Teen Justice

Flashback

2012-01-04T22:38:00.001-06:00

One Year Ago

This is just so cool.

Sixteen-year-old Barry sat in a corner of the Central City crime lab, completely overjoyed. He'd been shadowing James Forrest, a CSI with the CCPD, as a special project for his A.P. Chemistry class. The project actually ended two weeks ago, but Barry conveniently failed to mention that to Forrest. Forrest knew what Barry was up to, but didn't mind. Forrest liked Barry; he was a very bright, very good kid who soaked up every detail of forensic work like his life depended on it.
Forrest liked to give Barry little projects to work on, just so he'd get a taste of what real CSI work was like. One day, he had Barry use nothing but a pocket calculator, a pencil, and paper to determine the exact angle that a hypothetical bullet would have traveled along in order to hit a specific target. Another day, Barry's task was to cross-reference around three hundred photos and fifty pages' worth of information on knife wounds to figure out exactly what type of weapon was used on a dead body. Tonight, Barry was working on figuring out a specific chemical combination to reveal a unique type of Chinese hidden ink. Barry managed to complete every single task to absolute perfection—sometimes above the standard of most of the actual CSIs in Central—but he worked very slowly. It was a trade-off, Forrest thought. Barry might take forever to find a solution, but once he did it was a sure bet that he was right. If he ever became a CSI here at Central, he'd be a good balance for the rest of the lab, who valued speed over accuracy.
Barry felt a tap on his shoulder.
"Hey, Barry, it's time to go. It's ten-thirty."
Barry looked at his watch and sighed loudly. He hated the fact that he worked so slowly.
"Mr. Forrest, I'm almost done, if I could just have a few more minutes..."
Forrest glanced over Barry's written progress thus far.
"Looks like you've got around a half-hour of work more to go."
Barry nodded sullenly.
"But..." Forrest began, "I guess I could let you stay here by yourself a bit longer. You've been around here long enough to know the rules. Just be careful and don't touch anything on your way out."
Barry sighed with relief.
"Thanks, Mr. Forrest!"
Forrest nodded and left.

As it turned out, Barry needed another 45 minutes to finish his assignment. By the time he was done, he felt like he'd merged with the office chair he was sitting in. He stood up, stretched, and gently put all the chemical bottles back into the glass cases lining the shelves.
Lightning cracked outside the window. Barry was a little bit startled. He'd been so enveloped in his work that he hadn't even noticed the huge thunderstorm outside.
The CCPD lab had an entire wall of windows overlooking the city; Barry had been working was at one corner of that wall; the adjacent wall was the one lined with chemical shelves.
Barry felt the hairs on his neck begin to stand on end.

An insanely bright flash of light rammed through the window, through Barry, and into the glass shelves. Before Barry could even take a split-second to finish thinking "so that's what getting struck by lightning feels like," the chemical bottles shattered, drenching him in a maelstrom of burning liquid.

A few seconds later, Barry was found unconscious, drenched in a multicolored soup, covered in burn scars from head to toe, and intermittently sparking with electricity.

The Hooked Man

2011-12-22T02:27:00.000-06:00

"You're sure about this? A hook for a hand?"

"Definitely. It just took me a bit to remember."

Bruce and Crispus stood outside a small shop. The crackled neon sign above read "CUSTOM GUNS." Bruce glanced at Crispus; he didn't appear to have any memory of being possessed by Boston. Definitely for the better that way.

Bruce and Crispus entered the shop. Crispus resisted the urge to sneer at the very air inside. It galled him that with all the violent crime in the city, this shop was allowed to remain open—especially here in North Gotham, where murder was more commonplace than birth.

The shop owner was alone in the store; it being the daytime, most of his customers were nowhere to be found. At the sight of Crispus, the owner seemed to stiffen. Good, Crispus thought. He recognizes an out-of-uniform detective; he's connected.

"How can I help you?" the man said, his eyes nervously looking back and forth between Bruce and Crispus.

"Detective Allen," Crispus said, lifting his badge. "Have you sold any rifle attachments to accommodate an amputee?"

"An amputee?"

"For instance, a man with a hook on his left hand?"

"...Wh-why would you come to me about this?"

"We have reason to believe that a man with a hook on his left hand used a rifle to commit murder last night. You machine custom gun parts, is that right?"

"Y-yes—"

"So tell me."

Bruce watched the shopkeeper's brain working rapidly behind his eyes, weighing the options. Bruce guessed it was between risking jail time and risking retribution from his customer.

"Okay," he said, leaning in close. "Listen, I normally don't like to ask questions. I just make what the customer wants and leave it at that. But this guy... he scares me, man. He came in last week, with a big shiny hook on his left, like you said. Said he needed something to help him hold his gun. Gave me a blueprint for the design and everything."

"You still have that blueprint?" Crispus asked.

"Yeah." The man rummaged through a drawer near the front desk. "Here." He laid out the blueprint. The design showed an addition to the underside of a rifle; it had a circular hole with precise dimensions, as well as an intricately-carved design. It looked like a crest of some sort.

"He wanted you to carve this into the gun?" Crispus asked, pointing to the crest.

"I told him that wasn't my thing; I could make the piece, but I ain't an artist. He kinda sneered at me. Real creepy-like. Told me to just make the piece then. Then he left and came back two days ago to pick it up."

"You get any information on him?"

"So, like I said, I don't normally ask questions, but this guy was different. I asked a few of my buddies, and they said they heard about some kinda secret society meeting up at Walker Pier, in the East warehouse."

"Secret society?"

"That explains the crest," said Bruce.

Crispus thought it all over for a few seconds. "Alright. Thanks for your cooperation. Mind if I take this?"

The shopkeeper nodded vigorously. "Yeah; sure. Take it," he said, handing the blueprint to Crispus.

As Crispus turned to leave, Bruce stopped. "Why are you so eager to help?" he asked the man. "You're five blocks from Crime Alley; surely you don't rat out all your customers like this."

"...Like I said, man. This guy was creepy. And if he's really part o' some secret society... nobody needs that in Gotham. 'Sides, I hear about what they do to people like me. Outsiders who find out about 'em. They turn up dead. So, way I see it, you blue boys take 'em down, everyone's happy."

"So what now?" Bruce asked once they were outside.

"Now I call Montoya and have her do a check on Walker Pier. See if there really is anyone there. If there is, we might sweep in as early as tonight. Don't wanna risk them skipping town."

"I want to be there."

"No."

"What?!"

"Bruce, no. There's no way I'm letting you tag along in what's probably gonna be a gunfight."

"I deserve this!"

"You don't deserve a thing. You've helped, and I appreciate that. But you're also not a cop. You haven't taken that oath; you're not trained. Go home; I'll let you know if anything happens."

Bruce turned and walked away.

Bruce walked through what was now called "Old Gotham." It wasn't actually the oldest part of the city, but it the lively nature of the place had entirely disappeared in the last ten years, mostly replaced by corruption. The buildings were cracked and rotting; parents kept their children indoors. Most of the people in this part of the city were too poor to move anywhere else; they just did what they could to keep a living. Bruce passed an old movie theater that had long since shut down. He merely stared at it for a while, standing under the dark shadow of a nearby balcony. The street was entirely deserted.

"You still here?" he said.

Boston suddenly appeared, floating at his right. "Yeah. Now that Zatanna showed me it's possible, I can control whether or not people see and hear me in my ghost form. So, hey, you're not gonna just let them leave you outta this, are ya?"

"What choice do I have?"

"We go get this hook man before the cops show up."

"...How?"

"I can go float on over to the GCPD. See when they're planning their raid. Then you an' I can sneak in before they get there and grab that sonofa—"

"Why do you need me for this? Couldn't you just go in yourself and possess the guy? Make him walk into the police station?"

"...Hey, I'd be lyin' if I said it hadn't crossed my mind. Hell, I'd probably make him walk off a cliff. But I figure I owe ya for helpin' me track him down. And besides, it seems like you've got somethin' personal to deal with here. I know how that can weigh on your conscience. So I wanna help."

Bruce wanted to say thank you, but he couldn't quite at the moment. "Alright. We'll meet up later. I have something to do first."

Bruce turned down an alley near the theater. Halfway down the path, he stopped and knelt.

Here, he thought. This is where it happened. I promise you, mother, father... I'll make it right.

Bruce peered at the docks from the shadows of a nearby fire escape. The sun had set an hour earlier; it was perfect. Only moonlight and a few street lamps illuminated the area. Bruce knew enough of Gotham to know that this was truly when the city woke. When the few good people of Gotham slept, and the rest—the dark underbelly, the true power of Gotham—arose.
The image of Boston appeared at Bruce's side.
"They got ten guys spread across the docks keepin' watch. All of 'em armed. Then there's twenny more in the main warehouse. Sharp-lookin' guys, those. If I had'ta guess, I'd say they're the brains of this whole thing."
"Did you see the man with the hook?"
"Nah, but I heard two of 'em sayin that somebody was comin'. I figure it's gotta be him."
As if in answer, a car pulled up to the docks. From here, Bruce and Boston could see a man step out. Bruce strained his eyes to see if... yes. There it was. The same glint of metal on his hand. This had to be him.
Boston gritted his teeth and clenched his translucent fist.
"I got him."
"No," Bruce said, instinctively reaching for Boston's arm and passing right through it.
"No?!" Boston said.
"This whole thing is bigger than just him. If we stop him now, we'll never find out what this whole group is up to—or why they've been targeting circus performers."
Boston struggled with himself for a moment.
"...Fine. We do it your way."
The hooked man walked down the docks and entered the warehouse.
"How can I get in?" Bruce asked.
"I saw a blind spot in the security over near that stack o' crates. You said you've been trainin'; think you can vault over the fence?"
"We'll find out."
As Bruce began to move, Boston put a ghostly hand in front of him. "Wait a second. Where's your magic friend? We could use 'er help."
"No. I don't want to "
Bruce silently ran across the street, dodging the light as best he could. Taking a deep breath, he jumped on top of a pile of crates and flipped neatly over the fence, landing squarely on the other side—his shoes slapping the concrete a little harder than he would have liked. Bruce winced. That was too loud. Any moment and—
One of the armed men turned a corner, gun drawn. As his eyes began to fall on Bruce, they suddenly rolled back into his head, as if he were passing out. He flinched, and suddenly looked fine. He winked at Bruce and walked away.
Bruce smirked. Thanks, Boston, he thought.
Bruce stalked his way towards the warehouse. He climbed up a forklift and made his way toward an open window near the roof. He squeezed inside, then, finding himself on an upper level, made his way towards a single light and the sound of voices. Eventually he reached the other end of the warehouse, where the floor gave way to a wide view of the ground floor. A half-circular table was illuminated by a single light from above. Twenty men in business suits sat along the table, staring at one man in the center. One man with a hook on his left hand. Bruce felt a rush course through him. This was the one. He glanced up at the other side of the roof; Boston briefly turned visible and gave Bruce a thumbs-up.
"Care to explain why you failed?" one of the seated men, a large, deep-voiced African-American, said. From his body language, Bruce guessed he was the leader of this group.
"Somebody shot a clown just as I was about to pull the trigger," the hooked man said. "The crowd went crazy. No way I was gonna be able to get off a good shot and get away. Hell, some guy almost grabbed me as I was running; I had to ditch my coat just to lose him."
"Your mission was to kill the two acrobats," said another of the seated men. "You failed."
"What was I supposed to do?!"
"You've been accepted into a sacred order of assassins," the leader said grimly. "Once you've been given a target, you kill. You don't run. You don't accept anything less than perfect death."
The hooked man looked visibly shaken. "Look, I—I already killed that Deadman guy in New York; you know I can do this."
"A hooked assassin needs three perfect kills to pass the initiation trial. You've failed at only your second attempt. There is nothing more to discuss."
Each of the seated men at the raised their left hands and placed them on the table with a clang. Bruce nearly gasped. Each one of the men had a hook for a left hand. Bruce had wondered why this gunman chose a hook instead of a more useful prosthetic hand; apparently the hook was a sacrificial tradition among these assassins.
The man in the center looked back and forth between the hooked council, terrified.
"No, PLEASE! I—"
The loud snap of gunfire boomed from the leader's lap, where he tightly held a pistol. Bruce saw a sliver of blood drip from a perfectly-placed hole in the hooked man's head.
If Bruce could see or hear Boston at that moment, he would have seen the ghostly man's face distorted in a cry of anger and loss.
The whooping sound of a helicopter echoed from above, and a powerful beam of light shone through a skylight. The police had shown up early.
The hooked men scrambled to their feet and ran to a nearby pile of crates, pulling out a plethora of automatic guns. Bruce recognized most of the guns as MP5s and AK-47s; this was about to get very, very bloody.
A single bullet cracked through a window pane and left one of the hooked men dead on the floor. The others immediately ran to the windows and doors, readying themselves for whatever was about to come.
Bruce immediately began searching for a way out, but he knew that was unlikely. The GCPD had surrounded the building, and a helicopter was shining its spotlight on the same side of the building as the window Bruce needed to exit.
Boston's face faded into view in front of Bruce's eyes.
"I'll cover you; get out of here," Boston said.
Bruce noted the seriousness in Boston's expression; the hint of anger and loss. Boston faded out, and several seconds later the helicopter's spotlight shifted away from the window. Bruce soundlessly slipped out and ducked behind a crate. Before he could take a step further, however, the sounds of gunfire echoed from every corner of the dock. Flashes of yellow and white lit up the night; bullets thunked and pinged off every surface.
Ever so slowly, Bruce gradually made his way from building to building, crate to crate, with Boston possessing and thereby distracting cop after cop until he could finally make it back to the street. He ducked into the nearest alley, climbed up a fire escape, and sat on top of the roof to watch everything.
The hooked gang was all but eliminated. The few that survived only did so because they were knocked out before they could take their own lives. As the fight ended and the police began shoving the survivors into armored cars, Bruce climbed back down and joined the growing crowd now surrounding the scene.
Bruce heard Crispus loudly arguing with another GCPD detective.
"I TOLD YOU TO HOLD FIRE; WE WERE SUPPOSED TO TAKE THEM ALIVE!"
"Hey, we got the bad guys," the detective said nonchalantly. "Quit complainin'."
"You'll lose your badge for this, Flass. I swear to god."
On the other side of the crowd, two men stood alone.
"Looks like they're gonna blame these guys for the circus shooting," one said quietly. "You're, eh, off the hook."
"No puns. Please. No such thing as a good pun," the other said coldly.
"So, I don't get it. Why'd you kill the clown in the first place?"
The other man grinned with a devilish, wide, chillingly heartless smile. "Because he wasn't funny."
Bruce glanced across the crowd and made eye contact with the grinning man. Bruce felt as though he'd just been electrocuted. There was nothing terribly out of the ordinary about this man—nothing except for his somewhat sinister-looking expression, that is—but Bruce felt as though he somehow knew this person. Like they had a connection. As though somehow their lives were destined to cross paths.
Bruce moved to follow the man, but the crowd was thick. After a minute or two, Bruce gave up and left.

Bruce sat in his study, slumped into his father's giant armchair.
"Bruce!"
Bruce didn't need to turn; he recognized Zatanna's voice from behind him.
"What did you do?!"
Bruce lowered his head slightly. "Nothing."
Zatanna noticed rips and a few burns on Bruce's clothing. "You were involved in that gunfight, weren't you?"
"Not exactly, no."
"But you were there."
"...Yes."
Zatanna was beyond trying to comfort him now. She was practically furious. "What the HELL were you thinking?! Trying to find these guys on your own? Why didn't you call me?!"
"It wasn't your fight."
"And it was yours?!"
"...I... I should have stopped him the first time."
"Bruce, you're not responsible for stopping every criminal in Gotham! It's not your—"
Zatanna suddenly realized what she was saying and felt a pang of guilt. Once again, she glanced at the portrait of the Waynes. She knelt in front of Bruce and gently held his hands in hers.
"It's not your fault, Bruce. It never was."
Bruce didn't answer.

Zatanna sat with Bruce in silence for an hour or so, finally leaving him with a kiss on the cheek and a promise from Alfred that he'd be taken care of.

After Zatanna was gone, Boston appeared in the study.
"Hey," he said quietly.
Bruce slowly looked back up.
"I'm sorry we didn't catch him, Boston."
"Yeah, me too. At least I know who he was. But still, I shoulda kept 'im from dyin'."
"Why? I would have thought you'd want revenge."
"I ain't sayin' I don't, but one thing I learned since gettin' put on this task is that death never balances the scales. It only makes things worse."
Bruce thought for a moment and nodded. He had to agree.
"So what are you doing now?" Bruce asked. "I thought finding your murderer was your goal in... life."
"It's more than that. There's still work I'm supposed to do in my mission. Y'know, before I can... pass on."
Bruce's mind was swirling with questions for Boston. Questions about life and death; about everything. But he quickly decided that it wasn't important for him to know. The logical, the concrete; that was where his mind belonged.
"Speakin' of missions, Bruce," Boston said. "What is it, exactly, that you're after? I mean, you seem like you wanna bash in the head of every kinda scum in this hellhole of a town."
Bruce stared into Boston's translucent black eyes. "I swore to fight criminals; to stop the same kind of crime that killed my parents."
"Ah. That's why you're trainin' with the acrobats and the detectives and everythin'. You wanna be a one-man army."
"Want has little to do with it anymore," Bruce replied. "I have to."
Boston quietly regarded Bruce for a moment.
"Well, maybe I can help ya with that."
Bruce raised an eyebrow.
"There's a hidden city, high up in the mountains of Tibet," Boston explained. "It's called Nanda Parbat. After I got turned into a ghost, some of the monks there taught me to control my powers. If you wanna become... well, more than what you are, that's where you need to go. I can show you the way."

Late

2011-11-14T22:50:00.001-06:00

Sorry I've been late posting chapters. I've been really busy. I'll try to write more as soon as I can.

Ghost of a Man

2011-11-04T07:00:00.000-05:00

"You didn't see anything else? Just the hat and coat?"

"No. Nothing."

Bruce couldn't abide his own ineptitude. How could he have let the shooter escape?

Crispus looked him in the eye. "Bruce. You know this wasn't your fault."

Bruce shook his head. "Doesn't matter."

Crispus sighed. "Alright, well, we'll have forensics go over the coat and hat; there's gotta be a hair follicle or something in there."

Bruce walked around the circus area, now covered in police tape and lights flashing red and blue.

"Thank you," a voice said from behind. Bruce turned to see Mr. Haly.

Bruce frowned. "For what?"

"If you hadn't followed him, we wouldn't have a single lead. But the detective tells me they've already got one thanks to you."

Bruce didn't tell Haly the harder truth: that even if they found DNA evidence in the clothing the shooter left behind, they'd still have to find someone to test it against. It wasn't as though Gotham kept a DNA record of every person that ever came through town.

"Did he have a family?" Bruce asked.

Haly shook his head. "No. Harry never even really had a girlfriend; he was sort of a loner like that. We always told him he should find somebody... I guess now it's better that he didn't."

Bruce walked back over to Crispus, who was standing along the quiet edge of the circus finishing up a phone call.

"Anything new?" Bruce asked as Crispus hung up.

Crispus forced the exasperation out of his voice. "Not in the last five minutes, n—"

Crispus suddenly stopped in mid-sentence and flinched. When he opened his eyes again, he looked awkwardly at Bruce.

"Hey, uh, I know this is kinda weird, but... could you tell me again what happined here? And what you saw?"

Bruce eyed Crispus suspiciously. Nothing about Crispus' mannerisms or voice sounded right.

"What's with the Boston accent? And what are you talking about?"

"Look, I just need you ta'—"

"What's wrong with you?"

"Nothin's wrong with me, I jus—"

"Who are you?"

Crispus stopped. Clearly, this kid just wasn't going to buy it.

"Alright. Listen, um... I'm not Crispus. My name's Boston. Boston Brand. Yes, like the city, and yes, my accent's ironic, okay?"

Bruce's mind whirled. Crispus wasn't one for jokes, nor was he the type to have schizophrenia. This was something different.

Crispus continued. "I'm... well, a ghost. I got killed back in August. I needed to talk to ya, so I hopped inside Crispus here and—"

Bruce's eyes were wide with apprehension; his hand darted inside his pocket and pulled out his cellphone, finding the speed-dial buttons as fast as possible.

"Hey, wait a sec," Crispus tried to say, but Bruce wasn't listening anymore.

A voice spoke over Bruce's phone. "Hey, handsome."

"I need you here. Now."

A second and a half later, a whirl of sparkling violet light appeared and disappeared, leaving Zatanna standing in its empty wake.

"What's wrong?" she immediately asked Bruce.

He pointed to Crispus. "He says he's a ghost inhabiting this man's body."

Zatanna narrowed her eyes.

"Leaver siht tirips!"

A transparent image of a second figure appeared over Crispus. It was a slender man, dressed in dark red, with a chalk-white shrunken face.

Crispus shrugged. "Told ya."

Zatanna's eyes went wide. "Bruce, this spirit is incredibly strong. I can't exorcise it without preparation."

Crispus raised his hand. "Guys—"

"What do you need?" Bruce asked Zatanna.

"Uh, guys—"

"I'll need a bucket of water, three bat wings, and a—"

"GUYS!"

Bruce and Zatanna stopped and looked at Crispus.

"You don't need ta exorcise me. I don't wanna cause no trouble. I just need your help."

Bruce and Zatanna exchanged a confused look.

Wayne Manor stood like an ancient monument. While still within Gotham City limits, it stood separate from the rest of the city, atop a cliffside on the other side of Gotham river. It was huge; huge and empty. The massive rooms were full of paintings, sculptures, suits of armor, and ornate furniture—but rarely any people. Out of twelve bedrooms, only two were in use—one tiny room for Alfred, who kept it clean enough that no one would have known he was even there, and the gigantic master bedroom for Bruce.

"Man, I'm dead an' I feel cold in here."

Alfred gave the floating image of Boston a look crossed between indignance and fright. He was unaccustomed to having a visible ghost in his home.

Boston had slipped back out of Crispus' body without a fuss and followed Bruce and Zatanna to Wayne Manor. Now that Zatanna had cast her spell on him, everyone could see and hear Boston even though he didn't have an actual body.

Bruce leaned over his computer desk, typing at the keyboard.

"Is this it?" he asked.

"Yeah," Boston replied grimly. "That's it."

Bruce clicked the video link.

A one-ring circus, not unlike Haly's, was in the middle of a show.

The announcer yelled into his microphone. "Introducing the one, the only, the daring DEADMAN!"

As the audience cheered, a man in dark red spandex and a white ghost-like mask jumped onto the trapeze. Before he finished his second swing, however, a gunshot sounded off and "Deadman" fell to the ground.

"That was you?" Zatanna asked.

"Yeah" Boston replied. "That's why I look like this, I guess. I died in my Deadman outfit, so I'm stuck this way. Not that people can normally see me or anything."

"But I don't get it," said Zatanna. "Spirits pass on immediately after death. Why are you still here? And why can you possess people so easily?"

"It's, ah... it's a gift."

"From who?"

"Rama Kushna."

A flicker of recognition went through Zatanna's eyes. "The goddess of karma?"

"Yeah, somethin' like that. When I died, I saw these huge eyes lookin' down on me from the sky, and heard her voice. She said I had more to do in death than I did in life. I'm supposed to do somethin' here before I can pass on. Help people usin' my power, and try to find my murderer."

"And you think that this shooter is the same one that killed you seven months ago,"

"Yeah."

Bruce turned to Zatanna. "This all sound right to you?"

Zatanna shrugged. "Yeah, actually. It does. I think he's telling the truth."

The frown that Bruce had been wearing since the shooting seemed to get worse. He stood up and walked to the nearby window.

Boston looked at Alfred. "Was it somethin' I said?"

Alfred shrugged, as if to say "he just does that."

Zatanna put her arm around Bruce. "Hey. Are you okay?"

"No. No I'm not. A man was shot to death in front of me, and I... I couldn't stop it, and I couldn't even catch him afterwards. Now a... ghost is in my bedroom, and... I just..."

Bruce seemed frustrated at the very air in front of his face.

"Nothing makes any sense!"

"Bruce, things don't always have to make sense. Sometimes things just are the way they are."

"No! There has to be a way. Somehow, there's always an answer. There has to be! There just..."

"This isn't about the clown, or about Boston, is it?"

Bruce didn't answer.

"It's about Lois, isn't it?"

Again, Bruce was silent.

"You can't hold yourself responsible for her."

"I should have just left her out of it."

"She made her own choices; it's not your fault."

Almost instinctively, Bruce looked up at the huge portrait of his parents hanging on the wall nearby.

Zatanna moved in front of him. "Bruce, listen to me. You're not failing them. You're not. You're human, and that's all they'd ever want you to be."

"I made an oath, Zatanna. And I plan to keep it."

"You're sure you don' know anythin' about how the Socks did last season?"

"Sir, honestly, I've never followed baseball in my life. Couldn't you just... float away and go find out for yourself?"

Alfred was relieved to see Bruce return from his usual dramatic window-staring.

"So, hey, Bruce," Boston said. "I had an idea about one way we could track this guy down."

"What?"

"Well... if I, uh, jump inside ya, our minds can link. Maybe between the two of us, we can piece together somethin' about the killer."

"Uh-uh. No."

"Aw, c'mon!" Boston pleaded. "You won't feel a thing."

"Bruce," Zatanna said, "this might be the best way to find the shooter. Boston's not shown us any reason to doubt him yet."

Bruce sighed. "Fine. Do it fast."

Boston dove into Bruce's chest, completely disappearing inside him.

Bruce and Bostons' memories swirled about them like a pool full of paint. Boston saw Bruce's perspective: the man standing in the tent supports; the gun barrel, a glint of metal. Bruce saw Boston's perspective: from high above the ring, looking down at a muzzle flash somewhere within the crowd—along with a similar glint of metal. Bruce had assumed that that metallic shine was from the gun, but now that he had two perspectives, it seemed to be something else entirely. Gradually, the image that both Bruce and Boston held in their minds merged, and they both saw the shining object: a steel hook where the shooter's left hand would have been.

Circus Act

2011-11-02T07:00:00.000-05:00

A funny thing about Gotham City: the walls of every alley seem to lean in, like a giant black coffin. In many cases, that analogy is more fact than metaphor.
Crispus Allen stood solemnly over the dead girl's body. He always took a brief moment before examining each crime scene body, partly out of respect for the dead, and partly in order to begin focusing on the task at hand.
A female voice echoed from the end of the alleyway.
"Detective! The boy's here."
Crispus glanced down the alley and saw his partner, Renee Montoya, standing next to eighteen-year-old Bruce Wayne on the other side of the police tape.
"Let him in."
Bruce and Renee both ducked under the tape and moved to meet Crispus.
"Detective," Bruce said with a polite nod. "Another one?"
"Yeah. Third this week."
Bruce knelt beside the body. "Blonde hair, mid-twenties, about 5'7''. Just like the others. Any ID?"
"Whoever killed her didn't take the wallet this time. Her name's Joanna Harper. A student at Gotham U."
Bruce narrowed his eyes. "The killer didn't take her wallet?"
"Nope. What does that tell you?"
Bruce took a few seconds to think it over.
"Either the killer was interrupted and had to run, or he was never after the money in the first place."
"Not after the money? How do you figure that?"
"This is the third girl of the exact same age, height, and hair color found in an alley with her throat slit inside of a week. This is serial-killer work. He finds girls who fit very specific parameters and murders them in the exact same way every time. Whoever's killing these girls is doing it out of a pathological obsession, not greed or desperation. There's no reason for him to take their wallets unless he just feels like it, or if he's trying to throw us off."
Crispus felt proud of his unofficial student. "Good thinking," he said.
He glanced at Renee. She seemed a bit uneasy. Thinking about it, Crispus guessed that he really should be, too. Bruce seemed to have a kind of intuition for criminology, the kind that meant he was either brilliant or horribly twisted. Or he just watched a billion of those damned CSI shows.
Bruce only nodded slightly in return, straight-faced.
Crispus, more than most others, recognized the flat, jaded look that Bruce often wore: the look of someone who's lost everything. Crispus knew what had happened to Bruce's parents; it was the only reason he'd agreed to let Bruce shadow him on these cases. If Bruce kept along this path, he'd probably make a great detective one day.
Bruce's phone beeped.
"Sorry; I need to run. I'll catch up with you in a few hours."
Bruce turned and quickly left the alley the way he'd come.
Crispus shook his head. Then again, if Bruce kept up that kind of behavior, he'd be lucky to graduate above beat cop.

On the edge of the city, near the docks, a gigantic red tent stood next to a ferris wheel. Haly's Circus, one of the last true traditional one-ring traveling circuses, was enjoying an extended stay in Gotham.
Bruce drove up and parked around the backside of the tent. The last show of the day had ended three hours ago; the place was deserted aside from the circus workers themselves. Bruce walked inside the tent and was immediately greeted by a redheaded girl.
"Bruce! Hey!"
Bruce returned a smile. "Hey, Mary."
Mary's boyfriend, a black-haired boy named John, did a backflip off an overhead balcony and landed in front of Bruce and Mary.
"Bruce! Didn't think you'd make it tonight," he said, shaking Bruce's hand.
"I was on the other side of the island; sorry I'm late."
John glanced at a clock. Bruce was two minutes late. "Um, yeah, you're fine. You ready?"
Bruce nodded.

"Watch your balance. Spread your arms a bit more."
Bruce struggled to stay balanced on the tightrope. He'd been told by Zatara that he had incredible balance, but on an inch-thick rope that didn't matter much. As Bruce wobbled nervously, John walked effortlessly across the rope to meet Bruce in the middle.
"See here? Hold your hips a little more to the right. Keep your knees a little bit loose."
Bruce adjusted accordingly, and he stabilized.
"Good. Now try to stay on the rope while I jump."
Mr. Haly, the circus owner, a red-haired rotund man in his late forties, walked up beside Mary, who was watching from the floor.
"How's he doing?" Haly asked.
"Really well, for a beginner," Mary answered. "He's still really shaky, but he's already learned around a couple years' worth of gymnastics."
"In just the three weeks he's been here?"
"Yeah. It probably helps that John and I are putting him through the crash course and everything, but he really does have a gift for this sort of thing. Are you sure he doesn't want to become a performer?"
"You can ask him yourself, but yeah. He said all he wanted was to learn gymnastics from the best, but he didn't want to join up. I asked if he wanted to go to the Olympics or something; he said no, he just wanted to learn. And he's paying us a ridiculous amount of money for it, so I left it at that."
"Huh. Well that sucks. We could really use another one. A trapeze act with only two people isn't as much of a crowd-pleaser."
Haly gave Mary a wry smile. "Well, if you and John would just get hitched and start making more little acrobats, we wouldn't have this problem."
"Mr. Haly!"
Mary blushed, but couldn't stop herself from smiling like a mad person.
Up above, John backflipped, sending a bounce across the rope. Bruce wobbled horribly and fell off, landing in the net sixty feet below. Mary, Haly, and John all laughed at him. Bruce wasn't amused, but that made it all the funnier.

The next evening, Bruce decided to go see one of the circus' shows. Bruce was never one to be impressed by anything, but he had to admit that he was very impressed with everything he saw. John and Mary, of course, were amazing. The animal trainers were masters at getting a reaction both from their animals and from the audience. The clowns were decidedly less incredible, but then again, they were clowns. Cheap laughs are what they're for.
As the show came to its climax, all the acts went on at once. The clowns drove their tiny car in circles around the ring, while the fire-breathers, animals, and everyone else intermixed in the center. John and Mary did flips across the open air above. As the crowd roared with applause, Bruce could barely hear a muffled bang.
One of the clowns that hung out of the tiny car's open door fell to the ground and laid there, perfectly still. As the seconds passed, a few others near him started to look down with worried faces. From this distance, Bruce could barely see a red stain on the clown's white shirt.
The crowd began to gasp and chatter immediately. A woman somewhere screamed. Bruce realized what was happening and instantly began searching furiously for where the shot had come from. He looked upward, toward the wooden beams at the top of the tent, and saw a glint of bright metal next to a large gun-barrel held by a figure in silhouette. Bruce scanned the rest of the support structure and found a path across the beams. Bruce shoved his way through the crowd as fast as he could, keeping his eyes on the man in shadow. He climbed up onto a horizontal beam near the top of the tiered seats and began making his way toward the shadowed man. The man quickly turned around and jumped out a slit in the side of the tent; Bruce began to run. He focused. I can't miss this, he told himself. This isn't the time to fall. He jumped to another beam and kept running; bounced off a vertical beam and landed right on the tiny wooden platform that the gunman had been sitting on. He put his head through the slit in the fabric and looked down. The man—who, as if to be as stereotypical as possible, was wearing a trenchcoat and hat—had just landed at the base of the tent, and began working his way into the crowd. Bruce jumped out of the tent and slid down its side, landing and crashing into a woman at the bottom. He tossed a half-hearted apology her way as he got back up and tried to follow the shooter's path. Unfortunately, word of the shooting had now spread outside the tent, and the entire crowd was now rushing towards the parking lot. Bruce nearly got trampled in the swarm of bodies, and completely lost track of the shooter. Whoever he was, there was no way to find him in this chaos.

Sunset

2011-10-31T07:00:00.000-05:00

Chloe and Diana barely had enough time to pull Clark out of the greenhouse, wake him up, and get their story straight before the police showed up. They simply told Sheriff Ethan Miller the truth—or part of it, at least. They had, on a hunch, decided to visit Gina to see if she had anything to do with Ms. Desmond's freakout. Given that Chloe was the EIC of the Smallville Torch, that seemed reasonable. When they got there and found the poisonous plant, Gina attacked them. Clark passed out because he's "allergic" to the meteor rocks, but Diana showed up and helped stop Gina from killing Chloe. No one even tried to explain the octopus vine plant, which was now partially burnt up.

Eventually, Ethan just sighed and let it go. He'd known the Kents all his life and had no reason to doubt Clark, and Gina certainly wasn't helping her case.

"LET ME GO! I'LL STRANGLE YOU ALL!!" Gina screamed as the police shoved her into the back of a patrol car. Gina stretched out her arms and focused as hard as she could, but nothing happened. None of her plants moved.

Ethan turned to the kids. "You three really should have come to the police first, not tried to confront her."

"It was just a hunch," Chloe said. "If we'd known she'd go all psycho on us, we would've done things differently."

"Alright, you kids get home now."

The kids nodded and left. As soon as they were out of earshot, Chloe spun and stared Clark in the eyes.

"We need to talk. NOW."

"What was that?!?" Chloe said as they entered the Torch office.

"I guess you were right about the meteors; they really do affect people," Clark said.

"Not that! I meant about you! And the whole fainting thing! And what was happening with your skin?"

"...I don't know. I've only felt like that a few times before, and never that badly. Felt like I was... dying."

Diana and Chloe both looked at each other worriedly.

"...But you're okay now?" Diana asked.

"Yeah. I feel fine."

Chloe narrowed her eyes. "Clark, when did you feel like that before?"

"Just a little bit, a few times when Pete, Greg and I went playing in the forest. There were a few spots that just made me feel... sick."

A lightbulb went off in Chloe's head. "Clark! The meteor shower sprayed meteors all over Smallville! They cleaned up all the ones in the city and along the main roads, but the countryside still has meteors all over it. You must have stumbled across them in the woods."

"But why would the meteors affect me?"

Chloe thought it over. "Wait. When did your spaceship land here?"

"October 26, 1997."

"The day of the meteor shower?!"

"Yeah."

"Y'know, you might have mentioned that little coincidence before."

Clark shrugged. "Sorry?"

"Didn't you once say that your planet was destroyed?" Diana said.

"That's what the recording I was given said."

Diana turned to Chloe. "And didn't you say before that the meteors contain an element not found on Earth?"

Clark caught on. "Wait... are you saying that you think the meteors are from my home planet? Krypton?"

Chloe almost jumped. "That makes total sense! That's why their radiation affects you and only you!"

"Their radiation?" Clark said quizzically.

"Yeah; scientific scans found an unusual, unique low-level radiation emanating from the meteors, but it was deemed too insignificant to be harmful."

"...Except to me."

"Yeah... are you sure you're okay?"

Clark glanced at his previously-bleeding knuckles. They were perfectly healed. "Yeah... I'm great. As soon as I got away from the meteors and back in the sunlight I felt better."

"So... if they're from Krypton, are they... kryptonium?" Diana asked.

"Actually," Clark corrected, "since they're meteorites it'd be called kryptonite."

Diana and Chloe both rolled their eyes.

"You're such a science nerd," Chloe teased.

Clark stared out at the sunset from the loft of the Kent barn.

"Do you want to be alone?" Diana asked as she walked up behind him.

Clark turned and smiled. "Nah, you're fine."

Diana sometimes forgot how dazzling Clark's smile sometimes was. She nearly blushed.

"Are you okay?" Diana asked.

Clark frowned. "Yeah. Just a little rattled I guess."

"I can imagine."

"It used to be that no matter where you were in Smallville, you were home. I always felt safe here."

Diana smirked. "I wouldn't have thought that you'd worry about being safe."

"I just mean that... that things used to be more... comforting. But now, with all that stuff with Gina, I just... I can barely believe it."

"Why do you think her powers didn't work when she was arrested?"

"I don't know. Maybe she hadn't eaten any of those plants recently enough. Maybe she could only control the ones in the greenhouse. Maybe Chloe hit her harder than she thought."

Diana laughed. "I have to admit, I totally did not see that coming from her."

"Heh. Chloe can surprise you."

Diana paused. "...She's really special to you, isn't she?"

"...Yeah, she is."

Clark suddenly realized what Diana meant.

"No. Wait! No, not like that!"

Diana raised a teasing eyebrow. "Are you sure?"

"I..." Clark sighed. "I don't think I want to be dating anyone. Not for a while."

Diana saw Clark's sudden sadness. His optimistic attitude didn't let it show much, but he was still hurting from losing Lois.

Diana hugged his arm and gave him a "cheer up" smile. Clark appreciated the sentiment.

"So... you tried out for cheerleading?"

Diana winced. "Let's just not talk about that, okay?"

Clark almost chuckled. "Okay. What do you wanna talk about?"

"I dunno. Hey, there's a sunset."

"Hey, there is. Sunsets are cool."

"Yup."

"...Hey, Clark, where do you think Bruce is right now?"

Investigations

2011-10-28T07:00:00.000-05:00

Two days after the incident with Gina and Ms. Desmond, things were fine. Gina didn't say a word, and Ms. Desmond remained as curt and dispassionate as ever.

"Please turn in your homework assignments," Ms. Desmond said.

All the students looked at each other.

"Uh, ma'am?" one boy said. "You didn't give us any homework."

Ms. Desmond's eyes narrowed fiercely. "Oh I didn't, did I?"

Several other students cautiously shook their heads.

"You think this is funny?" she asked the class.

Clark and Diana glanced at each other with mutual confusion.

"I assigned you a three-page paper on William Wordsworth, due today!"

"Um, ma'am, no; no you didn't," said the same boy from before.

Ms. Desmond rose from her seat and slowly began making her way towards the boy's desk. Clark noticed her hands clenched tight and trembling. "Jake, let me be very clear. I will not tolerate any of my students playing games with me, or encouraging fellow students to do so either."

"No, Miss Desmond! I swear! I—"

Desmond slapped him hard across the face.

"LIAR!"

The rest of the class jumped with surprise. Ms. Desmond's face was livid.

"YOU... YOU J- YOU...."

Desmond clamped her hands around Jake's neck and began choking him. All the students jumped up from their seats. Clark quickly moved over and gently-but-firmly pushed Desmond away. Jake coughed as he regained the ability to breathe. Desmond screamed and lunged at Clark; he spun her around and held her arms behind her back. Desmond was practically a rabid dog. She snarled, struggled, and yelled obscenities at everyone in the room. Clark awkwardly held her back but had no idea what to do with her; the school didn't really keep security around during the day. Diana backhanded Desmond in the forehead, knocking her out.

Clark looked at Diana as if to say, "was that really necessary?"

Diana shrugged.

During lunchbreak, Clark, Diana, and Chloe watched the police carry an unconscious Ms. Desmond away on a stretcher.

"I can't believe she'd actually do something like that," said Chloe, snapping photos of the police as she talked.

"I wouldn't have either if I hadn't seen it," said Clark.

Chloe sighed and frowned. Clark recognized it as Chloe's "something's not right here" look.

"What is it?" Clark asked.

"People don't just start strangling kids at the drop of a hat. Whatever's wrong with her must have been going on for a while."

"I guess so. I wish we'd known before. Someone should have noticed something."

"She did give a 4.0 student a C," Diana added.

"Yeah," said Clark. "Maybe Gina didn't actually deserve that grade."

"Wait," Chloe said. "Gina. That's it."

"You think Gina's somehow behind this?" Clark said incredulously.

"Maybe!" Chloe said. "Think about it. A 4.0 student and a strict English teacher should be best friends, not mortal enemies. There's gotta be more to this."

"Chloe, that doesn't even make sense."

"Not yet," Chloe said, pulling out her phone. "But it will eventually. Hang on, I gotta make a call."

Clark and Diana walked into the Torch office after class on Thursday, greeted by a caffeine-fueled hyperactive Chloe.

"Clark! Look at what I found!"

Diana noted that Chloe didn't acknowledge her and rolled her eyes.

"Look here," said Chloe, handing Clark a printout.

"Chloe, this is... a toxicology report from Smallville General. How did you get this?"

Chloe beamed. "I know a guy there. You'd be surprised what a smile can getcha."

Clark gave her an "oh really" look.

Chloe rolled her eyes. "I told him if he gave me a copy of the report, I wouldn't tell his girlfriend that he's been hitting on Alicia Baker. Anyway, look at the results."

Clark scanned them. "She had hallucinogenic drugs in her system."

"Yes, in the exact combination that comes from a specific plant: Datura stramonium, commonly known as Jimson weed or Devil's weed."
"So she's been doing drugs?" Diana asked.
"Not likely," Chloe said, "this isn't something that people use for that sort of thing; Jimson weed is fatally poisonous; it only gives you the psychological effects without the death if you cut it and prepare it just right. And besides, Miss Desmond's not the druggie type."
"So you think she was poisoned," said Clark.
"Yeah. And fortunately for us, Jimson weed isn't at all common to Kansas; whoever poisoned Miss Desmond almost definitely grew it themselves. And guess whose family owns a plant shop with a giant private greenhouse?"
"Gina Halley," Clark said with realization.
"All we need to do," said Chloe, "is get into that greenhouse and see if Gina's growing any Jimson weed in there."
"Hold on," said Clark, "we should take this to the Police."
"And say what? That I got illegally-obtained information and have ideas about it? I'm going to the Halleys' greenhouse, Clark. You can come with me or not."
Chloe grabbed her coat and walked out the door.
"Chloe!" Clark said with a sigh.
"Is she seriously gonna break into their greenhouse?" Diana asked.
"Yeah. I think so. I'd better go with her; she might get in trouble. You coming?"
Diana awkwardly shifted on her feet. "Um... actually, I have cheerleading tryouts."
Clark was surprised. "Really? Cheerleading?"
"Well... I don't know if you've noticed, but I don't really have anything to do around here, and... no one really thinks much of me."
"Diana..." Clark really needed to catch up with Chloe. "Hold that thought. We'll talk tonight, okay?"
Clark ran out the doorway.

"Help me open this lock," Chloe whispered to Clark.
"What do you want me to do, break it?" Clark whispered back.
"Well..." Chloe half-shrugged.
Clark rolled his eyes. "You'd better be right about this." He held the padlock in his fingers and pinched. It crumbled in his hand.
The Halleys' plant shop closed at three on weekdays; both it and its attached greenhouse were deserted.
Clark and Chloe walked quietly through the rows of plants. "What does it look like?" Clark asked.

"Purplish-green stem, big leaves, little white flower in the middle."
Chloe and Clark looked around for a few minutes, but didn't see it. Eventually, Clark noticed a door in the shadows towards the back of the room. "Hey, Chloe," he called. "There's another part of the greenhouse."
Chloe softly ran over. "That must be the private section they don't let customers in."
They walked to the door. Clark reached for the knob, but paused before touching it.
"What is it?" Chloe asked.
"Nothing, just... something feels off."
Clark grabbed the knob and twisted it hard, breaking through the handle-lock. He gently pushed the door open and they both walked inside.
It was dimly lit, mostly by red and green lights dispersed around the room. Chloe instantly spotted a Jimson weed plant on her right. She grinned. "Gotcha."
As she moved closer to examine the plant, she noticed green light glowing from underneath the plant's soil. Curious, she reached into the soil and pulled out a small rock with glowing green bits running through it. Chloe's eyes widened as she realized what it was: a meteor rock.
She spun around. "Clark! This is a meteor—"
Clark was on his knees, breathing heavily. His skin was losing color, and some of his veins were turning green and bulging.
Chloe felt a tingle of panic run up her spine. She'd never seen Clark hurt before. At all. She glanced around the room. Every single square foot of soil in the room was filled with meteor rocks. The green glowing in the room wasn't because of any lights; it was because of the meteor rocks.
"What the HELL are you two doing here?" a voice said from the open door. It was Gina Halley.
Chloe nearly jumped. "Gina!"
"That's my name," Gina said. "Now what. Are. You. Doing. Here."
Chloe stared Gina down across the room. "You poisoned Miss Desmond, didn't you?"
Gina smirked. "What if I did?"
Chloe raised her eyebrows. "Wow. Okay. Just coming right out with it, then. Okay, well, we'll just leave."
Chloe's feet were stuck to the floor. She looked down and saw thick, green vines clamping her feet to the ground.
"What the..."
She looked back up at Gina. Gina smirked again.
A vine reached around Chloe's neck like a human arm and pulled back hard. Chloe choked as more vines flew from behind her, wrapping around her limbs. She felt herself lifted and pulled backwards. Over her shoulder she glimpsed a gigantic plant, its vines undulating like octopus arms as it drew her closer.
Gina resisted the urge to giggle slightly under her breath. She turned back towards Clark, and ended up with Clark's fist slamming into her face.
Gina staggered backwards. Her face had brown cracks across it, like broken tree bark. A line of blood dripped from her nose; it glittered with tiny green specks.
Clark could barely stand on his feet; he was sweating and his knuckles bled slightly from that punch.
The skin on Gina's face crackled and fell off; a brand-new layer of skin underneath looked perfectly healthy.
"These meteor rocks really do wonders for helping plants grow. And apparently, months of eating those plants gives you certain... gifts."
"Let her go," Clark said weakly.
Gina raised her arm towards Clark, and a swarm of vines reached toward him, slamming him against the opposite wall. "You should really be more concerned about yourself right now."
The glass wall separating the two sections of the greenhouse shattered. Gina felt herself suddenly lifted off her feet by her neck. She looked down into the eyes of her attacker. Diana glared back with an untempered fire.
"Let. Them. Go."
Gina coughed. "Go to hell, princess."
Diana threw Gina against a wall and ran towards Chloe, ripping off the vine clamped across her neck. Chloe gasped for air.
Diana suddenly felt herself pulled back by a dozen arms and slammed into the wall next to Clark. Gina stood up. "Okay, that's it. The hell with all of you. You're dead now."
"You can't!" said Chloe. "People will find out what happened!"
"They'll find out what?" Gina said sarcastically. "That a bunch of plants came and killed everyone? Yeah, that's totally my fault. Whatever. Die."
Gina ripped one of the Jimson weed plants and shoved it in Chloe's face. "Here; eat. It's pure; it'll kill you quick."
Chloe kept her mouth shut. From across the room, Clark could see tears running down Chloe's face.
"Fine," Gina said, "I'll just squeeze you to death."
The vines around Chloe began contracting. Her already-small frame seemed like it would snap at any moment; her face went red from all the blood rushing to her head.

Clark felt desperate. The more he saw her face in agony, the more he felt himself fill with anger.
"HEEARGGGH!!"
He roared and tore through the vines. Gina turned around and fell backwards with fear. Clark's eyes were glowing red-hot. He stared hard at the vines holding Chloe; lines of heat fired from his eyes and hit the plant, setting parts of it on fire and searing off some of the vines. Gina screamed at Clark; every plant in the room seemed to explode at him, sending a shower of dirt and meteor rocks at him. He fell unconscious instantly.
Gina stood up and breathed heavily, still wide-eyed and bewildered by what she'd just seen. She glanced at Diana; saw that she was still completely pinned. She turned back to Chloe... and Chloe was gone, only burnt vines left in her place. Chloe's voice sounded off to the right.
"Lights out, bitch."
The last thing Gina saw was the end of a fire extinguisher ramming into her forehead.

First Day

2011-10-26T01:42:00.000-05:00

Diana hopped off the bus and stared nervously at Smallville High.
Before, when she'd been at Metropolis High—and before that, at Hammond High in Coast City—she lived with the knowledge that she was, for all intents and purposes, a superior being. She was an Amazon princess, there only to learn of humanity—not to be a human herself. Now Diana looked at the people walking in and out of the school and realized that she was just as human as anyone else here. She wasn't the heir to a legendary destiny; she wasn't royalty. She was a normal girl, no better or more special than anyone else.
A group of girls walked up the steps to the school's front door. One of them tripped and skinned her knee. Diana saw a drop of blood on the girl's leg and paused for a moment. Inwardly, she sighed with relief. There was still one way in which she was better than the average teenager: she still had her powers.
Diana held her head up a little higher with mock-superiority and followed Clark toward the school.

Clark barely managed to get within a hundred feet of the building before a little blonde shape started running and yelling at him.
"Clark! Clark!"
Chloe came to an abrupt halt two feet in front of Clark, beaming.
Clark began to smile back, but nearly stopped when he saw her face. Something around her eyes; her mouth... it reminded him of Lois. Sometimes he forgot they were cousins. Clark forced a smile and hugged her. He was genuinely happy to see her, after all.

Chloe peered around Clark's side and saw Diana.
Clark noted the surprised frown on Chloe's face.
"Diana transferred to Smallville High this semester," he explained. "She's living with us at the farm for a while."
Diana gave a friendly wave from a distance.
Chloe shifted to the right, where Clark was blocking the view.
"She's staying with you guys?"
"Um... yeah. She didn't really have a place to go. She and her mom kind of had a falling out."
"Okay... um... cool then. We can always use more..."—Chloe glanced over at Diana again—"...really tall supermodels at this school."
Clark hastily tried to change the subject.
"Is Pete around?"
Chloe frowned again. "Um, no. He moved away to live with his mom in Wichita."
"What?! Why?"
"Who's Pete?" Diana asked as she walked up to meet them.
"Clark's only other friend in Smallville," Chloe said with a teasing look.
"Chloe! That's not true!" Clark said, slightly embarrassed. "I have other friends."
"Name one."
"...Well, there's Greg Arkin—"
"Who you and Pete stopped talking to back in 6th grade? Uh-huh. Keep going."
"Lana Lang."
"The head cheerleader you stared at from a mile away all of Freshman year? You wish."
"...Um... Sean Kelvin?"
"He's a complete douchebag and you've always hated him."
Clark rolled his eyes with exasperation. "Okay, so I really only hung out with you and Pete. Why'd he leave, anyway?"
Chloe scrunched up her face and looked away awkwardly. "He professed his love for me and I told him I just wanted to be friends."
"...Oh. And I guess since he didn't have any other friends around here either, there wasn't much reason for him to stay."
"Yeah."

"So... what've you been doing since he's been gone? I don't remember you having too many other friends either."
"Funny you should ask," she said with a grin. "I've made a ton of new additions to the Wall of Weird."
"The what?" Diana asked.
"You'll see," Clark said.

Chloe led them into the school and down the hall towards the office of the Smallville Torch—Smallville High's school paper.
"Wait a second," Diana said, staring at the name on the office's main desk. "You're the EIC of your school's paper too? Just like your cousin?"
"Are you kidding me?" Chloe said flippantly. "I'm the one who gave her the idea. She was all 'I'm gonna be an Army girl!' before I told her I wanted to work for the Daily Planet, and then she was all 'I'm gonna be a reporter!'" Chloe's face saddened a little. "...but I guess she made a better reporter than... than I..."
Clark interrupted. "So! You were talking about the Wall?"
"Right!" Chloe said, snapping out of her thoughts. She led them to the office's darkroom—which went completely unused, this being the digital age after all—and flipped on the light. An entire wall of the tiny space was covered in taped-up newspaper clipping and photos. Diana glanced over some of the headlines:
"MAN LOSES FINGER ON LEFT HAND; GAINS ONE ON RIGHT."
"BLIND BOY GAINS EYESIGHT; LOSES HEARING."
"TEENAGER DISAPPEARS DURING METEOR SHOWER; REAPPEARS TWELVE YEARS LATER WITHOUT AGING."
"FLYING GOATS?"

"So, basically," Chloe explained, "there was a meteor shower here twelve years ago. After that, things in Smallville got... weird. Freaky mutations, mysterious disappearances, everything you can think of."
"Have you ever actually seen any of these... 'weird' things?"
"Well it's not like they just parade around," Chloe said indignantly, "but you can see all the evidence here. It's just too big to ignore."
The bell rang.
"We'd better go," Clark said to Diana. "Meet you for lunch?" he asked Chloe.
"Sure!" Chloe replied, her face beaming again.
Diana whispered to Clark once they got into the hall. "So, is she just crazy, or are there really mutant people running around Smallville?"
"Well, I'm an alien and you're an Amazon, so I figure we should give her the benefit of the doubt."

"A C?!? HOW IS THIS A C, MISS DESMOND?!"
The other students in classroom looked at each other with bewilderment. Their in-class writing assignment had been tough, and Miss Desmond was known for her harsh (and quick) grading, but Gina's response seemed a little disproportionate.
"A C is what that paragraph deserved, Miss Halley," Ms. Desmond replied.
"You spent literally ten seconds reading it!"
"I read fast, and it wasn't hard to grade. It's mid-level work at best. Now take your seat."
The bell rang. Gina stormed back to pick up her bag and left.
Clark and Diana left the classroom and met Chloe outside.
"Something wrong with Gina?" Chloe asked, watching as Gina practically stomped her feet down the hallway.
"She completely blew up in there," Clark said. "Miss Desmond gave her a C on an in-class writing assignment."
"Eeeesh. No wonder she's mad."
"Is she known for doing that?" Diana asked.
"Gina's one of the top students at the school," Chloe explained. "Perfect 4.0 GPA. Also a type-A bitch queen, but she's never blown up before."
"I hope she's okay," Clark said concernedly.
Diana smiled at his empathy. Chloe interpreted Diana's smile as "oh, it's funny how you actually care about the little peasant-people."

Sunrise

2011-10-24T07:00:00.000-05:00

   The bright morning Kansas sun shone in through the windows of the Kent home. Diana stood in the kitchen, letting the rays soak into her skin. It felt warm; comforting. Something about this place felt... right. And yet Diana had never been more confused in her life.
   "Coffee warm enough for you?" a warm voice said at her side.
   Diana glanced at the cup in her hand, then gave a polite smile. "Oh, yes, Mrs. Kent. Thank you."
   Martha smiled back at Diana, but her sharp eyes detected the sixteen-year-old's distress.
   "Something on your mind?"
   Diana quietly stared into her coffee. "...I don't know."
   Martha leaned in to peer into Diana's eyes. "You know, if you need someone to talk to, I'm here. I promise not to tell anyone."
   Diana felt a bit touched by Martha's kindness.
   "I guess I just don't know what I'm doing here. I mean, you've been amazing, and I'm really grateful that you guys took me in and everything. But this isn't my life. Not the one I was supposed to have."
   "What life were you supposed to have?"
   Martha and Jonathan had been told everything already, but Martha knew that Diana needed to talk it out.
   "I was... I was training to be the Amazons' Ambassador of Truth to the world of man."
   "The world of man?"
   "Yes. 'Patriarch's World,' as my mother sometimes called it. I was primarily supposed to be the ambassador to America, since it's the closest thing the world has to a leading nation."
   "The world isn't just controlled by men, you know."
   Diana sighed. "Yeah, but from the perspective of a thousand women who've lived for a thousand years alone on an island with no men, everything is masculine by comparison. My job was supposed to be to 'teach' the world the proper way to live, according to the gods' decree."
   Martha wrinkled her nose slightly at that. Diana didn't notice.
   "...And then I... died. I think. It felt like dying. Like the life left me, or like I was leaving my body, or... I don't know."
   Diana was having trouble finding the words. Martha took Diana's hand and squeezed it comfortingly.
   "When I woke up, that 'Phantom Stranger' told me that the gods had put me together wrong, and Clark said that they were unwilling to... to fix me. They abandoned me."
   The coffee in Diana's cup trembled slightly.
   "I was supposed to be their ambassador, and they left me dead."
   "Sounds like they're not really the gods you thought they were."
   A year ago, Diana might have slapped Martha for speaking such blasphemy. But now, she was surprised at how she didn't react in the slightest. She had to admit that she'd been thinking similar thoughts herself.
   "The Phantom Stranger said he served 'a higher power.' I wish I knew what he meant by that."
   Martha smirked. "Well, you're welcome to come to church with us anytime you like."
   Welcome. At the sound of that word, a deep sadness washed across Diana's eyes.
"What's wrong?" Martha asked.
"Amazons aren't allowed to just leave Themyscira without permission," Diana explained. "Anyone who leaves is barred from returning; it's a law my mother laid down. And now I'm banished from the island... I don't even know if I'm technically an Amazon anymore."
   "Regardless of that, you're still a person."
   Diana appreciated the sentiment, but it didn't mean much.
   "It's more than just what race I belong to. I was supposed to BE someone. I had an identity; a purpose. I knew who I was and what I was meant for. Now I don't know who I am at all."
   "Who do you want to be?"
   "...I... I don't know." Diana smiled slightly as a small memory flashed in her mind. "When I was a little girl, I always wanted to be a hero; the Amazons' fabled champion. My mother was that champion in her day, when she led my sisters out of slavery. I think I always grew up trying to hold my head up high and act like that hero; to live up to my mother's title, so I might one day get that title."
   "You're already a princess; what higher title is there?"
   "It's hard to translate into English, but I think, most accurately, it would be 'Wonder Woman.'"
   "That sounds like a lot of importance for a young girl to try and keep on her shoulders."
   "...It was, but I thought I was doing it well, at least. And now, I just... gods, what am I talking about? That doesn't even matter anymore. I can't be their champion; I can't even go home."

   Clark energetically bounded down the stairs. "Morning!" he said cheerfully, kissing Martha on the cheek.
   Diana couldn't help but crack a smile. Something about the Kents' genuine positivity was infectious.
   Clark snatched half a piece of toast and stuffed it in his mouth, gestured toward Diana. "You ready for your firsht day of shcool?"
   Diana sighed and nodded. It was the morning of her first day of class at Smallville High, and she was mildly nervous.
   Clark swallowed his toast and glanced at his watch. "The bus is about to get here. We should go."
   Diana and Clark grabbed their backpacks and walked to the door, but Martha gently grabbed Diana's arm before she could leave.
   "I just want you to know," Martha said quietly, "no matter what, this is your home now."
   Diana was surprised. She'd spent the last month doing nothing but feeling the pain of what she'd lost; she hadn't even stopped to consider what she'd gained. As Martha's words sunk in, Diana felt herself slowly fill with a gentle warmth.
   Home.

The Pact

2011-10-21T20:00:00.000-05:00

My mother greeted me with a smile when I came home.
"How did it go today?" she asked. I handed her the folder with my grade report papers inside. She flipped through the pages, giving an approving "uh-huh" at each perfect A. Until, that is, she found the one B-minus. Religious studies was never my subject. I only took it because my father made me. "You need to understand the crazies out there if you're gonna sell to 'em," he said.
My mother gave me another smile, this one sympathetic. She knew what was coming next. My father did not tolerate anything less than perfection from his son. It wasn't so much that he wanted me to be perfect—he sure as hell wasn't—but he perceived any and all failure as a lack of perseverance and hard work.
It was perseverance and hard work that drove my father to build his own business from the ground up and eventually turn it into Galaxy Communications, the biggest media corporation in the United States. "You never get anything for nothing," he always said.
When my father got home, my mother hugged him and asked how his day went. I knew she was trying to soothe and distract him. I appreciated it. But as soon as he saw me, his eyes darted to the folder still in my mother's hand. He took it and flipped through the pages as she had before.
"Good... good... excellent..." Then he stopped. He turned the page around to show me. "Care to explain this, Morgan?"
The red-inked "B-" stood out like a wound.
"...Religion's not my best subject," I said quietly.
He gave me a displeased smirk. "Really."
He grabbed my arm and clamped down hard enough that I thought he might leave a bruise. I briefly thought of trying to twist out of his grasp, but immediately thought better.
I was practically dragged into the study—or, as I liked to think of it, my father's trophy room, filled with all his company's awards for excellence.
He screamed at me. Asked me why I wanted so badly to ruin his reputation at that school, when so many other billionaires' sons were holding perfect grade records. "They don't have perfect grades!" I yelled back. It was true. A few of my peers were exceptional, yes, but most were spoiled heirs and heiresses. Talking back was a mistake. I told everyone at school that I got the bruise on my cheek from falling down a staircase.

That Saturday, my parents and I were out downtown in Metropolis. Standing on the sidewalk, I glanced down the street, saw a hot dog vendor, and realized I was hungry. I pulled out my wallet only to see that all my cash and credit cards were missing. Any normal person probably would have suspected theft, but I knew my father was responsible.
I turned to him and saw his slightly smug face staring at me. "You'll get your money back when you prove you're responsible," he said.
I was practically livid. I knew it was unfair. And what excuse was I supposed to give my friends at Excelsior? They all had thousands of dollars in free spending money from their parents. It was beyond humiliating.
I knew if we'd been home at the time, I'd have nothing to do but shut up and go to my room before I said something that got me in trouble. But we were out in the open here; surely my father wouldn't do anything in public. And by the time we got home, he might have calmed down.
I argued. He argued back. Any louder and we would have been having a shouting match in the middle of the sidewalk. As if to compensate for not yelling louder, we leaned in closer to one another. My mother, ever the concerned and compassionate one, moved close and tried to get my father to stop.
"Vincent, please, not here," she whispered.
"SARAH, STAY OUT OF IT," he said, pushing her back.
I'd never seen my father be forceful with my mother before, but this once was all it took. She fell backwards into the street just as a twelve-ton bus drove by.

Morgan Edge stepped onto the roof of his family's tower at midnight. Pounding rain soaked his clothes, and he began shivering from the cold, wet wind. Echoes of thunder boomed off the walls of every skyscraper in Metropolis, and lightning struck nearby at random.
Sarah Edge was dead. The bus driver saw nothing, and neither did anyone else. Vincent told the police that it was an accident; that Sarah had tripped. Morgan said otherwise, of course, but Vincent convinced the investigators that Morgan was in shock and didn't know what he was talking about.

Morgan fell to his knees on the roof and wept.
My mother is dead, he thought. Justice doesn't exist. This entire world deserves to burn in hell.
Grief began to solidify into anger. Morgan lifted his head to the skies and screamed.
"I HATE MY FATHER!!!"

A huge bolt of lightning slammed into the roof in front of Morgan. Morgan jumped back, startled and temporarily blinded by the intense light. As his vision faded back, he saw a figure standing in front of him. Nearly eight feet tall, thickly built, with skin like dark stone and eyes that burned with red flame.
"Who... who are you?!" Morgan said.
"I am Darkseid," the figure said. His gravelly words boomed with dark power.
"...What are you?" Morgan said, confused.
The fire in Darkseid's eyes grew hotter. "I am a god."
"...What do you want with me?"
"To offer you a deal."
"...A deal?"
"My armies will soon arrive on this planet. They will raze its surface to ashes. I offer you the chance to join with me. Be my servant; my secret emissary. Serve me, and I will reward you."
"...Reward me with what?"
Darkseid smirked. "Your life. And I will grant you vengeance upon your father."
Morgan gritted his teeth. "Deal."
"Very good, Morgan Edge. Now you must prepare."
"Prepare for what?"
"For the coming of Apokolips."

The image of Darkseid, ruler of Apokolips, faded into the wind, leaving Morgan Edge alone in the night once more.

APOCALYPSE IS COMING

New Posts!

2011-10-19T23:28:00.001-05:00

The first new chapter of TJ will go up this Friday at 8PM US Central Time, with regular chapters following every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday thereafter at 7AM.

Return!

2011-08-17T14:02:00.003-05:00

So apparently when I wrote "take a month or so off," I meant "take the entire summer off."

This time around, I really want to make sure that I have the entire story plotted out, in detail, before I finally start writing and posting it. I've made a highly detailed outline of the entire series in-depth, and I'm just finally putting the finishing touches on it. I should have actual story chapters out soon. Also, they'll be coming out more consistently. Hopefully a new one every other day or something like that.

Oh, one more thing. I'm going back to that "arcs" idea that I had before. Whenever a major story arc beings, I'll put up a mini-banner in the post so you'll know.

Season 1 - Done

2011-05-09T09:53:00.001-05:00

So that's the entire first "season" of TJ over and done.
I apologize for taking so long with the final several chapters; I wanted to post them a lot more quickly but the problem was just that they got insanely hard to write after a certain point. When I start Season 2, things should go way faster since I already have a lot more of it planned out in advance.

I'm gonna take a month or so off (maybe less) and then get back into writing TJ. In the meantime, here's a list of quick random/important notes that I wanted to mention:

-Lois's death was something planned from the very beginning, as was Diana's death/rebirth. If you go back and read TJ from the very beginning, you can see little hints I dropped here and there.
-Perry White never intended to let Lois publish her story (for fear of her safety), but after hearing about her death later that night, ended up printing the story anyway in order to honor her.
-Bruce has actually finished all his high school classes, and won't be returning to Excelsior. He has other plans.
-Bart makes a red blur when he runs because he always wears a red hoodie, but Barry makes a similar red blur because he wears a slick, bright red jacket made of a shiny slippery material that helps him slip through the air a little faster as he runs. It's sort of like a prototype Flash costume.
-For those still confused, this is the way the universe is explained in "Destiny":
The DC comics universe is actually a "multiverse" with many alternate realities. The universe in which Teen Justice resides is not the same one from the mainstream comics, however. At one point, it was very similar (to the point of being essentially the same), but after the timeline was altered by Bart traveling back in time, everything was altered. These alterations include (but are not limited to):
-Many members of the Justice League and other major DC characters meeting in their teenage years, whereas before they had never met until much later in life. These include Clark, Bruce, Lois, Diana, Bart, Barry, Iris, Lex, Oliver, Ray Palmer, Hal, and probably a few others that I'm forgetting. There'll be a lot more in Season 2.
-Metropolis' location being moved from the East Coast (somewhere around Delaware) to the midwest (in either Kansas or Missouri).
-Strykers' Island prison moved from Metropolis to Coast City, California.
-Diana's body being made of sand held together by magic. In the comics, Diana was still sculpted from sand and given life in the same manner, but had a "normal" Amazonian body not held together purely by magic. Diana in TJ now has the same type of non-sand physiology.

Now then. Season 2 teasers. :D
In Season 2...
-There will be pirates.
-There will be ghosts.
-There will be ninjas.
-Deadshot's death will be investigated and explained.
-Clark's math teacher comes back. (no, really, it's cool. trust me.)
-Oliver will get his own story arc.
-Bruce will have at least two more potential love interests
-Another school dance.
-Kryptonite.

Do me a favor. Post any and all thoughts, questions, or whatever else you feel like saying about the entire first season of TJ in the comments. :D

Broken

2011-05-08T18:54:00.000-05:00

A small crowd dressed in black stood together in the falling snow.
Lois Lane's coffin slid slowly into the ground.

All manner of acquaintances were gathered in mourning. Family: Sam, Ella and Lucy Lane. Chloe Sullivan and her father, Gabe. Friends: Bruce, Alfred, Clark, Diana, Hal, Ray Palmer, and Lucius Fox. Others who came merely out of respect: Dan Turpin, Perry White, and Barry Allen.
Sam Lane stood stiffly in his Army uniform, doing his best to hold his composure but failing miserably. Ella sank into his side, weeping. Lucy leaned on his other side, her face covered in tears of her own.
Chloe felt cold. Alone. She wished that someone would hold her; comfort her. She looked to Clark, but he was too distracted with grief of his own.
Clark's mind was a hurricane of emotion. For the short time they'd been together—and somewhat even before that—he'd loved Lois. He'd known, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he and Lois were destined to be together. As Clark looked down at the black coffin, his heart screamed at him that this was wrong. That with the death of one girl, every good thing in the world had shattered.
A few people said a few words in remembrance. Clark didn't hear them.
The ceremony ended and the crowd began to disperse.

Perry White nervously approached Sam Lane. "Sir, my name's Perry White. EIC of The Daily Planet. I... I feel I owe you an apology. If I hadn't let your daughter—"
Sam waved his hand dismissively. "No, it's no one's fault. No one except Lionel Luthor's. Lois made her own choices.
"The same goes for you, Turpin," Sam said, turning to Dan Turpin, who was in the middle of walking over with the same guilty look that Perry wore.
"Well, ah," Dan said nervously, "if it's any consolation, what your daughter did has already helped out the whole city. We're trackin' down all o' Lionel's thugs, and the ones we can't catch are off runnin'. Crime's down eighty percent. Things are better than they've been in years, maybe ever. You should be proud."
Sam smiled and nodded. "I am."

Ella and Lucy approached Clark.
Ella gave Clark a weak smile. "Hi."
Clark did his best to smile back, but failed.
"I wanted you to know," Ella said, "the few weeks you and Lois were together... were the happiest I've seen her since she was a little girl. Thank you."
Clark didn't know how to respond.
Lucy slowly took a step closer to him, and looked up with big, tear-filled eyes. She tackled his stomach, squeezing him tightly. Clark lightly hugged her back.
Lucy lifted her head again. "Will you come visit sometime?"
Clark looked at Ella. She gave an approving nod and a smile.
Clark nodded at Lucy. "Sure."
Lucy brightened up a little, and rejoined her mother.

After everyone else had left, only Clark, Diana, Bruce, Hal, and Barry remained.
They stood together in silence.
"So... what now?" Hal asked.
"Something's wrong," Barry said. "I can feel it in my gut. Like part of the universe just got ripped out. Lois wasn't supposed to die. I mean, we all saw the future. We saw what—"
"We saw something," Bruce interrupted. "It might never have been our future, and it sure as hell isn't our future now."
"Clark, what do you think?" Barry asked.
After a moment, Clark responded. "Whatever our destinies were before, they're gone." He paused for another moment to gather his thoughts. "Before, I used to feel this pull towards Metropolis. Like it was where I was meant to be. Like fighting crime and saving people was something I needed to do. But now that we've fought Circe, and now that..." Clark looked at the coffin again, but couldn't bring himself to say the words.
"So that's it, then?" Hal asked. "Everything we saw... it means nothing?"
The group's silence acted as confirmation.
"So what do we do now?" Barry asked.
"We go our separate ways," Bruce said. "I don't think 'the universe' needs us together anymore."
Everyone else turned to Clark. He nodded in agreement.

Gradually, the group dispersed.
Hal stopped Diana before she left. Hal had noticed that she hadn't said a word since the Javelin landed home, and she looked terrible.
"Hey, are you okay?" Hal asked.
Diana stumbled over her words. "I... no... I just..."
"Hey, it's okay," Hal said. "What's wrong?"
"...I don't have a home anymore. I left my mother and my island. I don't know where to go."
Hal hadn't even realized. "I'm sorry, I... do you have any place to go?"
Diana shrugged, and her eyes watered.
Hal moved forward to hug her, but she stepped back.
"No, I just... I have to go." She turned and ran away, tears running down her face.

Alfred, who patiently stood at the cemetery's edge, remarked at Bruce's calmness—or perhaps coldness—in regards to Lois's death. As Bruce approached him, Alfred held out Bruce's heavier jacket that he'd taken off for the ceremony. Bruce angrily shoved past, not bothering to say a word. Alfred breathed an inner sigh of sadness for the boy. He was every bit as dominated by his turmoil as ever—perhaps moreso.

And thus it was that the youths who would have been heroes walked away from their broken destiny.

To Be Continued

Headline

2011-05-05T20:39:00.001-05:00

Breaking

2011-04-15T16:59:00.000-05:00

Lois strode down the hall connecting the parking garage to her family's apartment building, her shoes echoing off the gray concrete walls.
   She always hated this hallway. After dark, once most of the residents were home or asleep, it was constantly empty. Walking through here alone felt claustrophobic; like walking into a cold, lonely coffin.
   "Miss Lane," said a voice from behind her.
   Lois stopped and spun around. On the opposite side of the hallway stood Lionel Luthor.
   Lois immediately felt uneasy. Normally, she'd feign amusement at Lionel's attempt to intimidate her—or, at least, she assumed he was here to intimidate her. Why else would he show up alone at her home? She glanced at his right hand. A gun rested in it. Lois felt her heart beat slightly faster. Did he bring a gun just to scare her out of publishing her story? Did he know that she'd already published the story?
   "I warned you," said Lionel, "that this was not over."
   Lois saw fear in Lionel's eyes. His normally-calm attitude was cracking. His hands trembled slightly.
   Lionel raised the gun. Lois felt a shock of fear run up her spine.
   "Lionel... what are you doing?"
   "You wounded me, Miss Lane. My empire bleeds. But I am not yet dead."
   Lois, though disturbed by Lionel's self-ascribed royalty, understood his meaning. She'd found damning evidence connecting Lionel to hundreds of crimes. Not only had she—with the help of Ray Palmer—discovered Luthorcorp's illegal surveillance technology, but Bruce had given her copies of the video recordings he'd stolen from Luthorcorp's security computers—recordings that proved, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Lionel Luthor was the criminal mastermind behind innumerable abominations. In effect, Lois had already put the gun to Lionel's head and pulled the trigger. Lionel wasn't here to threaten her, or assure her of his absolute dominance. He was here to kill her.
   What could she do? Could she reach the door and get out before he shot her? No. Not likely. Could she call for help? No one would hear her on the other side of the thick doorway, let alone in their own apartments. Would Clark hear? Maybe. Just maybe.
   Dread filled Lois's heart. No, Clark was gone with the others. He couldn't save her.
   She fought back her emotions. "Lionel, it doesn't... you don't have to—" Tears broke her voice. "Please. Please, don't."
   Lionel, his hands still lightly shaking, didn't waver in his determination.
   "Vengeance is mine; I will repay."

   In the Lanes' apartment, a muffled echo was heard. It was nondescript and indistinguishable from any other vague noise, except perhaps to those trained to recognize it.
   In the cold hallway, the echo was deafening.
   Lois didn't feel the bullet rip into her chest, nor did she feel herself fall to the floor. Her entire body went numb as she collapsed and bled, the life draining from her permanently.

   Lionel felt shock run through his body. He took a precious few seconds to regain himself, then turned to leave the way he'd come.
   Lex Luthor stood in his way.
   Lex's face was covered in tears, his expression that of disbelief and horror.
   Lionel tried to reason with him. "Lex. You followed me? Son, I—" Lionel stopped in mid-sentence when he saw the gun resting in Lex's hand.
   "...What are you doing?" asked Lionel.
   Lex shook his head. "I... I can't let you do it, dad. Not anymore."
   Lionel cautiously stepped back. "Son, what are you talking about?"
   "I won't sit back and let you hurt people anymore."
   "You... you gave me your loyalty; you told me you wanted to follow in my footsteps—"
   "I LIED!"
   "...I see. Then you truly are a Luthor."
   "I don't care. I just want you to pay for what you've done."
   "So you want me to go to prison?"
   "No. You'll pay your lawyers a few millions to figure a way to get out."
   Lex raised his gun. "You need to die."
   Lionel felt ice crawl up his spine. "Son, please, we could work together. You and I. We can find a way out of this. We will own the world."
   Lex stilled himself. "I don't want that."
   Lionel took that in for a moment, then scowled as he raised his own gun. "You were never any good as a son anyway."
   A second gunshot sounded off, and Lionel Luthor's body fell to the floor.
   Lex, horrified at what had just happened, sank to his knees, weeping. He threw the gun aside.
   The door on the apartment-side flung open. General Sam Lane, Lois's father, stood alarmed in the doorway, a gun of his own in hand. He took in the room: Lionel Luthor, lying dead, his blood coating the floor. Lex weeping on his knees at his father's side. And finally, Lois.
   "Lois!"
   Sam dropped his gun and cradled his daughter's lifeless body.

Destiny

2011-04-11T01:23:00.000-05:00

The Javelin slipped through the atmosphere, its stealth engines screaming silently into the night.

   Inside the Javelin, the group remained quiet. Clark, Diana, Hal, Bruce, Zatanna, and Barry all sat without saying a word.
   Diana walked over and sat down next to Hal.
   Hal gave her a nervous look. Was she mad at him for something else this time?
   "Hal, thank you," said Diana. "Thank you for coming for me."
   Hal smiled and gave her a "no problem" nod.

   Without warning, everyone in the plane felt something pass through them—like a ripple in the air itself. The back section of the crew section exploded with light, nearly blinding everyone in the Javelin. Slowly, the silhouette of a man in a silver throne resolved. As the light faded slightly, the man came into clearer view. He wore a blue bodysuit, covering all but his face. His hands were placed together, and his face was set into a slight frown, as if in deep thought. The chair in which he sat hovered a foot off the ground.
   "Who are you?!" Clark asked the man.
   "I am Metron," the man said, his voice eerily monotone. "I am a traveler and surveyor; this Mobius chair is my ship, and time is my ocean. I, along with others, have been watching you."
   "What others?" asked Bruce.
   As if in response, five more beings appeared from the light vortex behind Metron.
   One of them was Bart. His clothes were torn and bloody in places; he looked exhausted.
   "Hey, guys," Bart said with a weak smile.
   The group bombarded Bart with a dozen questions.
   "Are you okay?"
   "Who are these people?"
   "Where's Circe?!"
   "It's okay, guys," he replied. "I'm okay. Circe's still stuck in timespace somewhere. This is the Legion." He pointed with his thumb at the four teenagers standing behind Metron. "They're from my time. The 31st Century."
   The tallest, a black-haired boy, stepped forward. "Rokk Krinn. Cosmic Boy."
   "Garth Ranzz. Lightning Lad," said the energetic red-haired boy at Rokk's side.
   A blonde girl smiled gently and nodded. "Imra Ardeen. Saturn Girl."
   "Brainiac 5," said the last one, a green-skinned blonde boy.
   "First," said Rokk, "I want to say what an honor it is to meet you all." Rokk turned to Clark. "Especially you, Kal."
   Clark gave him a wary look. "How do you know that name?"
   "...It's a long story," said Rokk. "But, secondly, we owe you all an apology."
   "...Why?" asked Clark.
   Brainiac 5 stepped forward. "We sent Bart back in time, hoping to save him from an overcharge of his powers."
   "An overcharge?" Barry asked.
   "Yes," Brainiac replied. "Bart is a third-generation speedster. His biology is a little different. His powers began to manifest when his body was still too young to handle them, and we needed to find a way to siphon the extra energy."
   "We thought," said Rokk, "That using his powers to send him back through time would save him. It did, but... in doing so, we did irreparable harm to the time-space continuum."
   "'Harm' is technically the wrong word," said Brainiac. "Things have changed."
   "What do you mean 'changed?'" asked Diana.
   "Events have now changed," Brainiac explained. "The entire world is now different than our history remembers it."
   "How is that possible?" asked Bruce.
   "It's incredibly complicated," Brainiac said, slightly annoyed. "We remember things differently because our time-travel technology—which we perfected two years after we sent Bart back in time—shielded us from the changes in the timeline."
   "You keep talking about changes," said Clark. "What changes? What's different?"
   "For one thing," Rokk said, "you were never supposed to meet while still in—what do you call it?"
   "High school," said Imra.
   "Right. You were never supposed to meet this early."
   "...So then why have we met?" asked Clark.
   "At times of great conflict," said Metron, his voice resonating with a slightly chilling tone, "warriors of good often rise to challenge evil. Their meeting is destined."
   "...So what you're saying," said Diana, "is that we met earlier because we were supposed to defeat some sort of evil that's now come earlier in the timeline?"
   Rokk nodded. "That's our thinking, yes."
   "Could it have been Circe?" asked Zatanna. "Could it have been her that we were supposed to defeat?"
   "It is indeed possible," said Metron.

   "...The world from before," said Bruce, "how was it different?"
   Metron's cold expression seemed to narrow slightly. "Are you sure you wish to know? The secrets of existence are not meant for those who wish to live in peace."
   "Yes," Bruce answered.

   Metron's chair hovered a bit higher, and the light behind him brightened and shifted while the rest of the light in the cabin darkened. A massive image of the Earth resolved, hovering in space. "This Earth is but one of many." The Earth slid to the side, revealing a line of identical Earths in a single line stretching backward into space. "Each Earth represents an entirely separate universe. It is a multiverse we live in, with countless variations between worlds." The line of Earths moved and spun until a single Earth sat in the center. "This," Metron explained, "is the primary Earth. The lone world upon which all others are mirrored from. It is the true ideal; the standard by which all other worlds are judged. Before the boy's venture through time, your world was virtually identical to this one in every respect."
   Metron lifted his hand toward the youths. "Gaze now upon your true destinies."
   The vortex of light burst forth, nearly blinding everyone in the Javelin. Clark, Bruce, Diana, Barry, Bart, Zatanna, and Hal each saw visions.
   Diana saw herself—older, clad in red, gold, and blue, the lasso of truth hanging at her belt. She recognized the golden eagle on her armor and the shining tiara on her head: the garments of both Amazonian royalty and that of the true Ambassador of Peace.
   Barry saw himself in red, running near the speed of light itself as the protector of Central City.
   Bart saw much the same thing, but... different. He would not become the hero that his grandfather would, at least not until much later in life.
   Zatanna saw herself much as she was now, but with a far greater grasp of her magics. She effortlessly cast spells of immense power, battling the great evils of sorcery.
   Bruce saw darkness. He had become a dark knight wrapped in shadow, his every thought and action forged into a weapon against Gotham's criminal underworld. He would save the city night after night, but sacrifice his own livelihood in the process. He was alone.
   Hal saw nothing clearly. Whatever lay before him was overpowered by a blinding green light.
   Clark saw a vision of himself—older, taller, and clad in blue and red. He stood in the sky as a beacon of hope, a leader of many, and the world's greatest hero. And, ever-present at his side, stood Lois. She was the one who gave him hope; who loved him and accepted his love in return. She was his beloved, and though the world never knew it, it was her and Clark's love that had saved the world a thousand times over.
   All seven of them then saw a single vision. Their future selves stood together with many others, standing watch over the planet, protecting it from evil time and time again.
   Bart's eyes widened as he recognized the group:
   The Justice League.

   In an instant, the vision winked out of existence.
   "This is what may come, if all goes well," said Metron. "But do not become complacent. The actions of many determine the destinies of all."
   "Now," said Rokk, "it's time to go. Bart?"
   Bart nodded, then turned to his friends. "Guys... I need to go."
   "What do you mean 'go?'" asked Clark.
   "Bart is basically a lightning rod for time-space distortions," Brainiac 5 explained. "We need to bring him back to his own time—our time—in order to figure out what to do about it, and to keep any more damage from being done to history."
   "...You're leaving?" asked Diana.
   Bart nodded, doing his best not to tear up. He walked to Diana, and hugged her. "Thanks," he said. "For... y'know, being there for me." Diana smiled sadly in return.
   Bart pulled away from Diana, and nearly backed into Bruce, who had extended his hand. Bart, surprised, shook Bruce's hand. Bruce and Bart exchanged a solid look, the way that comrades-in-arms might.
   Finally, Bart shared a quick man-hug with Clark before walking back to Metron and the Legionnaires.

   "We'll be picking up Iris on the way, too," Imra explained. "Don't worry when she disappears."
   "Will we ever see Bart again?" Clark asked.
   Rokk smirked. "Maybe. If Brainy here can figure out how to do that safely, we'll make it happen."
   Brainiac 5 rolled his eyes. "Please. Don't insult my 12th-level intelligence. Of course I can figure it out. It'll only take time."
   "Speaking of which," said Rokk, looking at the chronometer on his wrist, "we need to go, now, while the rift is still open."
   The Legionnaires stepped back towards the swirling light. Brainiac tapped a few keys on his wrist-mounted computer, and the light completely enveloped the time-travelers. Clark could barely make out Bart mouthing the word "bye" before he, Metron, and the Legion members all disappeared along with the time rift.

   "Did she say 'Iris?'" asked Barry.
   Everyone else remained awkwardly silent.

The Daily Planet

2011-04-03T00:25:00.001-05:00

Perry White looked over the mass of information laid across his desk. Photos, documents, notes, USB drives with audio recordings—all focused on Luthorcorp and its CEO, Lionel Luthor.
   Ordinarily, even this mass of evidence wouldn't be enough to absolutely prove Luthor's guilt in any particular crime. But together with the new evidence linking Luthorcorp to the espionage on government property, it might yet prove to be more.

   "See this?" said the teenage girl across from Perry, holding up her phone. "A friend of mine—the same one that figured out the tracker device was Luthor tech, by the way—also managed to tap into the sub-frequency that the trackers were running on. They broadcast a weak signal, but have barely-encrypted information that's not hard to tap into. Look at this."
   Lois slid her phone across Perry's desk, and pointed at its screen. "This is a map of all the signals in Metropolis."
   Perry looked at the map. Over a hundred tiny red dots were overlaid on it.
   "These red dots represent the tracker devices?"
   Lois nodded.
   Perry accidentally tapped one of the dots on the phone's touch-screen with his finger. Audio began to play from the phone's speaker.
   "...we should go straight to the press as soon as the police finish their investigation."
   "Creepy, huh?" said Lois. "They've got microphones and everything."
   "...My god," said Perry, his mouth agape. "There's one at the city court. And the mayor's office. And the police station."
   "Yup. As well as in the main offices of all of Luthorcorps' local competitors, and all the major news outlets." Lois casually looked around the room. "There's one in here, too, somewhere."
   Perry remained silent for a moment.
   "...so he knows we're on to him."
   Lois nodded.
   Perry grinned. "Good."

   Lois leaned in. "This is complete proof of Luthorcorp's corporate espionage; if they've had these things around for very long, it's probably how they managed to take over so much of Metropolis's economy so fast."
   "...As well as how they managed to avoid getting nailed by the courts," Perry added, deep in thought.
   "Exactly," said Lois. "It should be easy enough to prove that Luthorcorp acted with illegal foreknowledge of events."
   "...And once the authorities arrest Luthor and inevitably do more digging, they'll follow the breadcrumbs to his criminal operation, as well."
   "Hell to the yes." Lois gestured to the photos and files littering the desk. "And I've got a helluva lot of breadcrumbs here."

   Perry leaned back in his chair and regarded Lois for a moment.
   "Kid, how old are you?"
   "Seventeen."
   Perry shook his head in practical disbelief. "Seventeen. Do you know how old the average professional reporter is?"
   "Older than me?"
   "Heh. That's the biggest understatement I've heard all week. Let me break it to you this way, Lane. I have never hired anyone your age to do anything more than copy work or photography. Never."
   Lois raised a challenging eyebrow. "You've never met anyone like me before."
   Perry realized she was right, of course. But something else bothered him.
   "Look, kid... I don't want you getting hurt. Luthor's already made you a target in the past—hell, he practically told you he'd kill you once—and if I print this story with your name, there's no telling what could happen to you."
   "If it wasn't me with a target on my back, it'd be someone else. Besides, Luthor already knows that I'm the one who found him out; it's not like it'll save me just to have someone else slap their name on the ink."
   Perry sighed. "Damn, kid, you really are fearless."
   Lois grinned. "Always have been."
   Perry let himself smile. "Well, you're still in school, so I can't hire you full time—no arguments! The best I can do is put you down for part-time, and let you write up this ONE STORY. Maybe a few side articles here and there. When you graduate, we'll see about getting you something full-time."
   Lois felt an unending surge of joy flow from her toes to her head, but she did her best to push it down.
   "Works for me."
   "Alright then. Go write that article."
   Lois slammed a file down on the desk.
   "Already done, Chief."
   Perry could see the title of the document peeking out from inside the file folder:
LIONEL LUTHOR: CRIMINAL MASTERMIND.

Choices of the Gods

2011-03-31T09:49:00.000-05:00

"...Are they... dead?" Hal asked.

"It's hard to say," Barry replied. "The speedster just warped himself and the lady into a rift in time. I don't know if either or them could survive that."

"Best guess?"

"Well, from what I can tell, the Speed Force is protective, so they're probably alive... but lost somewhere."

"But Diana is definitely dead," Zatanna said somberly.

Clark felt a slight surge of anger rush through him. "How can you know that?" he asked.

"Her soul is no longer attached to her body, and her body's been destroyed. No matter how you look at it, that's death."

Hippolyta still sat on the beach, unblinking. She hadn't moved an inch since Diana's death, her fingers clasped tightly around her daughter's empty, sand-covered clothing.

Barry crouched beside her. "Ma'am?" he said gently. But she did not respond. He waved his hands across her face, but she didn't react.

"Guys, I think she's in shock."

Clark shut his eyes and thought furiously. His hands clenched into fists that could shatter steel.

There must be a way, he thought. She can't be dead.

Clark's eyes opened.

"I'll be right back."

Clark lifted off the ground and floated towards the mountain.

He landed at the doorway of the Temple of the Gods—the same temple that Circe had thrown him out of earlier. It now lay empty and dark.

Clark stepped inside. The entire interior was made of a huge circular room lined with columns that separated twelve tapestries along the walls—a tapestry each for the twelve ruling gods of Mount Olympus. Clark recognized each of them: Zeus, Hera, Poseidon, Athena, Demeter, Ares, Hermes, Apollo, Artemis, Hestia, Hephaestus, and Aphrodite.

Clark raised his voice, as if to challenge the heavens themselves.

"I KNOW YOU'RE HERE. SHOW YOURSELVES."

The room's pervasive darkness faded as the twelve tapestries shivered and began to faintly glow.

Zeus's tapestry began to glow more brightly than the others. A voice called out from it—proud and powerful.

"YOU DARE MAKE DEMANDS OF OLYMPUS, MORTAL?" it boomed.

"YES, I DO."

Another voice—the softer and feminine voice of Hera—echoed in response. "We know of you, Kal-El of Krypton. Why do you call upon Olympus? What is it you desire?"

"...I want you to restore Diana's life."

Zeus's voice echoed like thunder as it laughed.

"We granted life to that girl once. We shall not do it again."

Clark felt his eyes burn with anger. "It's because of you that she's dead now! You were the ones who let Circe go free!"

"It was not our intent to cause suffering," Hera replied. "We had no way of knowing what she would do. My husband is correct; we already granted Diana a second chance at life, in order to settle a debt to the Amazon people. A third chance will not be granted."

"A second chance?"

"Diana was not conceived in Themyscira," a third voice said. Clark recognized its tapestry as belonging to Athena. "She was conceived before the battle which destroyed the Amazons' former nation. In that battle, Hippolyta was injured, and her baby died while still in the womb. We placed that child's soul into a new body."

"So do it again. You owe her that much."

"I owe Diana of Themyscira NOTHING," Zeus replied.

"The hell you don't! You let Circe out of prison and didn't to a thing to stop her, even while she gathered power from THIS TEMPLE. YOUR TEMPLE."

"ENOUGH!" Zeus yelled. "You should know better, boy, than to lecture gods on morality!"

"You're not gods. You're selfish beings who sit on a mountaintop and deal out false justice."

"You blaspheme ME?! I could smite you from the earth where you stand!"

Clark put one foot forward in challenge, cracking the stone floor beneath it.
"Do it, then."

Zeus's tapestry flared with anger, then silently faded into darkness. One by one, the others faded as well, until only Athena remained.

"I congratulate you, Kal-El," said Athena. "I know of no one before who has forced Zeus to withdraw."

Clark was confused. "But... why?"

"You are more powerful than you know. And in this age, we are weakened. Very few still pray to Olympus, and our power therefore wanes."

"...Can you do anything?" Clark pleaded.

"Without the consent of Zeus, no. I am sorry."

Athena's light faded, and Clark was once again alone in the darkness.

Clark walked back to the beach. The others wanted to ask him if he'd found any help, but his silence gave them their answer.

"What happened?" Bruce asked.

"I went to ask the 'gods' to restore Diana's spirit. They said no."

Hal hung his head. "So she's really gone."

Clark took a deep breath. "Not yet."

Clark walked to the sands where Diana had disintegrated, and knelt. Taking another deep breath, he shut his eyes.

The others watched from afar.

"What's he doing?" Hal whispered to Bruce.

"Hell if I know," said Bruce.

Slowly, the sands at Clark's knees began to glitter and glow. Clark leaned back in surprise, and Hippolyta finally broke from her shock. Gradually, the sands began to swirl in a small gust of wind, collecting into a vaguely humanoid shape. The grains of sand slipped into the whole, as if each grain had a specific purpose and place. The shape grew larger and firmer, until finally it settled into the shape of a young woman's body. Silently, the sands faded into smooth skin.

Her eyes shot open and she inhaled sharply, as though breathing for the first time. Diana was alive again. She looked at Clark, confused.

"C-Clark, what..."

Hippolyta was overcome with joy and relief. "Diana!" she said, wrapping her daughter in her arms.

Diana hugged her mother back, still more confused than anything else.

Clark took off the red jacket he was wearing and wrapped it around Diana's naked body.

Barry, Hal, and Bruce looked at each other.

"Um... what just happened?" Barry asked.

A gentle wisp of wind blew from behind the group, and footsteps crunched the sand.

"Diana's life has been restored," a voice said.

The group looked to this new figure. He wore a navy-blue cloak and hat, with a golden amulet around his neck.

"You," Diana said. "I know you; you were in Metropolis three weeks ago."

"And you know the Zataras," Bruce added. "Who are you?"

"I have been known by many names over many ages, but most call me the Phantom Stranger. I am a servant of the Almighty."

"The Almighty?" said Hippolyta. "Do you refer to Olympus?"

"No. I serve a higher power."

"Why am I alive?" Diana asked.

"The powers of Olympus crafted your body imperfectly, and it is because of their foolishness that the sorceress Circe was able to exploit the flaw in their magics. Because of this injustice, you have been granted a new life; one not cut short by supernatural forces beyond control."

"...I feel different," Diana said.

The Phantom Stranger nodded. "Though still welded from the sands of the Earth, your body is now true flesh and blood. Your former powers remain, but you are no longer in danger of reverting to dust again."

"What about the other kid? The speedster?" Barry asked. "Do you know anything about him?"

"He is safe for the moment, trapped in the seas of time. Friends of his and mine are retrieving him as we speak; they will return with him soon. For now, you should return home. The spell over the Amazons will break at sunrise, and they do not take lightly to invaders."

The Phantom Stranger faded into the night, and was gone.

Clark turned to Diana. "So... do you remember anything at all?"

Diana thought for a moment. "...Nothing after Circe knocked me out at school. But... after I... died... I remember a bit. I could still see what was happening, like in a dream." She turned to Clark and smiled. "I remember you. You wouldn't give up on me." She frowned. "But... the gods. They did. They wouldn't restore me."

"It is not our place to question the gods," Hippolyta reminded her daughter. But Diana didn't respond.

The sun was beginning to rise on the horizon. Hal checked his watch. "Okay, we need to be leaving now if we wanna get home before sunrise hits the U.S."

Clark began to walk towards the others and the Javelin. Diana moved to follow, but Hippolyta held her by the arm and stopped her.

"Mother?" said Diana.

"We are not leaving, Diana."

Everyone else stopped.

"What do you mean?" Diana asked.

Hippolyta hung her head. "I have been away from my people for far too long, and I fear you have as well."

"Mother... I don't want to stay here. I can't stay here."

"This is your home, Diana."

"No! I can't just hide on this island for all eternity; I want to go back to America."

"You have no choice in this matter. I am staying, and so are you."

Diana stiffened. "No. I'm leaving."

Hippolyta, surprised by her daughter's rebellion, felt worry creep into her mind. "Please, daughter, I have already lost you once tonight. Don't make me lose you again."

Diana wiped a tear from her cheek. "Sorry, mother."

With that, Diana turned and walked away.

Clark, noting Diana's distress, put his arm around her as they walked. She leaned on him and sobbed into his shoulder as she left her Paradise Island behind.

The Battle

2011-03-24T12:38:00.001-05:00

The skeletal corpses walked ever-closer while the stone golem loomed above.

Bart looked around. "What do we do?" he asked the others.

Hippolyta unsheathed one of her swords and brought her shield forward. "We fight."

Hippolyta ran towards the throng of skeletons. As if in response, the skeletons quickened their speed to match her.

Zatanna planted her feet firmly in the sand and began to concentrate.

"Tlah sesproc!"

Nothing.

"Yortsed sesproc!"

Nothing.

They must be counter-cursed, she thought to herself. My magic has no effect.

Clark lifted off the ground and began to drift toward the golem. The golem raised a slow arm, but Clark was already moving too quickly—or so it seemed. The golem's hand suddenly moved towards Clark at lightning speed, slamming him with a literal ton of force. Clark was thrown into the ground twenty yards away, creating a sand-cloud in his wake.

Hippolyta twisted and struck at the skeletons with her blade. In battle, she was a wonder to behold. It was said that she stood above all others in true skill; that she, the Queen of the Amazons, was the mightiest warrior in all the earth. Here, it certainly seemed to be true. She ducked under the sword of one corpse, and parried the strike of another. Her sword came up and stabbed through the mouth of one skeleton. The corpse completely ignored this, and continued its assault. Hippolyta withdrew her blade and stepped back. She mentally derided herself: of course such an attack would have no effect; these corpses have no flesh to injure. When another skeleton moved towards her, however, she merely slammed her sword sideways into its head, full-force. The steel blade smashed through the skull, and the skeleton flopped to the ground, fully "dead" once more.

Bart ran alongside Hippolyta, doing his best to keep the extra skeletons off her back—and to make sure he dodged all the swinging blades himself. It was difficult work. The skeletons crowded the beach, leaving Bart no extra space to run. In effect, he was completely out of his element.

Bruce stayed back from the battle, initially. He didn't have Hippolyta's heightened strength, and therefore wasn't able to smash through the enemies as easily. He also didn't have a weapon.

   One lone skeleton noticed Bruce, stopped, then ran towards him, spear raised. Bruce waited for the skeleton to get just close enough, then made his move. When the spear came down, Bruce spun to the side, wrapped his hands around the wooden shaft, then brought his ankles up towards the skeleton's neck. With a hard twist, he snapped the corpse's head right off its neck. The skeleton fell to the ground, lifeless. Bruce hefted the spear in his hand. "Heh. This'll do."
   Bruce ran into the fray of bones and swords, angling his spear into the ribcage of a skeleton as he did so. He put his full bodily force on the shaft, causing it to shatter the skeleton's entire midsection. He ducked under another skeleton's blow, then brought the back end of his spear directly onto the corpse's neck, snapping it in two.
   Zatanna focused with all her ability. If she couldn't directly attack the skeletons, perhaps she could affect them indirectly. She mentally picked out a target, and set her mind on the space between its ribs. She took a deep breath, and held out her hand.
   "Ria edolpx!"
   Violet sparks tingled across Zatanna's fingers, and the open space inside the skeleton's gut exploded with flame and bursting air. Broken bones flew in every direction, and what was left of the corpse wasn't enough to hold onto what little false life it had been given.
   Zatanna breathed a sigh of relief, but felt herself weaken slightly. Though she was what most would consider a prodigy of the mystical arts, she was only seventeen, and had an infinite amount of knowledge and skill yet to gain. That single attack drained her a bit. She guessed that she could only pull off that attack another dozen or so times before becoming exhausted.
   Clark rose up from the ground, flying back at the golem. This time he dodged the golem's sudden punch, and landed a punch of his own squarely on the golem's head. A loud CRACK sounded as a fist of steel collided with a face of stone. The sixty-foot-tall monster staggered backwards, his face cracked from the blow. It seemed to groan in pain—or mere annoyance—and swung its left arm in Clark's direction. Clark barely swerved out of the way.
   Clark was caught off-guard here: he'd never had to control his flight so precisely. Before, he'd mostly only had to focus on direction: up, down, sideways, forward, backward, et cetera. He'd never had to be so quick in dodging fast-moving heavy objects aimed at him. Flight was somewhat intuitive, but there were still intricacies that he had yet to master.

   Hippolyta stabbed, struck, slashed, and kicked at every enemy in sight. But they were too many for her. One caught her across the back with his sword, cutting away part of her white robe. Another nicked her side with the tip of his blade, and another slashed away at her belly. Eventually, her robe was in tatters. When she found a brief few-second break in the fighting, she tore the white cloth away, revealing thick leather armor lined with gold. Her battle-spirit renewed, she charged back into combat.
   Clark and the golem exchanged punches, each successful strike sending a mild shockwave through the air. Clark almost began to sweat. Finally, he decided that this was enough. He focused all his willpower into a single motion as he sped forward through the air, striking the golem's head with enough force to break a tank in half. The golem's face exploded, and it fell back into the sand, lying motionless.
   Suddenly, the mountain-temple erupted with an even brighter light.
   "Clark!" Hippolyta yelled. "Circe is nearly done! Hurry!"
   Clark nodded at Hippolyta and turned to fly towards the mountain.
   "Wait, Clark!" Zatanna called after him. "I can give you a little protection. Hang on."
   "Nrut cimag ot citenik dleihs."
   A purple bubble briefly appeared around Clark before fading away.
   "There," Zatanna said. "That should help. Now go!"
   Clark nodded and thanked her before flying away.

   Bart looked across the fire-lit beach. Zatanna was barely able to stand, Bruce had a deep cut along his shoulderblade, and Hippolyta wasn't much better off. And there were still two dozen more skeletons to contend with. Bart felt something hit his head, and he fell to the ground. A skeleton raised his spear, a mere second away from the killing blow. Bart's legs were pinned down by the skeleton's broken, bony feet. He couldn't move.
   Suddenly, Bart felt a tingle. A kind of gentle electricity, running through his nerves. He recognized it immediately: the sensation he always felt when he accessed the Speed Force. But this was different. It wasn't a result of anything Bart was doing... it was a ripple of something else happening. Someone else nearby was using the Speed Force.
   Bart saw a blurred red fist covered in golden lightning strike the skull of the corpse above him, shattering it into a thousand pieces. The blur settled into the shape of a young man with his hand outstretched towards Bart.
   "Hey. Barry Allen. Nice to meet you."
   Bart felt surprise shoot through his body, and he leaped up to his feet at super-speed without taking Barry's hand.
   "Woah!" Barry said with surprise. "Another speedster, eh? Cool. Wanna help me take out these guys?"
   "Uh, sure, but... how?" Bart nervously asked.
   "You're connected to the Speed Force. I can feel it running inside you." Barry raised his fist. "Just coat your fist in the Speed energy when you make a punch; it'll take away the impact force so you won't break your hand."
   And with that, Barry zoomed away, Bart close behind him.

   Bart had a meager understanding of his powers, but Barry seemed to know them completely–almost as if he were speed itself incarnate. As if the Speed Force itself didn't just flow through him, but from him. With the red jacket he wore, he was a blur of constant motion, zig-zagging back and forth between each skeleton, taking down each with a simple speed-punch. Bart joined in as well, and within two seconds, the two of them completely eliminated the undead enemies—all before the first skeleton hit the ground.
   Bruce, Hippolyta, Bart, Barry, and Zatanna exchanged glances for a moment.
   The ground roared again. The golem had not, in fact, been defeated. It rose up and began walking towards the group once more.
   The whine of jet engines preceded a rapid flash of light and a thunderous rattle from behind the group. A spray of huge bullets pounded into the golem's belly, shredding its midsection. Within seconds, the five-story-tall stone monster had melted into dirt and gravel.
   The Javelin hovered over the gentle waves of the ocean, its 20mm rotary cannon still red-hot and spinning.
   Everyone was either too exhausted or confused to speak for the next moment as the Javelin set down on the beach next to the group. When the boarding ramp lowered, Hal walked out.
   "Barry! Man, you have a ridiculous sense of timing."
   "Ha! Look who's talking, 'Highball.'"
   Zatanna looked back and forth between Barry and Hal. "Wait, what's going on? Who are you, blondie?"
   Barry awkwardly felt through his hair. It wasn't that blonde, was it?
   "This is Barry Allen," Hal explained. "He's that friend of mine that I said I tried calling. I left him a message with the island's coordinates."
   "Took me a half-hour to get here, running across the ocean like that," Barry said with a smile.
   Zatanna was a bit unbelieving. "You ran across the ocean?"
   "Yeah. If you move your feet fast enough, there's no reason you can't just bounce off water."
   "We do not have time for this!" Hippolyta yelled. "My daughter is—"
   An explosion of light burst from the temple. Out of nowhere, Clark fell backwards out of the sky and slammed into the beach, as though he'd been tossed by the very light from the temple.

   A laugh sounded from the night sky above—feminine, cackling, and mischievous. Circe gently floated down towards the beach, Diana's unconscious body hanging limply by the collar in her hand.
   "Oh, you little mortals. So brave, so confident, so sure of yourselves... so fragile. I must admit, though, I'm a little confused. Why exactly are you all coming to save little miss princess here? I mean, Hippolyta I get. I turned her into a pig a few centuries ago, attacked her people just now, blah blah. She's got a bitch to burn. But what about the rest of you?"
   "Diana's our friend," Clark said painfully as he slowly pulled himself up off the ground. "We'll do whatever it takes to help her."
   Circe was amused by Clark's resoluteness. "Really... are you willing to die?" Circe dropped Diana's limp body on the ground and raised her hands. Blinding trails of fiery light and wind swirled all about the beach.
   Hippolyta ran at Circe, sword in hand. Circe noticed, but didn't move in the slightest. Before Hippolyta could reach Circe, she slammed into an invisible wall.
   "Clever, huh?" Circe said. "Y'see, Hippolyta, the gods figured that you'd eventually want revenge on me for what happened before. But I've already served my sentence and been released. So they had this nice little bubble-shield made for me. Keeps you from coming within five feet of me. Of course, it also stops me from coming near you, but that's not really important at the moment."
   A voice sounded from Circe's other side. "See if it can stop this."
   Circe turned just in time to see Barry's fist hit her face. She fell over and mentally cursed at herself for forgetting to put a protection spell over herself earlier. Oh well, no matter. Now was as good a time as any.
   Circe stood again, now with a thin translucent purple layer of light over her skin. Barry ran up and hit her in the face once more, but Circe barely flinched. She backhanded Barry, and her magical power tossed him thirty feet away.
   "Tfarc rallip fo erif!"
   Some of the flames that swirled above Circe's head came flying down in a burning pillar. Circe screamed momentarily, but quickly extinguished the flames, mostly unhurt by Zatanna's attack. Circe turned toward the little magician.
   "Nice move, kid. Sorry, hate to kill a fellow witch and all, but—"
   Circe fired a blast of sand at Zatanna—which transformed in mid-air into a swarm of knives. In the blink of an eye, Clark moved in the way, the knives shattering on his chest.
   Bart ran over to Barry. "Got any other awesome ideas?" he asked.
   "Yeah, actually," Barry said with a smile.
   Circe suddenly felt winds swirling close about her. Two crimson blurs ran in a tight circle, creating a vortex of wind and sand. Circe was surrounded by a wall of sand; she couldn't see a thing through it.
   A blurred fist struck out at her from within the wall. And another. And another, and another... A flurry of a hundred punches smashed into Circe, beating her down even despite her protective shield.
   Circe, bruised and slightly bloodied, fell to her knees. No, she thought. This would not end here.
   Circe yelled, sending a powerful shockwave across the entire beach. Bart and Barry were sent skipping across the sands, too stunned to get back up.
   Clark swiftly flew towards Circe, but she stopped him in mid-air.
   "I finally figured it out," she said smugly, turning to Zatanna. "You put a spell on him to turn magical power into physical power, right?"
   Circe snapped her fingers, and the invisible shield around Clark reappeared before shattering. Circe grinned. "Too late for you now, boy."
   Bruce pole-vaulted off his spear and landed both feet in Circe's face. Clark fell harmlessly to the ground.
   "ENOUGH!!" Circe yelled, slapping Bruce away and placing her other hand on Diana's body.
   "BY THE POWER OF HECATE, I BREAK THIS SPELL AND TAKE ITS POWER."
   Diana's eyes snapped open, and her body began to glow with gentle sunlight.
   "NO!" Hippolyta yelled. But she couldn't reach her daughter or Circe; the protection spell prevented her from getting close enough.

   Bart slowly lifted his head off the ground and took everything in: Barry and Bruce were barely conscious, Clark was mostly powerless against Circe, Hippolyta couldn't do a thing, Zatanna looked like she was about to faint from exhaustion, and although Hal had run back to the Javelin, it looked like he wasn't going to get it off the ground in time to use its guns to save Diana.
   Bart saw it all in slow-motion. Circe was drawing magical power from Diana, and there didn't seem to be anything anyone could do to stop her. Bart felt helpless. All he could do was run and try to hit Circe as fast as possible. But without Barry helping him, he didn't think that would be much help.
   But, he realized, there was one other thing... one power he hadn't considered. It would be a risk, and likely a one-way trip. After all, without Barry's cosmic treadmill, there was no way to control it. But it was the only option, and Bart was willing to do it.
   Bart stood up, took a deep breath, and ran. He slammed into Circe, picked her up off the ground, and immediately jumped into a level of speed so fast that he literally broke the laws of timespace. In a single flash of light, he and Circe completely disappeared.

   The others stood in shocked silence. Hal ran up behind them from the Javelin.
   "What happened?" Hal asked.
   "I think..." Barry said, slowly getting up. "...your friend just carried that witch lady into... time."
   "How is that possible?" Bruce asked.
   "I don't know... I wasn't even sure it was possible until now. And he barely knows how to use the Speed Force... I don't think he's coming back."

   Hippolyta knelt at Diana's side.
   "...Mom?" Diana said weakly. "Mom, I..."
   Diana began to glow with light again.
   "Oh no," Zatanna said, horrified. "The spell is still breaking. It hasn't stopped."
   Diana's breathing slowed, and her skin began to turn a pale shade of brown. Life faded from her as her body quickly transformed entirely into sand, gently melting back into the beach from whence it came.
   Diana of Themyscira was no more.

Landing

2011-03-18T20:24:00.002-05:00

Bart hated sitting still. Unless he was tired, of course—which was actually a lot of the time. Now, however, he was wide awake and couldn't be more annoyed. A strange thing about speedsters: when they're bored and don't have anything to keep their focus in the moment, their perception speeds up, and—on a mental level—minutes literally become hours.
   Bart glanced up and saw Hal staring at him from the next seat over.
   Bart shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "Somethin' wrong?"
   "No," Hal said curiously. "You just look really familiar."
   Bart's eyes sank to the floor with embarrassment.
   Hal realized he had struck on something. "Hey, what did you say your last name was?"
   "I... uh..." Bart stuttered nervously for a moment, then sighed with resignation. "Allen."
   "Huh. And you said you have super-speed powers?"
   "...Yeah."
   "So... Bart; is that short for Bartholomew?"
   "Yeah."
   "I know another guy named Bartholomew Allen. Except he goes by Barry. But he's got speed powers too, and looks a lot like you."
   Bart didn't answer.
   "...But it looks like you already knew that."
   Bart's continued silence was confirmation enough.
   "So, what are you guys? Cousins?"
   " ...No."
   "But you're related?"
   "Yeah."
   "Okay. But how? I mean, Barry's sure that he doesn't know about anyone else with powers like his. I'm pretty sure he'd know about someone in his own family with the same abilities."
   Bart muttered under his breath. "There shouldn't be... yet."
   Hal's ears were just sharp enough to pick out what Bart was saying. "Wait, what do you mean 'yet?'"
   Bart was silent again.
   "Wait," Hal said, realization creeping into his voice. "Are you... from the future?"
   Bart was completely surprised, and very confused. "How did you know?!"
   Hal smiled. "Barry's a real science geek. He's been trying to figure his powers out for a while, and he thinks there's a way to link the Speed Force to timespace itself."
   Bart's eyes widened. "You know about the Speed Force?"
   Hal shrugged. "That's what Barry calls it. He figures it's some kinda extra-dimensional energy field that gives him his powers. And since it's not part of this dimension, it can bypass some of the laws of physics. So I'm guessing he's right? And that you're proof of it?"
   Bart nodded.
   "You seem shocked," Hal said.
   "Well, it's just... no one's ever actually figured me out. The cool thing about being from the future is... no one would ever think you're from the future."
   Hal shrugged. "Weird things are going on these days. I mean, people with superpowers, the magic chick... I'm still wrapping my head around the fact that I dated an Amazon last semester. Heck, even this plane is sort of unreal, in a technological sense. You know how fast the fastest plane in the world is?"
   "SR-71 Blackbird. Mach 3.5"
   "Heh. Shoulda guessed you'd know your speed trivia. Yeah, that's the world record for airspeed. Guess how fast we're going right now?"
   Bart focused on his feet as they touched the floor of the plane cabin. His powers gave him an uncanny ability to understand the relative speed of objects. "I... I can't even tell that we're moving at all."
   Hal grinned. "Yeah. That's because we've got kinetic projectors dampening the inertia of the plane's interior. But we're actually going at Mach 8."
   Bart was hesitant to believe that.
   "Yeah," Hal said, "the only thing I know that can move faster is maybe Barry."
   A small beeping alert sounded from the autopilot console, and Hal moved back to the pilots' seat.
   "Okay. We're here."

   Hal gently eased back on the throttle, engaged the reverse thrusters, dialed up the inertial dampeners, and hit the air brakes. Within seconds, the Javelin slowed to a gentle 130 MPH.
   The group moved to the front of the cockpit to look out on the horizon. They saw nothing but open ocean and moonlight.
   Hal sent an uneasy look Hippolyta's way. "You're sure it's supposed to be here?"
   Hippolyta didn't even make eye contact with him. "Yes. Keep going."
   The air in front of the Javelin rippled and twisted, as though the craft moved through some barely-visible barrier. When the distortion faded, an island sat in the waters.
   It was crescent-shaped, with a wide, pale-sanded beach on the inner curve. The entire land mass was set on a raised circular section of water. Bruce recalled his studies of naval warfare and thought this brilliant: even if someone were to somehow find this island, there was no possible way to land. The whole of Themyscira was surrounded by waterfalls.
   A small city with a few dozen stone buildings sat in the island's center, with a few other much larger structures set farther out across the land mass. One such structure, a circular temple built into the side of a small mountain, glowed with a bright violet light.

   "Land there," Hippolyta said, pointing to the beach directly in front of the city.
   "How exactly are we gonna land this thing?" Zatanna asked.
   "No worries, princess. We've got VTOL capability," Hal said, flipping a switch on his left.
   "And what exactly does that m—"
   Zatanna's sentence was cut off by a slight rumble that shook the floor of the Javelin, punctuated by the whine of high-velocity jet thrust. The Javelin slowed to a crawl, but hovered in the air with the aid of four small jet thrusters on the plane's underside. Gently, Hal lowered the craft towards the beach. With a tiny thump, the Javelin set down on the sands.

   The team of six looked at one another and took a collective deep breath.
   "Okay," Clark said calmly. "Are we ready?"
   Bart nodded. "Yeah."
   Zatanna grinned. "I'm always ready."
   Bruce and Hippolyta nodded silently.
   "Okay, then," Clark said. "Hal, you should stay in the Javelin in case we need to fly out of here fast."
   "Sure thing. I'll keep 'er warm."

   Before the group disembarked, Hal pulled something out of a cargo cabinet.
   "Hey, Bruce, you might need this."
   Bruce looked at Hal's outstretched hand. In it sat a handgun.
   Bruce seemed to scowl at it slightly. "No thanks," he said coldly.
   "You need not fear harming any man or woman," Hippolyta reassured him. "Circe has little use for human servants."
   "Still not my style," Bruce said stiffly.
   Hal shrugged. "Fine." He turned to Hippolyta. "What about you?"
   Hippolyta's eyes narrowed to a piercing stare—an Amazon warrior's gaze. "I am more than prepared."
   She let her flowing outer robe slip to the floor, revealing an arsenal of weapons strapped to her body. One sword was slung across each hip, a dagger was strapped to each calf, and a circular shield hung on her back. And yet, beneath the leather straps and metal blades lay a simple robe of gentle silken white.
   "You planning on fighting an army?" Zatanna asked sarcastically.
   "I sincerely hope not," Hippolyta responded calmly.
   Hal hit the switch for the boarding ramp. As it slowly lowered into place, Clark nodded at Bart. The two of them vanished in twin blurs as they zoomed out of the Javelin and onto the beach. Zatanna, Bruce, and Hippolyta ran after them.
   The group stopped along the beach. There seemed to be no immediate danger, nor any activity of any kind. The entire island was eerily quiet. Only the gently waves and the winds broke the silence. Hippolyta glanced down and gasped. A stone statue lay in the sands at their feet, as though it had merely fallen over and not been picked up. But Hippolyta knew better.
   "This woman is one of my Amazons. Circe has turned her to stone."
   The others were taken aback. "Turned to stone?" Bart asked incredulously.
   "Yes," Hippolyta responded. "The transformation of humans is one of Circe's twisted joys."
   Clark focused his superhumanly-sharp eyes toward the small city a half-mile away. "It looks like everyone in town is turned to stone, too."
   "Are we in danger of becoming like them?" Bruce asked.
   "I doubt that," Hippolyta replied.
   "Yeah," Zatanna added. "This was probably done by a widespread spell designed to transform all the then-present Amazons on the island. Things like that are hard to pull off, even for someone like Circe. I doubt she's got enough power to do that again."
   "Hang on," Bart said. "This is the beach, right? Where you... uh... made Diana?"
   "Yes," Hippolyta said, a wisp of tender emotion in her voice. "This is where the gods gave me my daughter."
   "So shouldn't Circe be here?" Bruce asked.
   Clark looked toward the mountain with the glowing temple. "What is that?"
   "The Temple of the Gods," Hippolyta responded. "...Of course. Circe needs to gather more mystical power to herself in order to access Diana's spell. The temple is a strong source of power."
   Bart's feet twitched slightly, the way they often did when he was about to run. "Then let's go!"
   "No! Wait!" Hippolyta yelled. But Bart was already forty feet away.
   A rumble shook the earth beneath their feet, and Bart stumbled to the ground.
   "What was that?" Bruce asked alarmedly.
   "A spell by Circe. She is known for leaving traps in her wake."
   The sands near Bart began to shift and rise into small mounds. Bart hurriedly jumped up and zipped back towards the others. The sands rose higher and then parted as shapes beneath them began to slip from their former homes in the ground. In the darkness, Bart, Bruce, and Zatanna could barely see what had risen from the earth. All they saw were moving shadows; unknown beings in the night. Clark and Hippolyta, however, with their Kryptonian and Amazon eyes, could see these new creatures perfectly: they were corpses.
   Zatanna yelled toward the beach at her right.
   "Etareneg erif!"
   A large round fire spontaneously burst into existence, apparently burning from nothing. It lit the entire beach, casting a bright light upon the oncoming dead warriors.
   The bones of Amazon dead, still clutching their weapons, slowly shuffled through the sands toward the foreign invaders. There were eleven of them at first. Then five more rose up, then another ten. More and more undead soldiers awoke, until four dozen stood.
   One last rumble shot through the ground. The earth seemed to groan as a mountain of sand grew up into a sixty-foot-tall mass. Slowly, it shifted and compacted. Sand, clay, and soil fused together into stone—into the shape of a sixty-foot-tall golem. The golem's head formed, and it turned down to gaze upon its opponents.
   Clark met the golem's gaze and clenched his fists.

Takeoff

2011-02-27T17:11:00.000-06:00

Clark, Bruce, Lois, Bart, and Hippolyta stood on a grassy field, just south of Wayne-Ferris Air Base. The sun had set an hour ago, and the entire area was cloaked under the gentle blue shadow of night. The entire group—with the exception of Hippolyta—was nervous. They were about to sneak into a partially government-owned air base, steal one of the most advanced prototype planes in the world, and fly across the Atlantic in a probably-futile effort to save their friend from a sorceress. Bruce had assured them that it wasn't really "stealing," since Waynetech owned the Javelin, and Bruce was about to inherit Wayne Enterprises in a mere few months. Of course, everyone else knew that it was still technically stealing, but they weren't going to argue.
   Hal ran up to them from the base's direction. They'd had to explain everything to Hal over the last half-hour. Fortunately, he knew enough about Barry and his super-powers to not be shocked when he found out that there were several others with similar special abilities. The fact that Amazons and aliens existed took a bit longer to settle in, but Hal was able to overcome or ignore that fact and just focus on the task at hand: getting to the Javelin so they could save Diana.
   "Alright, it's done," Hal said as he neared the group, handing Bruce back his hacking flashdrive. "The cameras are set to loop for the next ten hours, and the doors are unlocked."
   An orange-purple light spontaneously flashed to the side of the group. When it faded, Zatanna stood in the field next to them.
   Hippolyta glanced over the gently fading purple sparkles of magic that surrounded Zatanna, and scowled. "You are a witch!"
   Zatanna exasperatedly put her hand on her forehead. "Oh boy. Not this again."
   "She's a friend," Bruce said firmly.
   Zatanna gave Bruce a smile, then turned back to Hippolyta. "So, You're Diana's mom, huh?"
   Hippolyta stiffened. "I am the Queen of the Amazons."
   Zatanna raised an unimpressed eyebrow. "Is that how you start all your conversations?"
   "Wait a minute; what are you wearing?" Lois interrupted.
   "What, this?" Zatanna replied defensively. "It's a modern-traditional magician's outfit. God, don't you watch TV?"
   The rest of the group looked at Zatanna's outfit. The top half was the usual magician's tuxedo; she even had the black top hat. But instead of pants, she wore black leather briefs, fishnets, and long black boots.
   "Hey, I'm in show business," she said nonchalantly. "Getting people's attention is my job."
   Bruce noticed Hal still looking Zatanna over, and gave him a glare and an elbow in the side.
   Zatanna caught this, and was amused. "So, you must be the pilot?"
   "Yeah," Hal replied. "Hal Jordan."
   Zatanna tipped her hat in greeting, then looked around. "So, is this all of us?"
   Clark nodded. "Looks that way."
   "I tried calling a friend of mine," Hal said, "but he didn't answer. I left a message."
   "Okay. Well, are we all set to go?"
   "Not quite," Hal said. "We still need to figure out how to get the mechanics in the hangar and the flight controllers to let us take off once we're inside the plane."
   "I can take care of that," Zatanna said with a smirk.
   "Alright, then," Clark said with a firm authority. "Let's go."
   The rest of them—except Lois—nodded and began to walk away. Bruce stopped for a moment, however, and walked back to Lois.
   "Lois, I wanted to say... I'm sorry. I'm sorry for treating you the way I did. I—"
   "Hush, boy billionaire. It's alright. You and I weren't meant to be together anyway."
   Bruce nodded. "Well... goodbye, Lois," he said, and walked away.
   Lois caught something disturbing in Bruce's voice. Did he not think he was going to come back? The thought suddenly struck her: some—or all—of them might not survive.
   "Clark!" she called out. Clark immediately turned around and moved towards her.
   They just looked at each other for a moment. Clark could see the concern in her eyes, and she could see the determination in his.
   "Clark... are you sure about this? You could get hurt."
   "It's true," Zatanna said, suddenly sneaking up at their side. "You've got no defense against magic; you're just as vulnerable as anyone else."
   Lois and Clark shot Zatanna a "DO YOU MIND" look.
   Zatanna threw her hands up in mock-surrender and began walking away. "Fine; whatever..."
   Clark gently put his hands on Lois's shoulders. "I'll be fine. I promise." He drew her close and kissed her.
   Lois felt her heart flutter for a moment, then sink a little as Clark left and rejoined the others.

   The six of them carefully walked down the hallways of Wayne-Ferris. Hal led them through the student section, which was empty now that class was out for the day. They went through the student lounge, and stopped at the window overlooking the hangar. Hal pointed to the largest plane. "That's the Javelin-4; our ride."
   Hal then led them down a nearby stairwell into the hangar itself. Two mechanics were in-between the group and the Javelin; there wasn't any way past them.
   Bruce nodded toward Zatanna. "This is your department."
   Zatanna shut her eyes and extended her hand towards the two mechanics."Erongi lla esle."
   White-purple sparks flittered off her hand, but the two mechanics didn't seem to change their behavior.
   "Okay; they won't notice us or the Javelin; they're completely oblivious."
   The group walked across the hangar floor, towards the underside of the Javelin. Hal reached up for a control panel along its ventral plating. He entered an eight-digit code on a keypad, and a large section of the rear-underside plating hissed open. It slowly lowered to the floor, forming a boarding ramp.
   Hal waved them on-board.

   The interior of the Javelin was spacious. There were two rows of seats—four on each side— and one centered seat for the pilot. Hal, despite never having been inside this plane before, knew it like the back of his hand. He'd read every technical manual, flown every Javelin simulator mission three dozen times over, and was able to intuit everything he didn't already know. He slipped into the pilot's seat like it was a glove, and began the warm-up procedures. The computer consoles lit up, and the engine slowly hummed to life.
   "This is good. Looks like there was a planned—and cancelled—test flight scheduled for tonight, so the jet's already fueled up and ready to go." After inputting a set of coordinates, Hal turned to Hippolyta, pointing to the computer screen. "You're sure this is where the island is?"
   "Yes."
   "Okay, then. Looks like we're all set. Is everyone ready?"
   Everyone in the group slowly nodded. Hippolyta was worried for her daughter, but ready to die in Diana's defense. Bruce had nothing to offer but his own meager skills in a fight, but that was enough for him. Bart was nervous and frightened, but unwavering in his decision to help Diana, no matter what. Zatanna didn't particularly like Diana, but she was more than willing to help Bruce and his friends in their life-or-death battle. More importantly, Zatanna knew of Circe, and the danger that Circe posed to the world, should she succeed in acquiring the power of Diana's soul-spell.
   Hal turned back to the controls, and the plane began to move. "Zatanna, I'm gonna need you to work your magic on the air controllers now."
   "Already on it," Zatanna responded, leaning towards the front window to get a better view of the area.
   "Nilevaj-ruof si deraelc rof ffoekatff."
   A voice clicked on over the Javelin's radio. "Javelin-4, you are cleared for takeoff."
   Hal clicked the reply switch. "Copy that, tower control."

   The Javelin slowly rolled out of the hangar and onto the runway. The passengers clicked their four-strapped safety belts on, and Hal hit the engines to full throttle. With a punch and a scream, blue-tinged flames blasted from the Javelin's twin engines. In a flash of swift thunder, the craft lunged forward and lifted off.

   Lois watched from the field as the Javelin took off. She sighed to herself, hoping that her friends would be okay.
   Her phone rang.
   "Hello?"
   "Hi, can I speak to Lois Lane?"
   "Speaking."
   "Good. This is Perry White, from the Daily Planet. Detective Dan Turpin tells me that you've been 'instrumental' in the investigation of Lionel Luthor."
   Lois's jaw fell open, and she struggled to regain her composure.
   "Y-yes. I've been—"
   "I don't need to hear the details now, Miss Lane. Im only calling because the detective offered the Planet the exclusive report on the investigation, but only if we brought you on board as a witness."
   Lois stiffened. "Screw witness; I've been chasing down Luthor for months now; I'm WRITING that story, dammit."
   Perry laughed. "Okay, kid. You seem to have a fair bit of fire in your gut; I like that. Pardon the language, but get your ass down here, now. We'll talk about who's doing what when you get here."
   "You got it, chief."
   "Wha—... don't call me Chief!"
   Lois had already hung up.

Allies

2011-02-27T01:01:00.003-06:00

Hippolyta opened her front door to see Lois, Clark, and Bart standing in the hallway. Before she could ask why they were there, Clark already answered.
   "Someone attacked us at school. She threw me and Bart around with magic or something, then grabbed Diana and disappeared."
   Hippolyta's eyes widened with fear. "...Was this attacker... a woman? With red hair, and violet robes?"
   Clark nodded.
   Hippolyta slowly walked to the couch in her living room, and sat down in shock.
   The teens awkwardly looked back and forth between each other, not sure if they were supposed to step inside or not. They eventually figured they should.
   "Who was that?" Lois asked.
   Hippolyta narrowed her eyes at Lois. "I'm sorry. Who are you?"
   "Lois Lane. Diana works with me at the Daily Star."
   Bart waved a hello. "Hey. I'm Bart. Bart Allen. I um... I run real fast."
   Hippolyta slowly nodded. "Yes, my daughter has told me about you both."
   The doorbell rang. Clark politely answered it. When he opened the door, Bruce was on the other side.
   "I thought you'd be here," Bruce said, stepping inside.
   Clark was surprised. "Bruce, why are you here?"
   "Waynetech runs the security in Metropolis High, remember? I had seismic sensors installed, just in case something big happened. They went off when that woman appeared in the Daily Star office. I saw the video feed. Who was she?"
   "She," Hippolyta said, "is Circe. And I assume you are Bruce Wayne?"
   Bruce slightly nodded.
   Hippolyta explained further. "Circe is one of the most powerful sorceresses in all of history. Many ages ago, she visited Themyscira. For nothing more than her own amusement, she tormented me and my Amazon sisters. Only the intervention of the gods themselves was enough to stop her."
   "Evidently, they didn't do a great job," Clark remarked.
   "They imprisoned her in the depths of Tartarus, until her sentence was fulfilled."
   "So why'd they let her out?" Bart asked.
   "She is forbidden from attacking me personally, for all time."
   "But that wouldn't stop her from attacking your new daughter," Lois added.
   "Precisely."
   "What does Circe want with Diana?" Bruce asked. "Is she going to ransom her for money? Power?"
   "I fear not," Hippolyta said sadly. "Diana is... a nexus of mystic power."
   No one else in the room had any idea what that meant. Hippolyta noted this, and explained. "Diana's body is made of sand and clay. Only by the sheer magical power of the gods is she held together as flesh and blood."
   Bruce began to understand. "Is that why her DNA breaks down into base minerals when it's separated from her body?"
   "If... if you mean her blood, yes. If she bleeds, that blood will soon turn to the same sand from which she was formed. There is a powerful spell tying her soul to her sand-forged body. If a witch of Circe's level broke open that spell, she could access the power to bend the laws of life and death."
   Bruce skeptically looked at Clark and Lois. He didn't quite believe this story of gods and soul-binding. But ultimately, the truth of the matter was that someone dangerous had kidnapped Diana, and they needed to find her at all costs.
   "Where would Circe have taken Diana?" Bruce asked.
   "If she is indeed looking to access the spell's power, she would travel to the only place the spell could be accessed: the beaches of Themyscira, where it was originally forged."
   "Hang on for a minute," Bart said. "Isn't there, like, an army of Amazons there?"
   "My soldiers are strong of heart and will fight to their deaths," Hippolyta said, "but they have no defense against power such as Circe's."
   Clark stood up a little straighter. "We do."
   "Clark!" Lois exclaimed. "You can't fight her! She threw you against a wall like you were nothing!"
   Clark shook his head. "I might not have any defense against magic, but that doesn't mean I can't do anything. Bart was fast enough to hit her while she was distracted; maybe if we move fast enough and smart enough, we can still beat her."
   "Yeah," Bart said. "I mean, if Clark had hit 'er, she'dve been out cold."
   "And besides," Clark added, "we don't have to go alone."
   "Okay..." Lois said, "but how exactly are you gonna get there? Can you FLY all the way to"—Lois turned to Hippolyta—"Where's your island again?"
   "In the Aegean Sea."
   Lois turned back to Clark. "That's on the other side of the Atlantic Ocean. Do you have a private jet or something to take Bart and yourself there?"
   "I do," Bruce said. "...though we'll need a pilot."
   Lois sighed. "Alright. ...I think I know a guy."
   "And I know someone who can help us with magic," Bruce said.

   Lois and Bruce pulled out their cellphones and made their calls.
   "Hal? It's Lois. I need a favor..."

"Zanna. We're having some trouble, and we need you down here."

Taken

2011-02-24T14:47:00.009-06:00

Lois fumbled around with a stack of papers at her desk. School was closing for the Winter break, and she needed to get things in order before she left. Secretly, however, she knew that she was only using the work to distract herself.
   "Hey," Clark said from the doorway as he walked in.
   "Hey," Lois replied, slightly startled.
   Clark tried to make eye contact with Lois, but it seemed that no matter how he tried to lean towards her or move into her field of vision, she managed to turn the other way.
   "Lois, is something wrong?"
   "Nope. Nothing's wrong."
   "Then why are you avoiding me?"
   "I'm not avoiding you."
   "Yes you are; you've barely said ten words to me over the last week. What's going on?"
   Lois spun around and finally looked at him. "Nothing's going on, Clark, I just..."
   "...You just what?"
   Lois sighed. "I met up with Bart's 'grandma Iris' on Sunday."
   "You mean Iris West? The girl from the MJAs?"
   "No, I mean Iris Allen, the thirty-something-year-old lady from the future."
   "...Oh."
   "Yeah. She... she told me some things about the future. About you and me."
   "Really..."
   "Yeah."
   "...Good things?"
   "Well, yeah, it's just—"
   Bart and Diana suddenly walked in the room.
   "'Sup," Bart said, jumping into the nearest office chair and sending it rolling across the room.
   Diana nodded a "hello" at Clark and Lois.
   Lois gave a knowing look to Clark. "We'll talk later," she whispered.
   "So," Diana said, "What are all your plans for Christmas?"
   "I'm gonna stay in Smallville for the most part," Clark said.
   "I'm staying here with my family," Lois added.
   "Well," Bart said, leaning back in his chair, "I think I'm gonna go to Mexico."
   "Mexico?" Diana asked.
   "Sure. Cold 'aint really my thing. I figure I might go lay on a beach or something. And if I get bored, I can always just run back here in like five minutes."

   The other teens were in the middle of rolling their eyes at Bart when a gigantic BOOM shook the entire room, sending papers and desks flying in every direction. The four teens, aside from Clark, were all knocked to the floor. A blinding violet light flashed from the opposite side of the room. When the light dissolved, a woman stood in its place. She was tall, with long vibrant red-pink hair and robes made from golden metal and purple cloth. A mischievous grin was set on her face.
   The woman turned towards Diana. "Ah, there you are, little princess." With a wave of her hand, the woman cast a red sparkling light upon Diana's face. Without warning, Diana lost consciousness and slumped to the floor.
   Clark gritted his teeth, clenched his hand into a fist, and lunged toward the woman. Her hand raised toward him, however, halting his body in mid-air.
   The witch examined him. "Ooooh, you are a strong one. But I don't have time to play with you right now." She casually threw him into a wall without touching him. Once there, he remained pinned; unable to move by an unseen force.
   When the witch turned back towards the others, her face met with a blurred fist. She fell off her feet, glaring up at Bart with malevolent intensity. "HEARRGH!" she yelled, telekinetically pushing Bart with all her might into the wall opposite Clark. Bart collapsed, his head a bit too shaken for him to stand up or think clearly.
   "Who are you?!" Lois yelled.
   "Oh, honey, if you knew me, you'd be a lot more afraid. Good for you for not trying anything like these boys here, though."
   Without another word, the witch walked over to Diana's limp body, grabbed the Amazonian princess by her hair, and disappeared in another blinding flash.

   Bart, Lois, and Clark were left alone in silence. Clark abruptly fell off the wall, the holding spell apparently broken in the mysterious woman's absence.
   The three friends, shocked, looked at one another. They didn't need to speak; the shared look in their eyes all asked the same questions: What just happened? Who was that? What happened to Diana?

Update

2011-02-24T13:25:00.000-06:00

So I'm about to start the final stretch of chapters in this "season" of TJ. Hopefully, I can get at least one done each day until all eleven chapters are done. Hope you like it.

You Weren't Supposed to Know

2011-02-21T15:57:00.001-06:00

Lois was frustrated. Bart had promised to help her take photos of the annual Christmas festival at Centennial Park, but he hadn't shown up, and wasn't answering his phone. Being the oft-sneaky reporter she was, however, Lois knew a way of finding his address in school files, and decided to walk over to his house.
   She arrived at the Allens' apartment and rang the doorbell. A few seconds later, a rather pretty woman in her thirties answered the door. Lois was stunned; it was clearly Iris Allen, only older.
   Lois mentally slapped herself. Of course it was her. Bart had mentioned his "Grandma Iris," and that she'd traveled back in time along with him. Truth be told, Lois hadn't completely believed that story, but here, apparently, was proof.
   "Lois," Iris said with surprise. "I... I didn't expect... please come in."
   Lois awkwardly walked inside.
   "Is this about Bart?" Iris asked. "He mentioned something about meeting you today."
   "Yeah. Where is he?"
   Iris shrugged and tilted her head back toward a bedroom down the hall. "He's in his room, asleep. If you've been calling him, I don't think he can hear his phone."
   Lois sighed with slight exasperation.
   "It's his biology," Iris explained. "He uses up so much energy running that his body sometimes just needs to crash. Well, that and he's a teenager. No offense."
   "None taken."
   Iris and Lois shared another awkward moment.
   "So, Lois... is it true that you and Bart hang out with Clark Kent, Bruce Wayne, and Diana Prince?"
   Lois raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. Why?"
   Iris sighed. "Lois, why don't you sit down."

   Lois and Iris sat down on the living room couch.
   "So, Lois, you know about the whole time-travel thing, right?"
   Lois nodded, her eyebrow still raised.
   "Before we came back from the future, things were different."
   "...How so?"
   "Well, for one thing, Metropolis wasn't in the midwest. It was on the East Coast. In Delaware."
   "What?! How is that possible?! Metropolis has always been here; why would it—"
   "I know, I know. It doesn't make sense. But there's more. Stryker's Island prison was originally off the coast of Metropolis, not Coast City. Clark Kent didn't live here when he was a teenager; he lived in Smallville until he turned eighteen. Bruce didn't live here either, and neither did Diana. Hell, Diana was still on her island. And you and I didn't meet any of them until years later. They all lived separate lives until they were in about their mid-twenties."
   "...What are you saying?" Lois asked.
   "I'm saying that things aren't the way they're supposed to be. I mean, you all were supposed to meet eventually, but not for a long, long time. The fact that you're all in high school together... it doesn't make sense."
   "Okay, well, that's weird, but is it a bad thing for us to know each other?"
   Iris realized just how little Lois understood.
   "Lois, in the 31st century, they have monuments to Clark, Bruce, and Diana. Clark even has his own museum."
   "Wait, why would they have a statue for Bruce? He doesn't have any powers."
   Iris smirked. "He's more special than you'd think. You don't need powers to make a difference in this world."
   "...Uh-huh. Interesting. And Clark has a museum?!"
   Iris chuckled. "Yeah. They call it the Sup—... well, I'll just let you find that out. But the important thing is that you're a part of all that history, too."
   "...How?"
   Iris paused, not sure if she wanted to continue. "Are you sure you want to know?"
   Lois gave her an "are you seriously asking that?" look.
   "...You and Clark. Your romance is like a fairy tale in the future."
   "My what is a what in the future?"
   "Before things changed, you and he met when you were both adults, working at the Daily Planet. You didn't know that he was... well, super. He didn't tell you that he had any powers. He wanted you to fall in love with him for him, not just because he was a hero. And, one day, after years and years of him trying to chase you down, you finally did fall for him. There's more to it than that, but that's the gist of it."
   Lois had to force her swirling emotions and flittering thoughts down for the moment. "So... I was his girlfriend?"
   "You were his wife."
   Lois felt a bit overwhelmed. "Why are you telling me this?"
   "Because. Lois, before, when things were 'right' with the world... you didn't know Clark. And even after you met him, you didn't know about his 'secret identity' for years. You weren't supposed to know. But now everything's different."
   "So?" Lois asked. "We're together now. Why should it matter if it happened sooner than later? Are we somehow magically doomed to fail now?"
   "Well, you are in a high school relationship."
   "...Okay, good point."
   "And... if things don't work out like they're supposed to... there's a chance the entire world is in danger."
   It seemed that with every word Iris said, Lois got more confused. "How so?"
   "Clark told me once that you were the reason he kept fighting. That you supported him through all his battle, and that having you with him made it all worthwhile. And the thing is... even though I'd like to say that my husband is the best, the truth is that Clark honestly is the world's greatest hero. Or at least he will be. So, if what he said is true, then your part in it all was very important."
   "So, my part was what, exactly? Being the world's greatest housewife?"
   "Oh, don't me wrong. You were also one of the best reporters in existence. Won half a dozen pulitzers, took down five separate major crime organizations across four major cities, and found information that led to the downfall of a foreign terrorist regime."
   Lois smirked. "Now that's better."
   "But," Iris continued, "Clark needs you. Don't forget that."
   "...I won't."
   Iris smiled a little. "Okay. Good."

Flash Forward

2011-02-15T01:00:00.003-06:00

3004 A.D.

Iris Allen loved watching her grandson sleep. Even though he was eleven now, he still looked like a baby when he slept. Iris felt grateful, in a strange way, that she'd been able to experience the joy of being a grandparent while not actually being an old woman. Iris was only thirty-one, even though she'd been born over three thousand years ago.
   In the year 2014, Iris West married the love of her life, Barry Allen. Barry, as it turned out, was far more remarkable than the average man: through a freak accident involving a lightning bolt and a pile of chemicals, Barry was blessed with superhuman speed. Dressed in a scarlet-colored costume, he used his powers to help those in need, eventually becoming one of the world's greatest heroes. His powers were so vast, in fact, that he was able to use highly advanced machinery to harness his speed and actually travel through time itself. On one occasion, Iris accompanied her husband to the future year of 2971. While there, she and Barry conceived and birthed a baby boy, Don. For various reasons, however, Iris and Barry couldn't stay in the future, and were forced to leave their baby in the care of trusted friends, who became Don's adoptive parents. Eventually, Iris and Barry were able to return to the future, but only to a point after Don had already grown to adulthood, married, and died, leaving only his son, Bart. Iris and Barry then decided to take their new grandson back to their time and raise him themselves. Something went wrong with the time travel process, however, and only Barry returned to the 21st century, leaving Iris and Bart trapped alone in the future.
   Iris had now been alone in the 31st century for nearly five years, still unsure as to why Barry hadn't returned.
   Still, however, little Bartholomew Allen kept her life full of love. At the present moment, she was checking up on him while he slept. Bart had had some rather restless nights over the past week or so, but he seemed perfectly peaceful for the moment. The dark bedroom was blissfully quiet, and Bart didn't budge at all.
   Suddenly, the room lit up for a mere split-second as a yellow spurt of electricity ran across Bart's side. Iris's eyes widened, and she put her hands over her mouth in shock.
   Another spark jolted across Bart. This time he winced, but stayed asleep. Then another spark. And another, and another. Bart shook and twisted in bed as more and more golden lighting bolts streaked across his sleeping body. Iris ran to the bedside, shaking him awake.
   "BART! BART! WAKE UP!"
   Bart's eyes shot open, and the electricity faded. "Hhuhh? Grandma? What's going on?..."
   Bart apparently had no idea of what had just happened, and looked just like he always did: a little slow on the uptake, but adorable nonetheless.
   Iris breathed a sigh of relief. "It's over... okay..."
   Bart suddenly winced, doubled over, and screamed as he felt more power surging through his body.
   "AAAUUGGHHH!!"

   Iris needed to get Bart help. But who could help him? Hospitals of the 31st century were well-equipped to handle even the most unusual of problems, but Bart was—as far as Iris knew—the only person currently in existence that was tapped into the extradimensional Speed Force. Only someone who understood the metaphysical—and largely theoretical—science behind Bart's biological connection to that power could help him now. Fortunately, Iris knew one such person.
   The towers of New Metropolis rose like elegant spires into the night sky. Despite being home to seventy-eight million people, the entire city seemed to be under a blanket of serenity. Even the car-like vehicles that hovered overhead were silent and gentle. The air was as crisp, clean, and refreshing as an open grassy field. Although Iris would trade anything to be able to follow her husband into the past, she did have to admit that this truly was a better place.
   Iris hurriedly walked down the street, gently pulling Bart by the hand. He was groggy, and almost fell over a few times, but managed to keep his footing for the most part. Iris would have driven Bart in their car, but she thought that perhaps if he were walking, it might help with whatever was happening to him.
   Finally, two blocks down, they arrived at a massive building. Set apart from the rest of the city by a whole city block on every side, it stood with a kind of regal importance. Iris hurriedly led Bart up the massive steps leading to the building's front entrance. Bart looked up at an archway above the front doors, and tried to read the words engraved in golden stone upon it: LEGION OF SUPER-HEROES.
   Iris, breathing hard from the hurried stairway climb, keyed the intercom panel on the door.
   "Welcome to Legion Headquarters. Do you have an appointment?" a computerized voice responded.
   "I'm Iris Allen! Let me speak to someone, please!"
   The artificial voice was silent, as though it were surprised and confused as to how to respond.
   After a few seconds, it hurriedly replied. "Mrs. Allen, you are of course welcome here. Please enter. A Legionnaire will arrive momentarily to escort you."
   A door on Iris's right slid open, and she pulled Bart inside.
   The main lobby was dark and empty. Iris was getting anxious; she didn't think Bart could wait any longer.
   "Mrs. Allen! Is something wrong?" a voice called from down a hallway. Iris turned to see a boy half-running to meet her. His skin was blue-green, and his hair was a bright golden sheen.
   "Yes!" Iris replied. "Bart's been having... spasms. He was getting shocked by... spontaneous electricity while he slept."
   The green-skinned boy's eyes widened. "Come with me. Hurry!"

   The three of them stepped into an elevator and descended several floors underground. When they stopped, the doors opened to a huge laboratory. All kinds of advanced technologies covered the room, none of which Iris recognized. She guessed that it was unimaginably advanced, even for the 31st century.
   "Let's get him on here," the green-skinned boy said, gesturing to a metal table shaped like a human body.
   Iris and the boy helped Bart get onto the table. When Bart laid down, the sides of the table flipped around, clamping him down and covering his arms and legs. Lights along the metal coverings began to glow. Bart felt himself relax.
   "This machine will help to drain the excess energy coming from his body until we can figure out what's going on," the green-skinned boy said.
   The elevator behind them opened again, and three others stepped out.
   "Miss Iris!" a red-haired teenage boy said. "What are you doing here?"
   Before Iris could reply, a blonde-haired girl at the redhead boy's side replied for her. "Something's wrong with Bart..."
   Iris was always slightly annoyed at Imra's mind-reading abilities, but this time she didn't mind as much.
   "Yes. He's hurt, and I don't know what to do."
   "Don't worry, Mrs. Allen. We'll help him," the third one to exit the elevator said. He was slightly taller than the others, with jet-black hair and a serious look about him.
   The machine Bart was lying in began to shake and flash with electricity. Bart was going into spasms again.
   "Lightning Lad! Saturn Girl! I need you over here, now!"
   The blonde and redheaded teenagers ran to the green-skinned boy's side. Iris was surprised at the green one's tone; from what she understood, Legionnaires only referred to each other by their code names in battle.
   "Imra, try to keep Bart calm," the green one said. "Garth, try and absorb some of the electricity off his body. You're a living battery; you should be able to take it a bit better than he can."
   "Woah, are you sure?" Garth asked. "I mean, this is Speed Force energy; it's not like normal electricity, is it?"
   "It's close enough. Just do it."
   Garth shrugged. "Okay, whatever you say. You're the Brainiac here."
   Imra placed one hand gently on Bart's forehead, and the other to her temple. She concentrated hard, trying to calm his frightened mind. Garth put his hands on Bart's chest, drawing the jumping arcs of yellow lightning into his own body. He flinched a few times, but managed to hold on.
   The green-skinned boy—whose name Iris finally remembered was "Brainiac 5"—examined biological data on a nearby computer screen.
   "What's going on here, Brainy?" The black-haired boy asked firmly, almost as though it were an order.
   "I'm not sure, Rokk, I—... wait... hang on; I think I've got it!"
   Brainiac 5 turned to the others. "His body is reacting too early to the Speed Force. If he were older when he had these powers, he'd be fine. But since he's not old enough to utilize the power yet, it's overloading. It'll kill him unless we do something."
   "What can we do?" Imra asked.
   "Hang on, I'm thinking..."
   Brainiac 5, being the fifth-generation descendant of the computerized BRAIN Inter-Active Construct, was partially robotic. His brain contained a twelfth-level intelligence, and he was quite possibly the smartest sentient individual on the planet.
   "I think I have an answer," he said. "We can drain Bart's powers to an acceptable level by having him utilize them to their fullest extent."
   "Wait a minute," Iris said. "Barry used his power to its fullest extent when he traveled through time. Are you saying?..."
   "Yes. We need to send him through time."
   Iris felt shock tingle up her spine. "No! We can't send him away!"
   "We could send you, too, actually. Back to your own time, in the 21st century." Brainiac 5 said.
   Iris was confused. "But... I thought you said there wasn't any way to get me back?"
   "Not before now, no. The Time Institute is making some progress, but the technology isn't quite there yet. We needed Barry for time travel before now, but since Bart now has similar powers, we have another option."
   Iris sat down on a nearby chair in order to think. Could she really go back to her own time? Could she see Barry again? Would it be safe for Bart?
   "I can't take this for much longer!" Garth yelled across the room.
   "Please, Mrs. Allen," Brainiac said. "You need to make your decision now. I don't know how much longer Bart can survive."
   "...Alright. We'll go."
   Brainiac ran to a nearby machine covered with a tarp. When he pulled off the tarp, Iris gasped. It was a long, metal box with a control panel on the side and a running track along its top. Barry had jokingly nicknamed it "the Cosmic Treadmill." It was what helped Barry focus his power to travel through time. Brainiac turned it on, and it hummed to life. The track began spinning, and lights switched on.
   "Move him over here," Brainiac said to the others. Rokk, Garth, and Imra helped Bart out of the machine, and slowly walked him over to the treadmill. Brainiac pulled out a syringe and gently squeezed its contents into Bart's neck.
   "There. That should give him a little more energy so he can run."
   Brainiac tapped a few buttons on the treadmill, setting the approximate target time and date. When he was done, he turned to Iris.
   "There's a chance that this won't work. There's a possible thirty-year variance in the targeting. If you end up at a point in time before the year you originally left, you'll need to stay out of history's way."
   Iris nodded. "Right. I know a thing or two about time travel." She turned to the others. "Thank you, all of you."
   Rokk stepped forward. "Your husband was one of the founding members of the Justice League of America. Because of what he did in the past, the world is a better place today. It's the least we can do to help you in any way we can."
   "Besides," Imra added with a gentle smile, "we think of you like family."
   "It's time to go," Brainiac said. "Bart, I need you to get on top of this machine and and run, okay? Run as fast as you can."
   Bart nodded. He hopped on, and began walking across the rotating mat. Iris knew how the machine worked; she simply put her hand on it and waited. The running belt began to spin faster and faster. Bart began running. The belt sped up again, and again, and again. Bart ran faster than any normal human was capable of moving. His legs were a blur. Yellow bolts of electricity arced into the machine, powering it up even more. As Bart accelerated to an extreme speed, a glowing cone of light appeared in front of the treadmill. It quickly moved to envelop the entire treadmill, along with Bart and Iris. In a deafening flash of lightning and thunder, the machine and the Allens were gone.
   The four Legionnaires stood alone in the silent laboratory.
   "Did it work?" Rokk asked.
   Brainiac pulled out his datapad and began scanning the space that the Allens had just left empty. "...Yes. It worked."
   Imra, Garth, and Rokk shared a mutual smile.
   "But... wait a minute..." Brainiac added, worry creeping into his voice. "...Oh no. Something's wrong. Very wrong."

Diana of Themyscira

2011-02-10T00:30:00.000-06:00

Sixteen Years Ago

Hippolyta walked the beaches of Paradise Island under the gentle moonlight. For nearly three millennia, she had lived on with her fellow Amazon sisters in quiet seclusion. Together, they mined metal from the earth, cut stone from the mountain walls, and made clay from the sands. At the center of the island's harbor, amongst the sparkling rivers and gentle grasses, they built a city. Here, on a hidden paradise among the seas, the Amazons had made a new home.

But despite this, Hippolyta's mind found no shelter. She was tormented by loneliness.

"Why is your heart troubled?" a feminine voice echoed from the skies.

The Amazon queen recognized the voice immediately: Athena, the goddess of wisdom. Though it was proper for a mortal to bow in the presence of such a deity, Hippolyta remained standing.

"I am in a cage," Hippolyta responded.

"You are safe from the chaotic world of man," Athena's voice responded.

"Safe, and trapped. Alone."

"You wish for companionship? Surely you do not wish for the presence of men."

"Men, no."

"Then whom?"

"...I was pregnant, before Heracles' army slew my people. My unborn child was killed in the battle."

"And now you wish for that child to live again."

"Yes."

There was silence in the clouds for a few moments before Athena spoke again.

"Hippolyta, Queen of the Amazons, it has been decided that our debt to your people has not yet been repaid in full, and your request shall be granted."

Hippolyta's felt a tinge of relief and joy slip through her being.

"Your child's soul shall be restored, but you shall sculpt her body from the sands," Athena said. "Do this now."

Without another word, Athena drew her dagger and knelt on the beach. She plowed the wet sand with her blade, and carefully began to form the shape of a newborn baby. Her fingers caressed every curve and detail with the gentleness and care that only a mother can provide. When the sculpture was done, Athena spoke again.

"Now, grant her a single drop of your own blood, then raise her to us."

Hippolyta pricked her thumb with her dagger, then pressed a single drop of shed blood on the sculpted baby's forehead. She raised the sculpture to the heavens, and six beams of light shone out from the clouds, striking the lump of sand. Suddenly, the sands slid away, revealing a naked human baby in Hippolyta's hands.

The baby shuddered for a moment, then gently cried in the open air. Hippolyta, shocked and amazed, cradled the baby in her arms, tears of joy streaming down her face.

   "Your daughter has been granted six gifts from six of the gods," said Athena. "From Demeter, great strength. From Artemis, the heart and skill of a hunter and warrior. From Aphrodite, unsurpassed beauty and a loving heart. From Hestia, sisterhood with fire. From Hermes, heightened speed and the power of flight. And from myself, great wisdom and courage."
   Hippolyta felt unease at this. "My eternal gratitude be to you, my goddess, but why has my daughter been blessed with such gifts?"
   "Your daughter is to bridge the gap between the Amazons and the outside world."
   "No! Please, I beg you, no! Surely she cannot be the prophesied Ambassador? There must be another—"
   "There is no other. She is the one. But do not despair; your daughter will be more than capable. Do you question my wisdom?"
   "No, my goddess."
   "Very well. When she is of age, you will take your daughter to man's world. There, she will begin her task. Will you comply in this?"
   "I will."

   The lights in the sky faded, and Hippolyta was left alone in silence with her baby daughter.
   "Welcome to Paradise Island, my darling Diana."

Temporal Event

2011-01-29T21:05:00.000-06:00

Six beings floated through a rift in time and space. Four of them young heroes from an era far ahead of our own, two of them ageless wanderers of the cosmos.

Through a window in space itself, they watched the young students: Clark; Bruce; Bart; Diana; Lois.

"It looks like everything is falling into place," the leader of the young ones said. "Kal-El has found his destiny with Lois Lane, and the others are on their way to becoming the heroes we all know."

"So it would seem," said an elder man in a metal chair.

Another of the younger ones, a girl, raised an eyebrow. "Why do you sound skeptical?"

"There is still danger to them all, Imra," said the other elder, a shadowed man wearing a blue cloak and a golden amulet. "Danger they, and we, cannot know for now."

"Why not?" an impulsive boy asked. "Why can't we just use this window thing to look a little bit farther into their future?"

"That's not how the portal works, Garth," another boy responded. "The temporal mechanics of slipspace are—"

"Okay! Okay," Garth interrupted. "Sorry I asked, Five."

"Do not lose faith," the cloaked man said gently. "There may yet still be a way."

"He is correct," the seated man stated coldly. "Our findings have indicated that Bart Allen and Diana of Themyscira are the two most significant causality anchors in this time, and that their determinant event is very near."

Garth rolled his eyes. "Aaaaand that means wha—"

"It means that what happens to them affects everyone, as well as the entire timeline," the boy named Five responded. "And something very important—some kind of major event—is going to happen soon, that'll determine the fate of everything."

"A great battle, I sense," the shadowed man added.

"Alright," the young leader said, "so what can we do?"

"Wait a minute," Imra said with sudden realization. "I think I have an idea. If we can twist this portal over that event—even just a little—I think I can sense their minds. Maybe I can find out what happens."

"That's possible," Five said. His eyes began to glow with a bright yellow light, and a thousand calculations sprinted through organic circuits in his mind. "Use these coordinates: 327.4678, by 5.8769. Be sure to account for variance at .728 along the 18th axiom."

The man in the metal chair placed his hand over a glowing console built into his chair's arm. "It is done."

The portal window twisted and shifted. The view of Metropolis faded, replaced by liquid shadows.

"There," the chaired man said. "This is the most stable I can make the portal."

"Then it'll have to do," Imra said determinedly. She shut her eyes, and focused as hard as she could. "It's working. I'm looking for them... I—" Imra's eyes shot open. "No..."

"What is it?" the leader asked.

"They're... gone," Imra said, shocked. "I searched the entire globe. Their brains aren't active."

"So they're asleep?" Garth asked.

"No, Garth..." Imra replied. "Even if they were asleep, I could find them."

The leader felt a shock go through his mind as he suddenly understood. "You don't mean..."

"They're dead."

The group fell silent for a few moments.

"There is one other option," the chaired man said. "All beings follow their own event path; a mortal's past and future are inexorably linked. If we examine the pasts of these two, we may in turn learn how to save their future."

"Then let's do it," the leader said. "Maybe we can find a way to help them win that battle."

"No," the chaired man said. "We cannot interfere in that conflict."

"What?!" Garth said frustratedly. "How are we gonna help them out if we can't help them out?!"

"Patience, Garth of Winath," the cloaked man gently spoke. "There is still hope yet."

"But," the leader said, "what you're basically saying is that it's up to them for right now."

"Yes."

Michigan?

2011-01-28T21:45:00.000-06:00

Not to be creepy, but...

Who the heck is in Garden City, Michigan?

Winter Formal

2011-01-27T23:10:00.000-06:00

Clark stopped before walking under the "WINTER FORMAL" banner that hung over the door to the school gym.
   "Are you actually nervous, Smallville?"
   Clark turned to see Diana standing at his side, an amused smirk across her face. He opened his mouth to respond, but completely halted when he actually got a good look at her.
   Diana's bright blue dress was no different than what half the girls at the dance were wearing: traditional, simple, and elegant. The difference was that, for the first time, Diana was actually wearing something—other than jeans—that hugged her figure. She vaguely resembled something between a princess and a supermodel. The way her shimmery dress highlighted her curves made Clark feel embarrassed just for having eyes.
   Diana rather enjoyed Clark's stunned reaction.
   "You—you look nice," Clark finally stammered out.
   Diana smiled and gently punched his arm. "So do you."
   Clark shrugged. "Thanks."
   After a long pause, Diana raised her eyebrows at him. "Are you gonna go in?"
   Clark took a deep breath. "...Eventually."
   "Have you never been to a dance before?"
   "No, I have, just..."
   "Not with someone you cared about this much."
   "Yeah."
   Diana nodded, and her smile faded a little.
   "You'll be fine. Don't worry."
   Clark did his best to put on a smile despite his nervousness. "Thanks."
   Diana nodded again, doing her best to put an encouraging smile back on.
   With one more deep breath, Clark stepped under the banner and walked into the gym.

   It was dark. Aside from spinning glitters of red and white light, the entire room was in shadow—normal, for a school dance. Music boomed. Dozens of teenagers swarmed the room: boys in their tuxes, and girls in their dresses. Clark was surprised at how long it took him to recognize many of his classmates in formal wear. There was Nelson Nash, somehow still managing to look lazy and smug despite his sharp-looking tux. There was Cat Grant, wearing a dress so short that she risked public indecency. And further back, at the center of it all, stood Lois.
   Clark felt his heart stand still for a moment when he caught sight of her. When she saw him, too, and their eyes met, his feet almost lifted off the floor.
   While Lois was definitely stunning in her red dress, her eyes were what caught Clark's attention. Ever since Lois and Bruce had broken up, and Clark had actually let himself feel attracted to Lois, he felt more and more stunned each time he saw her eyes. "The eyes are the windows of the soul," Mr. Frank had told Clark once. If that were so, then that probably explained it. Clark, more than most other people, always tried to look at who people were at heart—who they really were underneath. And it was for that very reason that—despite the fact that she didn't have Diana's figure or Zatanna's attitude—Lois was the most beautiful girl Clark had ever seen.

   Lois caught sight of Clark, and felt her heart skip a beat. She felt silly for feeling this way; for falling so hard so fast for someone that she'd only known for a few months. But there was something about him—about the two of them—that seemed just... perfect. As though they were everything that each other ever wanted or needed.
   Lois tried to mentally shake herself. It was completely ridiculous, the way she was thinking. After all, she'd seen the statistics. Less than fifteen percent of high-school relationships ever made it all the way through college and beyond. And even then, most of those relationships ended in late, painful breakups or divorce. But, still, there was that tiny one-percent that did make it. Were she and Clark that one percent? Were they made for each other?
   Lois mentally shook herself again. She'd just gone from "wow, he looks amazing in that tux" to "I wonder if we'll get married" in the span of about two seconds.
   Finally, Lois realized she had a choice: she could hold on to her rationale and stay safe, keeping Clark at arm's length, or she could give into the romance and just let herself fall.
   She chose the latter.

   "Hi, Lois."
   "Hey, Smallville."

   Bruce stood at the edge of the room, watching the dance from the safety of the shadows.
   "Hey, what are you doing here?" a voice asked him.
   Bruce turned to see Diana standing at his right.
   "I... I knew she'd be here, since it's her job to cover it for the Star. And I thought I should be here, too. I didn't think she'd have gotten another date this fast."
   "But you broke up with her."
   Bruce hung his head a little. "Even though Lois and I aren't together anymore, I wanted to... I wanted to be here for her. I owed her that much. I didn't want her to be alone."
   Realization sparked in Diana's eyes. "You still care for her, don't you?"
   "...Yeah."
   "And you broke up with her because you hoped she'd stop getting herself in trouble chasing Luthorcorp."
   "Yes."
   "Well, no offense, Bruce, but this wasn't all about you. This whole crime spree... it affects everyone."
   "I know. I should have realized that before."
   Diana and Bruce turned back to the dance floor, and saw Clark and Lois laughing together.
   "Look at them," Diana said. "They really do seem great together."
   "...Yeah." Bruce turned to Diana. "Why did you let Clark out of going with you, anyway?"
   Diana sighed. "I knew he didn't really want to go with me, and... I felt bad keeping him away from Lois. It was kind of inevitable that they'd get together anyway."
   "You don't think you had a chance with him?"
   "...Not really." Diana shrugged and gave a half-smile. "As long as Lois exists, there's no chance for me and Clark. Simple as that."
   Bruce nodded in understanding. "Sorry. I know how that is."
   Diana put her hand on his shoulder. "Well, hey, don't worry. I'm sure you can find a new girlfriend somewhere around here." She nodded towards the corner of the room, where a group of four girls in low-cut dresses all giggled and flirtatiously waved at Bruce.
   Bruce took one look at them, then turned back to Diana. He stayed silent in thought for a few seconds, thinking it all over. "...Yeah, I think I'll be okay," he said with a slight smirk.
   Diana laughed. She turned back towards the floor, only to see Bart standing in front of her with a stupid grin on his face. His tux was a little disheveled; Diana guess he'd been using his super-speed.
   "So!" he said excitedly, "You wanna dance?"
   Diana began to shake her head, but couldn't help laughing at Bart's insane goofiness. Here he was, a curly-haired boy a year younger and four inches shorter than her—and he wanted to dance. She nodded her head, and Bart pulled her by the hand toward the dance floor.

   Bruce left early, not wanting his presence to cause any problems. Diana, Bart, Clark, and Lois spent the night laughing and dancing together. Despite the drama that had led to their being here, tonight they were nothing but the best of friends. Whether as allies in a war against crime, as brothers and sisters, or as boyfriend and girlfriend, they were never closer to one another than they were here and now.
   And, at the center of it all, Lois and Clark held one another.

Sisters

2011-01-23T01:24:00.003-06:00

Lois ever-so-slowly applied her makeup in the mirror.

Lucy sat on a stool at her side, barely containing her glee.

Lois heard a rapidly repeating creaking noise, and shot an irritated look at her sister through the mirror.

"Lucy, if you don't stop rocking back and forth, I'm going to break that stool in half over your head."

Lucy immediately stopped moving. "Sorry... it's just exciting!"

"Why are you excited?" Lois asked.

"Because!" Lucy replied, her eyes full of wonder. "You're going to a DANCE! With a BOY!"

"So? I've gone to a couple dances before."

"Yeah, but I was TWELVE then. I'm THIRTEEN now. Now I actually care."

Lucy sighed longingly. "I can't wait til I get to go to a dance with a boy."

"Long as you give me his name and address so I can stab him later, go for it."

"Lois! YOU WILL NOT!"

"Sorry, Lu. Totally stabbing him."

Lucy rolled her eyes and half-smiled at her sister.

"So... is Clark your new boyfriend?"

Lois's face blushed with equal parts surprise and frustration. She hadn't even mentioned Clark's name to Lucy.

"Lu, have you been looking at my phone again?!?"

"No! Honest!"

"Then how did you know Clark's name?"

"He... he came by the Saturday before last. When you went out for your walk, and you were gone for hours and hours..."

"He came here?"

"Uh-huh. He was looking for you."

Lucy got a sheepish grin on her face. "I think he really likes you."

Lois pushed back another blush with mock-confidence. "I'll bet he does."

Lucy gave Lois the "oh, please," look. "Come on, Lois. You're not THAT pretty."

Lois spun around and whacked Lucy over the head with a hairbrush.

"OW!" Lucy yelled.

"Girls, keep it down in there!" their father yelled from down the hall.

"YES, SIR!" both girls immediately replied.

Lucy quietly continued her earlier statement. "...I mean, it's not like anyone else is asking you out."

"That's because I intimidate them with my sharp wit and evil stares," Lois said nonchalantly.

"Why?" Lucy asked innocently.

"Because. Most boys don't deserve attention."

"But won't you scare off the good ones, too?"

"If they get scared that easily, they're not worth my time."

"So... Clark isn't scared of you, huh?"

"...No. He isn't."

"So he's worth it?"

Lois smiled.

"Yeah. He is."

Interrogation

2011-01-17T12:58:00.000-06:00

As the bell rang, students at Excelsior quickly left their classes, slowly making their way towards the cafeteria for lunch. But Bruce's mind was on anything but food at the moment. While the hundreds of other students went about their business as normal, worrying about nothing more than finals and prom dates, Bruce alone understood the true danger the city was in.

Bruce lifted his eyes to the hallway in front of him, and saw another student exiting class a few doors down. Bruce had a sudden realization: he was not the only person in the school who knew what was happening. He hunched his shoulders slightly forward—imperceptibly to anyone not paying attention to him—and took slow, deliberate steps down the hall. He weaved through the crowd like a predator stalking a kill. He timed his steps so that when he reached his target, none of the other students were facing his direction.

He grabbed the other student by the arm, twisting him around and literally throwing him into a nearby science lab, now empty during the lunch hour. The other student, too surprised to react in time, hit a counter and slipped to the floor.

Bruce shut the door behind them, and the other boy felt fear crawl up his spine. The look in Bruce's eyes—it wasn't hatred, or insanity, but a determined wrath. Lex Luthor cowered slightly, crawling back a couple of feet. Bruce saw Lex's face and knew something was wrong with him—more wrong than usual. Lex's usual mocking grin—the one he often used to hide his fear of inadequacy—was gone. His bald head was covered in sweat, and his eyes seemed weary. Something was definitely weighing heavily on him.

Bruce lifted Lex up by the collar and shoved him into the counter.

"You know what your father's doing, don't you?" Bruce said. His voice was quiet, yet rumbled with a forceful, almost snarling undertone.

Lex tried to play it cool. "Y-you tell me."

Bruce unconsciously let a short growl rumble from his throat, and Lex responded.

"What do you want me to do?!?"

Bruce leaned back, and his anger faded. Lex's voice wasn't angry, or defiant; it was desperate.

"I don't have a ch-choice!" Lex said, his voice slightly trembling. "He's my father!"

"He's destroying the city," Bruce said firmly. "Is that what you want? Do you want Metropolis to become another Gotham?"

"Of... of course not. But my—"

"You can stop him!"

Lex stood in silence for a moment, as if stunned by Bruce's statement.

"...No, I can't—"

"YES, you can. No one's closer to him than you are. You can gather evidence, give it to the police; anything."

"...No. I'll stand with my father. He's a thousand times the man you or anyone else in this city will ever be."

Lex gathered himself and walked to the door.

Bruce's anger boiled. "You're a stupid kid, and your inane loyalty to a madman is destroying lives!"

Lex spun around and shot Bruce a look of anger through tear-filled eyes.

"You don't know a thing about me, Wayne."

Secrets

2011-01-10T00:36:00.000-06:00

   Bruce frowned as he scanned the local news reports on his computer. Despite all the chaos across the city, a strange pattern was beginning to emerge.
   He dialed his phone.
   "Hey there," a voice on the other side answered.
   "...Bart. I need you for something. Can you get over here?"
   "Sure. Gimme a second."
   Thirty seconds later, the elevator door opened and Bart stepped out.
   "Man, that elevator is SLOW."
   Bart was suddenly surprised to see Alfred standing on his left, patiently holding a tray of donuts. If there was anything faster than Bart's feet, it was Alfred's preparedness. Bart smiled, politely nodded, took a donut, and walked over to Bruce in the living room.
   "So, what's up?"
   "I have a theory about what's been going on with the rise in crime lately."
   "Another one? I thought we decided it was Luthor's thugs goin' crazy."
   "Maybe not."
   "...Okay, so what is it, then?"
   "I'm not sure. But I've been looking through the patterns here, and they're a little too regular. During every period of three days, the number of major thefts stays between five and six. Every four days, there's between three and four fires. Murders are a little more random—probably because it's harder for whoever's controlling this to manage collateral damage—but still close enough that it's almost a pattern."
   "Wait. You said someone's controlling this?"
   "Someone has to be. Otherwise there'd be a lot more randomness here. This looks like someone is trying to seem random."
   Bart thought about that for a moment. "So... what does that mean?"
   "It could mean that one of the top-level bosses under Lionel's command has secretly taken control of the entire operation now that Lionel's falling out of favor, but he still wants to make it appear as though there's still no leader."
   "...And why would he do that?"
   "So that Lionel's assassins won't take him out."
   Bart squinted his eyes. "Are you sure you're not overthinking this?"
   Bruce relaxed his shoulders. "I'm not sure. I might be. That's why I want to find out what's really going on."
   "Cool. And how're you gonna do that?"
   "That's what I need you for."
   "...How so?"
   Bruce grinned. "It's pretty simple, really."

   Luthorcorp Tower stood like a gleaming pillar of silver dominance. From where Bart and Bruce were standing—about a block down the street—it looked like a golem, ready to crush trespassers.
   Bart regarded it with unease. Bruce regarded it with slight amusement, as though he found Lionel Luthor's need to build such a huge headquarters rather funny.
   "We're going in there?" Bart asked incredulously.
   "Nope," Bruce replied. "We're going in there."
   Bruce pointed to the tower's parking garage.
   Bart nodded as if he understood, but truthfully still wasn't sure what was happening. "Okay... so what's the plan?"
   Bruce subtly tilted his head toward an alleyway to their right and walked in that direction. Bart followed. When they were both safely in the alley and out of view of the street, Bruce laid out his plan.

   Bart zoomed down the street towards the parking garage. Moving at that speed, he appeared to onlookers as nothing more than a flittering shadow. He jumped the gate at the garage, then ran all the way to the nearest door into the tower. Looking up, he saw a security camera. He was essentially invisible to the camera, of course. But that wasn't the problem.
   Bart had realized something recently: when he moved at super-speed, friction and physical impact didn't affect him the same way. He could slam face-first into a wall at eight hundred miles an hour and be hurt no worse than if he'd simply stubbed his toe.
   He jumped up, still moving too fast to be seen. He punched the camera, shattering it into a hundred pieces. Satisfied with his work, Bart turned around and sped back out of the parking lot. Two seconds later he returned, carrying Bruce over his shoulder. Bart slowed out of super-speed crouched behind a car thirty feet away from the door. Bruce, sitting on the concrete floor, shook off the shock by taking deep breaths. Bart was just glad that Bruce wasn't throwing up.
   Twenty seconds later, the door opened and an overweight man in a security guard's uniform walked out. Before the door could slam shut behind him, Bart sped inside—Bruce once again slung over his shoulder.
   On the other side of the door was a long hallway lined with nondescript blue doors. Without slowing down, Bart quickly moved forward.
   Although he didn't make any effort to show it, Bart was actually smarter than he seemed. He knew quite a bit about how the human body moved; the science of walking and running. He figured that for the security guard to have gotten to the door in about twenty-two seconds—considering his girth and height—he must have started walking from... there. A door marked with a "SECURITY ONLY" sticker.
   Bart put his pointer finger to the door lock and pushed. The circular lock slid inwards slightly and cracked. Bart winced; he'd almost jammed his finger doing that. Apparently security door locks were tougher than cheap cameras. Still, it had worked. Bart turned the handle and opened the door, swiftly moving inside and shutting the door behind them.
   The room was filled with two dozen security camera screens above a computer desk. Bart set Bruce down in an empty office chair in front of the desk. When Bart took his hand off Bruce and shifted out of super-speed, Bruce almost immediately snapped open his eyes and began typing at the computer.
   Bart was beginning to worry that Bruce might be a robot.
   Bruce typed as fast as he could, but stopped when he saw the security guard returning on one of the camera feeds from the hallway behind them.
   Bruce immediately stood up and pulled a sheet of paper out of his pocket, handing it to Bart.
   "Here. Input these commands as fast as the computer will respond."
   Bart nodded in a tenth of a second, then zipped straight into the chair and began typing away.
   The mouse and keyboard were a blur of clicks and taps. Several screens on the wall filled with static, and a small red light gently flashed on one of them. On the other side of the hall, the guard's heavy footsteps could be heard tapping the faux-marble floor. They inched closer and closer, until the sound reverberated off the door itself.
   Bruce looked back at the hallway camera. He saw the guard's hand reaching for the handle.
   Suddenly, a sharp crackle sounded from the guard's radio.
   "...Silent alarm at the Northeast door; repeat, silent alarm at the Northeast doorway..."
   The guard lowered his hand from the door handle and ran off down the hall towards the other side of the building.
   Bart breathed a sigh of relief. He looked at Bruce for reciprocation, but Bruce retained his unearthly calm manner.
   Bart rolled his eyes. "What did you—er... I—just do?"
   "Remotely disabled a few cameras and tripped a silent alarm. Sent them on a wild goose chase."
   Bart rolled his eyes again, standing up to give Bruce back his seat. "How do you know how to do that, anyway?"
   Bruce sat down and began working again. "I spent a lot of time last semester learning security systems from the IT guys at Wayne Tower. Since we have a rival system to Luthorcorp's, it's important that we know their system inside and out, so ours can be better."
   "Huh. Cool."

   After a few minutes, Bruce finally found what he was looking for. With a few more keystrokes, he combined the myriad of side-by-side security monitors into one giant display—showing one massive image of Lionel Luthor's office. Bruce inserted a flashdrive into the computer, and clicked through a few folders.
   "What are you doing?"
   "Copying all of the footage from Lionel's office over the last three weeks."
   "Does it have sound?"
   "Yes. Why?"
   "Can you turn it on right now?"
   "Yes... why?"
   Bruce looked up to the giant screen and saw what Bart was referring to. About a dozen well-dressed men had all just walked into Lionel's office. "They must be Lionel's twelve crime lords..." Bruce said with surprise. He clicked on the audio, and Lionel's voice filled the room.
   "...want you all to keep following the plan. I understand this is unusual, but it is of the utmost importance."
   "Mister Luthor..." one of the other men began. "Some of my men are... uneasy with all of this. I mean, this is Gotham-level insanity we're causin' here. No one wants to just go torch warehouses an' off people for no reason. What's the point?"
   The other eleven bosses uncomfortably shifted in their places. A few of them shot him looks of bewilderment. Clearly, no one was supposed to question Lionel's judgment. Ever.
   Lionel met the man's gaze for a few silent moments, then cracked a satisfied grin. "Very prudent of you, William," Lionel said.
   "Just Bill, sir," William said.
   "Nonsense," Lionel responded. "William is a far more... authoritative name. You are quite justified in your concerns, and I appreciate your honesty. After all, a king cannot rule without first addressing the needs of the commoners."
   The other bosses all tossed each other silent awkward glances. Lionel's royal arrogance, although perhaps justified considering his position, was still very off-putting for most.
   "We are creating chaos," Lionel said, "in order to show those in supposed positions of power that our control of Metropolis' underworld is, in fact, the lesser of two evils. That if they wish to unravel our identities as leaders of the criminal element, and take us into custody, they should beware of the consequences. They should see a criminal world without us. They should see the true chaos that they will unleash."
   The bosses nodded in understanding.
   "Is that sufficient for you, William?"
   William nodded. "Yes, Mister Luthor."
   "Good."
   Lionel's face turned terribly grave. "I trust your curiosity does not extend into disloyalty?"
   William began to stutter in fear. "N-no, sir. Absolutely not."
   "See that it doesn't."

   Bruce switched off the video, and sunk his face into his hands.
   "He's the one doing it," Bruce said. "He's still in control. He just wants the police to think he's not, so they'll be scared into not arresting him."
   "Woah..." Bart said incredulously. "He's burning the city and having people killed just to prove a point?"
   "Yes. That's exactly what he's doing."
   Bruce switched the normal camera screens back on, and checked the hallway. The guard was about fifty feet away, and walking closer.
   "Looks like our ruse is over."
   Bruce shut down the file transfer and yanked his flashdrive before inputting a single command that completely reset the entire system back the way it was before they'd arrived.
   He stood up. "Alright; let's get out of here."
   Bart firmly grabbed Bruce's arm. A tenth of a second later, they were gone.

Escalation

2010-12-08T01:27:00.000-06:00

   "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

2010-11-23T01:21:00.000-06:00

   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

2010-11-20T00:28:00.001-06:00

   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

2010-11-18T00:39:00.000-06:00

   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

2010-11-17T00:12:00.000-06:00

   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

2010-11-09T21:40:00.000-06:00

   "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

2010-10-31T01:47:00.004-05:00

   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

2010-10-29T00:49:00.004-05:00

   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.

2010-10-28T00:13:00.000-05:00

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

:(

Contemplations

2010-10-21T14:34:00.000-05:00

   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

2010-10-19T01:59:00.000-05:00

   "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

2010-10-12T03:36:00.005-05:00

   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

2010-10-09T00:21:00.000-05:00

   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

2010-10-04T18:08:00.000-05:00

   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

2010-09-11T02:33:00.002-05:00

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

2010-09-05T18:32:00.003-05:00

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

2010-09-02T01:15:00.034-05:00

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

2010-09-02T00:30:00.003-05:00

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

2010-08-11T21:42:00.001-05:00

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

2010-08-02T01:43:00.000-05:00

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."

Buddy Talk

2010-07-26T00:56:00.005-05:00

Bruce heard the elevator doorbell ding. Slightly surprised, he moved to open the door.
Clark was standing on the other side. "Um... hey," he said.
"...Hey," Bruce replied. "What are you doing here?"

Clark paused for a moment. "...Diana asked me to the Winter Formal."
Bruce nodded upwards in understanding. "Ah. Come on in, then."

Bruce walked over to the fridge. "Want something to drink?"
"Sure; thanks."
Bruce leaned into the fridge and grabbed a soda can, tossing it to Clark before grabbing one for himself.

Clark looked down at the can. "Root Beer. My favorite. How'd you—"
"You're a farmboy from Kansas. It was either that or Dr. Pepper, and I figured you had better taste than that."

Clark grinned a little.
"So, did you say yes?" Bruce asked, taking a seat at the bar next to Clark.
"Well, yeah," Clark said. "I mean, I didn't have any reason not to go, and it's not like I'd be going with anyone else."
"Mmm," Bruce hummed, sipping his drink. "So do you like her?"
Clark wasn't sure how to respond. "Uh... well, I mean... I don't know."
Bruce raised an eyebrow at him.
"I think she's great and all," Clark began, "but I'm not sure that I want to be dating her."
Bruce knew what he meant. "You think of her as a friend, and you're not sure you want to be changing that."
"Yeah."

Bruce paused for a moment. "You know she likes you, right?"
Clark winced. "I was worried about that. Are you sure?"
"Mmhmm. She looks at you differently."
Clark wasn't sure he wanted to hear the answer, but he asked the question anyway. "What do you mean 'differently'?"
"She looks at everyone pretty much the same way. Like they're nothing special. She cares about people, a lot more than she lets on, but she doesn't show it. Except with you."
"Why would she do that?"
Bruce looked at Clark like he should know the answer already. "You two are maybe the only people on Earth who can fly and punch through solid steel. And besides, you're probably the only guy in the universe who can actually live up to her insane moral code."
Clark was confused. "...insane moral code?"
Bruce raised an eyebrow again. "You haven't noticed?"
Clark shrugged.
Bruce looked out the window across the city as he gathered his thoughts. "She and I talk sometimes while we train. I've gotten to know her a little. Back on her island, the women are indoctrinated with this belief that the outside world—'Man's World'—is corrupt. If I understand correctly, she's supposed to eventually become the 'Ambassador of Truth', who is supposed to fix the world's morality problem."
Clark frowned at this. "She's supposed to WHAT?"
"Yeah. Exactly," Bruce said dryly. "She's supposed to 'act as an example', to show mankind the error of its ways. Like a high-and-mighty priestess."
Clark sighed. This certainly all made sense to him now. Diana always did seem a little detached... and maybe a little judgmental. But on the other hand, Clark wasn't the type to let himself assume the worst of anyone.
"Are you sure it's not just that she's... I don't know... going through a weird 'phase' or something? Maybe she's just had bad experiences with guys before?"
Bruce cocked an eyebrow for a third time. It was starting to annoy Clark. "What do you mean?" Bruce asked.
"Well, we know she dated Hal for a while, and that didn't end well."
"Hal?"
"Oh, that's right; you didn't meet him. Yeah, Hal Jordan. He's an ex-boyfriend of Diana's from Coast City. He takes a couple of classes at Metropolis High, but does the rest at the Wayne-Ferris Academy. Diana ran into him in the hallway at school when he first showed up, and... well, it wasn't pretty."
Bruce was surprised. "Hal Jordan is an ex-boyfriend of Diana's?"
"Yeah; you know him?"
"I've been reading up on the Academy and the projects we've got going on there. Hal Jordan is one of the top candidates to begin training for the new prototype aircraft."
"Really? Wow; that's cool."

Bruce was slightly curious at the fact that Clark—who had the power to fly—thought planes were cool. But he kept on-track with the conversation. "If she had a bad break-up with Hal, then that might've only added to whatever nonsense she learned from the other Amazons."
"So... you really think she's an Amazon? From a paradise island?"
"I'm not sure exactly what she is, but what she says is probably true, in a vague sense at least. There's no proof that her 'people' are the true Amazons of myth, but they probably do exist."
Clark nodded in acknowledgment, then frowned. "What did you mean about me being 'the only guy who can live up to her moral code'?"
Bruce paused to think before speaking. "You were raised on a farm, correct?"
"Yeah."
"In Kansas."
"Yeah."
"Your family goes to church?"
"Yeah, my family's gone to the same church for three generations."
"And your parents taught you 'right from wrong,' and all that?"
Clark chuckled a little. "Yeah, definitely. I got a lot of lectures. Still do, sometimes."
"Right. Basically, you're the poster-boy for the American way. You've got that look in your eye, like you always know the right thing to do."
Clark frowned again. "But I don't always know the right thing to do."
"But you figure it out eventually, and you always do the right thing, if you can."
"Well... I mean... if I can, then I try."
"Exactly. You're one of very few teenagers in the world that actually cares about doing the right thing, regardless of what you get out of it."
"Well, I don't think that's true..."
"It is."
Clark became a bit more serious. "No, that's not the case. Just because we hear about all the bad things people have done doesn't mean that there aren't still plenty of good people out there willing to do the right thing."
Bruce halfway-smiled and shook his head. "That's exactly what I'm talking about. You believe the best in people, even when it's not true."
"And you believe the worst in people."
"Do you honestly believe that the average person in this world cares about anyone but themselves and the people closest to them?"
Clark's eyes were firmly set. "Yes. I do."
Bruce let it go at that.
Clark didn't. "Bruce? What do you really believe in?"
Bruce almost chuckled. "You're the second person to ask me that."
"Really," Clark said curiously. "Who was the first?"
"Diana."

Tracker

2010-07-20T22:57:00.000-05:00

Lois walked into the student pilots' lounge at Ferris Air.

"You lookin' for Hal?" a voice said from across the room.
Lois turned to see Jill "Cowgirl" Pearlman sitting on the couch, her wide-brimmed cowboy hat tilted upwards on her head.
"Um... yeah. How'd you know?" Lois asked.
Jill gave her a knowing grin. "You ain't the first girl to come by here lookin' for 'im."

Hal suddenly came around the corner of the adjacent door. "Lois! Sorry; I... uh... had to finish something up. You wanna get out of here?"
"Um... okay?" she replied, slightly confused.

Hal waved goodbye to Jill and walked out with Lois. As they walked down the hall, he leaned over to whisper in her ear. "So... um... we should go someplace. Someplace without cameras everywhere."
Lois nodded. "Okay. Let's get lunch."
"Great. Oh, and could we take your car?"
"Um, sure. Why?"
"Mine... kinda got wrecked last week. Mostly not my fault."

Lois sighed and rolled her eyes. She was beginning to understand why Diana had dumped him.

Ten minutes later, they sat at a diner. For some reason–beyond the comprehension of most every girl he ever dated–Hal loved retro-style diners. Something about the all-American atmosphere and the unabashed midwestern spirit appealed to him.

"So, what is it exactly that you wanted to talk to me about?" Lois asked.
Hal leaned in. "Okay, so you remember how Lionel walked into the base that one day and literally said he'd own the place pretty soon?"
"Yeah. He tends to say that about everything. What about it?"
"Well..." Hal reached into his pocket. "I found this on the underside of one of the planes in the hangar yesterday."
Hal held up a quarter-sized metallic circle, its center crammed with a circuitboard, a flashing LED light, and a dozen metal pins.
Lois took it from his hand and looked it over carefully. "And it's not supposed to be there?"
Hal shrugged. "As far as I can tell, no. It was stuck to the bottom of the Javelin prototype, and I've read the files on that thing's systems over and over again."
Lois raised an eyebrow. "They let you read all the files on their experimental prototype?"
"Pilots are required to read all the technical information on their planes. They need to know what they're flying, inside and out, before they ever get in the air."
"Well, sure, but this is a prototype. And they let a high-school student have access to its files?"
Hal awkwardly rolled his eyes. "Well... they only gave us basic information. The rest I managed to copy off their computer systems."
"...How?"
Hal had the slightest tinge of a proud smile. "The computers on-base aren't firewalled from each other. I just had to get on the receptionist's desk computer and it wasn't much trouble hacking through to the main system files. Took me about a week to get through the encryption on the blueprints, but it was worth it."
Lois was almost shocked at Hal's nonchalant attitude towards his obviously illegal actions. She shook it off, however, and kept herself from getting distracted. "So you think this is a Luthorcorp bug or something?" she asked.
"Yeah, that's what I'm thinking."
"So why didn't you take this to your boss?"
"Well... I, uh... I wasn't actually supposed to be in the hangar at all, let alone near the Javelin."
Lois's head slammed down into her hands.

Hal was used to these types of reactions, and patiently waited for her to look up again.
Eventually, she did.
"So what do you want me to do about it?" she asked.
"Um, actually, I don't know. I figured that since you're a reporter and everything, you've got connections. I mean, you hugged Lucius Fox, and the word is you're dating Bruce Wayne."
"...Okay, you've got a point. Lemme think here..."
Lois squinted her eyes shut for a moment.
"Okay, I've got an idea. Lemme make a call. I think I know who we can talk to."

-

"Well, it's definitely a Luthorcorp design."
"How can you tell?"
"It's got their tech design team's signature all over it, and they're one of only a few companies that use that exact metal alloy."

Hal stood back and watched as Lois and her friend looked over the device. Lois had insisted that this fifteen-year-old kid, "Ray Palmer," was some kind of techno-supergenius-prodigy. He had already graduated from high school, and was taking distance-learning classes from Harvard. Lois had interviewed him once or twice for the Daily Star, and he was a nice enough guy to help her out whenever she needed information on anything relating to technology.

"You're sure?" Lois asked.
"Yeah, definitely."
"So what's it for?"
"See this, here?" Ray pointed to a tiny section of the disk's circuitboard with a pin. "That looks like a super-miniaturized transponder. And the rest of it looks like stuff for measuring altitude, speed, hull temperature, energy output, and whatever else. This thing is basically a really elaborate tracker. It can tell whoever it's transmitting information to—probably Luthorcorp—exactly what's happening with the plane. Where it is, how fast it's going, how well it's running... pretty much everything."

Lois sighed. "...wow."
"Yeah," Ray said plainly.
"Okay, thanks, Ray." Lois said.
"No problem. Call me if you need anything else. Nice meeting you, Hal."
Hal waved. "You too."

As Lois and Hal left Ray's lab—which was in his parents' basement—Lois was smiling. Hal was confused by this.
"What is it?" he asked.
She turned to him with a huge grin. "We've got 'em."

Lois Alone

2010-07-14T15:40:00.000-05:00

Lois dodged a twenty-foot banner as it fell from the ceiling. Metropolis High's overenthusiastic event-planning crew wasn't the smartest bunch of kids, and they'd already dropped the banner a couple times before. This time, Lois had had to stop in her tracks in order to avoid getting wrapped in the blue plasticky paper. She hated stopping. One short glare from her was all the boy on the ladder needed to see; he hurriedly began clumsily pulling the banner out of her way.

She glanced at the blue-and-white text written across the banner before passing on:
"Christmas Formal, December 5th!"

Lois did the math in her head. December 5th was three and a half weeks away. She would have to endure the obnoxious teenage "excitement" over the dance for another twenty-four days.
Grumbling to herself as she walked, she reached the Daily Star office and sat down in her chair.

A burst of wind blasted through the room. "Hey," Bart said, suddenly appearing at her side. "What's up?"
Lois, severely startled and very irritated, restrained herself from snapping at him. "Someone dropped a banner in the hallway. Why don't you go help them fix it?"
"Sure thing," he replied.
He zoomed out the door, then reappeared less than two seconds later. "Okay, done with that. Now what?"
This time, Lois snapped. "Bart! I'm BUSY right now!"
"Okay, Okay!" he said defensively, running back out the door again.

Lois waited for another few seconds to make sure he was really gone.
...
He really was gone. She turned back to her desk and started to pull up her email when two voices crept closer to the doorway.
"Did you see the way that mugger tried to stab me?"
"Ha! Yeah, it's like he couldn't already tell that you were super-strong by the way you'd thrown his partner across the alley."

Lois slammed her head into her keyboard and let it sit there. She was not in the mood to hear these two talk about their latest crimefighting adventure.
Clark and Diana walked through the door, moving over to one of the desks and casually leaning against it while they continued talking.

Lois felt bad about how irritable she'd been lately. It wasn't that she didn't like school dances, and it wasn't that she didn't like the fact that Clark, Diana, and Bart had been working together for the past week and a half fighting crime in the city. She just hated the fact that all of those things, as good as they were, made her feel more alone.

She'd been to a few school dances with Bruce before. He had always been both a perfect gentleman and the most handsome boy there, making Lois, for one night, the envy of every other girl—which she rather liked. But lately, she and Bruce had been less friendly with one another. Ever since Bruce had started his "combat training" with Diana, Lois felt the slightest bit uneasy about him. She saw how he paid less and less attention to her. It probably wasn't Diana's fault at all; he was probably just focusing too hard on school and his "work" of finding a way to topple Luthor and his crime kingdom. Still, though, that wasn't a lot better. She worried about him constantly. After all, he'd nearly been killed three times in the past few months due to his overzealousness.

But while Bruce had been distant and dark, Clark was always honest and caring. Lois constantly found herself surprised by Clark's kindness—and he certainly gave Bruce a challenge in the "who's hotter" arena. Not that it mattered, anyway. Lois wasn't anywhere near ready to break up with Bruce, and as far as she could tell, Clark and Diana were becoming very close.

Clark took half a second to turn to Lois and give her a "hello" nod.
"Well, at least that's something," Lois thought to herself.

"So... Clark..." Diana slowly said, "are you going to the Christmas Formal?"
Lois's eyes shot over to her. Diana was sitting on the desk, her ankles crossed, and a slight bit of shyness across her face. Apparently, under the right circumstances, Clark even made an amazon feel bashful.
"Yeah, maybe," Clark responded.
"Well..." Diana began, "would you like to go with me?"
"Uhh..." Clark responded, turning towards Lois for a second. He was clearly embarrassed that Diana was asking him in front of Lois. Diana didn't really care who was watching; she never really cared much what other people thought of her.
Clark wasn't sure exactly what to do, so he accepted. "Um... sure, yeah."

"Great!" Diana said excitedly. "Oh, and... you'll have to come over for dinner. My mom'll want to meet you."
Clark was confused and wary. "Wait, what?!"

The bell rang. Thank god, Lois thought.

The two super-teens left the room on their way to class. Lois had the rest of the day free, so she could finally be in peace, alone.
Her phone rang.
She pulled it out of her purse and looked at the name: Hal Jordan.
"Hello?"
"Hey, Lois? It's Hal, remember me?"
"Yeah, of course."
"Okay. Well, before, you seemed like you had some history with investigating Lionel Luthor."
"...You could say that."
"Alright, well... I've... I've got a problem that I think is Luthor-related."
"At the Air Base?"
"Yeah. Can you meet me here, ASAP?"
"Sure. I'll be there in a half-hour."

Responsibility

2010-07-12T23:02:00.001-05:00

"Son, is something wrong?"

It wasn't like Clark to actually be home by three in the afternoon. His adoptive father, Jonathan Kent, had found him sitting in the kitchen, staring out the front window with that same "gazing out into the world, searching for answers" look that he always seemed to have.

Clark turned around. "Dad. No, everything's fine. I just... I've got a lot on my mind."

Jonathan smiled. As impressed as he was by Clark's abilities, he took pride in the fact that he was still able to teach his son a thing or two.
"Well, what is it?"

Clark sighed and frowned a little. "I went to Metropolis because I felt like I should be using my abilities to help people there, but so far I haven't been doing much of that. I've been focusing on protecting my friends, but... I think I've been ignoring everyone else."

Jonathan frowned. "Why?"
"Because," Clark slowly explained, "...if I actually pay attention to everyone... if I listen to everything... I don't know that I can handle it. I can hear every scream in the city, dad. Every gunshot, every time a little girl cries. If I don't focus my hearing right, I can hear every time anyone's in pain. And there's millions of people in Metropolis."
Jonathan put a firm hand on Clark's shoulder. "Son, I've known you your whole life. Even when you were just a boy, you cared about everyone, even people you'd never even met before. I know how much it hurts you to see people in pain. But hiding from your responsibility isn't the right thing to do."
"I know, dad... it's just that... I don't know if it matters if I do anything or not! Even if I try, there's no way I can actually fix it all. Even with all my powers, I'm just... me. I can't save Metropolis from itself."
"You don't need to fix it all."
Of all the things Clark had expected to hear come out of his dad's mouth, that was definitely not one of them. He looked at Jonathan quizzically.
"You remember what I always told you about farmwork?" Jonathan asked.
Clark slightly nodded. "Don't let others do your work for you when you can do it yourself."
"That's right. The people of the world can't have you helping them every time they're in trouble; at some point, they'll need to help themselves. You don't need to help everyone, Clark, what you need to do is be an example."
Clark was beginning to understand.
"Of all your gifts, Clark, the most important one isn't flying, or lifting cars above your head, or stopping bullets. Your real gift, son, is that you can inspire others. One day, when you finally show yourself to the world, people will see you and what you do, and they'll have hope."
Clark smiled. No matter how old he got, he was sure that his dad would always be smarter than he was. And he didn't mind in the slightest.
There was one thing that bothered him, however...
"...How am I supposed to inspire people if I can't let them know who I am?"

"Well now, I don't think they need to know that you're Clark Kent, now do they?" Jonathan suggested.
"What do you mean?" Clark asked.
"Maybe there's a way for you to be the symbol people need, without letting them know who you really are."
Clark almost rolled his eyes. "What, like Zorro? I can't wear a mask, dad. I'll look like a criminal. Not terribly inspiring."
"Well, hold on now, maybe you don't need to wear a mask when you're doing your job."
This time, Clark really did roll his eyes. "Oh, so I'm supposed to wear a mask when I'm Clark Kent? Yeah, that'll work..."
Jonathan was slightly amused at his son's youthful exasperation. "We'll cross that bridge when we get to it. For now, you just get back to Metropolis, and you do your job."
Clark smiled. "I think I can do that."

With a sharp-sounding SWOOSH, Clark super-sped out the front door, leaving Jonathan smiling proudly out the window.