Alone outside, somewhat away from the crowd, is a teenager in a Superboy t-shirt, Manila folder clutched in a white knuckle grip. His eyes are moving back and forth over the pages of the packet, lifting every so often to look over the paper at the...chaos. He's reminded of his high school orientation, only he's much more confused and much more overwhelmed. For all his knowledge on world history and polynomials, he cannot for the life of him figure out how to feel - nor can he identify who most of the people-things-aliens in the building are or where they come from.

He's read the packet over and over again. The confusion doesn't seem to be clearing, no matter how he fits the pieces together. Obviously, he's been transported. Transported to save a planet. He says planet because he knows every country on Earth, their flag, and their average yearly rainfall, and this clearly is not any of them - no matter how similar the architecture. He's been brought here to help this planet, along with all these others. Through...touch? What does touch have to do with the kind of energy a world needs to sustain itself? The more he reads, the less sense it makes and the less sense it makes, the angrier he gets. He throws his keys on the ground as hard as he can and, satisfied with the tiny crater and the key being embedded, he calms.

What would Superman do?

Simultaneously, he tries his comm and reaches out with his mind. What if he's not alone?