Conner in Metropolis. Continuing a thread from 'Dreamers and
Demons'. In his search for meaning, Superboy heads to Metropolis, to
the man with the answers: Superman. What does the Man of Steel know
about Porject Superboy, if anything?
The city of Metropolis was settled by French traders in 1755, a year after the French and British started a war to establish dominance in coastal America. Located along the eastern seaboard of the United States, it's as much a part of the American subconscious as New York, Los Angeles or even Chicago.
It's a jewel, shining brightly against the night. Yeah, that's cheesy, but it's true. Ask five people what they think of this town and you'll get similar responses. "The City of Tomorrow" is the most common one. Yeah, the City of Tomorrow protected by the Man of Tomorrow.
But built by a completely different man. Modern Metropolis—for the past 19 years anyway, is the sole production of one man.
Lex Luthor.
In a lot of ways it was the least he could do: rebuild the city in his image, to his liking. Luthor was born of Metropolis, and it will probably be here that he dies. He was born in Suicide Slum, an impoverished borough on the northwestern edge of New Troy. Born to abusive parents whose more sadistic qualities rubbed off on ol' Egghead. Born of a city somehow lacking in what Luthor felt he needed--deserved--he set out to make Metropolis better...and deify himself along the way.
His parents died in a car crash when he was 14 years old. He traveled the world after that, gaining the capital he needed to build his empire. LexCorp International, the spearhead of Luthor's corporate empire and first sign of the man's burgeoning reach over the city.
In time, through philanthropy and…other means Luthor had revitalized this town, shifting its paradigm from the Berkeley of its day in the 1960s…to the top of the heap in the matter of a few years.
It was some combination of luck and genius that allowed Luthor an eery kind of sway over the town. He influenced elections, owned the courts, and bribed the police on a weekly basis. All to save his own hide.
Clever. Admirable, too, if it weren't so damn underhanded.
Yes, Lex Luthor owned this town. For years. Until Superman literally came out of the sky one day and inadvertently threw down the gauntlet. Superman foiled a staged attempt on Luthor's life aboard the man's own yacht, and the billionaire CEO of LexCorp spent the night in jail.
At that moment, Luthor's hatred began…and grew. How dare someone challenge his power? How dare someone imprison the great Lex Luthor, if even for a single night?
This was Lex's reasoning. His reason for hating Superman came from that gauntlet being thrown down. Superman was not an active enemy; he didn't go seeking conflict with Luthor—didn't blow over the LexTower or try to freeze Lex's assets, because that's not who Clark is.
Superman doesn't know or doesn't acknowledge that some people can be truly, deeply, irretrievably evil. Somewhere in that indestructible heart of his, he sees a goodness in Luthor.
Luthor...well, he's proactive. He wants to strike first and strike hard. That would almost be admirable too…if he weren't so damn underhanded about it. Yeah, Lex wants to strike first and strike hard, eliminating the competition.
Hence, me.
Through me, he had a way of achieving that lofty goal of his: destroying Superman.
So Luthor called up Cadmus, or vice versa, and sent a sample of his DNA down to their labs. Scientists mixed it up with some of Clark's…and let it grow. Into me. But they couldn't see where it was going. I broke free, tore up Cadmus labs somethin' fierce too.
And yet…here I am. A few years removed from that, and I still can't shake Luthor's legacy. It's stupid, but…it's almost like I can feel something inside of me. Growing, absorbing, waiting for the right time.
Waiting for Luthor to crawl out from his rock and make his move. Strike first and strike hard.
This is how it is. Everyday. Balancing Luthor and Superman on the tip of my finger. I'm a bridge between two worlds, with Clark and Luthor standing at opposite ends. And they're staring at me. Silent, neither one of them really wanting to clue me in on their intentions.
Tug of war sucks.
1938 Sullivan Street stands before me, a glittering tower reaching into the night sky. Light floods the streets and claws its way into the night..
Yeah…a jewel.
The building is owned by Bruce Wayne—one of the few business ventures he maintains outside of his 'turf in Gotham City. The Daily Planet is the only other I can think of.
Clark and Lois live in this building. I thought…with everything that's happened lately, maybe Clark could give me some advice. Guidance. Whatever. Something to help me shake this feeling of guilt—if it can be called that—over Bart's leg, and the business with Luthor's Society just hours ago.
He has a way of putting a guy at ease. Whether it's intentional or just one of his more endearing traits, well, I don't know. But hopefully, he can help me.
I'm not…quite sure how to do this. I could fly up to the balcony and knock. But that's too obvious a display of power. I don't want—or need—to attract attention right now.
So I go for the more sensible approach. Push my way through the revolving door and head for the elevators. I manage to catch one of them just before the doors slid shut. I wait for the sensor to detect an arm in the way and pull the doors back automatically, and then slink into the car.
An hunched old woman in a green raincoat and hat stands next to me. I take a place beside her, and slide my hands into my pockets. And I stare straight ahead at the LED number display. Floors click by and time seems to slow down.
The woman pulls a Kleenex from her purse, swipes it across her nose with a sniff and slides it into her jacket pocket. My eyes glance sideways for just a moment, just enough to see two little beady eyes staring out at me from behind Blue Blockers.
It's awkward. I'm almost scared that she'll recognize me as Superboy or something. But generally…most folks outside of 'Frisco and certain parts of Metropolis don't care enough to put a face to a name. Lucky for me.
"Excuse me," a tiny voice crackles. My head stutters uneasily to the side, to see the little old lady staring at me. Her pink glasses are lowered to the tip of her nose so she can, like all grandmothers, 'get a good look at me'. It's a little creepy.
"Yes?" I answer.
"Where did you get that shirt?" She's referring to my shirt. Jeez. The black tee with the red Superman shield on it. "I've been looking for one for ages with no success."
"Oh," I say disjointedly. "This, uh, came from Schonenfeld's down on Swan Street. They're pretty affordable too. It's just a matter of knowin' where to look, I guess." And I flash a quick smile.
"Schonenfeld's you say?" she quivers.
"Yep. They should be able to fix you up."
The elevator dings and the doors slide open to reveal a long hallway bathed in beige.
"This is my floor. Good luck." I toss up a casual wave and start down the hall. If I'm right, Lois and Clark are the…third one on the right. Or...left? Crap.
I narrow my vision and the x-ray kicks in. I do a quick panorama from left to right...and find her in a few seconds. Lois, slouched lazily in a recliner, a hardback tented over her stomach. From the looks of it, she's half asleep. Should I come back?
I don't even let myself think about it. I'm already knocking on the door. I half expect Lois to open the door, say 'oh its you' and shut the door in my face. It could happen.
But it doesn't.
Lois slides the door open slowly, peeking her head around to see who's ringing at 9:30 at night. A corner of her mouth rises in a half-smile.
"Conner. This is unexpected."
"Sorry about the hour," I say, playing the humble angle. "You're probably busy."
"No, no," she says waving a hand. "Come on in. Can I get you anything?"
"Water would be nice," I say quietly as Lois opens the door and lets me in. She closes the door behind me and walks towards the kitchen.
In front of me, I see the expanse of her apartment—her and Clark's apartment. Ahead of me a balcony sits dark and quiet behind fancy-looking French Doors. A flat-screen television is mounted to a wall, situated between two fully stocked bookcases that reach from ceiling to floor. The leather couch is flanked by two narrow end-tables, one of them displaying Lois and Clark's wedding picture, the other displaying a picture of Clark receiving his Pulitzer.
Memories. It's hokey all right. But it's…comforting. Something I want to work for.
"Make yourself at home," Lois' voice echoes from the kitchen.
I throw myself down in the center of the couch and reach for the weathered copy of NewsTime sitting on the coffee table in front of me. I flip through it, going for the cartoons. But they're political cartoons. Stuff that rolls right over my head. Crap.
I look up and see Lois walking in with a glass of water in one hand and a goblet of something red in the other. She hands the water to me and takes her place in the recliner, pulling the lever and shifting the seatback upright.
"So," she says calmly. "What, uh, what brings you here?"
"I was kinda looking for Clark. Is he—?"
"—on patrol. He'll back soon. Care to wait?"
"Sure," I say after a pause. "You don't mind do you?"
"Nope," she says swiftly. "Not if you don't mind helping a lady with her crosswords."
Continued...