Superpowers, superheroes, no matter what sort of titles they placed on themselves they were powerless in the moment it mattered most. As the massive rock that was Earth's undoing approached all they could do was stare. Stare as it grew closer, shadowing the spot at our feet. Stare as it mocked them, showing us how truly powerless they were in this moment. But not me.

I felt even worse for Bino-scope, his power of super-sight had allowed him to catch the meteor long before even the scientists and their telescopes. He had been staring all day since, now the corners of his eyes dried and reddened. But I did not worry.

The shadow grew larger at our feet

As Earth's finest stared up in fear, fully suited and bulging with muscles, I did not need to look. I only needed to think of lunch. Of what type of soup I wanted today. Chicken noodle? Lentil? Mom always made a great lentil. Mine never came out quite as good though.

From my utility belt I carefully selected a bowl I liked most, a perfect vessel for the occasion; handcrafted by a shopkeeper whose storefront I'd saved by turning a runaway vehicle into a delicious egg drop. I held it out in two hands to ensure a good grip as the massive rock grew closer. Suddenly the stares of the other heroes burned through me like a hot cup of cheddar broccoli.

"And what is that meant to do, soup boy?" a voice boomed, carried out from Earth's greatest hero. Even near our doom I was mocked.

"It's Souperior, Magnus. You know that. You all do!" I yelled over to the crowd of heroes, now staring. "Now grab a bowl or get out of my way."

A few chuckled, some hung their heads in disappointment, and others, the worst ones, held looks of sympathy on their faces.

"Ok Souperior, what's the bowl for? Humor me in Earth's last moments."

The shadow from the space rock now engulfed the city whole. Above the meteor screamed, yelling through the atmosphere and letting its presence be impossible to ignore. On the streets was chaos: civilians ran to any semblence of safety, cars careened through crowds of traffic, and the heroes, they just watched onward with wide eyes.

I looked up to Magnus, and by extension to all of the others.

"The bowl? Well of course, it's for soup."

Just as the Earth's doom intended to strike down from above I reached up, resting my palm against its rocky surface. In the moment I channeled all my thoughts into one purpose: Gazpacho, and the meteor replied, fighting back with all of its weight. For a moment it was a stalemate. My soupy willpower against the great stones.

But then I felt a weight lift from my arms, and to my right Magnus suddenly stood, muscles in his arms bulging through his copper spandex. The asphalt cracked at his feet as he helped hold the weight aloft.

With both of our might the meteor stood no chance. My hand pushed up through, past the rocky exterior and into a cold gazpacho. Then Magnus delivered the death blow, a mega-ton punch splitting the stone exterior open and sending the cold soup bursting forth and high up into the sky.

For a moment there was silence. The gaggle of various costumed heroes watched with mouths agape as red clouds formed in the sky. Magnus was the first to approach, holding out a bloodied hand.

"May I have a bowl, hero?"

Then one by one they followed, each taking a bowl from my belt and awaiting the soupy rain.

So, two things about supes:

One, you can never tell how, exactly, their powers are going to work.

Two, there's no minimum intelligence requirement.

The world hangs in the balance. I'm speed dialing every fucking supe I can think of; my supercomputer is running the simulations. Every combination of known powers, limitations, and side effects is battling to the death with everything we know about that damned meteor - not nearly enough. Never enough. It's clearly not a regular hunk of space rock. It's fucking pink.

Sixteen, by my reckoning, are terrified that it's made out of exactly the stuff that renders them powerless. One is just offended, for some insane reason, and won't engage. He's an asshole anyway. I wasn't banking on him.

Some of them went off-world. I hope they never live that down. They probably will.

Souperman stands, implacable, unflappable, bowl in hand. I check the waiting list. He wasn't even on it. That makes me feel better. If he had been, well... to be honest, I'd have quietly removed him. I'm not catching flak in the post-apocalypse for having put off testing the one idiot who was willing to be brave.

Matter. Energy. Inertia. Entropy. It's different for every supe, not just for every power. Some speedsters get excited and try going from zero to a thousand in less than a second. Death By Physics. It's less common now, but still a classic entry. Others, meanwhile, play by the rules, run the tests, do the work, and then discover that they would have been fine regardless. Some supes can lift buildings effortlessly. Others discover that they can't magically ignore torque and shear. They end up tearing a hunk out, which usually causes a collapse. Some of them end up going through the floor instead of lifting anything at all. Time stoppers get frozen. Invisible dudes can't see. The list goes on. Life just isn't fair.

That's my whole business model. If not all of them are going to be smart and careful, then somebody has to be for them. I can't tell you how many times I've heard some variation on the theme that my own superpower is common sense. It's infuriating, but the money's green, so I don't bitch.

The computer pings yellow, which is better than red, but it's too late. Out of curiosity, I glance at the combination. I chuckle; I never would have thought of it. Constructing the database and the program had been a good idea. That's my thing. I have good ideas, and then I do the fucking work.

I wait for a few moments, holding my breath. When the world doesn't end, I exhale. I wasn't planetside, of course. I'm not a fucking idiot. Still, it's my home. I'd have missed it.

I go to the feeds and watch in slo-mo. I see the whole spectrum. The audio is pre-filtered, but the raw stuff is available if I need it. The computer perceives and processes even more. Its previous task was deprioritized.

The feeds never went out - no catastrophic impact or temperature spike. They recorded everything. It's an ugly sight, but I examine the footage closely enough to confirm.

I update the entry for Souperman. I feel a pang of guilt - far less than if he'd been on the waiting list, but still something. I think of all the other supes who might've helped him out. Maybe they could've carted him around the cosmos a bit, letting him turn lakes, then seas, then oceans on dead worlds into soup. Heck, mountains too, I guess. Whole continents, maybe. There's no telling how powerful he could've become. If it had been gold or something else sexy instead of soup, they probably would've.

I know that none of them will feel it. Guilt doesn't get you anywhere in this game.

Anyway, here it is. It's as complete as it's ever going to get. I don't have the budget to send supes out hunting extradimensional space for traces of matter and energy - everything that used to be that hurtling meteor, but then suddenly wasn't.

Souperman, b. Eugene Constance Forbes 1993, p. 2012, d. 2025. Power: the ability to turn anything into any amount of any kind of soup. Temperature of soup hard-linked to soup type. Power allows displacement of all excess matter and energy, possibly total annihilation. Ability to add or conjure mass and/or energy unclear. Cause of death: acute, catastrophic power overexertion. Died saving the planet Earth from a likely extinction level event: strange meteor.

Yes, "strange meteor" is its own entry. I look at it for a minute on my screen. I shrug, and click to customize. Really, really big strange pink meteor. That's better. That's a little dig at some of the cowards, and that one insane asshole.

The phone rings. I pick it up. It's a different asshole - one that pays well.

"Yikes," he says.

I preemptively bite my tongue.

"Not enough chicken soup in the world to cure that, huh?"

These fucking guys.

When I had turned that bastard into a steaming bowl of Campbell’s chicken and stars, they called me insane. No one cared about why I had done it. They were too hung up on the fact that I had eaten him. “It’s just soup,” I reminded them. After all, it was.

I won’t bother you with the details. Just know that he wanted to be inside me, so I gave him exactly that.

Now, after ten long years of holding me…now, they need me. I’ve had an easy enough time in prison and, later, the institution, I’ll admit. Nobody wants to become a steaming bowl of bisque or chowder. I get it. But what I can’t forgive so easily is that no one saw my side until now. Now that they need me, they’re ready to lift my sentence, but can they clear my name? Call me a murderer, a cannibal even, but don’t ever call me crazy.

So here I stand, in this wide, open field under the stars, surrounded by my “handlers”. The massive meteor grows closer by the second, and things are getting about as hot as hotpot, right now, but I’m perfectly calm. The ceramic bowl feels warm in my hands.

I look up at the blazing sky, debating.

I wanted to be cool. I wanted to be part of the in super crowd. I applied to the super league of super heroes. S.L.O.S.H laughed at me when I demonstrated my power. I turned a glass of water into soup. I placed the glass of water inside my bowl, used my power, and presented them with the perfect bowl of potato and leek soup. They laughed.

"Water into soup, I'm soo impressed. Hahahaha. Yeah we have a spot for you... in the cafeteria. Hahaha. Get lost mighty Lunch Lady"

It's like none of them had noticed the glass changed to soup too. I only chose the glass of water because it was the first thing I saw. Maybe it would have been more impressive if I had used the table they sat behind, or one of their chairs.

I gave up on my dreams to a golden member of S.L.O.S.H., but I took their advice to become a lunch lady. Not in their sacred halls, but somewhere I was needed and appreciated. I started up stone soup.

Most assumed the name was in reference to the old children's story; A community coming together to feed everyone. I didn't dispute it. It allowed the charity to raise money for more than just soup. Only I knew that whatever soup I made, in limitess amounts, was actually stone soup. I'd thought about using trash, but I couldn't in good conscience use actual rubbish and waste products to make food.

I was never going to be a superhero in the grand sense, but I was a hero to hundreds each day. That should have been enough.

One day I watched the news. For once they weren't talking about S.L.O.S.H members stopping bank robberies, or a bus load of kids saved from crashing into the river. Today it was a meteorite headed to Earth. No one could stop it, not even Meteorman which was ironic.

"What's on the menu today Rosemary?" Asked my assistant as they wandered in. Clearly they hadn't seen the news.

"The biggest batch of stone soup ever. I'm thinking something cool and refreshing, Gazpacho or chilled cucumber perhaps. I just have to go out and get the ingredients."

I grabbed my largest pot and my testing bowl, before I turned back and said

"It's going to taste out of this world"

I was born with the power to turn anything into a bowl of soup. No matter the object, it would turn into enough soup to fit perfectly into a standard bowl. I could even choose the type. The other superheros always mocked me for it.

"Turning stuff into soup? That's useless!" "What are you going to do against a villain, turn their weapon into soup?" "You're never going to be a useful superhero."

I could never make friends because they thought I was stupid. What was I going to do, give them soup? Yeah they didn't appreciate that. They found me boring and useless.

But when it was announced that a meteor was going to hit Earth and cause mass death and destruction, the other heroes panicked. They had the power to fight villains or each other, but not the power to stop a meteor. They were at a loss, but I knew that it was my time to shine.

As I approached the predicted sight of impact, I saw people running. I even saw some so-called "heroes" who bragged that they could solve any problem, call their mom crying. Not me though, because as I got to the sight of impact, the massive meteor barreling down towards me did not change my manor at all. In fact, it even reassured me that no one would think that I am stupid anymore.

As the meteor hit the atmosphere, that's when I started. I put down my bowl right as my feet as I started the process. I concentrated on the meteor and started to change it. The red-black surface reminded me of tomato soup, so I decided to make a meteor turned tomato soup.

As the soup fell perfectly into the bowl, everyone looked at me with awe. They praised me for saving the Earth! Some of the heroes who ridiculed me apologized for how they treated me. I was just happy I got some really good soup.

I had always been an outcast, even among the other superheros. Everyone else had flashy abilities like flight or super strength, while my power was to make anything into perfectly cooked soup. I was constantly mocked and ridiculed.

I heard the news that a massive meteor was headed straight for Earth. The other heroes were in a frenzy, trying to come up with a plan to save the day. I, on the other hand, felt strangely calm. I knew that my power was the only one that could stop the meteor. So I headed off to the impact zone, bowl in hand.

When I arrived, I saw that the meteor was only minutes away from hitting the ground. I concentrated and willed the meteor to turn into soup. Suddenly, the meteor began to shimmer and distort, and before long, it had transformed into a steaming bowl of soup.

The other heroes were in shock. They had never seen anyone do something like that before. I had finally been able to prove myself and show them that my power was something to be respected.

But then, I noticed something strange. The soup had an odd taste and a faint, putrid smell. I took a closer look and saw that there were strange, unrecognizable objects floating in the soup.

It was only then that I realized that I had made a terrible mistake. The objects in the soup were pieces of the meteor, and the meteor had been made up of toxic material. I had unknowingly created a deadly soup that would have catastrophic consequences for the world.

"Excuse me....but aren't you the Lunch Lady? The one that works in the Hall of Super Justice!?"

"Yes, that's right. I'm Beatrix McGonagall, Chef de Cuisine of the Hall of Super Justice cafeteria."

"Er...ma'am what are you doing aboard the Justice Rocket?"

"I was called up by Director Hardcastle to take point in the Anti-Meteor Squad with the hero known as Mega Muscles. You should have received a copy of our orders.'

"I received notice that I'd be joined by a retired underground hero called Simmer with a unique skill set."

"Yes, that would be me. You can just call me Ms McGonagall."

"Wait, you actually have superpowers? What the hell are you doing working in the kitchen?"

"What am I doing in the kitchen? I'm a Sous Chef. Cooking, obviously!"

"Wait...are you saying you use your powers to cook instead of heroism!?"

"Some people would say that making sure people don't starve to death is a public service but you are essentially correct that I don't perform the traditional duties of a spandexed superhero."

"What the hell actually is your power set?"

"You'll find out when we land the ship on the meteor."

"So, what are you going to do? Boil the meteor into compliance?"

"Not...exactly. You'll see when we get there."

"Fan-fucking-tastic! We're being sent on a suicide mission with Lunch Lady Melba-"

"Ms McGonagall."

"-and we're all going to die and the world will end and nobody will be left alive to curse the fact they sent they sent a Lunch Lady to save the world."

"This isn't a suicide mission and the world isn't going to end so long as you follow the plan to the letter and pilot."

"Fucking fine!"

***** 4 hours later ****

"Okay but what the hell happened!? Because I think I've gone insane...I could swear you just turned a meteor into soup!"

"I turned the meteor into vegan Split Pea instead of traditional Split Pea and Ham. The ham chunks would probably burn up entering the atmosphere but I didn't want to risk being wrong."

"Okay, okay, so you actually just turned a whole-ass meteor into soup, right? I didn't hallucinate that, right?"

"Indeed. I turned it into piping hot soup. The soup rapidly began cooling and solidifying in the cold void of space and then you, Muscles Mc Punchy, punched the soup ice cream hard enough to shatter it into smaller chunks in the ionosphere which were torn apart by the Earth and Moon's gravity to become an annular disc much like the rings of Saturn."

"Okay, but but...SOUP!?"

"Yes, now you can understand why I do most of my work in the kitchen.

"How the heck did you fight villains with Soup Powers?"

"Sweetie....I've worked in the cafeteria for nearly twenty years. In that time how many break-outs of Super Prison have we had? How many Villains have been added to the Rogues Gallery?"

"Er, I've only been a hero for a few years but my parents said that there used to be jail breaks almost every month and the rogues gallery was as thick as a New York phone book. We don't seem to have any these days."

"Yes, these days we don't have a Rogues Gallery and the Super Prison has been remodeled into office space. Do you know why?"

"Er...no? Why?"

"Because I can turn anything into soup. Anything would include mass murders and terrorists and rapists into soup. And not just any soup. Perfect soup. The most delicious soup in the world."

"Wait...wait, you've been killing and eating Super Villains?"

"If you want to be technical I've been executing them and you Heros have been eating them, but yes. I was given special dispensation by Director Hardcastle 20 years ago on the Night Of Carnage to do what I do best."

"ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS!? ARE YOU FUCKING SERIOUS ABOUT SOYLENT GREEN BEING PEOPLE!?"

"Waste not, want not."

"PEOPLE! YOU'RE FEEDING US PEOPLE! WE'VE BEEN TURNED INTO GODDAMNED CANNIBALS!!"

"Please keep it to yourself, Mega Muscles. That's classified."

"OH, MY FUCKING GOD I AM NEVER EATING YOUR FOOD AGAIN!"

"It's only the soup."

"I AM BROWN BAGGING IT FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE!!!"

"Don't be so melodramatic."

"I'm going to be the best-regarded hero ever," he thought to himself, seconds before impact. What he didn't realize was that, when an asteroid impacts into the earth from outer space, it does so with such velocity that it creates a massive compressed bubble of crystallized air in front of it as it moves. The extra-terrestrial missile travels at thousands of miles per hour, and effectively has a force-field around it all the way to impact. It moves so quickly that it changes from bright-speck-in-the-sky to massive explosion in less than a second.

The impact site had been known for months. It was remotely being filmed in anticipation of the potentially world-ending event. And so it was, that when humanity watched on the screen in the final instants before impact, many of them shared a similar thought:

"What the hell is Souperman doing?" Followed by the utter obliteration of a man armed with a small bowl, and an even smaller grasp of planetary collisions on worlds with dense atmospheres.

RadMan, the hero who could manipulate all forms of radiation, turned up and transformed the bulk of the heat from the blast into a brilliant, harmless light. Teams of seismically-endowed "Earth Movers" led by the organization's leader, Terra, kept the dust and debris from entering the upper atmosphere, which prevented a nuclear winter. Even the compression waves were dulled thanks to Sonic Boom. The initial crater and the media footage were all that could be used as evidence of the impact.

The whole ordeal left the entire world united. Not because of the catastrophic circumstance that could have ended life as we know it, but because we all collectively thought at the same moment, "Did that idiot really think that that was going to work?"

People don't realize. When you make soup, everything goes in. There's no "extra tomatoes" or "leftover ham" or "excess of garlic," it's all just soup. It boils down, and in the end, nobody really cares if it's potato or rutabaga that make those squishy lumps.

The other heroes don't understand. There's a patience to soup. They want results now! They want to be in the news, given awards, get famous. It's not worth it though. They make fun of me, but I don't mind. I like my soup. It's an art.

I stared up at the sky. I couldn't see it yet, but I could feel it. It was a big meteor, so it took some thought, but that's just prep time. Every soup takes prep time. If it took no time at all, everyone would make soup. I concentrated... I could feel it, moving fast, careening towards this little blue marble, a one in a billion shot. It wasn't big enough to wipe out all life, of course. People would survive. Maybe not a lot of people, but people. The other heroes... Well. At least some of them tried. Ultimate Mask died trying, which is a lot more than most of them managed. No imagination... Most of them left, or hid in the other side of the planet.

I began making my soup. Boiling it down, melting the fat and breaking bonds. It wasn't fast work. Increase the temperature... Transmute the base properties of nickel and adjust the bonds on all that carbon. Boil off the extra liquid. I pulled in some atmosphere as the newscasters started making their overly-calm end-of-the-world claims, just for flavor. And then I held out my bowl, and...

Bloop. There it was. Steaming perfection: Italian Wedding Soup. I chose it because it was meatier. Ha! Food humor. I glanced around. There were a few heroes who gallantly stuck around to try to stop the full extent of the damage, but not many. Most looked confused, but one older fellow caught my eye and gave me a bit of a nod. I could see the fear in his eyes. He understood. Not many did, but he did.

Young heroes love to make fun of me. They think my name is stupid. It's not as stupid as "The Whizzer" though. It's just my name: Stu. They say I don't have a nemesis because I'm so "lame." It's not true, of course. I used to have a nemesis, years ago - the Sandwich Artist. Killed a family and made them into sandwiches. Nobody heard of him again, he just vanished one night.

Soup night.

I really do love soup...

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