Escalation

   "Crime in the Metropolis shipping district has gone up six hundred percent in the last seven days.  Six major fires, fourteen deaths, and twenty-three major thefts have been reported. Local Police seem to be completely baffled by this increase in violence, but Detective Dan Turpin had this to say..."
   The news report switched over to a recording of Turpin and his partner, Maggie Sawyer, as they entered police headquarters.  Dan, as always, was frustrated and annoyed.
   "Yeah, I'll tell ya what's goin' on!  It's the criminal underworld! Now that they're hearin' about us finally gettin' dirt on their 'leader,' they're freakin' out!"
   "Leader? Who's their Leader?" the reporter asked.
   Dan stared the camera in its face. "LIONEL. [BLEEP]. LUTHOR."
   Maggie quickly ran over to Dan, gently shoving him back towards the building.  "The MSCU has no official comment on this matter, or on Lionel Luthor," she calmly told the reporter.

   Bruce stood in front of the massive TV in his living room, watching the report.
   The elevator dinged, and Diana walked in with Bart.  Bart's face and clothes were smudged with black smoke-markings.  He looked exhausted.
   "Hey, buddy," Bart jokingly greeted, forcing a half-smile.  "What's up?"
   "I called you so we could talk about what's going on," Bruce said.
   "Cool," Bart said. "I could use a break."
   Bart and Diana sat down on the couch.  Bart slumped back and shut his eyes.
   "Where's Clark?" Bruce asked.
   "I don't know," Diana replied. "I thought he was—"
   The elevator door opened again, and Clark stepped through, looking almost as dirty as Bart.
   Bruce looked back and forth between the two super-powered boys.  "What the hell have you two been doing?"
   "What's it look like?" Bart asked sarcastically, his eyes still closed.
   "They've been literally running in circles for the past week," Diana said.  "I'm not as fast as they are, so I can't get to all the crimes as they're happening."  She put her hand caringly on Bart's knee.  "I think they've carried people out of—what, three fires in the past two days?"
   "Four," Bart said, lifting up four fingers.
   "Sorry I'm late," Clark said.  "I heard another siren as I was on my way over, and I went back to help."
   Clark was breathing a little harder than usual, and his eyes were drooping a bit.
   "Clark, are you... tired?" Bruce said incredulously.
   Clark shrugged.  "I haven't really slept much lately. Things keep happening at night, and I don't want to be asleep when someone needs help."
   "So do you think it's true?" Diana asked Bruce.  "What Turpin was saying about Luthor?"
   "You heard that while you were in the elevator?" Bruce asked in return.
   "Yeah."
   Bruce mentally reminded himself never to say anything he didn't want overheard near Diana.
   "I don't know.  Probably.  Lucius told me that Lois brought him evidence that Lionel's been spying on the tech at the air base."
   Clark and Diana nodded.
   Bruce's jaw clenched. "Why was I not told about this?  It's MY family's company."
   Clark and Diana looked at each other in surprise, then looked back at Bruce, somewhat embarrassed.
   "Sorry, Bruce," Clark said. "I thought you knew."
   "No," Bruce said coldly. "Why did she go behind my back like that?!"
   "Oh, gee, I dunno... because you dumped her?"
   The group looked back at Bart, who still appeared to be half-asleep.
   "Bruce, Lois still cares about you," Diana said gently. "Lionel's already tried to kill you—as well as all of us—"
   "Not me," Bart said, half-raising his hand. "I totally wasn't there."
   "All of us except Bart," Diana corrected. "It's not like Lois is gonna just drop everything she's been working for.  And it's not like you needed to know."
   "It was probably our job to tell you," Clark said. "Sorry about that."
   Bruce shook his head. "Whatever. Forget about it."
   After a short silence, Diana spoke up.
   "So what should we do now?  When is the chaos going to stop?"
   "It'll probably stop once the investigation with Luthor ends," Bruce replied.  "If Lionel's proven to be a criminal, the police can get complete access to everything he owns.  From there, they should be able to find all the evidence they need to find and take down each and every one of the people under Lionel's command."
   "Hang on," Clark said. "Explain this to me.  How exactly is his 'empire' set up?"
   "Like a pyramid," Bruce replied.  "Or, more accurately, like an actual empire.  Lionel's at the top, and there's about a dozen men that take orders from him.  Each one of those men runs a slice of the criminal world in Metropolis."
   "How do you know all this, anyway?" Diana asked.
   "It's not that hard to find out.  It's like any huge crime organization: everyone with their ear to the ground knows who's running things, but no one's got the evidence.  Until now, apparently."
   Clark sighed. "Well, until that evidence pays off, I guess we'll just have to keep on working."
   As if to punctuate Clark's statement, a loud boom hit the tower, and the floor shook.  Everyone looked out the window to see a huge swath of fire over one of the buildings along the harbor.
   "That's the Queen Industries fuel warehouse," Bruce said, taken aback at what he was seeing.
   Clark stood up, and his voice fell a little deeper.
   "Let's go."
   At his words, Diana and Bart sprung up from their seats and ran with him to the door.
   Bruce watched them go.  They didn't need an extra minute to decide what they were supposed to do; they just went out and started saving lives.  Bruce smirked as he realized that he had really cool friends.

Winter Medley

   It was almost December, and the first snowflakes were beginning to fall.  For some reason, the area around Metropolis actually got snow, despite its place in the midwest.  It had a curious effect upon the city in that it somehow made everything seem warmer.  People were kinder to one another, the traffic seemed a little calmer, and the skies of gray somehow seemed more comforting.  Jonathan Kent would say that it was the "Christmas Spirit," and that "even big city folks can't deny it."
   Diana walked aimlessly through the streets, not really sure what she was doing outside in the cold.  It seemed like everyone around her was in the holiday spirit, but she couldn't feel more isolated.
   An American flag slowly flapped above her head; its white stars and red stripes shining brilliantly in the pale sunlight.  All it did for Diana was remind her that she was not at home; that she was an alien to this land.  From what she understood, Christmas was supposed to be a time for family to gather.  All she had in the way of family here was her own mother, and there was no way that Hippolyta would ever let Diana celebrate a Christian holiday.  After all, Christianity had replaced belief in the Greco-Roman gods, therefore it was the "enemy" of the Amazons' faith.  Personally, Diana didn't care very much about whose religion was supposedly evil.  She just wanted somewhere to belong.
   "Excuse me, Miss," an elderly voice said.
   Diana turned to see a short, tiny old woman—the jewelry store owner from a week ago.
   "Oh! Ma'am, are you alright? I didn't see what happened to you after the attack." Diana asked.
   The woman nodded. "I'm alright, I'm alright.  Are you?"
   Diana smiled politely.  "Yes, ma'am, I'm fine."
   "Good," the woman said.  "Here, I have something for you..."  She reached into her purse, and pulled out a small box.  "The police didn't believe me when I said that a pretty young girl saved me from that man, but I knew you were real.  I wanted to thank you, but I didn't know where you were, so I've been carrying this for you in case I ever ran into you again.  And, by God's grace, I did.
   Diana didn't know what to say.  "...Thank you," she said, taking the box.  It was wrapped in blue and silver paper, and Diana wasn't sure if she should open it.  She knew enough about Christmas to know that you were supposed to wait until Christmas day to unwrap presents.
   "It's okay, my dear," the woman said.  "Open it."
   Diana gently peeled off the wrapper, and opened the box.  Inside were two silver-white earrings, each in the shape of a five-pointed star.  She smiled; the stars looked exactly like the ones on the American flag.
   "I thought you might like them," the woman said.
   "They're beautiful; thank you... but I can't—"
   "Now don't you be saying you can't accept them, young lady!" the woman interrupted.  "They're a gift.  Merry early Christmas."
   Diana gently took the earrings out and slipped them on.
   "You look stunning, my dear," the woman said.
   "...Thank you," Diana said, her smile beaming.
   "Oh no, miss.  Thank you.  The world needs more people like you."

—

   Bruce stood in his living room, taking in the view.
   Christmas was a time that once held special meaning for him—a time when his family never seemed closer.  Now, Christmas felt empty.  Cold.  Haunting.  Even though the actual holiday was a whole month away, the snow-covered buildingtops made it feel much closer.
   Alfred walked into the room and noticed Bruce's brooding.  He felt a swell of sympathy for the boy.  He'd thought that perhaps Lois's presence would soothe Bruce's heartache over the holidays, but they had apparently broken things off.
   "If I may, Master Bruce," Alfred said politely, "perhaps you could spend less time staring out into the cold and more time with your friends?"
   Bruce turned his head slightly to the side, indicating that he'd been listening, but didn't say a word.
   Alfred sighed to himself.  It seemed that if Bruce was ever going to slip out of his shell, he couldn't be pulled out.  He'd need to step out on his own.

—

   Clark walked down the street, this time not really minding the fact that he couldn't fly to where he was going.  He still needed the extra time to think things over and figure out what he was going to say.  He was nervous, yet somehow overjoyed.  A bit of worry crept into his mind. Was it too soon?  Was it even right?  He took a moment to drift inwardly, seeking out that truth of the matter.  "Listening to your heart," as his mom would call it.  ...Yes.  It was time.
   He approached the building, paused at the door, and took a deep breath.  He opened the door and stepped inside, then slowly walked up the three flights of stairs.  Finally, he reached the apartment door.  After another deep breath, he knocked.  The door opened, revealing a girl no older than twelve.
   Clark was a little surprised, and shifted around uncomfortably.  "Um... hi.  Is Lois home?"
   The girl raised a suspicious eyebrow at him.  "No."
   Clark suddenly noticed that this girl looked a lot like Lois.  The same blue eyes and gentle cheekbones.  If not for the fact that her hair was brown while Lois's was black, Clark could have mistaken her for a younger version of Lois.  But this must be Lucy.
   "Lucy?" he asked.
   The girl raised her other eyebrow, still unsure of Clark's genuineness.  "That's me.  Who are you?"
   "I'm Clark. Clark Kent," he said with a friendly smile.  He saw Lucy blink and slightly blush.  He'd forgot how his smiles sometimes did that to people.  "I'm a friend of your sister's.  I work with her at the school paper."
   Recognition flashed in her eyes, and a smile crept across her lips.  "Wait. You're Smallville?"
   Clark rolled his eyes.  "Yeah. That's me."
   Lucy giggled a little.  "She talks about you sometimes."
   "Really?"
   She cleverly narrowed her eyes.  "Don't get too excited... Smallville."
   Clark kept himself from rolling his eyes a second time.  "Ha ha.  Can you tell me where she is?"
   Lucy playfully narrowed her eyes again.  "Mmmm.... okay.  She went to Centennial Park. Should still be there."
   Clark gave her one more smile. "Thanks, Lucy.  I'll see you later."
   Hearing him say her name with a simultaneous smile made Lucy's face go completely pink.

   Centennial Park was just down the street.  Being one of the only parts of the city that wasn't being constantly walked or driven upon, it was slowly being blanketed in white.  It didn't take Clark long to find Lois.  She was sitting alone on a bench, rubbing her hands together and crossing her arms for warmth.  Clark walked up from behind and sat down on the bench next to her.  She was surprised to see him, but not unhappy.
   "Hey," he said. "What are you doing out here?"
   She shrugged.  "Just trying to clear my head. Fresh air and all that.  Really tired; tried to take a nap earlier, but couldn't fall asleep."
   Clark nodded.  He'd certainly had his share of moments like that.
   "Why are you out here?" Lois asked.
   Clark turned to her and made sure to choose his words carefully.
   "I was looking for you, actually."
   "Really.  Why's that?"
   "Well, I... I wanted to know if you'd go to the Christmas Formal with me?"
   Lois was very surprised. "I thought you were going with Miss Amazon Prom Queen?"
   Clark shook his head.  "No.  She told me that she didn't think we should go together."
   "...Why not?"
   "It's complicated..."
   "Okay... so... you guys aren't an item or anything?"
   "Not even close, no.  So, will you?"
   Lois felt the words fumbling on the way to her lips.  "Y-yeah... sure."
   Clark smiled, and Lois suddenly felt a little less cold.
   Clark turned back to face the park, taking in the snow-covered sights.
   Lois was slightly perplexed.  "Um... Clark?"
   "Yeah?"
   "Well... usually when a guy asks a girl out, and she says yes, the guy walks off so they don't have to have that awkward silence afterwards."
   Clark thought about that for a second.
   "...Do you want me to leave?"
   Lois hadn't actually thought about it.
   "...No," she said with an embarrassed smile.

   They sat there together for the next few hours, talking about everything and nothing.  Lois was freezing cold, and, without thinking about it, ended up creeping closer and closer to Clark for warmth as time passed.  Eventually, she somehow ended up curled up under his arm.  A few minutes later, she fell asleep.

Switch-Up

   Lois sat down in her office chair with an unusually happy bounce, spinning the chair around a couple times with glee.
   Clark and Diana looked at each other, each with a raised eyebrow.
   "What's going on?" Clark asked.
   "Oh, nothing," Lois said playfully.  "I just may have landed the greatest story OF MY CAREER—so far—AND managed to get Luthorcorp FINALLY out of Metropolis's hair."
   Diana was a little skeptical.  "...And how did you manage that, exactly?"
   "Your ex, actually.  He found some tracking devices on the planes at the Academy, and we ran some tests.  Turns out they were Luthorcorp designs, and—"
   "Wait a second," Diana interrupted.  "Hal found them?"
   "He was the first one to notice them, yeah."
   Diana frowned.  "...Are you sure he didn't plant them there?"
   "Um... what?"
   "I doubt Hal is working for Luthor," Clark said calmly. "Why would he point out evidence that could potentially get Luthorcorp in trouble?"
   "Yeah, I guess..." Diana said reluctantly.
   Lois narrowed her eyes. "What exactly did he do to gain your spite, Amazon?"
   "He cheated on me."
   "...Oh."
   Lois and Clark sat in awkward silence for a minute before Lois remembered her train of thought.
   "So, anyway, we found out that Luthorcorp's been spying on government projects, and maybe even selling them to foreign countries.  Lucius and I turned over the evidence to the MSCU today, and they're starting up an investigation.  Oh, and I get first dibs on the story."
   "Wow, that's great, Lois!" Clark said. "That could land you a job at the Daily Planet!"
   "Oh, you bet on it, Smallville," she said with a wink.
   Clark's smile suddenly faded.  "Wait a minute... Lois... if your name's on that story, Luthor's going to come after you.  You could be in danger."
   Lois rolled her eyes. "Yeah, I know, I've been told that already today.  Look, this is more important than me.  Besides, I'm not afraid of getting hurt."
   Clark put his hand on her shoulder and gave her his "resolute determination" look.
   "You won't be.  I promise."
   Lois couldn't help but sheepishly smile back.  She didn't know what it was, but something about him made her feel... different.  Like the tough persona she always felt the need to put on around others just didn't matter with him.  She felt... like she really mattered to him.  Like she was a princess.  Which was pretty ironic, considering that the other girl in the room was an actual princess.
   Diana regarded the other two with a certain sad realization.
   Lois's phone buzzed.  She flipped it out.
   "What? OH! Right, yeah, I'll be there in ten minutes. Bye."  She hung up and turned back to her friends.  "Sorry guys; I have an appointment at the Sharks Stadium.  Gotta run."
   Lois jumped up and zipped out of the room.
   Diana took a deep breath and sat down in Lois's seat, across from Clark.
   "Hey, um... I think we should talk."
   Clark suddenly felt a little nervous.  "Um... why?"
   She sighed.  "Clark, I... I don't think you should take me to the Christmas Formal."
   Clark was surprised.  "Why?"
   "...I know I was sort of aggressive in asking you out before.  I kind of put you in a bad position, what with Lois watching and everything.  I didn't even ask you if you wanted to come over for dinner and meet my mom; I practically ordered you to."
   Clark didn't want her to feel bad. "Hey, it's okay, I—"
   "No, Clark. It's not okay."  She smiled a little.  "You're just nice."
   Her smile faded a bit.  "Besides... it's pretty obvious that I'm not the one you really need to be with right now."
   Clark shook his head.  "Diana, I already promised that I'd go with you."
   "And I'm letting you go from that promise."
   She looked deep into his eyes. "You're meant to be with Lois, not me."
   Clark should have been happy to hear that, but he was concerned for his friend.
   "But what about you? Who are you gonna go with?"
   A gush of wind blasted through the room, and Diana suddenly felt someone leaning on her shoulder.  She looked up to see Bart, jokingly winking at her.
   "NO," she said adamantly, and shoved him across the room.

The Proof

   The main office of the Wayne Enterprises Metropolis tower was large, impressive, and usually empty.  It was only there to be used when the CEO of the company—currently Lucius Fox—was visiting.  As it happened, this was one of those times.
   Lucius sat at his desk, patiently awaiting his guest.  Lois stood to his left, casually sitting on the desk, legs properly crossed in front of her.
   Lucius took a quick glance at her.  She'd been like family to what was left of the Waynes and their friends—namely, Bruce, Alfred, and Lucius.  Lucius had heard from Alfred that Bruce and Lois had apparently broken it off, and that Miss Lane had taken it rather hard.  If she did, she certainly wasn't showing it.  She seemed to retain all the confidence and sharpness that often frightened adults twice her age.
   The elevator dinged.
   Inspector Dan Turpin walked out, looking gruff as ever.
   "Inspector," Lucius greeted, "thank you for coming."
   Lucius stood, and the men shook hands.  Lois gave Turpin a nod.
   Dan almost jumped back when he recognized Lois.  "Hey! 'Ain't you the kid who snuck into that school just ta get a lousy story?!"
   "That'd be me," Lois said without blinking.
   "Miss Lane has uncovered something of vital importance, Inspector," Lucius kindly interjected.
   Dan turned back to Lucius.  "Yeah?  And what might that be?"
   Lucius handed Turpin a plastic bag with a quarter-sized metal disk inside.  "This is one of a dozen tracking devices that were found on Wayne-Ferris aircraft prototypes.  According to our own analyses, they are of Luthorcorp design."
   Dan's eyebrow raised slightly.  "Huh. So you caught 'em in some corporate espionage, eh? Nice. That'll make 'em squirm for a while, tryin' to get outta that one."
   "Oh, it's much more than that," Lucius said.
   "How so?"
   "The Wayne-Ferris Air Base—and all aircraft on it—are partially funded by the United States Air Force.  Per that agreement, all aircraft are the property of the United States government.  Those tracking devices don't merely track the location of the aircraft; they record extremely sensitive data.  For all we know, Luthorcorp could have gained full knowledge of every plane in that hangar, as well as any prototype weapons the planes were carrying.  Put plainly, Luthorcorp has been spying on classified government weapons systems."
   Dan squinted his eyes and shook his head in frustrated thought. "Wait wait wait... why would they do that?  Wouldn't the government, I dunno, NOTICE that whatever Luthor comes up with is exactly the same as what you guys had already been workin' on?"
   Lois leaned in. "Unless they're not planning on selling these weapons to the United States government.  I'm betting it's no coincidence that the Regent of Kaznia was invited to Luthorcorp headquarters a week and a half ago, just a few days after these trackers were discovered."
   Dan's eyes widened with surprise.
   Kaznia.  Take the volatile history of Vietnam, the dictatorship of North Korea, and the supposedly-innocent public face of Iran, and you've got Kaznia.  Currently under trade embargo with the United States, and listed as a terrorist state.
   Dan's grin widened to match his eyes.  "So, you think Luthor's stealin' government military secrets and sellin' em to Kaznia?"
   Lois shrugged.  "Makes sense to me.  Even if Kaznia managed to get their hands on some of this stuff, they still don't have the resources to actually do much of anything with it."
   Turpin chuckled. "Heh. Like givin' a calculus book to a five-year-old."
   "More like giving a get-rich-quick book to a homeless person," Lois said with just enough attitude to get on Turpin's nerves.
   "We came to you," Lucius said, "in the hopes that you would be able to follow this lead to its source, and stop it."
   "Yeah, you can bet your fifty-thousand-dollar pants on that one."
   Lucius smiled approvingly.  "Very good.  I'll inform the staff at the air base that they're to fully cooperate and provide you with everything you need for your investigation."
   "...There's one other thing," Lois interjected.  "I want the story on this when it breaks."
   Dan rolled his eyes. "O' course you do.  Listen, this business ain't for kids, alright? You—"
   "Miss Lane was the one who discovered this, Inspector.  If anyone deserves the right to inform the public, it's her."
   Dan sighed. "Okay, I get that. I really do.  But you gotta understand, Miss.  Doin' somethin' like this... it'll paint a target on your head.  I don't think I need ta' tell ya that Lionel's not exactly the nicey-nice businessman he claims to be.  You could be hurt, or worse."
   Lois stared him straight in the face.  "How is that different from what you do every day?"
   Dan sighed again.  "...Alright. You got it. Gimme your number, and I'll give you a call when we've got somethin' solid."

Lack of Purpose

   The sun set over Metropolis, casting a gentle orange glow across the sky.  Above it all stood Diana, poised and elegant, her toes barely touching the clouds below.
   A gentle whistling in the air told Diana that Clark was floating up to meet her.
   "Hey," he said.
   "Hey."
   "...I tried to find you yesterday.  Your mom didn't know where you were, and you didn't answer your phone."
   She hung her head a little. "...I didn't know what to do."
   She looked at him. "I didn't mean to kill him.  I just... lost control.  I don't know what happened."
   Clark frowned slightly. "You were under a lot of stress. Are you sure it wasn't just because you were in the heat of the moment?"
   She thought about it for a moment.  "...Maybe, but... that's no excuse."
   They sat in silence for a long while, deep in thought.

   "...Clark, what are we doing?"
   "What do you mean?"
   "You remember what I said a while back? About how the chances of people like you, me, and Bart all meeting each other like this are ridiculous?"
   Clark nodded.  "Yeah. You said there must be a reason that we're together."
   "Right.  But... what reason is that?  It's not like we're doing anything important."
   "Hey, we fought Deadshot and beat him.  The police couldn't do that."
   "They couldn't?  Why not?  It's not like they ever really had a chance; we just jumped in every time to stop him.  And I think the last two times, he specifically wanted to get back at me for stopping him at Excelsior."
   "Yeah, I figured that must've been the reason.  But are you saying that we shouldn't be out trying to fight crime?"
   Diana let out an exasperated sigh.  "'Fight crime.' Doesn't it strike you as odd how easily those words escape our lips?  I mean, what normal person even thinks that way?  Do police even think about their jobs that way?  They call themselves 'protectors of the peace' or 'public servants,' not 'crime fighters.'  And you, me, Bart—even Bruce, a little—all used that same phrase.  'Crime fighting.'  Like it's stuck in our brains.  Why do we even have this idea?"
   Clark half-shrugged.  "I noticed it, too.  I figured it was because it's what we're meant to do.  Like a literal calling."
   Diana smirked at his idea.  It struck her as rather quaint.  "Clark... the gods don't give callings out for people like us to fight petty criminals."
   Clark resisted the urge to roll his eyes or frown at her.  "I don't take orders from the gods."
   Diana resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him.  "Fine then. Whatever deity you claim to believe. But seriously, think about it. If we have a purpose, it's to do things that everyone else can't. Bank robbers and mercenaries—even people like Deadshot—can usually be handled by the police.  We should be doing something more."
   "So... we should just sit back and let other people get hurt because solving their problems isn't our 'purpose?'"
   "No, of course not... it's just... I can't help feeling like there's something we're missing."

Many Mysteries

   "What is it?" Clark asked as he entered the penthouse.
   Bruce gestured to the TV.  Bart was already sitting on the couch, waiting for Clark to arrive.
   "Reports have been coming in for the last hour, now," a newscaster reported. "It seems that the mercenary and murderer, Floyd Lawton, known by his alias 'Deadshot,' was found dead in his cell in Stryker's Island Prison. Details are uncertain at this time, but, by many accounts, Lawton was apparently stabbed, and bled to death while prison guards were away.  The person or persons responsible for this execution have not yet been identified."
   The elevator dinged.  To everyone's surprise, Diana stepped out.
   Bruce didn't waste a second.  "Where have you been?" he asked, giving her a serious frown.
   Clark immediately stood up and walked over to her.  "Are you alright?" he asked.
   Diana smiled a little at his concern.  "I'm okay."
   She turned to Bruce.  "I... needed some time."
   Bart was suddenly standing on her left.  "So, uh... what happened?" he asked awkwardly.
   "I, um..." She took a deep breath. "I got a little freaked out yesterday, and I... almost went too far.  I wasn't thinking straight.  If Clark hadn't been there, I... I don't know what I'dve done."  She turned to Clark.  "Thanks," she said with a grateful look in her eyes.  Clark shrugged, as if to say "you're welcome."
   Bruce was unmoved by their tender moment.  "You nearly killed him.  Now you're just going to pretend like that didn't happen?"
   Clark took her defense. "She didn't kill him."
   Bruce got a little more intense.  "So?  What about the next time she gets into a fight?  You people are too powerful to trust on faith!"
   Everyone paused for a moment, taking in Bruce's words.
   Clark stepped toward Bruce so that he could stare down at him.  They were only a few inches apart in height, but Clark made his point.
   "Then why don't you leave that to 'us people?'"
   Bruce couldn't really argue with that.  He held his gaze in silence for a few moments longer, but eventually shrugged and stepped back. "Fine."
   Diana felt a slight flutter of joy in her heart.  Since she'd moved here, she'd had no one who she could consider a close friend; someone that would truly stand up for her, for no other reason than they cared.  now she did, and she couldn't be more grateful.  But before she could let herself forget, there was something else she needed to mention.
   "Um, not that I'm trying to change the subject or anything, but I think we might have a bigger problem."
   "What's that?" Bruce asked, unsurprised that things had somehow gotten worse.
   "I think someone might know about me.  That I'm... well, different."
   Bruce narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?"
   "Someone confronted me yesterday while I was at a park.  He was dressed in blue, with a gold amulet around his neck.  He said that 'my true gift is kindness, not violence.' Then he just disappeared."
   Bruce raised an eyebrow, then walked to one of his bookshelves.  He pulled out an older book and gently flipped to a specific page.  When he found it, he brought the book to Diana.
   "Is this the man you saw?"
   She looked at the picture on that page.  It was an artist's representation of a shadow-covered man dressed in dark blue.
   "Yes, that's him!"
   Bruce nodded slowly.  "I thought so.  This man has no name.  As far as anyone knows for sure, he's only a legend.  Sightings of people matching his description date back through the beginning of the twentieth century.  Some accounts are even further back. The self-proclaimed 'magical community'—Wiccans, mostly—believe him to be a kind of herald or guide for individuals of great importance.  Other, more realistically-minded theorists have posited that he is, in fact, multiple individuals, each one assuming the identity of this blue-robed man when his predecessor dies."
   "You've never been one to believe in urban legends, Bruce," Clark said.  "Why this one?"
   "Because I've seen this man before.  He was a close friend of John Zatara.  At that point, he was working under the alias of 'Grey Walker.'"
   The group sat in silence for a moment, thinking it all over.
   Bart, as usual, was the first to speak up. "So... what now?  Is this guy a problem?"
   "I don't know," Bruce said.  "I'll talk to Zatanna. Maybe she knows something.  In the meantime"—he turned to Diana—"you should probably keep a low profile."
   Diana gave a relieved sigh.  "That sounds great, actually."

Failure

   Two guards walked Floyd Lawton to his cell, keeping a violently tight grip on each of his bruised and beaten arms. As the door slowly slid open, Floyd gave each of the guards a smug grin. They shoved him in the cell, slightly harder than they actually needed to.  The prison had lost quite a bit of credibility with Lawton's unexplained escape last month, and all employees were under strict orders to treat him with unforgiving suspicion and as much brute force as state law would allow.  Of course, this only fed into Floyd's ego, as it proved just how important he truly was.
   The guards pushed Floyd down onto a lone chair in the center of the cell, chaining his handcuffs to the chair's back.  The feet of the chair were bolted to the floor.  Floyd was impressed.  Restrained like this, there was no way he could move in the slightest.
    It's kinda overkill, Floyd thought, considering I'm still stuck in a cell anyway.  Heh. Musta gotten on the warden's bad side, being the one-and-only prisoner to escape Stryker's.  Either that or he's still mad about the "incident" with his daughter.  One of the two.
   The guards left, leaving Floyd alone to contemplate his own greatness.  At the present moment, he was pleased with himself.  The girl was still alive and he'd been re-captured, but it wasn't over.  Luthor still had a way to break him out, and the girl apparently wasn't willing to kill him in the end.  If both those remained true, he cold simply break out again, and again, and again, until the princess had a bullet in her brain and there was no one left to take him down.  Except for maybe the other guy.  The bulletproof one he'd met in the school.  Floyd hadn't told Luthor about him; glossed over that part of the story.  He wanted the girl dead; he had no gripe with the other freak.  No reason to tell Luthor that there was possibly anyone else to be interested in.
   As perverse as it seemed, life was good for Floyd Lawton.  Even while chained up in prison, he had fame, recognition, respect, and—ultimately—freedom.
   A few of the lights in the hallway outside began to flicker.  Muffled sounds from down the hall told of minor commotion.  Floyd was intrigued.  He tried to lean a little closer to the bars, but his handcuffs held him back.  The lone overhead light in his cell flickered off.  A silent brush of wind told Floyd that something was moving inside the darkened room.  A few seconds later, the light came back on.
   A girl stood in front of Floyd.  She was young—no older than seventeen—but carried herself with a sharpness and a confidence beyond her age.  She wore all black—very form-fitting—and let her long, dark hair fall in front of the left side of her face.  Floyd wondered if she had some terrible deformity on that side of her face, or if it was just a stylistic choice.  He figured it was probably the latter.
   "You failed, Lawton."
   The girl had an accent.  Floyd couldn't place it.  Romanian, maybe?
   "Yeah, sue me."
   She ignored his joke.  "It's a shame, really.  Had you succeeded, you might have been on your way to one day joining us."
   "Joining? Who, Luthorcorp?  Yeah, I 'aint the businessman type.  Look, are you done?  Are you gonna get me out of here, or what?"
   "I speak not of Luthorcorp."
   "Wait, what...?"
   Suddenly, it made sense.  She wasn't from Luthorcorp; she was from his prior employer.  The one who hired him for the Excelsior job.
   "Aw, seriously?  You're upset over that job?  Come on; that was a stupid plan anyway!  I mean, why'd you need—"
   "My father's designs are not to be questioned, least of all by you.  Your assignment was merely a small part in his grand plan."
   Father? This girl was seriously starting to weird Floyd out.
   "Huh.  Okay.  Well, little girl, you go tell your daddy I'm sorry, and that I'll do better next time."
   She didn't blink.
   "The League of Assassins does not allow failure, Floyd Lawton."
   She reached behind her back, slowly pulling a short sword from its sheath.  With a single swift motion, she stepped forward and stabbed, slipping the blade gently into Floyd's heart.  She then stepped back, wiped her blade, and sheathed it.
   The light shut off once more.  When it switched on again, she was gone.  A few minutes later, the guards found Floyd's dead body sitting in a pool of his own blood.

Her True Nature

   Diana walked alone beneath the trees.  She didn't know how long she'd been walking, or exactly where she was.  A large park lay downhill on her right, with dozens of children playing in the sunshine.
   Children, Diana thought.  Until I moved to the United States, I'd never seen children before.  I was the last-born of my kind, and there wasn't anyone else my age. I was the lone little girl, with a thousand older sisters. I played for hours on the beach; I climbed every tree my mother would allow; I swam as far out from the island as I could.  I was innocent.  Why can't I go back?
   Diana felt a heaviness in her chest; a pain that she'd never known before.  It was guilt, she realized.  Guilt over what she'd done, and what she'd come very close to doing.
   It is an Amazon's way to slay her enemies.  Though the Amazons favor peace above all, when their lives are truly threatened, there are few more brutal.  The more intense the battle, the more feral an Amazon's blood-rage.
   Diana felt helpless.  The same rage against domination that fueled her sisters' warrior pride flowed within her veins.  Deadshot's attempt to beat her down triggered that rage, and Diana was not prepared to counter it.  In that moment, she wanted to end his life.  She wasn't sure exactly why, either.  Part of her felt that it was because of a righteous anger against him for endangering innocent lives, but another part of her worried that it was simply a selfish fury.  If Clark hadn't been there, she wouldn't have stopped.  That fact scared her.
   She sat down under the shade of a tree and looked herself over.  Her jacket was in tatters.  She took it off.  She looked at her arm.  The burn from before was gone.  Along that same arm, she looked at the places where she'd been cut and bleeding before.  To her shock and surprise, each and every cut was completely healed.  Strangely, though, a thin crust of sand covered each former wound, like a bandage.  She looked at her jacket again—not a single bloodstain was found, despite the fact that it had been nearly soaked in a few places before.  The entire interior of the jacket was sprinkled with sand, however.  Some of it was even embedded in the fabric itself.  She rubbed the sand between her fingertips; it was familiar.  Thin, pale, and smooth.  Exactly like the beaches of Paradise Island.
   A small sound broke into her thoughts.  A little boy, twenty feet away, sat by himself, crying.  Diana felt a surge of concern for him.  She stood up and walked over, tossing her jacket into a trashcan on the way.  She quietly sat down next to him.
   "What's wrong?"
   The boy turned his head and looked up at her, his eyes red and swollen from tears.  He bashfully ducked his head back down and covered it with his hands.
   "Hey, it's okay," Diana assured him.
   He slowly started to lower his hands, though he kept looking down.
   "My name's Diana. What's yours?"
   "Jamie," the boy said, peering up hesitantly at her.
   Diana gave him a big smile, and he blushed a little.
   "How old are you?" she asked.
   "Seven."
   "I remember being seven. It was fun."
   "You didn't have mean friends, then."
   Diana frowned.  She actually didn't have any real friends at all when she was that young.
   "Your friends are mean to you?"
   Jamie nodded.  "They told me I can't play football with them."
   Diana looked across the park and saw a group of boys about Jamie's age playing football.  Or trying to, at least.  They weren't really old enough to be very coordinated, and sort of tumbled into one another.  Diana sighed.  Football.  She'd never really understood the appeal of that sport.  Why did the players feel the need to ram into one another?  Didn't it make more sense just to maneuver around each other?  Clark had tried to explain it to her once, but she didn't quite follow.
   "Why won't they let you play?"
   "'Cause I'm smaller than they are, and I'll get knocked over."
   Diana thought for a moment.
   "Can you run?"
   Jamie nodded.
   "Okay, then.  Why don't you just try and run around them instead of running into them?"
   Jamie was confused.  "Why would I do that?"
   "Because," Diana explained, "you're trying to get the ball to one side of the field, right?  If you're the one with the ball, it doesn't matter if you hit anyone."
   "Oh yeah."
   Jamie sat thinking for a while.  "But... how can I get them to let me play?"
   Diana winked at him.  "Don't let them take no for an answer."
   Jamie almost blushed again, but he felt enough pride that he was able to keep it down.  He stood up with a big smile, then turned and ran to meet the other boys.
   "Thank you," a voice said from behind.
   Diana turned around and looked up to see a woman standing behind her.
   "Jamie's had trouble with the other boys for a while now.  This is the first time I've ever seen him try and stand up for himself before."
   Diana stood up.  This must be the boy's mother.
   "Um, well, you're welcome, ma'am," Diana said awkwardly.
   The woman smiled at her.  "Really, thank you."
   Jamie's mother walked downhill to follow her son, leaving Diana happy, yet puzzled.
   "Your true power is not in violence, Diana Prince."
   Diana turned quickly to see a man standing under the shadow of a tree.  He wore a dark blue cape over a navy business suit, and a matching navy hat that cast a black shadow over his eyes.  A golden amulet hung from his neck.
   "Your true gift is in gentle kindness."
   Diana was slightly alarmed.  "Who are you?!" she asked abruptly.
   "I am merely a guide," the man said.  "Nothing more."
   He stepped deeper into the shadow behind the tree, moving out of Diana's view.  When she tried to follow him, she found nothing.  He had simply vanished.

Guys, seriously.

There are zero comments on the last twenty-four posts.  The last one was four months ago.

:(

Contemplations

   Clark walked to the Princes' apartment.  He would have flown had it been nighttime, but he couldn't risk someone seeing him in the clear daylight.  That thought bothered him.  In Smallville, the wide-open fields and sparsely-populated farmland meant that he could do whatever he wanted, for the most part.  He normally kept to the ground, but he often got the chance to fly.  From the distance at which the next-nearest farm sat, he'd probably look like a bird or a plane.  Unless someone had a telescope and randomly decided to point it over his house, Clark was safe there.  But if Smallville was his playground, Metropolis was his cage.
   For a city so huge, Metropolis was rather open.  The skyscrapers were set farther apart than most cities, affording wide open views of the blue skies overhead.  It gave the city a sense of hope; of freedom.  Of course, this also meant that the five-million-or-so citizens on the streets below would have an easy view of a boy flying across the sky.
   What would they say if they saw him?  Would they be curious?  Afraid?  Clark wasn't ready to make his personal life into a public circus, so he wouldn't be able to explain who he was or why he was flying.  His presence would probably scare people, and he didn't want that.  If he was going to go into the business of publicly using his powers, he'd need to figure out a way to solve this.
   The population of Metropolis wasn't nearly as dense as New York, L.A., or Chicago.  Most of the housing in the city was notably spacious and rather inexpensive, allowing its citizens to live comfortably.  Lois had once explained the reason for this: Luthorcorp had built most of the city through its subsidiaries.  If there was one positive thing Lionel Luthor had to his credit, it was that he genuinely believed in scientific progress, economic prosperity, and the general advancement of civilization.  Of course, Luthorcorp offset their losses with the cheap housing by secretly monopolizing the local transportation, food, and electric economies, but it wasn't anything that actually hurt the average citizen.  If anything, it seemed that Lionel was actually crafting some sort of modern utopia.  Clark had read about similar men and their ideas throughout history:  Marx.  Stalin.  Hitler.  All dictators and madmen who sought to better the world by twisting it into their own vision.  The difference between Lionel and those men was that his plan actually seemed to be working.  Of course, Clark thought, that was probably only because his underground crime network was secretly forcing it to work.
   That had actually struck Clark as odd.  Despite the fact that he'd heard rumors and powerful whispers of Lionel's secret criminal mastery, he'd had yet to truly see it for himself.  True, he and the others had been attacked at Bruce's tower—an incident which Lionel later had practically admitted to orchestrating—but that was it.  The hostage situation at Excelsior was almost definitely not Lionel's doing, and there hadn't been anything linking Luthorcorp to the attempted bank bombing last month, and none of the other minor crimes Clark had seen (or stopped) had been linked to Luthor in the slightest.  Lois and Bruce insisted that Luthorcorp was merely laying low because of Lionel's arrogant slip-up at the Metropolis High.  Clark figured he could trust them to know what they were talking about.  But then there was today's attack on the jewelry store.  What possible purpose did that have?  Why would someone like Deadshot bother to mess with a jewelry store?  Was he trying to get caught?
   ...That was it.  Clark mentally slapped himself in the forehead.  Of course.  Diana had been the one to stop Deadshot the first time, and she nearly got sniped during the attack on the bank.  Clark had read that Floyd Lawton's ego was legendary; he must have wanted revenge on the girl who'd managed to beat him.
   But how could he have known that Diana would be the one to respond to the attack?  What about Clark or Bart?  Another obvious realization hit Clark: Deadshot might not have known much about Clark, and he probably didn't even know that Bart existed.
   Clark felt a pang of guilt.  If he'd not been at the farm doing chores—at super-speed, of course—he would have been there to help Diana.  He might have even gotten there first.  Bart didn't show up at all, but he was elsewhere as well.  He'd said something about "getting genuine burritos in Mexico," but Clark had a little bit of a hard time understanding him.  Whenever Bart got nervous or guilty, he tended to inadvertently speed up his words into an incomprehensible blur.
   No matter.  Whatever she'd done, Diana probably needed a friend right now.  Despite their recent issues, Clark wanted to make sure she wasn't alone, and that she was okay.

Reaction

   "I couldn't believe it," Clark said.  "I think she was actually going to kill him."
   "Did you expect any different from someone who claims to be an Amazon?" Bruce replied.
   Clark, Bruce, and Bart sat in the penthouse living room.  It was only a few hours after Diana's fight with Deadshot, and Clark had felt the need to let Bart and Bruce know what had happened.  Lois and Bruce were still on rocky terms, so she stayed home.
   "I don't get it..." Bart said.  "Diana's always been so... nice.  I mean, she's sorta been like my big sister.  I don't get why she'd go all crazy and almost kill a guy."
   "She was hurt," Clark said.  "Pretty badly, I think.  She was bleeding, and she looked like she'd been beaten up a bit.  I don't think she was thinking straight."
   "We need more information," Bruce said, his brow furrowed in thought.  "You said you only got there after the fight was over.  Maybe there's something we're missing."
   "I hope so," Clark said with a sigh.
   After a few seconds of silence, Bart spoke up.
   "Well... what if she did kill him? ...Isn't it better if he's dead?"
   "Maybe," Bruce replied, "but that's not her decision.  It's not any of ours.  It's up to the law to decide his fate."
   "It's not just that," Clark interjected.  "No one's beyond helping.  As long as they're alive, there's a chance they can turn around and become a better person.  If they're killed, that chance gets taken away."
   Bart nodded in understanding.
   "You know," Bruce said, "you three have never really set any ground rules as far as your... 'crimefighting' goes."
    Clark thought about that for a moment.
   "I never thought about it.  We've never needed to before.  We just knocked the bad guys out and left before anyone got a good look at us."
   "That's something I wanted to mention, actually," Bruce said.  "Are you sure no one saw you or Diana today?"
   "Pretty sure," Clark replied. "Why?"
   "You probably need to start thinking about ways to hide your identities.  Unless you and Diana can constantly move at super-speed like Bart, there's no way to keep yourselves from being recognized forever."
   Bruce had a point.  Clark wasn't really sure what to do about that.  But that also wasn't the immediate issue.
   "We should probably figure out these other 'ground rules' first."
   "Pssh. 'Ground rules,'" Bart said sarcastically.
   Bruce and Clark looked at him quizzically.
   "You and Diana don't even need to walk on the ground," Bart explained, turning to Clark.  "I don't even think 'ground rules' apply to you guys."
   "The same rules apply to everyone," Bruce said firmly.
   "No, he's right," Clark said quietly.  "Diana was raised as a princess on a 'paradise island'; I don't know if she thinks of herself like everyone else."
   "If I may be so bold," an elder voice said from the side of the room, "perhaps someone should actually speak to Miss Prince herself about these matters."
   The three boys turned to see Alfred standing several feet away.  He was so quiet and unassuming that they often forgot he was there, but when he chose to make his presence known, his advice was always welcome.
   "Yeah," Clark said, "I hadn't really thought much about it, but someone should really go and see if she's okay."
   "Cool," Bart said casually. "I nominate you. Bye!"
   Before any of them could blink, Bart sped into the elevator—sending a gust of wind through the living room—and hit the button inside, closing the doors in front of him as he smiled goofily.
   Clark and Bruce exchanged glances, then rolled their eyes.
   "He's probably right anyway," Clark said, standing up to leave as well.
   "Clark," Bruce said in a very serious tone, "...if Diana won't agree to calm down, you need to be prepared."
   Clark frowned. "Prepared for what?"
   "...For the chance that you might have to fight her.  We can't have her going around the city, killing off people she deems fit to die.  You might be the only person who can actually stop her."
   Clark took a moment to stop and seriously consider that.
   "...Let's not assume the worst.  She hasn't actually done anything yet.  Let's just talk to her."
   "Fine," Bruce said with a shrug, "but be careful."
   Clark nodded and left.

The Line

   The explosion was deafening.  Several dozen people on the street nearby scattered—like cockroaches in sunlight, Floyd thought.
   He'd brought the bomb—just a tiny one—merely to make some noise.  He wasn't really there to rob the jewelry store.  He probably could've made more money just doing one job for a high-paying client.  Heck, robbing a jewelry store in broad daylight on a Saturday morning was just flat-out stupid.  Too many cops in Metropolis—and not the type that could be bought off, like in Gotham.  But this time, he wanted to be caught.  But not by the cops.
   "On your knees, Deadshot."
   Floyd turned to see a female silhouette standing in the smoking hole he'd blown in the side of the store.  It could only be her, he thought. Finally.
   "Hey! Princess! Been waitin' for you. And you remembered my name! I'm touched."
   Diana wasn't amused.
   "I don't know how you got out of prison, but I know how you're getting back."
   She stepped into the room, lifting her right bracelet in front of her face.  Floyd took a second to analyze what she was doing.  He figured it was a kind of dual stance, designed both to defend the user against gunfire to the upper body and to allow for quick offensive strikes with the hands.  Apparently, whoever this girl was, she had an entire martial arts style that was completely unknown to the rest of the world.  He'd be ready for her this time.
   She moved forward, both hands in front.  Floyd, already with guns in hand, fired two shots—one at her face, one at her ankles.  She blocked the one at her face, and tried to dodge the one at her feet.  It worked, but at a cost.  Running as fast as she was, twisting like that meant nearly losing her balance.  Floyd took advantage.  He dodged to the right, swinging the back of his left wrist at her head.  His metal gauntlet slammed into the side of her face, sending her crashing into the wall behind him.
   She slumped to the floor a little.  Floyd drew his guns on her at lightning-speed, firing a flurry of execution shots.  She recovered in time to twist and deflect them.  Before Floyd could squeeze off another round, she grabbed the nearby broken seat of a chair and whirled it at him like a frisbee.  It pounded into his metal mask, sending flashes of red and white swirling through his vision.  Before he could snap out of his stunned state, he felt himself being lifted off the ground and thrown through the air.
   He hit the far wall with a crash.  He almost made a big enough hole to actually get stuck in it.  He sat on the floor, breathing heavily.  If he hadn't been wearing his armor, he would have probably had a few broken bones and crushed back muscle.  He sighed to himself.  This girl was a powerhouse.  But he'd made her bleed before.  And if she could bleed, she could die.
   Floyd quietly reached for his sides, still slumped against the wall.  Diana was standing twenty feet away, staring him down with her usual "piercing warrior stare." Floyd heard the click of metal clips unhooking, and felt the weight of a steel grenade in each hand.  He smirked under his mask, twisting his wrists ever so slightly in just the right position.  His thick gauntlets rotated around his wrists a few degrees, and a single metal barrel extended from the top of each.   He flicked his arms upward, tossing the grenades toward either side of Diana.  Before she could react, he leveled his wrists at the grenades and clicked a button in each glove, firing a hidden bullet out of both gauntlets.
   The bullets hit both grenades dead-center, transforming them into giant balls of fire and shrapnel.  Floyd had seen enough gunplay to be able to slow it down in his mind—to see the intricacies of weaponry in action.  From his perspective, everything seemed to be happening in slow-motion.  He saw the bits of razor-sharp shrapnel fly away from the grenade casing.  He saw the waves of heat crash over her.  He saw the panicked look in her eyes for a split-second before she brought her bracelets together.  When they touched, she shut her eyes and seemed to be concentrating on something.  But it was too late.  Whatever she was trying to do, she didn't have enough time.
   Diana fell to her knees, and struggled to fall no further.  Her ears were ringing.  She had a burn on her left arm.  Her gut felt like it'd been punched a thousand times over.  She had cuts all over her body, and silently prayed she wasn't bleeding too badly.
   Floyd slowly stood up.  He took a long look at Diana, both triumphant at his victory and curious as to how she was still alive.  No matter, he thought.  He lifted his gauntlet gun toward her head and fired.
   Diana desperately dove for a nearby overturned table.  She could barely believe that her legs still worked.
   Floyd almost chuckled to himself.  People always think that hiding behind a car door or a wooden table will protect them.  It doesn't.  Real bullets go straight through stuff like that.
   Floyd let loose a full-auto barrage into the table.  Three dozen bullets hit the table and stopped.
   "Dammit," Floyd said frustratedly.  The table was an antique, and made of super-dense wood.  One of the few household materials that would stop a bullet.
   He stepped forward, pulling a long knife out of a sheath on his shoulder.  He'd have to do this the hard way.
   Diana heard the sound of the bullets stop, and didn't waste any more time.  She immediately stood up and kicked the table, sending it flying through the air at her attacker.  He ducked under it, again surprised by her strength.  Diana winced as a jolt of pain shot through her leg; she was far too injured to be using her muscles like that.
   Floyd ran toward her with the knife.  Diana moved to block him, but found her movements slightly slowed.  She managed to hold him back, but couldn't find a way to counter him.  Suddenly, he reached his heel around the back of her knee and pulled.  She fell hard onto her back, Floyd straddling her with the knife mere inches from her throat.  Diana tried to push his hands away, but couldn't find the strength anymore.
   She looked around the room for anything she could use as a weapon.  When she looked to her right, she was shocked to see an elderly woman hiding in a tiny nook.  Apparently, she'd been there the whole time.
   Diana felt a surge of anger.  Anyone who would threaten innocent lives this way needed to be beaten to a bloody pulp.  She twisted and rolled to the side, flipping Deadshot onto his back.  She staggered to her feet, pulling him up by the shoulders, then slamming him headfirst into the metal frame of a nearby glass case.  She slapped the knife out of his hand, then punched him in the face.  Floyd's body went slightly limp.
   Diana didn't stop.  She punched him again, and again, and again.  Bits and pieces of the metallic covering began to fall away from his face, revealing bloodied and bruised flesh underneath.  She still didn't stop.  She kept beating him, over and over.
   "DIANA!"
   Diana turned to see Clark stepping through the hole in the wall.
   "What are you doing?!" he asked her, looking back and forth angrily between her raised fist and Deadshot's unconscious body.
   "What does it look like I'm doing?" she asked, with more than a little venom in her voice.  "He's a criminal, Clark!"
   "He's a human being! You can't just beat him to death!"
   Diana was exasperated.  Did Clark not see what Deadshot had done here?  Did he not see what he'd done to her?
   "And why not?!" she asked. "He doesn't deserve any better!!"
   "IT'S NOT OUR CHOICE TO MAKE!!"
   Clark's voice boomed with authority.  Diana nearly staggered backwards with surprise.
   She straightened up, still holding Deadshot by the collar.  She tossed his limp and bloody body at Clark.
   "Fine.  You go clean his wounds and set him free.  See what happens next."
   And with that, she walked out of the store—limping on her right leg—and flew away into the sky.

Caring Fake-Out

   Clark stepped into the Daily Star office and was quickly greeted by a stack of papers.
   "Sort these."
   Lois handed Clark a huge stack of papers about two feet high.  It nearly fell over.
   "Um... Lois?  What are these?"
   "They're hard-copies of every article we've published over the last year.  They're all out of order.  So sort them."
   Clark awkwardly tried to give her a raised eyebrow over the stack.
   "These don't actually need to be sorted right this second, do they?"
   She turned and gave him her ultra-serious "I own your job" look.
   "You got a problem with that, Smallville?  In case you forgot, I'm still your boss.  I say when our paper crap needs to be sorted.  Got that?"
   Clark figured that Lois was probably being abrasive either because she was hurting from being dumped or because she didn't want to deal with their "moment" the night before.  Probably both.  Then again, Lois being abrasive wasn't exactly unusual, so it was hard to tell.  If anything, she was back to "normal."
   Still, however, he figured he should at least try to get through to her a little bit.
   "Lois, um... about last night—"
   "Don't, Clark.  Just don't.  I know we had a bit of a... 'moment' there, but... I have to figure some things out.  By myself.  Talk can come later."
   Clark nodded understandingly.
   "Well, y'know, Lois, I've been thinking, and I should probably take a little bit of time off from the Star.  I mean, there hasn't been much news lately, and Luthorcorp's been really quiet."
   Lois was surprised.  "Really?" she said.  "No 'hey, Lois, you know I'm always here for you,' or 'are you sure you wanna be alone' speeches?"
   Clark smirked a little.  "Nope.  None of that.  You say you need to be alone, so you can be alone."
   Lois wasn't sure whether to be disappointed or impressed.  "Huh.  Okay then, Smallville.  Take a week off."
   "Thanks, boss," he said with a sarcastic grin.
   As he turned to leave, Lois's phone rang.  She looked at the call ID: Chloe Sullivan.
   "Hey Chloe.  What's up?"
   "Hey, Lois," Chloe said, "I just got a really weird call from Clark.  He said you probably needed someone to talk to?"
   Flustered, Lois turned to Clark, who was halfway out the door, a clever grin plastered over his face.  Apparently, he wasn't going to let her mope and brood, even if she wanted to.

Aren't Meant To Be

   Bruce gently sipped at his coffee, taking a short moment to mentally prepare for the day.  It was only seven in the morning, but he was wide awake.
   The elevator pinged.  A few seconds later, Clark stepped into the penthouse.
   "You're up early," Bruce said.
   "I was raised on a farm."
   Bruce caught the slight edge in Clark's voice.  "Something wrong?"
   Clark made sure to take a quick deep breath before speaking.  Even so, he had a hard time restraining the booming anger in his voice.  "You broke up with Lois! Why?!"
   Bruce sat in silence for a moment.
   "Clark, I don't exactly expect you to understand this, but Lois doesn't really fit into my life anymore."
   Clark wasn't satisfied with that answer.  "Could you possibly be any more vague?" he asked sarcastically.
   Bruce took a deep breath.  "Lois is... somewhat devoted to me.  Over the past couple of months, she's put herself in a lot of danger because of me—because she thinks she can protect me by getting Luthor put in prison."
   Clark was beginning to understand, though he still didn't like it. "So... you dumped her because you think she'll be safer if she's not worried about you all the time?"
   "It's not just that.  I... I don't think I'm that great for her to be with.  Between school, training, and everything else, I don't really have time for her anymore."
   Clark frowned.  "So make the time."
   Bruce halfway glared at him.  "She's not a priority.  She can't be.  I have more important things to worry about."
   "How can you say that?! She's not just a... a task or something you can—"
   "You left Chloe in Smallville, didn't you?"
   Clark was caught off-guard. "...What does that have to do anything?"
   "She was your best friend, and I think you know she's practically in love with you.  But you left and came to Metropolis because you knew your destiny was here.  Because being here was more important than being with one person."
   Clark thought about that quietly for a moment.  The more he thought about it, the more he realized Bruce was right.  But still, there was one hole in Bruce's reasoning.
   "Hold on a minute," Clark said firmly.  "Lois is still here, in Metropolis.  You don't need to choose between her and being somewhere else.  Even if you don't have a lot of time to spend together, at least you'll have something."
   "It's not just that," Bruce said reluctantly.  "I... I don't think I still feel the same way about her that I did before.  I... appreciate her, but I don't love her."
   They both stood in silence for a moment, thinking it all over.
   "Lois and I... probably aren't meant to be together," Bruce said. "She needs someone who can actually be there for her.  That someone isn't me."
   "Then who?" Clark asked.
   Bruce resisted the urge to give him a clever grin.  "I don't know, but I hope whoever he is, he figures it out sooner than later.  After all, now that I'm out of the way, he doesn't have an excuse any longer."
   Clark suddenly felt nervous, and conveniently remembered that he needed to be somewhere else.  Bruce had never seen Clark be nervous before—about anything.  He enjoyed watching the boy of steel squirm for a few moments. 
   "Well, I'd better get moving," Clark said.  "I've got three articles to write before nine."
   Clark stepped back into the elevator, waiting for the doors to close.
   "Clark," Bruce said, "...watch out for her, alright?"
   As the doors began to slide shut in front of him, Clark stumbled over his words.  "I...uh... what?"

Something There

Lois sat on her bed, knees pulled up so she could bury her head in them.
   "Lois? Are you okay?"
   Lois abruptly lifted her head and looked to the left.  Her bedroom had an attached mini-balcony, and someone was standing on it.  She couldn't see who it was at first, her watery eyes muddling her vision, but there was something calming about the stranger's voice that kept her from being startled.  She rubbed her eyes and blinked a few times.
   It was Clark.
   "Clark...What are you doing here?"
   "...I heard you crying.  What's wrong?"
   She wanted to try and change the subject; to ask him how he'd possibly heard her crying from wherever he'd been earlier—and wasn't he supposed to be at Diana's right about now?—but she knew he wouldn't let her slide like that.
   "Bruce... he broke up with me."
   Clark was completely surprised, and more than a little angry.  Why on Earth would Bruce break up with Lois? They cared so much for one another; it just didn't make sense...  Why would Bruce hurt her like this?...  No.  Lois was the one hurting right now; Bruce could be dealt with later.
   "Lois, I'm..." Clark didn't know what he could say that would help. "...I'm sorry."
   Lois managed to chuckle a little at him. "Heh. It's okay. Come in."
   Clark stepped inside, moving to sit next to Lois on the bed.
   "What happened?" he asked.
   Lois took a deep breath.  "He called me a little while ago.  He said that he was sorry, but—and I quote: 'a relationship wouldn't really fit into his life anymore.'  I tried to argue with him, but... he just said that it wasn't working between us anymore."
   Clark sat quietly without saying a word.  He remembered his mom telling him something about girls not actually wanting people to solve their problems when they were venting, but just to listen.  It sounded ridiculous, but he decided to try it anyway.
   "...I guess I should have seen it coming," Lois said. "It just... it happened so fast. We started arguing a month or two ago, and... I don't know.  Maybe... maybe I was too hard on him about the Diana thing, or... I don't know."
   "You don't like her, do you?" Clark asked.
   "Not entirely," Lois said without hesitation.
   "I figured as much," Clark said.
   "But Bruce sure seems to."
   Clark squinted a little. "What are you talking about?"
   Lois's head sank a little lower again.  "He spends hours every day with her.  And... I mean, look at her. She's gorgeous."
   Clark frowned.  "Bruce never even gave Diana an extra glance.  He trains with her because he wants to learn to fight, but I really don't think he likes her that way.  At all.  Actually, I'm not sure that he cares about her in the slightest."
   Lois's head sunk all the way back to her knees.  "It doesn't matter," she said, her voice muffled through her sweatpants.  "It was only after he met her that we started arguing."
   She lifted her head again, exasperation on her face.  "I mean, how am I supposed to keep him when he's got miss beauty-goddess staring him in the face every day?!?  Why would he even want me when I look like crap next to her?"
   Clark was a little taken aback.  He'd never seen Lois fuss over her physical appearance much; it was something he liked about her.  She just looked naturally beautiful the way she was.  No makeup, no hair-color-switching.  She wasn't beautiful like a movie star, exactly; but there was something in her eyes—a fire of sorts.  Diana had something similar, but it was different.  Diana's eyes burned with a solid gaze; resolute and firm.  Lois's eyes, even when they weren't moving, seemed to show a thousand things flying through her head at once.  Her mind was a flurry of intensity.
   "Lois," Clark said gently, "You're not any less attractive than Diana."
   Lois gave him a disbelieving raise of the eyebrow.  "Sure I'm not.  You don't have to sugar-coat it, Clark.  I'm not exactly the most—"
   Clark put his hand on hers, stopping her in mid-sentence.  "Lois, you're beautiful.  Don't ever think otherwise."
   Lois's eyes went wide and her cheeks burned a bit redder.  She felt like a stunned, embarrassed little girl.
   Through the bedroom door, Lois and Clark heard the apartment's front door open.  A few voices could be heard shuffling inside.
   "Sounds like your family's home," Clark said.
   "Yeah," Lois said, shaking off her stupor.  "They've been gone all night at my sister's play."
   "Alright, well, I'd better go," Clark said with a gentle smile.  He stood up and walked to the balcony again.
   Lois sat in the same place she'd been when he got there, watching him as he looked up towards the sky, ready to fly away again.
   "Wait!" she said, jumping up and running over to him.
She squeezed onto the tiny balcony next to him, and looked up into his eyes.  For a moment, it was as if something passed between them—a spark.
   "Clark... thank you," Lois said quietly, moving forward to hug him.  He gently put his arms around her and hugged her back.  They held each other for a quiet moment, perfectly still in the open air.
   They pulled back slowly.  Clark gave her one last caring smile before flying up and away.

Of Girls and Men

Diana finished her tale.
Clark frowned.  "So... your mom is prejudiced against men because of a cultural thing?"
"Clark! You don't understand; she was the Amazon queen in that story!  She lived through all that torture; all that pain, and she's been alone with our sisters on Themyscira for the past three thousand years."
Clark nearly took a step backward in surprise.  He should have figured that out already, but he hadn't realized just how old Hippolyta really was.  She only looked to be about forty.
"You've got to understand... my mom... she's seen the absolute worst of mankind.  Up until about a year ago, she hadn't even seen a man in—literally—ages.  When we first came to America, it was really hard for her to get over the idea that all men weren't out to harm her—and me."
"What was it that changed her mind?"
"Nothing," Diana sighed. "Just time.  She's still got a bit of anger, as you noticed.  But at least she doesn't snap at the slightest thing a man says or does anymore.  She's normally a pleasant person with them, actually."
Clark frowned again.  "Then why did she just treat me that way?" he asked.

Diana scrunched her face and sighed again with resigned frustration.  "It's because you're with me."
Clark suddenly felt a little embarrassed. "Uh... what?"
"The last boy I brought to meet my mother was Hal," Diana explained.  "She decided to trust him, and... well, after Hal and I broke up, I was... I was hurt.  So she got really mad.  I think she's worried that you'll do the same thing to me."
Clark was feeling even more uneasy.  "Uh... Diana, we're not... 'together'..."
"I know," Diana said in a slightly hushed tone.  "But you're taking me to the Christmas Formal, so that's close enough for her."
Clark wanted to roll his eyes.  From his perspective, it seemed more like she was taking him to the formal.

"I'm really sorry," Diana said apologetically. "I know you don't deserve her judgment."
Clark wanted to throw his arms in the air and yell "REALLY? YOU THINK?!" but he restrained himself.
"I mean, you're practically the only guy on the planet who's completely honorable," Diana joked.
At this, Clark took offense.  "What?" he said, half-squinting his eyes at her.
Diana shrugged, as though she was surprised he didn't agree.  "Well, you kinda have to agree, Clark.  Most men are chauvinistic and self-centered."
Clark was shocked, and more than a little ticked off.  He didn't know what to say; his head was spinning.  He was disappointed in her as a friend, but in other ways, too.  Whether or not he'd admitted it to himself, he'd come over for dinner at the Princes' not only because Diana had "asked," but because some part of him was actually somewhat interested in her, and wanted to know if perhaps she was someone he could see himself dating.  As it was turning out, however, that possibility was getting less and less likely.  Even if she wasn't nearly as bad as her mother, Diana was simply too judgmental and closed-minded.

Clark turned to lean over the balcony, taking a deep breath.
Girls were constantly frustrating for him.  Lana Lang, the girl he'd had a crush on back in Smallville, hadn't really given him a second look.  Chloe was an amazing friend, and Clark knew that she had romantic feelings for him, but he wasn't sure that changing their relationship would be a good idea, especially since she was in Smallville and he was consciously trying to spend as little time there as possible.  Diana was stunningly gorgeous and had powers like Clark, but, as Clark was now discovering, she had some nightmarish beliefs about humankind.  The only other girl in Clark's life was Lois.
Lois was a constant enigma to Clark.  Ultimately, she was Bruce's girlfriend, and that was the end of it.  Clark would never even let himself think about Lois as long as she was still with Bruce.  And yet, it felt as though something was... there.  Clark couldn't understand what it was, exactly.  He figured most people would call it chemistry, but that didn't quite match up.  He found himself constantly aware of where she was and what she was doing.  It was as though his super-hearing somehow locked onto her, and wouldn't let go.  Even though he normally heard all the city noise—every car horn, every TV set, every voice—as one constant blaring jumble, he could distinctly hear her scream from across the city.
Lois had a tendency to get herself into trouble.  Clark figured this was the reason his brain seemed a little fixated on her: she, more than anyone else, seemed to be in danger very often—the kind of danger he could probably save her from.
Clark mentally winced at his own mental phrasing. "Save her from."  He hated thinking of himself as a savior.  Even though he had incredible powers, he liked to think that he was only doing what he could with his personal ability, just like every other person on the planet.
Clark now wondered how long he'd been sitting there thinking without saying anything to Diana.  He could never tell; he was pretty sure his brain ran a little faster than humans' brains did.  He guessed he'd been there for about three seconds.

Suddenly, he heard something—something terrible; something painful.  It cut through the city night like a knife, digging what felt like a hole in Clark's heart.  Clark almost turned back to Diana to ask if she'd heard it, too, but he stopped when he realized that he was the only one who could hear it.
A half-mile away, alone in her parents' apartment, Lois was crying.

Clark forced himself to remember what Diana had said a few seconds ago: "Well, you kinda have to agree, Clark.  Most men are chauvinistic and self-centered."
He turned to her, a determinedly serious look in his eyes.  "No, they're not.  Not the way you think.  The sooner you realize that, the better.  I'm sorry; I have to go."
And with that, he lifted off the floor, floating up into the night, leaving Diana speechless.

The Amazons

This is the legend of the Amazons.


Three millennia ago, North of the Mediterranean Sea, there existed a nation of warriors.  Both men and women, they fought side-by-side as equals on the battlefield.  There existed no greater army in the world than theirs; no stronger warriors than theirs.  They understood the true nature of combat: the reality of bloodshed, bravery, and death.  Every man and woman would give his or her life to protect his brothers and sisters; there were no cowards among them.  The name of this nation is long lost to history, but its fall is legendary.

An enemy nation, using deceit, trickery, and unnatural power, completely conquered the warrior nation.  They slaughtered all men and children, leaving only the women alive.  Those women were enslaved, tortured, and raped.  For two long years, the wives, mothers, and daughters of a once-great nation were subjugated by evil men.  Finally, led by their queen, the women planned a resistance against their captors.  The queen knew that without aid from the gods, their plan would fail.  Every day, she prayed to the goddesses—Hestia, Aphrodite, Demeter, Athena and Artemis—for the strength and fortune to defeat the men that held her people captive.  And, on the day the battle was to begin, her prayers were answered.  The gods of Olympus saw this great injustice, and granted each woman the strength of a dozen men.
The queen was given special gifts, crafted by Olympus' royal craftsman, the god Hephaestus himself:
An indestructible golden lasso, laced with undeniable magic that caused anyone in its grasp to speak only the truth.
A red corset, stronger than any steel armor, topped with an eagle-shaped golden chestplate.
Twin silver bracelets, forged from the shield of Zeus, able to shatter the shaft of an oncoming arrow or stop a mighty bolt of lightning in its path.
A golden tiara, unable to be bent or broken by any man.

The women took the name "Amazons"—meaning, literally, "warrior women."  Retaking their stolen armor and weapons, they rallied against the men who had dishonored them.

The battle was fierce and bloody; it lasted for three days without end.  The evil army summoned all manner of supernatural beasts to aid in their fight, but to no avail: the Amazons were unstoppable in their rage.
In the end, no man was left alive; only the Amazons stood, sheathed in blood but still alive.

As a final recompense, the gods gave the Amazons a sanctuary from the chaotic world of man: the island of Themyscira, shrouded from the outside world.  No human eye nor technological wonder could detect the secret haven, hidden safely in the Aegean Sea.
The Amazons, left to themselves in their new refuge, did not let their warrior spirit become soft.  They continued training in the ways of war, never letting their resolve weaken.  They forgot the good men of their homeland, but did not forget the crimes of the wicked men who enslaved them.  Soon, the Amazons fell into a singular belief: that the patriarch-dominated world of mankind was inherently corrupt, and that only one's sisters could truly be trusted.  They became closed-minded and mistrustful, never venturing beyond their shores or allowing others to discover Themyscira.

Although the Amazons were not invulnerable, they were immortal: they would never die of old age. The same women who fought back against the army of evil never died.  They live on, secluded on their Paradise Island, even to this day.

Dinner

Clark actually felt nervous.
Although Hippolta's eyes were currently set on her dinner plate, Clark could somehow still feel her judging stare.

It had started as soon as Clark had walked in the door.
Diana greeted him excitedly, her smile beaming.  Over her shoulder, however, Clark could see Diana's mother giving him a completely unemotional, cold stare.
"Clark, this is my mother," Diana said politely, taking him by the hand and walking him over.  Clark, awkwardly being pulled along, did his best to keep his composure.  "It's nice to meet you, Miss Prince."

Hippolyta nodded with a stiff smile.  "It is... nice to meet you, Clark."
Diana, surprised at the coldness of her mother's greeting, slowly turned her head and gave Hippolyta a "what was that?" look.
The rest of the night went downhill from there.

Back in Smallville, Clark had been over to a dozen different families' homes for dinner.  In a small town like that, it was the kind of thing that happened all the time.  But Clark had never felt so uncomfortable at any of those dinners as he did here.
Without even making eye contact, Hippolyta managed to convey the message that she was not particularly pleased with Clark, despite the fact that she didn't know him.  Perhaps it was the lack of eye contact—or any other type of politeness—that was so off-putting.  Hippolyta just stared at her plate, slowly working her way through her meal, not saying a word unless spoken to.

Eventually, Clark was tired of waiting.  "I'm sorry, ma'am, have I done something wrong?"
Hippolyta slowly raised her head and looked Clark in the eye.  For a split-second, Clark thought he caught a glimpse of a fiery hatred—as though her eyes were screaming "YES, YOU HAVE. BURN IN HELL."  She quickly regained control of herself, however, and shook off her initial reaction.  She did her best to actually give him a genuine smile. "No, Clark, you haven't done anything.  I must apologize; we haven't had a guest to our home since we moved to Metropolis."
Clark smiled back at her. "Well, as far as I can tell, you don't have anything to worry about.  The Metroplans don't bite.  Most of them."
Diana smiled slightly at Clark's joke.  Hippolyta's smile faded, as though she were suddenly reminded of a grim memory.  "I apologize, but I must retire for the night," she said, slowly standing up and walking out of the dining room.
Diana was aghast.  She quickly stood up and chased after her mother, following her down the short hall into the next bedroom.
Clark awkwardly sat at the table alone, twirling pasta around his fork.  He tried to block it out, but even someone without super powers could hear the shouting coming from across the house.  Eventually, Diana stormed back out of the room, stomping her feet as she paced back and forth across the apartment, muttering her frustration.
"...HOW could she be so simple-minded?!?..."
"...what gives HER the right to..."
"...as if ALL men are like the one that..."

Diana walked out onto the apartment's balcony, leaning on the railing as she tried to let her frustration flow out into the cool night air.
Clark followed her.  "So... what happened?" he asked.
Diana sighed heavily and slumped her head into her hands. "...I'm sorry, Clark.  My mother is a bit sexist."
Clark was slightly surprised.  "You mean she didn't like me because I'm a man?"
Diana smirked a little at Clark referring to himself—a sixteen-year-old boy—as a "man", but she couldn't really argue with it.  "Yeah, basically."  Diana turned toward him.  "Clark, the Amazons have a long, bloody history with men.  There's a reason we only allow women on our island."
Clark's eyes narrowed.  "Tell me."

Amazonian Mirror

Hippolyta stood in front of her mirror, waiting for contact.
Half a world away, she was known as the Queen of the Amazons.  Here, she was little more than Helen Prince, mother of Diana.  She and her daughter had lived in the United States for the past two years, hiding their true identities from the world.

They had initially moved to Coast City, in California—the beaches reminded them of home—but they soon decided to move to Metropolis, centered at the heart of the country.

The mirror in front of her suddenly rippled, as though it were made of water.  Slowly, as the ripples smoothed out again, the image of a young woman appeared in the glass.  She was medium height, with blonde-red hair, and wore light clothes of white linen.

"Alexa," Hippolyta said with a smile.
"My queen," Alexa said, bowing.  Her voice was gentle and youthful.  She was one of the youngest Amazons, and did not possess the war-hardened cynicism of her older sisters.
"What news from home?"
"Your people miss you, my queen.  But aside from that, we are doing quite well."
"I am glad to hear it."
Alexa smiled once more, but this time with a tinge of... something.  Something Hippolyta didn't quite recognize.
"What troubles you?" Hippolyta asked.
"My queen, I... the oracle..." Alexa was struggling to find the right words.  Hippolyta was beginning to worry.  "What of the oracles?" she asked.
"The oracles report that... that Circe has left her prison."
Hippolyta's eyes went wide with shock.  "What?!? How?! She was imprisoned in the Pit of Eternal Torment!  I sent her there myself!"
"Yes, my queen, but her crimes were against only you.  The gods have granted her parole, provided that she... well, leaves you alone."
Hippolyta thought in silence for a moment.  "...Does this arrangement include all of the Amazons as well?"
Alexa slowly shook her head. "No."
Hippolyta clenched her fists and shut her eyes in anger.
Alexa tried to reassure her.  "My queen, worry not for us.  We are not entirely defenseless here, after all."
Hippolyta gave Alexa a slight smile. "No, I suppose not."
Another thought sprang to her mind, however, and that smile quickly faded.
"What about my daughter?"
Alexa's smile faded as well. "No. She is not protected."  Before Hippolyta could react, Alexa spoke up again. "However, if I may, your highness... you and Diana are perfectly hidden in man's world.  No one outside of this island knows where you are.  Since you are now immune to her magic, any spell Circe might use to find you will fail.  And I doubt she even knows that Diana exists, since your daughter was not yet born when Circe was imprisoned."
Hippolyta smiled at Alexa.  The young Amazon always had her head in a book, and was far wiser than her age would have granted her.
"Let us hope you are right," Hippolyta said calmly.  "But now I must go.  My daughter is bringing a boy home for dinner."
Alexa's confused expression was the last thing Hippolyta saw in the mirror before shutting it off.

Lex's Choice

Lex was becoming more and more uneasy each time he entered his father's office.  He used to find it exciting: the clever business deals, the hostile takeovers, the corporate espionage... it was thrilling.
Now, however, it was simply frightening.  Blackmail, theft, threats, and murder.
It had always been this way, of course.  But Lionel had only recently begun to allow his son to know of it.
Lex had always heard whispers of rumors about Luthorcorp's secretly evil reputation, but he'd always assumed that those rumors were merely exaggerated or falsified information.  After all, what large corporation wasn't suspected of being a stronghold of pure evil?

"Then we have a deal?"
"Yes, Mr. Luthor."
"Very well.  I'll expect your men at the docks at seven thirty, and no later."
The other man nodded.

Lex walked in the door at the back of the office in just enough time to see a short, middle-aged man stand up from Lionel's desk and begin to walk away.  Lex managed to catch a good glimpse of him: he was foreign—as his thick accent made clear—with a heavily wrinkled face and deep shadowed eyes.

Lex waited until the man left before speaking to his father.  "Dad, was that... Vilmos Egans?"
Surprised, Lionel smiled at his son.  "Yes, yes that was.  I didn't know you were so... politically aware."
Lex wasn't flattered.  "I'm in a world politics class in school.  It's not hard to recognize him of all people.  He's the Regent of Kaznia!"
Seeing his Lex's reaction, Lionel became a bit more serious.  "What's your point, son?"
"The U.S. and Kaznia have a trade embargo right now.  We're not supposed to be making deals with them.  So what's going on here?"
Lionel's eyes narrowed.  "Are you sure you want to know, son?"
Lex rolled his eyes and turned around to walk away. "I don't know if I do..."
Lionel got up and walked over to his son.  Gently grabbing him by the arm, he turned him around and looked deeply into his eyes.  "Son, listen to me.  Laws are made by those in power.  The rest of the world may not know it, but we are those people.  We may not have been elected to any office, but we control this city.  Its citizens can either follow our lead or get in our way.  For their sake, I hope they choose to follow."

Lionel's voice deepened just a little, the way it always did when he was about to use some kind of powerful metaphor.
"You can either choose to be a servant or a master in this world; it's your choice."

Lex frowned at his father.  He was confused.  He knew, somewhere, that what his father was saying was wrong.  But he also recognized an element of truth.

Lionel wasn't done.  "Life, death, it doesn't matter.  No one's life should matter to you but your own and those of the ones you love.  Everyone lives and everyone dies; no one can change that.  The one thing we can control in this world is our legacy; what mark we leave during our short time here."
Lionel gave Lex a genuinely caring look.  Despite his twisted beliefs, he really did care about his son's future.
"Son, you need to decide—right now—what you will become.  Will you become a 'humanitarian', working at a homeless shelter, spending your life treating the rotten wounds of humanity?  Or will you become a conqueror; a leader?  What will history say of your exploits?  What is the true destiny of Lex Luthor?"

Lex's eyes brightened a little.  His destiny. it sounded so... powerful.
Power wasn't something he was used to.  Even though his father was one of the four richest men in the world, Lex didn't really have much in the way of responsibilities.  Everything was always handled for him; he didn't have much say in anything that really mattered.  But to have the ability to change his own destiny—to shape his own life into whatever he wanted—that was something he didn't realize he craved so deeply.

"You can help me, you know," Lionel said.  "I was a boy of a mere fifteen years old living on the streets when I began to build the beginnings of Luthorcorp; you have far more resources at your disposal.  So, will you follow in my footsteps?"

Lex took a moment to think about what his father was saying.  He was, essentially, being handed all the power in the world.
He smiled.
"Okay, dad."