As he became aware of his consciousness, he began to remember the most basic of things. After a while, the blackness turned to a gray haze, and he realized that he knew the words "black" and "gray". It felt as though he were floating free, yet he couldn't look around himself.
After a while, although time didn't really seem to be a constant, he decided to remember. Instantly, images began to flood his mind.
Faces, objects, words, and places, all became a disjointed jumble before him, and as each became a memory, he began to remember himself.
Then he stumbled upon a fragment of a memory, and he realized it was the memory of how he'd come to be in the gray void.
As the memory washed over him, one word echoed through his being. Every cell in his body began to awaken and vibrate with it. It became his mantra.
One word. A single name.
Chloe.
As soon as she was capable of coherent thought, she realized she was in pain. A quick inventory told her she was suffering from a sore shoulder, a scraped knee, a throbbing headache, and aching fingers.
Attempting to console her aching head, she found her hands were bound to something solid behind her back.
She was so light-headed that it took several moments for her to realize she was actually laying on her back, and the object which was beneath her, was a table.
A thought floated through her mind; 'Let's hear it for journalistic observational skills.'
A pause then, as her cobwebbed brain processed the thought and where it had come from.
Then, a flood of memories.
Her life. Her career. Her family, and friends.
Oh. God.
Clark.
Forty-Eight Hours Earlier
Chloe Sullivan, ace reporter for the Daily Planet, was sitting in "the basement", typing up a riveting piece of journalism on Metropolis' dog-leash by-laws.
She was, therefore, grateful for the respite when her cellphone began to play a cheerfully generic tune.
"Hey Chloe." Pete Ross's voice filtered through the cell-phone's receiver, automatically taking Chloe back to her days at Smallville High. She grinned.
"Hey Pete. How's everyone's favorite elastic guy?" Pete chuckled softly.
"No elastic guy here, Chlo. Just regular old Pete." Chloe detected a bit of wistfullness in her friend's voice, but set aside her journalist's instincts for some friendly conversation.
"Far be it to question your motives, but we hardly hear from you anymore, Pete. Is everything okay?"
"Actually, I'm not sure. You remember how it is, Chloe. Normal town by day, but after dark is when the weird stuff begins to happen." Chloe sat a little straighter as Pete's tone became a bit more stressed than his usual care-free demeanor.
"Define creepy." Chloe said, lowering her voice slightly.
"Yeah, Chloe. Miss you too. Say hi to Clark for me. Bye." Pete hung up abruptly, leaving Chloe with a dozen questions and no answers. Hanging up her cell phone, she immediately called up number one on her speed-dial, and called Clark.