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TRANSCRIPT OF AN INTERVIEW WITH DALLON, AMELIA (PANACEA, AGE 17) AND DANVERS, CAROL (BRANDISH, AGE 39, AMELIA'S ADOPTIVE MOTHER AND LAWYER)
REGARDING THE ECHIDNA INCIDENT AND THE APPEARANCE OF FOUR YOUNG PARAHUMANS, KNOWN AS THE DALLON QUARTET.
Look, being a single mother to one boy and three girls isn't easy.
Especially when those four little ones weren't born the conventional way.
No sir, Clark, Bubbles, Blossom, and Buttercup aren't clones, nor lab-grown creations from Blasto or Bonesaw.
They were created by me, Amy Dallon.
In a moment of absolute desperation, when that bastard Trickster (yeah, the same one who kidnapped me and a bunch of medical staff because he's "loyal" to his girlfriend)
found me at my lowest: seventeen years and four months old, about to be devoured by a biological abomination.
A mass that used to be a woman.
A mass I was told to heal.
A mass that was beyond any possible salvation because of the aberrant nature of its power, which stemmed from ingesting some unknown biochemical compound.
Honestly, they all said their powers came from drinking from test tubes like that.
I don't know what that means to you, but to me? It screams state actor—Yangban, maybe Gesellschaft if the rumors are true—or that brilliant myth called Cauldron (though they're not exactly state-sponsored). Someone out there can create or awaken powers without a trigger event.
All I remember clearly is Trickster locking me in that underground base.
Then Echidna grabbed me with a tentacle. I felt paralyzed—probably some non-lethal neurotoxin in her sweat, active or passive, I don't know and it doesn't matter. She dragged me in, and I'd never been so terrified in my life. My power kicked in instinctively. I touched her.
And then I lost myself.
I heard a voice inside me screaming: [FUCK TO THE NO, BITCH. SHE AIN'T YOURS TO TAKE!]
Next thing I knew, four pairs of tiny hands were yanking me free, smashing through an armored vault door. I heard fighting—energy blasts, gunshots, small explosions—and suddenly I was outside.
All I know is that after that entire mess, I woke up in my backyard, surrounded by those four little ones. The moment they sensed me stirring, they whispered "Mama" and threw their arms around me so tightly.
Can I be honest? I started crying because I've never felt happier in my entire life.
I'll just say this to you, Chief Director Costa-Brown: those four children—who share Noelle Meinhardt's DNA and mine—don't have Corona Pollentia. They don't have Gemma.
Technically, they're not parahumans at all.
They're metahumans.
But Clark? He's far beyond that.
His genetic code is the closest possible blueprint science could ever construct for Kal-El's powers, the real Superman. That's right.
I recreated him.
And he’s my son.
The trio—Bubbles, Blossom, and Buttercup—displays the classic Alexandria package: flight, superhuman strength, and near-invulnerability.
Yet these traits are secondary expressions of a deeper gravitational mastery. They don't "fly" in the conventional Mover sense; they simply negate gravitational attraction at will, deciding their position in space as a direct extension of conscious intent.
I would hypothesize that this particular power expression traces back to prolonged childhood exposure—shared with my sister Victoria (Glory Girl, age 17)—to marathon viewings of an Earth Aleph animated series featuring characters with analogous abilities.
And yes… those three girls are my daughters too.
You want to do something about it? Let me remind you: I'm not the one with the problem here. They love me the way four small children love their mother.
And if you think Alexandria, Eidolon, or Legend could easily handle all four of them… you're far more naïve than I gave you credit for.
Well, it was a pleasure speaking with you all. We're leaving.
Since I came here voluntarily, accompanied by my mother as my legal representative, I'm not subject to Master/Stranger protocols.
Most importantly, I'm a minor, not in the Wards, not in the Protectorate, not in the PRT. I'm not in your chain of command.
So… bye-bye.
Have a good afternoon… or whatever passes for one around here.
After what those Alexandria and Eidolon clones said, you've got bigger problems than I do. And now, after we leave the PRT building, I can finally attend to more important matters.
THE FOLLOWING IS A TRANSCRIPT TAKEN FROM INTERNAL AND EXTERNAL PRT SURVEILLANCE CAMERA FOOTAGE. AUDIO ENHANCED FOR CLARITY. THE PHONE CALL WAS NOT INTERCEPTED, AS NO COURT ORDER WAS IN PLACE.
…👋 😆
Hi, Vicky!
… 🤔
No, Vicky, it went fine. But how are the rugrats? How are you and Dad holding up?
… 🤔
Yeah, it's normal for a thirteen-month-old like Clark to be super energetic—especially when it comes to dodging diapers
… 😁
Whoa, whoa, whoa. Clark took his first steps… on the ceiling? And Bubbles, Blossom, and Buttercup… cleaned the living room ceiling with soap?
…😟
Wait—they said there was Clark's poop on the ceiling, so that's why? Uh… if I remember right, Kryptonian poop doesn't float.
I think.
… 😱😱😭
His eyes are red and irritated? Because I can hear him crying. Just wash his face, put in some saline drops, and give him a bottle
…😮 😮
WHAT DO YOU MEAN HIS EYES ARE GLOWING? Is he manifesting heat vision?!
…🫨😧😮
YES, HE'S MANIFESTING HEAT VISION!
…😱 😱 😱
Get him to the yard right now! Dad can tank that level of thermal energy—your forcefield won't hold!
… 😱 😱 😱 😱
Mom, call Shielder!! Vicky, don't leave the girls alone—we're on our way!
ONLY THE HURRIED FOOTSTEPS OF THE DALLONS WERE HEARD AS THEY RUSHED TO THE PARKING LOT.
THERE WERE NO REPORTS FROM THE BROCKTON BAY FIRE DEPARTMENT OF ANY FIRES THAT DAY. APPARENTLY, THE EMERGENCE OF CLARK DALLON'S HEAT VISION POWERS (ATTACHED: FILE COMPILATION ON THE POWERS OF SUPERMAN A.K.A. KAL-EL OF KRYPTON) WAS SUCCESSFULLY CONTAINED.
END OF REPORT.