Prototype

You have to wait 'til you're seventeen to join the Air Force.  Far as I'm concerned, that's a crime.
Name's Hal Jordan. I may be only sixteen, but I'm already a pilot.  Every second of every day, my feet burn, like they're stuck to the floor.  I want that rush; that thrill of flying.  The best I can get is doing one-forty down the highway when the cops aren't looking, but even that's not good enough.

I took pilot classes back in my hometown, Coast City.  Ferris Aircraft—which, by the way, is one of the top aircraft engineering companies in the country—started up pilot programs for high-schoolers a few years ago.  They figure it's better to start training future pilots while they're still young.  The idea is that most of the graduates will either become Air Force pilots or test pilots for Ferris, so both the Air Force and Ferris have good reason to keep the school running.  Personally, I'm just happy as long as it gives me an excuse to be flying.

The old school back home was fine, really.  The on-base simulator was as close as you can get to really flying, and it's where I learned everything I know about being a pilot—everything I didn't learn from my dad, that is.  This school, though, is a thousand times better.


Hal walked up the steps to the glass doorway entrance of the Wayne/Ferris Flight Academy.
Situated just on the outskirts of Metropolis, this air base—as its name suggested—was a combined business venture between Wayne Aerospace and Ferris Air, acting as an R&D center, a flight base, and a pilot school.  The future of aeronautics technologies were being developed here, and the students at the academy were being trained to use them.

Opening the door, Hal was promptly greeted by the stereotypically-attractive young blonde receptionist at the front desk.
"Hi there; what can I help you with?" she said rather cheerily.
Hal gave her his "ruggedly handsome half-smile," making sure to take notice of her name tag.  "Well, Chelsea, I just transferred in from the Coast City academy."
Chelsea noticed the flirtatious way he'd said her name, and smiled a little at it.  "You must be Hal Jordan," she said.
"Oh? You've heard of me?" Hal said, leaning forward on the desk and still grinning at her.
"Oh, yes, Mr. Jordan," she replied in an overdramatized and flirtatious manner.  "We've been waiting for your arrival ever since we got your transfer application."
Heh, Hal thought to himself, The name tag trick always works.

"Uh... Hal Jordan?"
Hal turned to see a tall African-American man in a business suit standing in the hallway to the right.  "If you'll come with me, please?"
Hal followed the man—who he thought seemed very familiar—but made sure to throw back a "see you later, Chelsea," over his shoulder.

The man began talking with Hal as they walked down the hallways through the building.  "Mister Jordan, your transcripts from Coast City are excellent.  In the few years since the development of the Ferris Air Academy program, no one's had higher flight test scores than yours."
Hal shrugged. "I do my best, sir."
The man smiled approvingly at him. "That's very good, son.  You'll have some competition here, though.  Think you can handle it?"
Hal tilted his head a little in confusion. "Competition, sir?  I thought my test scores were the highest?"
At this, the man got a small mischievous twinkle in his eye.  "Well now, I said we'd never had higher scores than yours, but Cadet Pearlman has tied your score."
"Huh," Hal thought. "Well then, I guess I'd better make sure and kick the crap out of him during flight sessions."
"One thing I'm curious about, though," the man began, "why choose the callsign 'Highball'? You're a little young to know about a drink like that, now aren't you?"
Hal shrugged. "It was my dad's callsign, about twenty years ago.  I never really asked him why."
"Well, that's good enough for me, I suppose," the man replied.

They walked through a door and into the lounge area for the teen students.  There were only about a half-dozen students registered at the Metropolis Base, so the room was rather small and sparsely furnished.  A few gray couches and a coffee table, with a small kitchen area off to the side.  Hal wasn't focused on the furniture, however, but who was sitting on it.
Hal had spent more time staring at girls than he cared to admit.  He was about as much of an expert on the young female form as any sixteen-year-old could be without breaking any federal laws.  The girl sitting on the couch across from him, however, was one of the most jaw-droppingly gorgeous young women he'd ever seen.  She was blonde, wearing blue jeans and a cowboy hat. Her dark blue eyes—which were dimly visible beneath the wide brim of her hat—had an adventurous look to them that would make any man's heart beat twice as fast.
The man who'd led Hal into the room made introductions for the two. "Hal Jordan, this is Jillian Pearlman, callsign 'Cowgirl'."
Jillian stood up and walked over to Hal, holding out her hand to him.  "Hey there, stranger," she said with a rather thick Southern accent. If Hal weren't so surprised by her beauty—and the fact that she was apparently his equal in piloting skill—he might have laughed at the fact that she was almost a perfect "country girl" stereotype.
As it was, he politely shook her hand.  "Nice to meet you."
Hal might have had a reputation for being a hotshot womanizer, but he could maintain a gentlemanly manner when the situation called for it.  Ferris Academy had rather strict rules about students dating one another—apparently to simulate military policies—so this "Cowgirl" was entirely off-limits.

Hal took a second to look around the room, and suddenly noticed something out the adjacent doorway to the right.  His heart jumped up in his chest, and he practically sprinted out the door and into the connecting hallway, which had a glass wall overlooking a massive airplane hangar.  Sitting in the hangar was the reason he'd moved to the Metropolis base in the first place: the Javelin-4.
The primary product of the Wayne/Ferris partnership, the Javelin was a special type of hypersonic jet designed to carry important personnel anywhere across the globe in less than an hour.  It was big—about thirty meters long—and was pointed like a spearhead, with rotatable mini-wings on either side.  Normally Hal wouldn't have wanted to fly something so big and bulky, but the Javelin possessed technologies that no other plane would have for years.  Quite simply, it was the best plane in the world.  And Hal, more than anything else in the world, wanted to fly it.

"Beautiful, isn't she?"
Hal turned to the right and saw a long-haired man in a business suit standing to his side, looking out into the hangar.  Something about him made Hal feel a bit uneasy.
"Uh... yeah. Yeah, she is," he replied slowly.
The businessman suddenly turned to Hal, giving him a friendly smile and holding out his hand for Hal to shake it.  "I'm sorry; I should have introduced myself.  My name is Lionel Luthor."
Hal nodded slightly in acknowledgment—he recognized the name—and, not knowing what else to do, shook Lionel's hand.  "Hal Jordan."
Lionel feigned surprise.  "Hal Jordan? Really? Aren't you the ace pilot from Coast City?  If I remember correctly, your test scores were through the roof."
Hal stepped back slightly and frowned at Lionel.  "Well, sir, I don't know how you'd know that, considering those test scores are confidential."
Lionel grinned at him. "Nothing is truly confidential, for those with influence."
Hal kept up a hard stare. "Alright, you've obviously been looking up on me, so what do you want with me?"
Lionel kept on his fake-friendly smile, but moved closer and spoke in a slightly more hushed tone. "Hal, I'm going to let you in on a little secret.  Although no one knows it yet, everything in that hangar"—he waved his hand toward the hangar—"every nut and bolt of every bit of technology on this base will soon be mine."

"Can I quote you on that?"
Lionel turned around to see Lois Lane, who had a voice recorder held up to his face.  Lionel's face began to show his anger, and he opened his mouth to speak.  He was stopped, however, when the African-American man from earlier walked in.
"Lionel Luthor," he said disapprovingly.  "I don't remember giving you authorization to enter this building."
Lionel sarcastically smiled back at him. "As it happens, Lucius, I'm on my way out."
Hal suddenly remembered where he'd seen the man before.
That's Lucius Fox, the C.E.O. of Wayne Enterprises!
Lionel walked out of the building the same way Hal had come in, leaving Lois, Hal, and Lucius by themselves.
Lucius smiled at Lois. "Lois! It's good to see you! I must say, that was impeccable timing."
Lois smiled back.  "Thanks; you too. It's just a coincidence, actually.  I'm here to see Hal."
She turned to Hal. "So I'm doing some research for the school paper, and we're looking for information on the new transfer students. Your friend, Barry, isn't in the school records..."
Hal nodded.  "Yeah, he doesn't actually live in Metropolis.  He lives in Central City; he just stopped by to say hi."
Lois gave him a quizzical look.  "He just 'stopped by?' Central City is five hundred miles away."
Hal chuckled a little.  "Yeah, well, he's a fast runner."
Lois's eyes went a little wider for a second before she remembered to pretend like she didn't know what was going on.  She fake-chuckled back at him, said her goodbyes, and left.
Hal breathed a silent sigh of relief.  Almost slipped up there.