“I’m sorry to tell you, Mr. Reid, but your sperm count was exceedingly low.”

The news, however unsettling, is no surprise to me. I’ve taken on a few sketchy jobs over the past year - a pursuit of a criminal at a nuclear power plant in Bever Valley, a rescue mission at an active volcano in Hawaii, and a high speed chase through a chemical waste facility. I’m surprised I even have any swimmers after the shit I’ve seen. I know this, but my wife, does not.

Dr. Morose is speaking in a hushed tone, which are barely audible over Rebecca’s sobs. “You’re chances of a spontaneous pregnancy are less than 5%. We’ll need to discuss assisted reproductive technology at this point.”

My wife nods, a tissue clutched tightly in her hand. “I’ll give you two a minute to discuss”, Dr. Morose says.

Rebecca looks at me. I look at the floor. She’s always wanted this - kids, the white picket fence, a real family. It’s time I come clean. I owe this to her.

“Rebecca, honey, there’s something I have to tell you.”

“Oh, Dave, it’s not your fault. We’ll figure this out. We’ll just start IVF. I mean I heard the hormones make you crazy, but anything to have a baby, right? Don’t be upset, we’ll just tell Dr. Morose we’re ready to get started and “

“Beck, this is serious. I think I know why I, uh, we haven’t been able to get pregnant and..”

She looks at me wide eyed, uncertain.

“I’m Super Stroke”, I say. The second the words leave my lips, I wish I could take them back, but she deserves to know that her husband is a stupid, adrenaline junkie superhero.

“Are you kidding me, Dave? Joking at a time like this? I can’t even with you right now”, she says.

“Becks, I’m serious. I know it sounds crazy, but I’ really am Super Stroke - the costume, the theme music - it’s all me”.

“Stop fucking with me, Dave. It’s not funny”, she says. Rebecca gets up and tosses her lifeless tissue in the trash, glaring at me.

“I’ve been exposed to a few chemicals over the years, probably breathed in one too many”. I sigh. “I know it sounds crazy, but I can prove it. Please, babe, just hear me out.”

Fast forward to that evening, when Super Stroke is called to mob fight on the upper west side. I kick their ass, restore justice, all that bullshit. The news anchor approaches me for an interview and with the camera rolling I say, “Stay safe, New York. And by the way, I have low sperm count”. I wink at the camera and, hopefully, my wife laying in our bed.