MCU: The Superman Cut

Rising

19th September, 2007

Pacific Ocean, Off the Coast of Alaska

The boat bounced on the waves as it made its way forward. It was a small fishing rig, nothing more, but run by honest men. The Debbie Sue was nothing more than an ordinary boat. However, one could see the tension in each of the passengers. They gathered around the front of the deck, looking at the terrifying sight ahead of them.

A massive pillar of flames shot smoke into the skies. The location was a platform elevated above sea level. The oil rig was a large one; it was owned by Bright Arctic, a large petroleum company in these areas.

A coast guard helicopter flew past, relaying commands over the radio to all the boats in the area.

"All civilian boats, stand clear," came the order. "The sub-sea valves failed, and the rig is about to explode."

A bearded young man squeezed his way into the captain's room as Captain Heraldson responded.

"Roger, Coast Guard. What about the men left inside, over?"

"Forget 'em. They're dead," said the dispassionate voice. The captain was visibly disturbed by the statement, but couldn't disagree with the cold analysis.

Without taking his eyes off the disaster, he called out over his shoulder, "Greenhorn, fetch me my binoculars."

At the silence that persisted after his demand, the captain frowned, and turned back. "Greenhorn!"

A wave impacted the rig, bringing a shirtless man who quickly clutched onto the steam tower. He looked up, just in time to see the the top of the tower explode and come crumbling down into the sea. Ignoring the heat and the wreckage, he quickly climbed the tower, his fingers making small indentations into the concrete that he used as handholds. Once he got to the surface of the platform, he ran to the control chamber, avoiding debris that piled up around him.

Inside the control chamber, the men piled up all the emergency equipment they could find. All of them were dressed in flame proof suits, with oxygen masks, but even the protective attire wasn't enough to let them cross the flames by themselves.

"That's the last of the oxygen!" one of them called out to his compatriots. "I don't know how much longer we can hold out!"

Just when he finished speaking, the multi-ton, sealed, metal door crumpled inwards. After a couple more passes, it was ripped from the wall and thrown to the side. As one, they looked up at the new entrant.

He was a tall man, with black hair and blue eyes. He had a large beard, not in any orderly style, but instead left to grow wildly. He wore nothing on his chest, showing his strong figure and hard muscles, as well as some chest hair, and had a pair of tattered pants on underneath. He was also on fire, with the flames persisting on his shoulder. Despite that, though, his hair stuck to his forehead, like he'd just been swimming.

Outside, the Coast Guard helicopter relayed its status to the command centre.

"This is Coast Guard 65-10. We're gonna make one more pass and then we're getting outta here."

Just then, a door was flung open, and the shirtless man led a group of oil rig workers up onto the helipad.

One of the Coast Guard officers hurriedly gestured to the pilot, "Wait wait wait, I've got some guys on the helipad!"

The pilot acknowledged the remark by looking out, and then hastily making his way onto the crumbling platform just as another structure exploded in the distance. All the workers quickly made their way into the helicopter, ushered in by the Coast Guard officer and the shirtless man.