Personal Log: First entry
I'm not supposed to be emotional. Bruce has told me that a million times. But how can I, now that I'm all alone, ignore the feelings that continue to haunt me? How can I, Mom? Dad? How can I be like Bruce? All I know is that sanity is an uphill battle now, and to keep it I need some sense of companionship, something to help me hold on. That's why I'm typing this to you, Mom and Dad; even though I know you'll never read it. We never met, but you have been my only friends through this impossible time. You know, besides Bruce. Sometimes when I close my eyes, I can almost see your smiling face, Dad, with your dark shaggy hair that Mom never wanted you to trim. And Mom, I can almost remember your laugh and see your beautiful red curls that Dad had loved so much. I can't forget that. Don't ask me to. Please.
It's been three years since Bruce's death, and looking back I doubt either of you would believe half of it. I'm not even sure I do, but if Bruce taught me anything it's that nothing is impossible and I've clung to that belief like a lifeline throughout those long years. But don't be afraid for me, guys. It's not as bad as it sounds. Let me reassure you of one thing: I'm not the same girl I was when Bruce died. I have changed. The world has changed. I think you both deserve an explanation as to what has happened, a story if you will. Like the ones Bruce used to tell me every night about his previous adventures with the both of you. Things started really going crazy about three months after Bruce's death, when I decided to take the chance of my first mission. Alone. It probably wasn't the smartest idea, but, as you know, sometimes you just have to jump to be able to fly…
I crouched behind the small tree, hiding in the shadows of the forest. My eyes quickly adjusted to the darkness but, I noticed with frustration, there were still limitations to how far I could see. I silently cursed myself for forgetting the night vision goggles back at the cave and being stupid enough as not to go back for them. Now, in the darkness of the late evening, I would have to proceed even more cautiously than I had planned because of my limited vision. From my position behind the tree, I glanced at the small light coming from the little house. From what I knew about the occupants, I could very well be walking right into a trap. Kent was no fool; Bruce's files had stressed that fact. If I was to convince them I was a friend, I had to make it inside before they fried me. And… I had no idea how to do that.
"Some superhero," I whispered in disgust, shivers dancing almost painfully along my spine. I glanced down at the dark clothing I had selected for this mission. The silent boots had been a gift from Bruce, the dark jeans were taken from Alfred's old closet, and the black trench coat was discovered abandoned in an ally-way one night on stakeout and was still tainted with the smell of smoke. My long red hair that I inherited from you, Mom, was pulled up and out of the way into a loose bun, hanging to my shoulders, though every once in a while a stray hair escaped from the clip and annoyingly fell in front of my face. I nervously fingered the faded white pearl necklace that I never removed from around my neck. How silly it is to think of, huh Mom and Dad? A little girl dressing up like an escaped convict and sneaking into someone else's house to try and collect some allies to fight against the Chancellor of America all because some crazy old dude asked her to.
I sighed. He wasn't just some crazy old dude, I thought sadly. He was my friend. Determination filled my heart. I had to do this. For him, for you guys and for me.
I glanced at the small house again. It had a small frame, old fashioned in style. I guessed the make to be long before the Great Crisis, and the model to have been custom built. The color was a dull white that was peeled in several places. I shook my head. It must have been built a very long time ago to still have used paint. The design seemed strangely familiar and I suddenly recognized it as the old farmhouses that used to occupy Kansas, back when it was a state. He must have built it himself, I mused, wanting it to look as much like his home as possible.
A small noise echoed across the forest and I realized there were voices coming from the house. I wondered briefly why anyone would be up at such a late hour, but I pushed the thought aside. After all, I was up at this late hour. As carefully as I could manage with my limited vision, I stalked towards the unsuspecting house. I discovered within the first few steps that the uneven ground was covered with rocks and pine nettles, making sneaking across without anyone hearing my every footstep very near impossible. Thankfully, Bruce had taught me to be prepared for anything.
Reaching into the titanium-plated belt that was strapped to my waist, I carefully pulled a small device from one of the compartments. It was shaped like a small donut, a circular piece of mental, dark black in color and no thicker than my little finger, with the shiny metal bat-insignia gleaming in the distant moonlight. There was a series of small rectangular buttons placed along one side and I silently pressed my thumb to the first one on the right. The small button faintly beeped, letting me know it was operational as I slipped the device over my ring finger.
Bruce had called the device a "bat-magnet", a tool common only in the last couple of years and available only to those highest on the social ladder. Invented by non other than Bruce Wayne himself, the device had been used to improve transportation not only in Gotham City but the surrounding cities as well. Lex Luthor himself called the invention, "a work of genius" and that "Wayne Industries should be proud of their accomplishment." That is, before he declared the invention dangerous and confiscated all the devices and held them for government use only. Fortunately, Bruce Wayne kept some around for his own "personal" use.
The Bat-magnet instantly reacted to my body heat, quickly confirming from my skin DNA that I was indeed authorized. I knew if I had been anyone else, then the device would have self-destructed, leaving no evidence behind that it had ever existed at all and causing the wearer a pretty nasty headache as a result. I smiled. I should know. The first time I had seen the device, Bruce had tried to explain the security precautions that was programmed into the little thing and I had been reluctant to believe that the device could be so well guarded. Bruce had simply smiled and encouraged me to try it out and, being as gullible as a nine-year-old could be, I took the device and put it on. Instantly, the Bat-magnet lit up like a thousand light bulbs, the light blinding me. I screamed as it blew up in my hand and disintegrated into dust. I had seen spots for an entire week after that and Bruce, with that smug look on his face, had added my DNA to the magnet's memory.
I stared at the little ring. I knew I could have used a million other tools from the Bat-arsenal that would do the job more efficiently than the magnet would, but this one had a memory attached to it. Using it made me feel closer to Bruce and made the loss I felt easier to bear. I shook my head, sending my thoughts to the back of my mind. Now wasn't the time to be sentimental. I still had a job to do.
The voices I had heard before were louder now, as if they were shouting. Must be an argument, I thought. But what are they fighting about? I didn't really want to burst in while they were so upset, but I had waited too long already. Tonight had to be the night. I checked the Bat-magnet, making sure it was firmly attached to my finger and wouldn't slip off, and suddenly felt my feet leave the ground. I looked down and saw that I was hovering a few inches off the ground, my boots dangling over the pine needles and dirt. I smiled. Man, I loved these toys.
I floated across the forest floor as silent as a ghost, never rising higher than a couple inches off the ground. This way, the noisy pine needles lay undisturbed by my boots, allowing my essential silence to be realized and my approach to the house undetected. The sensation was almost like flying, the Bat-magnet on my finger countering the magnetically strong force of gravity and allowing me to rise into the air. I knew I could never go any higher than about a foot above ground or else the repelling magnetic forces would disconnect and I would fall to the ground.
When I reached the edge of the yard, I slowly flicked a switch on the magnet and lowered myself to the ground. By now I could clearly make out the words that were being said inside the house. Or, I thought, wincing from a sudden rise in volume, more like being shouted.
"I don't want you taking such dangerous risks, John!" A female voice yelled. I detected the anxiety behind her words, her fear clearly audible from where I stood.
"Well, what am I supposed to do?" A younger male voice shouted back. "Sit here all day? Go to school like everything is honky-dory? I have to do something, Mom!"
Ah, I thought, the wife and the son. But where is the father?
"Why must you insist on putting yourself in danger?" The mother asked. What was her name again? Ah, yes. Lois. "Must you throw your life away?"
"I'm not going to just pretend everything's fine and try to live a normal life!" The son's anger rose. "It's not something Dad would've done!"
I could almost feel the anger drop from the air and deep sorrow take its place. I heard the mother start crying and the son guiltily rush to her side.
"Aw, Mom, don't cry." He tried to sooth. "I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean it. It's just… I have to do something, you know? I can't just let everything Dad fought for disappear."
My breath caught in my chest. Everything he fought for? As in "in the past"? Over? He's… he's dead? No, I silently gasped. No, no, no, no! It can't be! It just can't!
"I know you want to do the right thing." Lois sobbed. "That you have a responsibility. But I just can't loose you too. Not like I lost Clark."
I crept to the wall of the house and carefully peered through the kitchen window. The mother was leaned against the counter, her head in her hands and her shoulders shaking as she sobbed. Her dark black hair scaled down her face, a few hairs moist from her tears. The son stood next to her, his hands on her shoulders, misery on his face. He had dark black hair, cut short to his ears, and a small curl resting on his forehead. His piercing blue eyes watered with tears though it was obvious he was trying to hide them.
"You won't loose me, Mom." He whispered to her. "You never could. But I have to do something. Luthor has destroyed people's lives. How can I stay in relative safety when so many others are suffering? I need to use my powers to help them, Mom. Or else, what am I?"
I watched as she raised her head and looked at him. "You're my son." She replied in one last desperate plea.
"I'm Dad's son too." He answered softly, and I knew the discussion was over. His mother seemed to know too because she burst into tears yet again. Her son held her in his arms as she cried, sorrow etched all over his face, but a steady determination in those blue eyes.
I turned away from the window, a couple tears of my own misting in my eyes. He was dead. Bruce's only trusted ally was dead. Just like the rest. I sat on the ground, the sheer weight of the disappointment crushing down on me. I placed my head in my hands. I was on my own. Anyone else I could have trusted was dead or dying. Bruce had singled out this man specifically, telling me he was mankind's only hope. That all I needed to do was ask him and he would help me, that I wouldn't be alone. Tears sprung out of my eyes as the hopelessness of my task set in. I was doomed. I had no chance at all. None.
I sat there for a long time, crying in the dirt and darkness. It seemed so pointless to try to leave or keep my presence a secret anymore. There was no point at all. I faintly listened to the sounds of the mother and son bidding each other goodnight and retiring to their beds. I listened, as their breathing became shallow and the son's snores broke through the night. When I was certain they were both asleep, I stood up and brushed the mud off my pants and jacket.
There was something I wasn't noticing. Something that I needed to know. What was the entire conversation about anyway? The son had tried something, something dangerous. What had he done? I ran the conversation through my mind. The son obviously thought whatever he had done would make a difference, a difference against Luthor. But why? Why did he care?
The answer seemed to hit me in the head. His father! His father, the one and only Superman, the Man of Steel! Of course he cared, of course he would want to fight the fight his father did. Bruce's files had briefly mentioned a son, but I didn't think he was very relevant. I mean, big deal, Big Blue has a bouncing baby boy. Who cares? But now I realized his importance. The big man was gone, so that left the responsibility of the world to his son. What was his name again? Jack? Jake? John! I thought. Jonathon Kent, named after his grandfather. I started pacing, my feet squishing in the mud. John did mention powers. Had he inherited the same powers as his father, even with a human mother? I glanced at the silent house. This was my only chance for an ally. He seemed perfectly willing to get into the fight, and if he had inherited the Kryptonian powers…
No! I shouted at myself. I can't do that. He's just a kid!
But then, what was I?
That's different, I argued. I have a responsibility.
But so does he. His father died fighting for this mission, same as Bruce. Didn't John Kent deserve redemption as much as me? I checked the small digital watch on my wrist. It was nearly three in the morning. I shrugged. I had time.
Out of my belt, I pulled a small black cylinder and activated it with the press of a button. I had already memorized the house's blueprints before arriving, but it never hurt to refresh my memory. A glowing screen flashed in front of my face, revealing the detailed plans. I surfed through the design, looking for the most likely place for John to be sleeping. A small room at the back of the house caught my eye, and soon I was trudging through the mud to the backside of the house. As his snoring grew louder, my fingers quickly searched all the compartments of my belt, checking to make sure I had everything within reach in case things got ugly.
The sound of his snore was practically blaring by the time I reached his window, and I silently prayed that if he did want to help me in the mission that I would never have to sneak up on anyone with him along. He sounded like a dying elephant. I silently pulled the fame from his window away; careful not to make noise, but not really sure he could even hear an explosion through his snoring. I slipped through the open space, landing on a carpeted floor, my muddy boots silent on the fabric. The room was dark except for a small glowing light on the bed stand, and I quickly had to stifle a laugh. It seemed as if the Boy of Steel still slept with a nightlight. Like there was anything to be afraid of in the dark.
I cautiously tiptoed to his bedside, the small slivers of moonlight that filtered through the open window allowing me to just make out his features. The snoring was louder now that I was right next to him, and I swear I could have dropped a bomb in his face and he wouldn't have noticed. I squinted at his face, surprised at how normal he looked while he slept. I reached out a tentative hand to shake him awake, my finger inches from his shoulder, when I froze. Something wasn't right. Some small fact at the back of my mind was bugging me, alerting me to some danger. Something didn't make sense. Normally I would have ignored the feeling. I mean, what did I know? It probably was just nerves. But Bruce had taught me to listen to my instincts, and right then they were going crazy.
Think! I told myself. What have I missed? I ran the night through my mind. Had I triggered some trap I didn't see? Were there figures in the darkness I had failed to spot? I glanced around the small room, scanning for any sign of danger. What was it?
Suddenly, the realization dawned on me. I stared at the boy, sleeping soundly and undisturbed. And that was the problem. I silently cursed myself for not realizing it earlier. If John Kent had inherited his father's abilities, then he would have had super-hearing, not to mention x-ray vision. He should have heard me coming from a mile away. He should have seen me spying on them through the wall. He shouldn't be peacefully sleeping when an intruder has not only entered his house, but was standing over him. Even in his sleep, I shouldn't have been able to sneak up on him! My mind ran a mile a minute, searching for some explanation as to how this could be. When I found the answer, it was too late to do much about it as I heard the distinctive sound of a rifle being cocked behind me.
"Stay where you are." A voice behind me said shakily. "Or you won't have a head anymore."