"Reason"
Part 1 of 4
Steave
Not like this, it couldn't end like this.
Jor-El was a marvelous scientist, the likes of which that had never been seen on the face of Krypton. His accomplishments were outstanding. His relationship with the Kryptonian Council, was not.
They never approved of his raving, what they felt was bordering on ludicracy, type machinery and inventions. Jor-El didn't see why the Council had never approved his inventions and discoveries. One, in particular, sent the Council into a frenzy.
The Yellow Sun Theory.
If a Kryptonian were to ever be hit with the ultraviolet rays that that eminates from the golden star, he or she would become in many ways, like a god. Enhanced strength, speed, durability, even the power to fly. Jor-El, while completely confident in his research, was yet to test this theory.
The Council had refused to believe that a mere Kryptonian could turn into a god. The very thought of one of their own achieving this kind of status was impossible. A normal Kryptonian could in no way what so ever turn into a super-being. The Council found this theory repulsive, and a disgrace to all science, Kryptonian or otherwise.
Another explosion rocked Jor-El out of his daydreaming. Only one thing mattered now, only one.
The planet was tearing itself apart. Another fact that Jor-El had presented to The Council, and another that was disregarded. The Council could've built enough ships to save the entire population of Krypton. Now, there was only one ship, for one. A child. His child, Kal-El.
The ship's construction had began an entire year before the catastrophic disaster. A small, child-sized transportation device. Inserted into the ship's computer was a crystal. Jor-El and his wife, Lara, had recorded brief lectures of Kryptonian life, and history. This would help the boy to learn about his ture heritage when the time came.
A pillar of flame discharged through a nearby skyscraper. He could feel the searing heat inside of his own room. The screams were lost in the roaring flames, and Jor-El knew that there was no time. He rushed through the yellow neon-illuminated hallway that led to the room that housed the rocket.
"Dear?"
It was Lara, she was crying, holding their only son. She now looked as if a heavy burden had been laid on her shoulders. The fate of their son's life now lay soley in the hands of his parents.
"Yes Lara, what is it?"
"Will . . . will he make it?"
"Yes my love, our son's future is assured."
"Where is he being sent?"
"To a planet named Earth, it revolves around a yellow sun. He will be known as a god among the men of the world, and perhaps give the people hope that I could not here on Krypton."
"Will he make the journey?"
Jor-El remained silent at this next query. He had made all of the necessary calculations, figured all of the coordinates, and filled the rocket with enough fuel for the journey. All that remained was for his son to have the will to live.
"If his destiny is to give hope . . . then he will."
With that last statement, they entered the dark room. A small cylindar of light illuminated the center of the room, revealing a small rocket. The ground shook with the force of 1,000,000 earthquakes. Krypton was being torn asunder, and their house remained erect. So far, so good.
Jor-El glanced at Lara, and immediately noticed the alarm and trepidation that washed over her beautiful visage. The worry and doubt had consumed her, and she gripped Kal-El tighter with anxiety.
"We have to hurry my dear, time is of the essence."
"You . . . you have always been right my dear, I do not see why I should start to doubt you now."
Lara, reluctantly, handed Kal-El over to his father, only after giving him a tender kiss on his brow. Jor-El looked at his son one last time, peering into his future, trying to convince himself of the man that this boy would become.
"Farewell . . . my son."
Jor-El embraced his son, and placed him into the spaceship. The glass panel sealed behind Kal-El, and the computers began to switch on. Jor-El could smell the Kryptonian fuel emitting from the engine. With a stutter, the spacecraft exploded from its pedestal, and crashed through the window above. Shards of glass fell into the room, and Jor-El knew, it was the end.
"I love you Lara."
"And I love you Jor-El, so very much."
The two shared one final passionate kiss, and then all was overcome in fire and dust. The planet known as Krypton uttered a final cry, and then was silenced with an incredible explosion.
The memories of all lived on in one . . . Kal-El.
--
27 years later.
"Whew boy."
Clark exhaled out of pure amazement at the construct. The Daily Planet, a true skyscraper, and the tallest building in all of Metropolis, was a monument to behold.
Though news journalism was no interest of Clark's, it was the job that best suited his purpose. A purpose known only to a few. A purpose, given to him from his father.
A vision appeared to him of his uncle, John, telling him, "Clark, you came here for a reason. Showing off your talents isn't it. It's something much greater, so very much greater.
Clark was brought back to the present by a very obnoxious carhorn.
"Hey! Buddy! Get outta the road willya!" A disgruntled taxi driver with a face to match his attitude grimaced at Clark.
"Oh, sorry sir." With that, Clark entered through the revolving doors to the Daily Planet, Earth's primary source for information and news.
He entered into the bustling mass of reporters, journalists, photo journalists, editors, and all other categories and subcategories of newspeople. Most were too busy texting on their cell phones or thumbing through various reports to notice Clark mozy his way into the building. A beautiful, yet almost geeky, woman sat behind the front desk of the Planet.
"May I help you sir?"
"Um, yes," Clark said, fidgeting with his glasses, "Perry White wanted to speak to me about the possibility of a, uh, job."
"Mr. Kent?"
"Yup, that's me."
"56th floor Mr. Kent."
"T-thank you miss."
"Anytime."
Clark heard the clerk mutter "loser" under her breath. Everything was going great, just fantastic.
--
"OLSEN! GET IN HERE!"
Jimmy Olsen nearly jumped out of his seat at the "Chief's" words. He had only started a week prior to today and he was already getting used to the sudden outbursts that came from Perry's office. Jimmy had never heard the Chief scream any name quite as loud as Jimmy's. It started to make Olsen feel like he should change his name, maybe then the Chief wouldn't be able to yell it quite so loud.
"OLSEN! I SAID GET IN HERE, NOW!"
"Coming Chief . . ."
Jimmy hurried as fast as he could from his desk to the Editor-in-Chief's office. Behind the desk sat the old and not quite so good Perry White. His hair color was the same as his last name indicated. Perry was an old and tried man, ready for anything . . . almost.
"How many times did I have to yell to get you in here Olsen?"
"Twice Chief."
"That's twice too many, now sit your ass down."
Jimmy did it without even thinking about it.
"Now, we got a newcomer on the scene, he should be here any moment. His name's Clark Kent. When he gets here, I want you to show him around, introduce him to some of our people, make him feel like he belongs here. You got that Olsen?"
"Yes sir, loud and clear."
"Good, now get out there and get me some damn coffee."
"But sir . . ."
"OLSEN!"
"I'm on it Chief."
Today was looking to be a very interesting day.
--
Clark stepped out of the elevator and was ambushed by a rush of reporters. After what seemed like hours, he squeezed through the mob. What time of day do people just rush out of the office like that, I mean, it's only 11 . . .
Clark managed to find a clock, the time was 12, he was already an hour late. Good, excellent, just what he needed.
He walked to the Editor-in-Chief's office and stepped in. Sitting behind the desk was Perry White, an old and tired man with a cigarette in his hand.
"Are you Kent?"
"Yes, yes I am Mr. Perry."
"Have a seat Kent."
Clark sat in the chair, already getting used to this position. He felt he would be here very often.
"So, I understand you want a job as a reporter, is that correct?"
"Y-yes sir, yes I do."
"Well, you're gonna have to learn something first."
"What's that sir?"
"To not . . . be . . . late."
"Oh, about that sir, well, you see . . ."
"Don't worry about it Kent. Now then, we're gonna get you used to the folks that work for the Planet. Now then . . . damnit, excuse me for a second Kent."
"Of course sir."
Perry stood up, exposing his somewhat round stomach, and walked to the door. He opened it all the way and then proceeded to scream, "OLSEN! GET IN HERE NOW!"
Within a flash, a scrawny, pale, orange-red haired kid stepped in front of Perry White.
"You called sir?"
"Now's the part when you got off your ass and showed Mr. Kent around."
"Right away sir."
Jimmy Olsen walked towards Clark, who finally stood up. Compared to Olsen, Clark was and felt like a giant. Olsen was only a young man, fresh out of high school trying to follow in his father's footsteps. Clark, well, he was a different story.
"If you'll follow me Kent, I'll introduce to some of the nice people at the Planet."
"Oh that would be very nice of you Jimmy."
They began to explore together around the floor, stopping to talk to various reporters, none of which interested Clark. Until finally, they stopped at one. A young, elagently beautiful woman with raven black hair. Her name was . . .
"Lois Lane."
"Clark Kent, n-n-nice to meet you Ms. Lane."
"Oh, you can just call me Lois."
"She's the Planet's top reporter. Hopefully I'll be able to photograph one of her articles for her."
"Just maybe Jimmy, now get on out of here with your friend, I got this work to finish."
As the pair walked away, Clark could hear what sounded like ticking. Not clock-ticking, but more like . . . timer ticking. He shot a glance back in Lois' direction. A woman was standing next to Lois, giving her a package. The woman seemed to hurridly run to the elevator after delivering the package.
Clark whispered, "Oh, no."
--
Olsen felt like he was dying.
He was covered in rubble, the entire 56th floor had collapsed, and he knew not how far exactly he was thrown through the floor when the bomb had exploded. He was bleeding internally, and externally, yet he felt like he could've been damaged so much more when the bomb went off.
Poor Lois, he thought. She was right there when the explosion took place, he could only think how horrible she looked, if she was even in one piece. Lois, the star reporter of the Planet, was dead, and Jimmy felt partly responsible. There was nothing any of them could've done, but he felt the guilt and frustration of not being able to do anything.
The sun was shining on him now, the bomb had blown a hole the size of Texas through the wall of the Daily Planet. He could hear the sirens coming towards them, the sign of rescue, but Jimmy felt like he had been rescued. Why wasn't he dead? Why?
Then, almost in response to his thoughts, he saw something . . . or someone floating in front of him, shielding him from the sun. After adjusting his eyes, he could tell, yes, it was a man. Or, at least, the silhouette of a man.
Whoever he was, he was floating, not falling or standing, but floating in thin air. It was unlike anything Jimmy had ever seen before. The sirens began to come closer, and the man glanced at the direction of the sirens, almost telling Jimmy that he couldn't stay for too long.
Out of pure instinct, Jimmy reached for his camera, which remarkably was more intact than he was. He then did the only and last thing he could before he passed into unconsciousness, he took the picture.