Noah Vale didn't take offense.
Not at the President. Not at the outburst. Not even at the accidental honesty that had spilled out in front of the entire world.
He understood what he'd done.
A world without lies wasn't just a moral adjustment. It was a social earthquake.
People relied on small deceptions more than they liked to admit. Politeness, diplomacy, even basic relationships were built on carefully managed half-truths. Strip that away, and suddenly every word mattered.
Unless someone genuinely believed what they were saying, they couldn't say it at all.
Which meant one thing:
Everyone would have to learn how to speak differently.
"No need to panic," Noah said, his tone almost reassuring. "You'll adjust."
He glanced at the President, then at the cameras broadcasting everything live.
"And this isn't the only change I made. Give it a few days. You might even enjoy the rest."
The reaction was immediate.
The President's expression stiffened. Around the world, countless viewers felt the same chill crawl up their spine.
There's more?
One rule had already thrown society into chaos.
What would several do?
The answer was already unfolding.
Los Angeles.
Outside the central police station, a line stretched down the block.
Then around the corner.
Then further.
Hundreds of people stood in it, shifting nervously, some pale, some shaking, all waiting.
Inside, the precinct captain stared at the security feed in disbelief.
"…Is this a protest?"
He turned to one of the officers nearby.
"Steve, go find out what's going on."
Steve grimaced.
"I really don't want to. That looks like a nightmare."
The words slipped out before he could stop them.
He froze.
Then coughed awkwardly.
"…Right. I'll go."
The captain watched him leave, rubbing his temples.
This is going to be a problem.
A few minutes later, Steve came back, looking like he'd just walked out of a horror movie.
"Sir… they're turning themselves in."
The captain blinked.
"For what?"
Steve hesitated.
"…Everything."
Silence.
"Murders. Arson. Assault. Some of them listed multiple offenses. None of it minor."
The captain's posture changed instantly. His hand drifted toward his holster out of instinct.
"You're telling me that line is full of felons?"
"Yes, sir."
A beat.
"And they're just… waiting?"
Steve nodded, then gestured toward a nearby television, where Noah's broadcast still played.
"They said they couldn't stop themselves. Their bodies just… brought them here."
"And when we questioned them," he added, voice tight, "they couldn't lie."
The captain stared at the screen for a long moment.
Then something like realization—followed by excitement—lit up his face.
"…Get every available officer out there," he said. "We're processing all of them."
Scenes like that repeated across the globe.
Criminals walked into police stations against their own will, their bodies overriding their intent. Some tried to resist. Some even reached for weapons.
None of it worked.
Every action bent toward confession.
And once they started talking—
They couldn't stop telling the truth.
Even more unsettling, among those confessing were people no one expected.
Colleagues.
Superiors.
Trusted figures.
The system wasn't just catching criminals.
It was exposing them.
Back at the landing site, the President listened as updates poured into his earpiece.
His expression shifted with each new report.
High-ranking officials… gone.
Entire departments… compromised.
People he'd worked with for years… confessing to crimes on record.
The structure of power was collapsing in real time.
He forced himself to stay composed as he looked at Noah.
"You want us to enforce this globally," he said carefully.
Noah nodded.
"Expand the legal framework. Standardize it. And include capital punishment where appropriate."
The President let out a slow breath.
"You're confident there won't be wrongful convictions?"
"With this system?" Noah shrugged. "Pretty much impossible."
No lies.
No false testimony.
No hidden guilt.
Justice, stripped down to its rawest form.
The President smiled faintly, though it didn't reach his eyes.
"Then we'll proceed accordingly."
Like we have a choice, he thought.
He straightened slightly, shifting the conversation.
"Would you like to rest? We've prepared accommodations."
A pause.
"And… regarding the Kryptonians?"
Noah considered it briefly.
"Let them cool off. Once they're done reflecting, assign them a region. They can stay."
The President nodded immediately.
"Understood."
Then, with a practiced smile:
"We've also arranged a dinner in your honor. Everything has been prepared to… suit your appetite."
Noah blinked.
"…My appetite?"
Ten minutes later, in New York, Noah got his answer.
The venue was elegant. Dim lighting. Impeccable presentation.
And staff.
All of them carefully selected.
Beautiful. Polished. Intentional.
Noah looked around, then let out a quiet, amused breath.
"…That's what he meant."
Language, it turned out, was a flexible tool.
Even in a world where lies were off-limits.
Beside him, Gavin barely glanced at any of it.
"I'm heading out," he said.
Noah raised an eyebrow.
"Just like that?"
Gavin nodded.
"Everything I wanted is already done."
His voice was calm. Final.
"For the first time in a long while… things are quiet. I'm going to see what that feels like."
Noah studied him for a second, then gave a small nod.
"Fair enough."
"I'll stick around a few days," he added. "Make sure everything holds together."
Because it had to.
Humanity had a way of finding loopholes in anything. If there was a gap, they'd exploit it. If there was a weakness, they'd test it.
And Noah intended to close those gaps before he left.
Gavin gave a brief wave, then walked off without looking back.
Noah turned to one of the attendants nearby.
"Let's start with the food," he said.
The woman nodded, maintaining a respectful distance.
"Of course, Mr. Vale."
No pressure. No overstepping.
Just service.
For now—
The world was learning how to speak.
And how to live with what it said.