Lena is jarring.

Lena: how the fuck is she here and not Kara?

She turns the TV off, finds one of her favourite soft pairs of cotton joggers and goes hunting for something to eat. Anything that’s not stale bread and watered down soup will do. Luckily, there’s some water left in the kettle to cook with. Except… yeah, no, better replace it with fresh water, even if it means reaching her daily quota. She’s hungry, so much so that she finds it hard to concentrate on anything while the water’s boiling. It’s only once her bowl is full to the brim with steaming (undercooked: she’s very hungry, alright, downright starving, actually) pasta, that she sits down at her kitchen counter to review the day’s events. 

She’d learnt by chance that Maggie’s alive and well. And for a minute there, she’d felt lighter – not good, mind you, or happy, but… relieved. Yes, relieved. The moment had been short lived: an attack by thugs she’d heard policemen refer to as the Tracksuit Mafia had derailed her morning. And just like that, the heaviness had instantly fallen back into place.

Still: knowing Maggie’s alive has allowed her to breathe a little bit better.

The crash comes, inevitably, leaving her so bone-tired all she can do is thank her open floorplan, flop down onto the bed and stay like that, on her back, staring up at the ceiling. 

She tries again, it’s become routine at this point: “Hi, you’ve reached Kara Danvers’ phone. I’m away at the moment, but leave me a message and I’ll call you back as soon as possible.”

Sleep doesn’t come easily and when it eventually does, it’s the usual fitful charade. She returns to that front porch. Except now, all she’s met with are silence and dust dancing away in the breeze, her mother nowhere in sight. 

She wakes well after night has fallen and doesn’t feel one bit rested. Maybe it’s the shadows the city lights cast on the walls, maybe it’s that goddamn oppressive hush, but she feels restless, like something’s crawling under her skin. 

She needs to get out of here. 

On a whim, she texts Vasquez, despite having turned her down several times already for afterwork drinks. Turns out Vasquez’ just about to meet up with a couple of colleagues and invites her to tag along. She decides against changing, slips into comfortable sneakers, gulps down a cup of coffee, grabs her jacket and is out the door.