Action Comics #1
Once more, you wonder the lifeless surface of the moon. You seek Uatu the Watcher, who has been your guide these many months into the realm of the fantastic. The Age of Marvels, he called it, heralded by the arrival of the Kryptonian. You have met the Uncanny X-Men, champions of the oppressed. The Amazing Spider-Man, the everyday teenager learning to take responsibility for his actions. The Fantastic Four, a family of misfits bound together in the pursuit of science. The Batman, the last hope of a fallen city. The Wonder Woman, princess of the Amazons, here to lead her people into a new dawn.
But you have yet to meet the Kryptonian, allegedly Earth's Greatest Hero. You wonder when that will change.
"Greetings, mortal!" Uatu the Watcher says. He is a strange looking figure. Bald, with an oversized head, he wears a blue high-necked cape over a white toga clasped at the shoulder. He looks down upon you with blank white eyes.
"The Age of Marvels has begun!" Uatu continued. "The Heroes have awoken! The Thunderer has been cast out! Evil beyond mortal comprehension gathers at the far edges of the galaxy! The Red Bird of Fire races to meet it! A race of mortals unlike the world has ever seen has been born! The Guardians paragon has fallen! Fear spreads unchecked! The Wizard seeks a new champion, mightiest among mortals! The Four have come together! That which was defeated returns with a new vengeance! Heavy crowns sit on the heads of fell and terrible kings! All this and more! But above all…"
"The Kryptonian has arrived," you finish for the giant.
"Indeed mortal!" Uatu agrees. He seems amused by your interruption. "The Kryptonian has arrived!"
"You keep talking about him," you say, "but we've never actually seen him. When do we get to his story?"
"Now!" Uatu answers.
"Now?" You splutter in surprise.
"Now!" Uatu confirms. "Now is the time to observe The Man of Steel! The Man of Tomorrow! The Last Son of Krypton! The Superman!"
In the far reaches of the galaxy, on the planet Krypton…
"You have to listen to me!" Jor-El, Krypton's leading scientist begged the Science Council of Krypton. Jor-El was a big barrel-shaped man, kept only in shape by prodding from his wife. His skin was the same brown as his eyes. His hair was black. Jor-El wore a red tabard over a black tunic and black slacks. Black boots adorned his feet. On his brow was a golden circlet.
"We don't have to do any such thing," one of the council members said, looking down her nose at Jor-El. She wore a green and black version of Jor-El's costume. She was pale skinned, with blue eyes and kinky blond hair. "The last time we listened to you, we let that maniac Zod loose!"
"He got rid of Brainiac, didn't he?" Jor-El shot back.
"After destroying half of Argos!" the councillor snapped. "And we still lost Kandor!"
"I'm sorry that defeating an evil alien intelligence wasn't casualty-free," Jor-El responded. The councillor shook her head. Jor-El was struck by how much the councillor resembled his sister in-law Alura. Their eyes even had the same gentle slant. Unlike Lara, however, the councillor couldn't see reason.
"That's your problem, Jor-El," she said. "You can't admit when you're wrong."
"I can too," Jor-El said. "The problem is that I'm not wrong. Either about Zod or now."
"No?" the councillor asked. "And how did you come to that well-thought out conclusion?"
"Well let's see," Jor-El said. "According to the militaries predictions, if we had gone with the Council's plan, Brainiac would have destroyed all of Krypton. After sucking all of our data away. So I think the fact that we only lost half of Argos and Kandor is a pretty good outcome, don't you?"
"The public disagrees," the councillor pointed out.
"Much as I respect the public's wisdom," Jor-El said carefully, "and as much as I feel their pain, they're wrong. In this instance."
The assembled councillors reacted with shock and outrage. Furious mutterings erupted, calling Jor-El a tyrant and a usurper.
Jor-El sighed bitterly and looked around the room. It was completely circular. The north wall was transparent, showing off Krypton's natural beauty and bio-tech architecture. On the floor was a shifting pattern displaying scenes from Krypton's mythology. Along the south wall was a semi-circular table. Sitting behind that table were the councillors. In front of it, desperately trying to convince the poll-obsessed politicians to save their own hides, was Jor-El.
Kryptonian government was, allegedly, democratic, scientific and rational. In reality, public opinion held disproportionate sway over the political process. The 'wisdom of the people' was held sacred above all else, even when the people were wrong or misinformed. The politicians themselves did nothing to shape or mold the public's opinion. They just did whatever the polls told them too.
Jor-El smiled bitterly. His friend, rival, and lover Ur-Zod had despaired of the Kryptonian political system and tried to overthrow it, to put himself in charge. Jor-El had nipped that coup in the bud by pointing out just how ill-suited Zod was for government. But Jor-El had to admit he felt the same temptation from time to time.
"And I suppose you think the public is wrong about your predictions, too?" the councillor who had been interrogating Jor-El throughout the meeting demanded.
"Yes," Jor-El said bluntly.
"The public is never wrong," another councillor, with darker skin than Jor-El and straight white hair claimed. "The collective nature…"
"Helps prevent bad ideas and misinformation via a memetic network and cross-pollinization," Jor-El interrupted. "I agree. But the system isn't perfect. The public can be lied to. Or they may not want to face up to reality. Which is okay if we the leadership are willing to take steps to correct the public when they're wrong."
"The Science Council does not lead," the councillor countered sharply. "We follow the wisdom of the people. If you can't respect that Jor-El, then its time the Council looked at whether or not you really should be Chief Geologist."
"Despite my popularity in the poles, you mean?" Jor-El asked with a sly grin. The councillors all shot him a dirty look.
"We're finished here," the chief councillor said. "We will discuss your treasonous statements and delusions next time." The councillors left. Jor-El sighed.
Maybe he should have taken the Green Lanterns up on their offer after all…
Jor-El walked in through the circular membrane that served as the front door to his house, enjoying the slightly slimy sensation. Dryers hidden in the wall turned on, taking care of the slime. Jor-El kicked off his boots, enjoying the sensation of the living carpet on his toes. He stuffed the boots in the front closet, hung up his circlet and tabard, and went into the living room.
Sitting around the table was Lara Lor-Van, his wife, his brother Zor-El and his sister-in-law Alura In-Ze. Lara got up from the couch and ran towards her husband, causing the table to skitter out of the way.
Lara and Jor-El hugged each tightly. Lara was shorter than Jor-El, allowing him to rest his head on hers and breathe her perfume. She was brunette with a pale freckled face and a pert nose. Her eyes were a brilliant glowing blue. Lara wore the same black bodysuit as her husband, accentuating her curves. Jor-El moved his hands downward to cup Lara's cheeks.
"Hey! No groping each other in public!" Alura In-ze said from the couch. Chief Judge Alura In-ze of Krypton was yellow-haired, blue-eyed and fair skinned. She was tall and gangly, a born runner. Her daughter Kara had inherited her build and colouring. She wore a dark grey bodysuit as opposed to black like the rest of the family. While Jor-El knew that the dark grey bodysuit was part of the military and law enforcement uniform, he couldn't help but suspect that Alura was wearing it deliberately in this case. After all, the In-ze family was not part of the Kryptonian upper crust.
"Thank you, but I will grope my husband wherever I damn well please," Lara said, matching action to words by squeezing her husband's butt.
"But the rest of us don't want to see it," Zor-El said, stretching his arms out on the couch. Zor-El was built very much like his brother, being a large barrel-chested man, though he was a little shorter than Jor-El. He was as dark as his brother, with the same brown eyes. "That's the point, sis."
"Too bad," Lara shot back. "This is my house, and I will grope my husband where I like in it!"
"Maybe we shouldn't scar the family so much, Lara," Jor-El said, gently breaking off from his wife. "We can always have fun later."
"If there is a later," Alura muttered darkly.
"Hey now," Zor-El said. He put his arms around his wife. "Don't talk like that, honey. We'll be okay, really. We will."
"The projections are getting worse," Alura said. "According to the latest geological surveys, we have two months at best. There's no way we will be evacuate all of Krypton in time."
"I know," Jor-El said. "I know. We have to start preparations tonight."
"I was afraid you would say that," Zor-El sighed. "I take it the Council didn't listen."
"All they care about is their electoral chances," Jor-El said bitterly. "It doesn't matter that Brainiac's initial attack destabilized the planet or that Zod stopped him destroying us outright. All that matters is the opinion polls. But we are out of time. And we need to get moving."
"I'll contact Astra," Alura said, getting up off the couch.
"Good," Jor-El said. "Lara and I will go prep Kal-El's pod. Once he's launched, we will need to follow right after him."
"Right," Zor-El said as he too got off the couch. "I'll go grab our gear and make the preparations for our pods."
Vice-Admiral Astra In-ze of the 1st Reconnaisance Fleet stood in front of her assembled officers in the briefing room. She wore a light grey tabard over a darker grey bodysuit, the uniform of the Kryptonian military. Like her twin sister Alura, she was tall and gangly, with blonde hair and blue eyes.
"I have bad news," she said. "The Science Council has rejected Jor-El's findings once again. Admiral Alura has given us orders. We are to evacuate to the Phantom Zone to await a signal from Jor-El on Earth in three months' time. Most of Krypton will not be saved."
Alura gazed out on her officers, tears in her eyes. Astra had been a part of this fleet for decades, from before the Zod Coup through to the Brainiac Attack. They were her family, and she was asking for them to give up everything they ever knew for the sake of one rogue scientist. She could only hope it was worth it in the end.
Her niece, Kara Zor-El suddenly went rigid. Her hand went to her earpiece, her eyes narrowed in concentration.
"Admiral," she said. "We're under attack! Kryptonian forces, heavily armed. Security doesn't recognize their uniforms and their not taking prisoners!"
Astra was stunned for a second, but only for a second. "Sound the evacuation," she ordered. "Get everyone to their pods. Now!"
The officers surged out of the briefing room, bellowing orders. Astra could only hope it wasn't too late.
Astra peeled out of the briefing room only to be hit with a hail of blaster fire. She dropped to the floor, beside one of her aids.
"C'mon Jon," she said. "Let's get out of here." She tugged on Jon's tabard only for his blasted head to roll off towards her. Astra swallowed her bile and her tears and inched forward. She didn't get very far before she met a pair of black boots. Shots rang out above her.
"Come on, Admiral!" Kara said, roughly hauling her aunt to her feet. "We need to leave, now!"
"Thanks for the save, Lieutenant," Astra said. She picked up a long-arm from one of the dead bodies and covered her niece's back.
"You're welcome," Kara said, firing at their attackers. "Do you have any idea who these guys are?"
"Not a clue," Astra said. "What about you?"
"Me either," Kara said. "I got a look at their uniforms, though. White tabards on white bodysuits."
Astra searched her memory. "Doesn't ring any bells for me," she said.
"It doesn't matter," Kara said. "They're killing everybody. They're even shooting down pods."
Astra swallowed. "We need to get out of here," she said.
"No arguments there, Admiral," Kara said. "Lead the way!"
Back on Krypton, Zor-El was busy packing when he heard an explosion. Drawing his pistol, he peered out towards the door. There were several Kryptonians, dressed all in white.
"Who the hell are you?" he demanded. They shot him, the blasters tearing him to pieces.
"Zor!" Alura screamed. She drew her own pistol and killed several of the attackers but she knew it was only a matter of time before they got her.
Lara and Jor-El were busy in their private spaceport when Lara's communicator beeped to life.
"Lara Zor-El speaking," she said.
"Lara!" Alura shouted. "We're under attack! I don't know by who or what. They killed Zor. I can't get to you. You need to launch now! Save yourselves!"
"Alura!" Lara shouted, but the communicator was already shut down.
"Damn it," Jor-El said. He looked around the spaceport. Neither his nor Lara's pods were ready. Only Kal-El's was. He started the launch sequence.
"What are you doing?" Lara demanded.
"It's our only hope," Jor-El said. "I've preprogrammed the pod for Ma'aleca'andra. I have some friends there, they will take him in. Hopefully, some of Astra's people got away."
"Hopefully," Lara said. "Damn it, Jor! What the hell is going on?"
"I don't know," Jor-El said. "I don't know. There, the launch sequence is set. We need to get out of here before the pod launches."
"And get revenge," Lara said.
"Yes," Jor-El said, thinking of his cousin. Of Alura, the commoner who had fought her way to the top. Of Astra and Kara, who had dreamed of bright new worlds to explore. And of his son Kal-El, who would now grow up without a father. A mother. A home. "Revenge."
Kara and Astra made their way to the admiral's pod. The sights they had seen had been sickening. The attackers, whoever they were, had blasted apart everyone and everything in their zeal. Kara had seen the corpses of friends blasted apart. Astra had seen her soldiers slaughtered, even as they surrendered. Neither gave thought vengeance. All that mattered was survival.
"Okay, we're here," Kara said, opening the hatch. "Let me just check it out first, make sure there's none of those maniacs hiding out in here."
Kara stepped into the airlock and opened the pod. There was nothing inside that shouldn't be.
"Okay Admiral," she said, relief flooding her voice. "It's clear. We'll just…" Kara was interrupted by someone shoving her into the pod. She spun around in the confined space to find her aunt shutting the pod door and locking it.
"Admiral? Admiral, what are you doing?" Kara demanded.
"I'm sorry, Lieutenant," Astra said, tears spilling down her face. "They've cut us off. There isn't any other pods. You wouldn't make it."
"So? Your life is worth more than mine!" Kara said, banging on the door.
"That isn't true, Lieutenant," Astra said sadly. "You are worth a thousand of me. Goodbye, Kara. I love you."
"No!" Kara screamed as the pod launched. "Auntie! Auntie, no! Don't leave me! Don't leave me all alone!" she sobbed as pod jumped into the Phantom Zone.
Kara was still crying as the pod put her into cryosleep.
"The subversive Jor-El and his family have been neutralized," the white clad warrior said.
"Good," the Chief Councillor said. They were in his office, overlooking downtown Kryptonopolis. The Chief Councillor sat behind his living desk, staring pensively at the biotech monitors.
"Good," he repeated. "Now that we've eliminated all of Zod's…"
The hellspore Brainiac implanted in Krypton's core erupted, sending a burning lance of flame right through the Chief Councillor's office.
In a sense, the Council had been right about Jor-El and his findings. His calculations were way off. Krypton did not have an extra two months; Kal-El's and Kara Zor-El's pods escaped Krypton's destruction with only seconds to spare. Though to be fair to Jor-El, he didn't know about the hellspores.
Gouts of flame erupted throughout Krypton's surface. Seas boiled. The atmosphere burned. Landmasses melted. The only mercy was the flames burned so hot, the Kryptonians died instantly.
That, and two space pods hurtling through space…
Jonathan and Martha Kent of Smallville, Kansas, were stranded on the side of the road. Their beat-up old pickup truck had broken down again, and the Kents were busy trying to fix it.
Jonathan was deep underneath the hood, looking for the problem. He was a big man, barrel-chested, with arms like branches and legs like tree trunks. He was tanned from a lifetime as a farmer. Jonathan wore a plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up and heavy duty blue jeans. On his feet were hiking boots. Black hair was plastered to his forehead. He had a square face with a bent nose.
"Try it again, Martha," he said.
Martha Kent sat in the front seat of the truck. She turned the key. Martha was smaller than her husband, with a pear-shaped figure and a heart-shaped face. She wore a white t-shirt over heavy duty jeans and hiking boots. Her red hair was cut into a short bob. Martha was as tanned as her husband.
The truck slowly came back to life.
"There," Jonathan said, wiping his hands on a rag. "That ought to do it."
"For now," Martha said. "We need to think about replacing this old heap, Jonathan."
"I know, I know," Jonathan said. "I'll get into Joe's…" Jonathan Kent was interrupted by a sudden flash of light and a tremendous bang.
"What the hell was that?" he demanded of no one in particular.
"I don't know," Martha said. "It came from over there," she added, pointing off to a copse of woods over to the east. "I think we should go check it out. Can this thing handle the terrain?"
"We're about to find out," Jonathan said. He closed the truck's hood and got into the seat beside Martha. Martha drove off towards the explosion.
Martha and Jonathan pulled up next to a crater just past the woods. There, inside the crater, was a spaceship.
"Well that's new," Jonathan said as he clambered out of the truck.
"An alien spaceship drops out of the sky and all you can say is 'that's new?'" Martha demanded as she got out of the truck.
"We don't know it's alien, Martha," Jonathan pointed out. "It could be American. Or Russian."
"America doesn't send stuff up into space anymore, Jonathan," Martha said. "And that doesn't look like any Russian spacecraft I've ever seen. Look! You can see writing on the side."
Jonathan peered down at the ship. Martha was right; there was some kind of script there on the side. "Looks like some kind of hieroglyphics," he said. "Maybe we found the aliens that taught the Egyptians how to build pyramids," he joked. Martha rolled her eyes.
"What do you think we should do with it?" she asked.
"Call the government," Jonathan answered. "They've got all kinds of…" The spaceship opened. A baby cried.
Martha ran down the crater's slope, all caution forgotten.
"Martha, wait!" Jonathan said, following after her. It was too late; Martha was already at the ship, gently pulling a bundle of cloth.
"It's a baby Jonathan," she said, crying. "It's a baby. What kind of monster puts a baby in a spaceship?" Martha longed for a child of her own; after the last miscarriage, the doctors warned her not to try again.
"I don't know, Martha," Jonathan said, catching up to his wife. "Maybe it's an escape pod of some kind? You know, like a life raft?"
"Maybe," Martha conceded, gently rocking the baby. The child cooed in soft delight. Jonathan went to the pod to investigate further. Inside were various supplies, including blankets, clothes and what Jonathan assumed was baby food.
"What is it, Jonathan?" Martha asked.
"I'm not sure," Jonathan said, continuing to poke around. "Whoever put that kid in here made sure it was well-stocked. Blankets, clothes… everything a baby would need."
"Except parents," Martha noted, bitterness creeping into voice.
"I'm not sure that was intentional, Martha," Jonathan said grimly. "There's a picture, some kind of hologram."
"What's it show?" Martha asked.
"Hold on," Jonathan said. "It's hard to understand without captions, but it looks like… oh, God Martha."
"What is it?" Martha asked, alarmed by her husband's sudden change in tone.
"It looks like… it looks like the boy's planet was destroyed," Jonathan said, his voice breaking. "Or was about to, anyway. The parents… they sent the boy off. They would join him as soon as they could."
A stunned silence followed Jonathan's words. Martha broke it, saying:
"Maybe they made it. Maybe they're just… you know. Delayed."
"Yeah," Jonathan said, looking up at the night's stars. "Maybe." He looked back at his wife. An understanding came between them: there was no way they would let this child be taken in by the government. Or worse, the mega corporations who would undoubtedly experiment on the poor boy.
"Can the pickup handle the ship?" Martha asked.
"No," Jonathan said. "I've got a tractor that can do it, but it will have to wait until tomorrow. For now, let's get that boy to safety."
Martha nodded and climbed back into the truck. Jonathan grabbed everything he could from the ship and did likewise. Within minutes they were off.
"Jonathan?" Martha asked.
"Yes, honey?" Jonathan answered.
"What do you think about the name 'Clark'?"
"Clark! Clark Kent!" the teacher shouted at the hapless student.
Clark jumped in his desk. He had grown up to be barrel-chested like his father, and his light brown skin had darkened from years under the sun. He wore a plaid flannel button front shirt over a white t-shirt, blue jeans and red-and-blue sneakers. His wavy black hair was cut short. Blue eyes peered out through wire-framed glasses.
"Um, yes Mrs. Glass?" Clark said.
Mrs. Glass sighed while the rest of the class tittered. They were in the math classroom at Smallville High, which combined both junior and senior high schools. The students sat in desks arranged in neat rows while the teacher stood in front and lectured. And Clark, situated in the middle of the class, had fallen asleep again.
"The causes of the American Civil War, Kent," Mrs. Glass said. "Recite them. Now."
"Um," Clark said. "Well, the Civil War started because the Southern States wanted to keep their slaves and support a system of white supremacy. Radical abolitionists, on the other hand, wanted to abolition slavery and integrate black people into society. So…"
Clark was interrupted by angry jeers from his classmates. Mrs. Glass sighed again and tried vainly to restore order.
"You sure have a talent for pissing off your classmates, Clark," Lana Lang, Clark's best friend, said as she walked beside him during lunch. Lana had red hair, gently sloping eyes, and sun-kissed skin. She wore a white tube top that stretched tightly over her pert breasts. A dark green skirt showed off her long legs. On her feet she wore black sneakers with frilly socks.
"It's not my fault!" Clark protested. "The teacher asked me a question, and I answered it. I even gave the right answer, too. What more do they want from me?"
"Probably to not call their ancestors white supremacists, for a start," Lana replied.
"Kansas fought for the Union, Lana," Clark pointed out. "We're not a Southern State."
"Oh, Clark," Lana sighed. "How can somebody so brilliant be so naïve?"
"What do you mean?" Clark asked.
"Never mind," Lana said, shaking her head. "What's with you these days, anyway? You never used to sleep in class."
"I—I was up all night," Clark confessed.
"Doing what? Please say cow tipping," Lana joked.
"Lana! No, it's not like that," Clark said.
"Then what?" Lana asked. Clark fell behind her, unsure of what to say. Lana turned around to see her friend stopped with his head bowed, deep in thought. "Hey," she cooed. "You can tell me. This is Lana, remember? Your best friend since forever? Whatever it is Clark, you can tell me. Is it…" she glanced around to make sure nobody was listening. "Are you trans or something?" she asked.
"Transhuman, maybe," Clark muttered. Lana blinked.
"What?" she asked.
Clark sighed. "I've—been developing these powers lately," he said, fast and low. "Like, all of a sudden I can hear everything. Upstairs, Mrs. Glass and the Principal are discussing the low test scores with the coach. They want to suspend the football team for how badly they're doing in class; the coach wants them to… he isn't saying it outright, but I think he wants to rig the tests. Or ignore them."
"They shouldn't suspend the team for their test scores," Lana muttered darkly. "They should suspend them for the way they treat women."
"That's come up, too," Clark admitted. "From the sounds of it, Mrs. Glass and the Principal are just threatening the coach, though. They don't seem interested in actually defending the girls."
"There's a shocker," Lana said. "What else? Any other powers?"
"Well…" Clark said. "I can see through things, sometimes. Kind of like X-Ray vision, I guess."
"Cool," Lana said. "Wait, how many times have you peeked in on the girl's locker room?"
"Lana!" Clark said. His friend was way too eager when she asked that question. "I would never use my powers like that!"
"You," Lana said, "have no imagination whatsoever Clark Kent." The two friends resumed walking across the field.
"What else can you do? Can you fly?" Lana asked.
"No. Jump good," Clark answered, provoking a laugh from Lana.
"I miss that show," she said. "But can you really jump like Jack?"
"Sure," Clark said. "Sort of. I'm still having trouble with the landing part. I can run really fast, too. Like, faster than a train fast."
"That is so cool," Lana said.
"And I'm strong, too," Clark said. "That's why I was up all night last night. I, uh, broke one of dad's tractors yesterday and I fixed it."
"I knew it had something to do with your guilt complex," Lana said. "You're such a boy scout, Clark." The two friends kept walking. Lana spoke up:
"Hey, maybe you're an alien!" Clark stopped, his head bowed. Lana carried on for a few seconds more before realizing what she'd said.
"Clark, I was kidding!" she said. "You're not an alien. You're just Clark Kent, Smallville's ultimate boy scout." Clark was not cheered by Lana's words. She looked at her friend with concern and compassion for a minute before taking him by the hand.
"Come here you big lug," she said, leading him to a quiet place in the far corner of the school grounds. "I know how to take your mind off of things."
"What do you mean?" Clark asked, confused.
"I mean I want to see how strong you are," Lana said. "Call it a personal experiment."
"Personal…? Lana wait! That's dangerous!" Clark said.
"That's okay," Lana said with a shrug. "I like danger. Besides, I know a few ways to protect myself. Unless you're not interested?" she asked, turning those big beautiful eyes on Clark.
Clark sighed. "Okay," he said. "But you have to show me what you mean by 'protection.'"
"You won't be disappointed," Lana promised him.
Several hours later, Clark was back on the Kent's farm, after running there from the bus stop. The run had taken all of a few seconds, and he wasn't even tired.
First, Clark set out to find his father. Jonathan was in the garage, tinkering with the tractor Clark had fixed earlier.
"Hi, son," Jonathan called out as he felt the whoosh of air. "How was school?"
"I got in trouble for sleeping in class again," Clark admitted.
"Well son," Jonathan said as he closed the tractor's hood. He was built much like Clark, albeit with a lighter skin tone. He wore a plaid flannel jacket, blue jeans and work boots. Jonathan wiped his greasy hands on a rag and continued:
"If you hadn't stayed up all night fixing the tractor, you wouldn't have slept in school today, would you? Not that I'm ungrateful," he added.
"I broke it," Clark said. "I should be the one to fix it."
"That's true," Jonathan agreed. "But that doesn't mean you had to fix it right last night. The tractor could wait a day or two."
"I suppose," Clark said, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
"Something else bothering you, son?" Jonathan asked as he put his rag down.
"I told Lana what was happening to me," Clark admitted. "And then we made out." Clark blushed furiously at admitting that to his father.
"Ah," Jonathan said. "Well, I'd be surprised if you couldn't trust Lana. This will be a bit awkward, son, but did you…?"
"No!" Clark said. "I didn't—I wasn't comfortable with going that far. We just kissed, that's all."
"Okay," Jonathan said. "I believe you, and I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. But given your new powers…"
"I know," Clark said. "I need to be careful. Lana had… some ideas about that," he added. "And they might have worked, too. But we were in school and…" he finished, shrugging.
"Probably better that you didn't let it get too far, then," Jonathan said. "How did Lana take it?"
"Supportive all the way," Clark said. "I'm glad, too. I know a lot of girls who think guys can't or shouldn't say no."
"You don't think some of your classmates would have respected your decision?" Jonathan said.
"I know some of them wouldn't," Clark said. "Hell, most of them wouldn't even have thought as far ahead as Lana did!"
"Makes you wonder what they're teaching in schools these days," Jonathan said.
"Yeah," Clark said. After a minute, he added:
"Dad, what's happening to me?"
Jonathan didn't answer. Instead he said:
"Why don't you get washed up and go help your mother with dinner? We'll talk more later."
Martha Kent stood in her kitchen, dancing to invisible music while she cut vegetables. She wore a black apron with red lettering that read 'Kiss the Cook' over a dark blue t-shirt, jeans and white socks. She had done her brown hair up in a loose bun.
"Someone's in the kitchen with Dinah," Martha hummed while she cut carrots for that night's pot roast. She heard the door slam.
"Hi, Clark!" she called out.
"Hi Mom," Clark called back.
"How was school?" Martha asked. Clark was silent for a moment. Martha grew concerned. Frowning, she asked:
"Clark? Did you hear me? I asked you how school was."
"I heard you," Clark said. "It's… complicated. I'll tell you after I get washed up."
Clark repeated everything he told Jonathan to Martha while he helped her with dinner. Afterwards, the Kent family stood together in the barn once more.
"You remember what we told you about how we found you, son?" Jonathan asked.
"Sure," Clark said. "You said you'd found me at the side of the road, after a car crash or something. You couldn't find my birth family, so you adopted me."
Jonathan and Martha shared looks. "We didn't tell you the whole truth, Clark," Martha admitted.
"What?" Clark asked. Jonathan reached down to the barn floor, brushing aside the straw piled on the floor to reveal a trap door. Jonathan pulled open the door to reveal a spaceship, damaged from a violent re-entry.
"What the heck is that?" Clark asked.
"The 'car' we found you in," Jonathan remarked.
"Are you telling me I'm an alien?" Clark demanded.
"I'm afraid so, honey," Martha said. "We found you in this ship in the middle of giant crater. There was a hologram inside, kind of like a movie. It explained what happened to your people. Your birth people, I mean."
"What happened to them?" Clark repeated. "What do you mean, what happened to them?"
"It's probably better if you look for yourself," Jonathan said. "Once we closed the shuttle door, we never could get the darned thing open again. It's probably one of those fancy biometric scanners, coded only to you. Go on, take a look."
Clark nodded and pressed his hands against the spaceship. The ship glowed brightly.
"Scanning" the ship said. "Scanning. Location confirmed. Location is Earth. Pod is off course. Resetting parameters."
"Wait!" Clark said. "Um, where was your original destination?"
"Scanning," the pod repeated. "Identity confirmed. Subject is Kal-El, son of Jor-El and Lara Lor-Van. Please repeat query."
"What was your original destination?" Clark asked.
"Pod's original destination was Ma'aleca'andra," the pod said. "Known to this planet as Mars."
"Um, there's no life on Mars," Clark said.
"Incorrect," the pod said. "Mars is inhabited by two sapient species, the Green and White Martians. Due to environmental considerations, they live beneath the surface of Mars."
"If you say so," Clark said. "Um, ship or pod or computer or whatever I call you, who am I? Where do I come from? Who are Jor-El and Lara Lor-Van?"
"You are Kal-El of the house of El," the pod responded. "You are of the planet Krypton. Sixteen local years ago, the planet Krypton the Coluan menace known as Brainiac invaded Krypton, destroying the cities of Argos and Kandor. His attacks damaged Krypton's core, which would eventually destroy Krypton. Jor-El predicted this and, with the aid of Lara Lor-Van, your uncle Zor-El, his wife Alura Zor-El and your aunt Astra, devised a plan to save Krypton. Several Kryptonians would launch themselves into space, towards Mars. The rest of Krypton's population would go into the Phantom Zone. Once the Kryptonians arrived on Mars, they would open a portal into the Phantom Zone and bring the other Kryptonians back. From there, the Kryptonians would rebuild."
"On Mars?" Clark asked.
"Unlikely," the ship said. "Mars already has two sapient populations. But there are other planets in the galaxy, ones without any such populations. They could be converted to Kryptonian use."
"That makes sense," Clark said. "So, Jor-El had this plan, right? Where are the other Kryptonians? Where have they been for the last sixteen years? Did they just… forget about me?" Clark didn't want to imply that he was in any way unhappy or ungrateful for the Kent's love and care, but the idea that he may have been forgotten hurt.
"No," the pod said. Clark's spirits lifted. The pod's words crushed them so thoroughly for moment, he wondered if he'd ever be happy again.
"The Kryptonian Science Council, on the advice of several public opinion polls, rejected Jor-El's findings," the pod said. "Jor-El was forced to launch prematurely. You were the first, to be followed by Jor-El, Lara, and the Zor-Els. Simultaneously, the Kryptonian Reconnaissance Fleet was to launch as well. However, a squad of unidentified commandoes assaulted Jor-El's home and killed his family, save you. Shortly thereafter, Krypton detonated, much earlier than Jor-El had predicted. To this pod's knowledge, there are no other Kryptonian survivors."
"Thank you," Clark said, tears running down his face. "That's all I wanted to know." He lifted his hand from the pod, shutting it down.
Martha and Jonathan rushed to hug their son while he howled in grief.
Clark Kent flew through the night sky, a bound and gagged woman in a purple dress on his shoulder. In the ten years since Clark had discovered his heritage, he had gone to school, got a degree in journalism, dated and broke up with Lana Lang, and moved to Metropolis in Illinois, where he got a job as a reporter for the Daily Planet.
He also had a second career. One that involved dressing up in a blue long-sleeved shirt, red biking shorts, blue tights, red boots and a red cape. On his chest was a triangular red shield with a stylized red 'S' on a yellow background inside of it. There was a matching shield on the back of the cape. Around his waist was a yellow belt. His black hair was slicked back, with a spit-curl in the front. The media dubbed him 'Superman', which Clark admitted was appropriate, given his powers and the 'S' shield. The 'S' was derived from the crest of the House of El, which stood for hope. That it looked like an 'S' was a coincidence, nothing more, but Clark couldn't help the conclusions people jumped to.
It wasn't important right now, anyway. Right now, Clark had a mission to complete. An innocent man was about to be executed for a crime he didn't commit, on no more evidence than a wave of popular sentiment. Popular sentiment driven by Bruno Mannheim, 'respected' businessman. Clark had less love for Ugly Bruno than most, and his pressuring the governor into an execution did nothing to endear him to Clark.
So Clark flew to the governor's estate, his suspect in tow. He landed by a tree and placed her there. Clark strode across the lawn until he was at the governor's door. He knocked.
"Who the hell are you, and what are you doing here? It's 3 a.m!" the butler said once he opened the door. He was dressed in a checkered housecoat and a sleeping cap. Clark tried not to laugh, remembering that he was in a silly outfit himself.
"I need to see the governor," Clark said instead. "It's a matter of life and death."
"See him in the morning," the butler said, yawning. He made to shut the door.
Clark stopped him. "I'm going to see him now," he said, holding the door open with one hand. The butler, startled, put his shoulder into the door. Clark did nothing. Eventually the door shattered under the force. The butler fell forward into Clark's outstretched hand.
"This—this is illegal entry!" the butler protested. "I'll have you arrested!"
"Answer my question," Clark said, gripping the man by the front of his housecoat. "Are you going to take me to the governor or not?"
"No! I won't!" the butler said.
"Then I'll take you to him!" Clark said, hoisting the man up into the air and walking up the stairs to the governor's bedroom, all the while the butler screaming for help to no avail.
The two men stopped outside a steel door north of the stairs. Clark set the butler down while he studied the door.
"Yeah, this is the governor's bedroom," the butler said. His hair was dishevelled and sweat ran down his face. "Don't think you're going to get away with this!"
"Uh-huh," Clark said, cupping his hand in his chin. He tried the door. "It's locked," he said to himself.
"That's right," the butler said, grinning. "It's made of steel, too. Just try knocking down this door!"
Clark dug his fingers into the door frame and pulled. The steel crumpled as if it was cardboard.
"Just remember, it was your idea," Clark said to the astonished butler as he walked into the governor's bedroom.
"What's the meaning of this?" the governor demanded, waking up from his bed. He was a balding older man with a grey mustache dressed in striped blue-and-white pajamas. The governor flicked on the light to see Clark and his butler standing there.
"Evelyn Curry is about to be executed for a crime she didn't commit," Clark said. "I have proof of her innocence here," he added, producing a letter from his belt. "A signed confession."
Out of the corner of his eye, Clark saw the butler lunge for a revolver on the governor's night stand. In a single step, Clark was between the butler and the governor. The butler fired all six rounds at Clark. The bullets hit his chest with impressive accuracy and fell to the ground, their energy spent against his nigh-invulnerable chest.
"So much for responsible gun ownership," Clark said. "Governor, when I leave here I want you to lock this gun up in a gun safe. You do have a gun safe, don't you?" He reached over and took the revolver from the butler's nerveless hands.
"Sure, whatever you want," the governor said, reaching for the paper Clark dropped. He read it quickly, then grabbed his cellphone from the other nightstand. One quick whispered conversation later and it was all over.
"It's done," the governor said. "Evelyn Curry's free."
"Thank you, governor," Clark said. "Next time, maybe you shouldn't kill someone just 'cause some loudmouth with a bully pulpit says you should. Goodnight gentlemen!" he finished. Clark walked over to the governor's window, opened it and climbed half-way out. Remembering something, he turned half-way and said:
"Oh, the real culprit is sitting on your lawn by the big oak tree. You might want to go rescue her. It's awfully cold out there tonight." And with that, he was gone.
The next day, Alexander 'Lex' Luthor, head of LuthorCorp and the most powerful man in Metropolis laid face down on a massaging table while reading a copy of the Daily Planet. Lex was bald, with a Greek nose, thick lips, broad shoulders, a narrow waist, toned biceps and legs. Lex was as proud of his body as he was his mind, and kept both in peak condition.
"It was Superman," he said, flipping through the paper.
"You don't know that boss," Mercy Graves, Lex's assistant, bodyguard, masseuse, and right hand woman pointed out from above him. She was tall, with brown hair, grey eyes, broad shoulders, narrow waist, average breasts and a tight butt she privately considered her best feature. Today she was dressed in a thin shirt and baggy pants. Mercy oiled up her hands and massaged Lex's back. "The paper doesn't say why the governor changed his mind."
"No, it doesn't," Lex agreed. "But can you imagine anything else getting through that ditherer's head? Even I couldn't persuade him to let Curry go, and I all but own the man. No. It was Superman all right. He must have scared the hell out of the governor and the real suspect to get what he wanted." Had Lex been paying attention, he would have noticed just how much he enjoyed Mercy's touch. As it was, he focused on Superman.
"Noble of him, to stick his neck out like that for someone he doesn't know," Mercy commented as she continued to massage Lex's back.
"Perhaps," Lex said, his deep voice contemplative. "Perhaps. We will see."
Perry White, owner, publisher and editor of the Daily Planet and the only man J. Jonah Jameson ever feared, sat in his desk, reading reports from his various reporters.
Perry was dark-skinned, with a large bald head, broad nose, deep set eyes, and a jutting chin. He wore a dark blue-checkered vest over a brown tie and white dress shirt with black slacks, black socks and brown oxford shoes. A quiet, contemplative soul was Perry White, unlike his former partner in crime. He and Jonah had one quality they shared, though: they were the last honest newsmen in their respective cities.
The door to Perry's office opened. Perry looked up to see Clark Kent holding the door open. Clark was Perry's newest hire, a country boy from somewhere in Kansas. He was tall, broad shouldered and with a narrow waist. Clark had a rectangular face with a protruding chin, bright blue eyes he hid behind glasses, slicked back black hair, and very light brown skin. He wore a conservative light blue suit with matching vest over a red tie and white dress shirt with black socks and black oxfords.
"You wanted to see us, sir?" Clark asked.
"Yeah, you and Lois had better get your butts in here," Perry said, rubbing his face. "And don't call me 'sir', Clark."
"Yes sir," Clark said. He opened the office door a little wider and in walked Lois Lane, the Daily Planet's very own force of nature.
"Yeah, what do you want Perry? I got five stories on the burner already," Lois said. Lois was average height for a woman, with an hourglass figure and long legs encased in pantyhose. She wore a deep red jacket over a short black shirt and black flats. Lois wore her black hair with the bangs short and down to her neck in the back, showing off those vivid purple eyes of hers.
"Either of you here of a joker named 'Superman?' Perry asked, leaning back in his chair.
"Sure, he's some urban legend like Bigfoot or integrity in politicians," Lois said, tapping her feet.
"For a reporter Lois, you sure aren't accepting of anything that doesn't fit your world view," Perry remarked.
"Come on Perry," Lois said. "A guy who's immune to bullets? Rip steel doors off their hinges? Can fly? Sounds like somebody's been hitting the happy juice a little too hard if you ask me."
"Wonder Woman could do all those things back in World War 2," Clark pointed out after closing the door behind Lois and stepping into the office. "So could Namor the Sub-Mariner."
"Allegedly," Lois said. "Allegedly, they could do those things. They were probably propaganda cooked up by the OSS or whatever. Same with Hitler's fake Valkyrie."
"You are a skeptical woman Lois," Perry said. "That's why I want you and Clark to cover these reports. If it's a hoax, I want to know who's behind it and why. And if it isn't, I want to make sure the Daily Planet is the first to get the scoop. Clear?"
Lois' reaction was immediate and predicable. "No way, chief!" she said. "I'm working up those racketeer stories right now, I got another three on the burner after that! I can't waste my time on some shared hallucination!"
"I'd be happy to take the assignment Perry," Clark said. "I guess Lois doesn't mind giving up the story of the century." He flashed a sly smile at Lois, who glared back.
"Uh-huh Smallville," Lois said. "You can't trick me that easy. I'm still not interested."
Perry sighed. "Do what you want, Lois," he said. "But if Clark gets the story and your name isn't anywhere on the article, we're going to have a talk."
"If," Lois said, and walked back out the door. Clark and Perry watched her go, exasperated expressions on their faces.
"You know she won't date you," Perry said, turning back to his papers with a shake of his head.
"I don't even want a date," Clark said as he followed Lois out of the room. "I just want her to eat something that isn't takeout."
Perry chuckled at that as Clark closed the door.
As Clark walked out of Perry's office, one of his colleagues shouted out:
"Kent! A phoned in tip—A wife beating at 211 Court Avenue!"
"I'm on it," Clark said, changing direction from his desk to the Daily Planet's bank of elevators.
"Look at what you made me do!" the man at 211 Court Avenue said. He was of average height and average build with medium brown hair and light skin. He wore a brown vest over a white shirt and tie with brown pants. The sleeves were rolled up and in his hand was a belt. On the floor in a yellow dressed was a blonde woman, covered in bruises.
"Look at what you made me do!" the man shouted. "That's your problem, you never take responsibility for your actions!"
"Says the guy blaming his victim for their beating," a voice from behind the man said. The man whirled around to see a figure in a blue unitard with red trunks, a yellow belt, a red 'S' on a yellow background inside a red triangle on the chest, a red cape and red boots. The man was barrel-chested, like a power-lifter, with thick arms and legs. His face was oval, almost boyish, with piercing blue eyes and light brown skin. The man's black hair was spit-curled in front. He stood there, leaning against the doorjamb, his arms folded against his chest.
"Who the fuck are you?" the wife-beater asked. "And what the fuck do you want?"
"The newsies call me 'Superman,'" the figure said. "It'll do for now. As for what I want, I thought we'd start with you not beating your wife anymore. See where we go from there."
"Don't get cute," the wife-beater snarled, marching in on Superman with his belt held high.
"I can't help it if I was born cute," Superman said, grabbing a hold of the wife-beater and holding him aloft. "Now, let's try this again. What are you not going to do anymore?"
"Fuck you!" the wife-beater spat, kicking and punching Superman. Most of the blows missed, but a few connected. To the wife-beater's discomfort.
"Argh! Holy Jesus fuck, what are you made of?" he screamed.
"Can't be bronze, that was Doc Savage," Superman said. "Guess maybe I'm made of steel. Now, why don't you calm down?" Superman tossed the offending male into a nearby wall. He crashed into then slid down, out of the fight.
A quick check on the two occupants of the room left Superman convinced they would be all right, at least long enough for him to change back into Clark Kent.
One quick change later and Superman was gone, leaving only mild-mannered reporter Clark Kent. Clark was still examining the woman when the police showed up.
"Who are you?" one officer asked. She was a blonde woman, with a straight figure, round face, bobbed hair and dressed in a brown trench coat, navy blue dress pants and black dress shoes.
"I'm Clark Kent," Clark said. "I'm a reporter from the Daily Planet. We got a phone tip about a wife-beating."
"Detective Maggie Sawyer," the officer said. "When did you receive this tip?"
"Oh, I don't know," Clark said, rubbing his chin. "Sometime in the last half-hour, I guess. Sorry, I wasn't paying attention."
"And you still arrived here before us," Detective Sawyer said, narrowing her grey eyes.
"Only just," Clark answered.
"Hmm," Sawyer said. She nodded at the unconscious figure of the wife-beater. "You're work?" she asked.
"No ma'am," Clark said, shaking his head. "I found the place like this."
"Right," Sawyer said. She shook her head. "How's the vic?"
"She's seen better days," Clark answered.
"No kidding," Sawyer said. "Okay, let's get this cleaned up."
Lois Lane, ace reporter, sat at her desk, typing away furiously. She didn't notice Clark come up behind her until he said:
"'Patient' is spelled 'p-a-t-i-e-n-t', Lois. There's no 'sh' in there."
Lois scowled at the computer screen before relaxing her features and said:
"I knew that."
"Uh-huh," Clark said. Lois could see his smug grin reflected off the computer screen. Lois scowled once more.
"What do you want, Smallville?" she demanded, spinning around in her chair to face Clark.
"Oh, I just thought you'd want to read this first draft of my report to Perry," Clark said, handing her a stack of stapled-together papers.
"You can't mock my spelling and ask me to proofread your stories at the same time, Kent," Lois said, snatching the papers out of his hand. She read them. Her eyes widened in shock.
"Are you serious?" she demanded.
"The wife drifted in and out of consciousness," Clark said, "so her testimony is a little suspect. But the husband got beat up by somebody, and at least three other witnesses saw a guy in a blue and red costume enter and leave the apartment. Plus, Detective Sawyer confirmed that the police have a file open on this 'Superman'."
Lois leaned back in her chair, shaking her head. "You got lucky," she accused.
"Maybe," Clark conceded. "But still. I proved Lois Lane wrong. That's got to be one for the history books, right?"
"Funny guy," Lois said. She sighed. "Okay Smallville, what do you want?"
"For you not to feel pressured," Clark said. "And for you to eat something other than takeout," he added, pointing at the boxes of Chinese, Indian, and Italian food sitting on her desk.
Lois gave the boxes a sharp look before turning to Clark. "I don't do home-cooked meals," she warned.
"It doesn't have to be home-cooked," Clark said. "Just something healthier than warmed over pizza."
"I like pizza," Lois said. "Fine. I'll pick you up around six-thirty. If you're late or take too long, I'll leave and you'll be on your own. Got it?"
"Got it," Clark said.
"This is a one-time only thing Smallville," Lois warned. "A recognition of your one and only time of one-upping me. Got it?"
"Fair enough," Clark said. "See you at seven, Lois."
"I said six-thirty, Kent," Lois reminded him.
"Yeah," Clark said, walking off. "But you'll be late."
Lois scowled at Clark's retreating back before returning to her work.
Lois wasn't quite as late as Clark predicted. Still, she missed her own deadline by fifteen minutes.
"You're building is hard to find," she complained to Clark once she picked him up. Lois was dressed in a dark red dress.
"Yeah, that's why everyone warned me about getting an apartment in Metropolis Heights," Clark said. He wore a fancier version of his blue suit from earlier in the day. "Nobody would ever find me in the middle of Metropolis. In Metropolis' largest residential area. Right on the city's main drag."
Lois threw Clark a sour look. "Leave the sarcasm to me, Smallville," she said. "You're no good at it."
They arrived at a small, out-of-the-way Spanish restaurant Clark picked out and settled in for dinner.
"You don't see a lot of Spanish restaurants out here," Lois commented as she read the menu. "Mostly it's Mexican or some kind of South American food. Not that I'm complaining."
"Yeah, it surprised me too," Clark said, skimming through his own menu.
"How did you ever find this place?" Lois asked.
"I was doing a piece on minimum wages in the city and their impact on businesses and workers alike," Clark said. "This was one restaurant I studied."
"I remember that piece," Lois said. "It was… okay."
"A date and a compliment," Clark said, smirking. "I can die happy now."
Lois shot him an amused glance. "What did I tell you about sarcasm, Smallville?" she asked.
"Who said anything about sarcasm?" Clark replied.
Over at another table, across the room from where Lois and Clark sat, another group of people were having their own whispered conversation. They were big men, dressed in ugly ill-fitting
"That's not Lois Lane over there, is it?" the first one asked.
"It sure is, the bitch," the second answered. "She sent my uncle and brother to Stryker's with that fake news story of hers."
"When she leaves, we'll grab her," the third said. "Teach her not to print those lies."
"What about that guy who's with her?" the first said. "He looks pretty big."
"Idiot," the third one sneered. "There's three of us and only one of him. If he tries anything, we'll take care of him, too."
The evening passed in pleasant company. Lois was even smiling as she and Clark got up from the table.
"All right Smallville," she said, a big happy smile plastered all over her face. "You're not half-bad as a date. Maybe, maybe, we can do this again sometime."
"I don't know," Clark said. "Maybe if all I get is a 'not half-bad', maybe I should try somebody who can appreciate me more?"
"Like who? Cat Grant?" Lois said, shooting Clark a sly look. Clark chuckled.
"Okay," he said, "maybe not. Listen, Lois, I have to hit the washroom before we go."
"Sure, I'll meet you at the car," Lois said. "And Clark? Thanks for dinner." Clark headed to the washrooms while Lois went over to the restaurant's entrance. As Clark moved to the washrooms, he spied three men get up a table in the far corner. Something about them triggered Clark's instincts, and he stopped to watch them as they made their way towards Lois. It wasn't like he needed to use the washroom anyway; that was just keeping up appearances.
Clark's instincts were dead on. The three men grabbed Lois on their way out, taking her to their car. Lois, to her credit, bit and kicked and scratched and screamed. The restaurant's patrons, to their lack of credit, did nothing.
"Somebody should do something," one patron said, using the most useless cliché there was, in Clark's opinion.
This looks like a job for Superman, he thought as he rushed out the door.
It took a bit for Clark to catch up with Lois' kidnappers. First he drove Lois' car out of sight of the restaurant patrons, to avoid any awkward questions later. Then he changed into his costume and flew off, using his super-senses to keep track of the kidnappers car.
Finally, on a twisting back road, Clark caught up with the kidnappers. He flew in front of them, stopping just far enough in front of the oncoming car to give the kidnappers time to stop. He stood there floating, arms folded across his chest. The car, instead of stopping, surged forward. Clark sighed. He grabbed a hold of the car, flipping it on its nose and shaking the occupants out, grabbing Lois on her way down and set her gently on the road. The thugs were not so lucky. The hit the asphalt hard, bouncing like rubber balls on the floor.
With a fraction his might, Clark heaved the car into a nearby rocky outcropping, smashing it to bits. The kidnappers ran. Clark grabbed them and, taking a coil of rope from his belt, tied them up.
Next he turned to Lois, who stared at his handiwork with eyes the size of planets.
"You needn't be afraid of me, ma'am," he said. Lois nodded, dumbfounded. Clark picked her up and flew her to a local police station, along with her kidnappers. The cops were as dumbstruck as Lois.
Next, Clark flew back to where he stashed Lois' car and changed into his civilian clothes. Then he drove to the police station, making sure he looked as harassed as possible.
"Excuse me," he said to the desk sergeant. "I need your help. A friend of mine was kidnapped tonight…"
"Kidnapped and rescued already, Smallville," a shaky voice said from behind him. Clark turned to see Lois standing behind him, drinking a cup of coffee. A cop's coat was draped over her shoulders.
"Lois!" Clark cried. "Thank goodness you're all right. I looked everywhere for you. Are you hurt? Did they do anything to you?"
"I'm fine," she said. "Not the first time somebody's tried to grab me."
"But?" Clark said. "C'mon, Lois. I can see you're shaken up about something."
"He's real, Kent," she said. "I saw him."
The next day, Perry White sat in his chair, reading Lois' story, one hand cupping his chin. He wore a light blue suit with a red tie, white dress-shirt, black socks, and brown oxford shoes.
"I though you didn't believe in this guy, Lois," he said.
"That was before I saw him smash a car with his bare hands," Lois pointed out. She wore dark blue double-breasted jacket, red shirt, black skirt, stockings and black heels.
"Or shake you out of a car," Perry said. "Jesus, Lois. If even half this crap's true, this guy's incredible. Do you think we can trust him?"
"You know Perry," Lois said. "I think we can."
END CHAPTER
Author's Note:
Whew! You know, after I wrote Amazing Fantasy #15 (the first chapter of my Spider-man, not the original Sixties comic), I swore that I'd never write a chapter so long again. Principles are slippery things, it seems.
So! Here we have it, the first adventure of Superman, adapted from a combination of Superman: The Animated Series (the Kryptonian parts mostly, and that scene with Lana is basically an adultier version of one from S:TAS) and Superman's very first adventure in comics. Including, yes, that iconic scene of Superman smashing a car to bits.
One last question: why does Brainiac have hellspores? That's for me to know, reader, and for you to find out!
Superman created by Jerry Siegel and Joe Shuster.
If you enjoyed this chapter, please support me on ( joshstoodley) or by my original fiction on Amazon. Or buy me a coffee ( /falconlord)
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