This story is set in the DC Redux Universe, which is currently being crafted by four other brilliant writers. Check out our fanfic page to see what we've done with the rest and keep your eye out for crossovers. But for now…
21st December, 2014
Rog's Hair-Place, •Suicide Slum, Metropolis
This place wasn't always called Suicide Slum. It was once a prosperous and tightly-knit community of people from all walks of life. It was once booming with the types of people who would look out for you, and, in return, you would look out for them. It was the sort of place where you could leave your doors unlocked and let your children ride out along the streets on their bicycles with their friends until the early hours of night. Back in the day, one would kiss their wife goodbye in the morning, drive on over to work, earn their day's worth of pay, come back home and watch the sun set on the front porch of their house with the entire family, without a care in the world. It was simpler once. Calmer. Nicer.
They once called this place 'Metropolis's heaven-on-Earth'. They once said it was the American Dream personified, the beating heart of the New Deal. They used to call this place Southside.
During the 1930s and 40s, the town was a safe haven for immigrants and refugees escaping from the tyranny of Nazi Germany and other such oppressive regimes, a sign of hope for people who had seen the worst humanity had to offer. They found work. They found love. They found home. Solace. Peace. They believed that their worst days were behind them, that they could finally begin to live.
Eventually it all fell. It fell into poverty. Into violence. Military drafts took the workforce and spat it back out in a place that no longer wanted it. The streets grew more dangerous, big business feeding on the city like a parasite and spitting out its waste down in the south of town. "Suicide Slum" became its unofficial name during the AIDS scare of the 1980s. A number of needles that were given to a project in town trying to help heroin addicts were infected with the disease. The suicide rate skyrocketed in that year, an unknown graffiti artist then tagging over the "Welcome to Southside" sign which stood at the edge of town, coining the famous nickname.
Amongst all of the poverty and depression, a Barbershop called "Rog's Hair-Place" stood on Roarke Street. It had been around since the 40s, a business founded by a family of Polish immigrants. Handed down through generations, by 2014, it was in the hands of Roger Slevitch III. A plump, 60-something year old man with an unbreakable spirit, a strong moral resolve and a painfully obvious, fake head of brown hair. The Slevitch family was always known for their kindness, as they were always willing to help out the young boys and girls of the town by giving them jobs, which was a big help in making sure they stayed out of trouble, even if they were usually small ones. One of Roger's newest recruits was Cassie Andrews, "skinny little Cass", as he called her when she was younger.
She always had a smile that could make the coldest heart warm and she was largely regarded across town as someone who everyone knew would break free from the trap that was Suicide Slum. She was a fighter, through and through, and one with the brains to match her bravado.
It was a slow day in December. Cassie had just started her shift at ten o'clock in the morning. That hour went by as she waited for somebody to show up. Then eleven. Twelve. One. No-one. Roger was out ordering supplies. Jess was on maternity leave. Tommy was missing, maybe even dead. It was just her, the mirrors, the various combs, brushes and gels lying around and the giant pile of hair Jess forgot to clean up yesterday afternoon. As the hours passed without any customers, fed up, she was about to close up shop until a regular entered.
She had seen him before. Roger or Jess had always cut his long, shiny ginger hair. He never looked like he belonged in this place, his clothes were designer and he was completely fresh-faced. His watch was probably worth a few million dollars. He didn't speak much to the others on previous occasions but on that day he was very talkative. Cassie liked the company and he seemed like he hadn't really spoken to anyone in a while either. He made fun of her 1999 Nokia "brick", she made fun of his taste in fashion. Once she was done, he paid her for her service and was about to go on his way until he quickly turned around and asked, "Do you know who I am?"
"No." She replied. "No, I don't."
And then he left. A wink and a smile and he was gone.
#tbt
A PROLOGUE.
Starring •CKentDailyStar
Typed up by Joey West
A DC REDUX JOINT
2016, A Thursday in January
•Smallville, Kansas
Smallville, to the uninitiated, was your typical Midwestern town.
A place out-of-time, perpetually stuck in sepia-tone and rendered like it were out of an old Norman Rockwell painting. Every morning, one would wake up to the toll of the bell below the great big clock in the church at the centre of town, springing out of their bed and preparing for work at the crack of dawn. Children would ride their bicycles across the fields, doing their daily paper-rounds before heading off to school. In the east side, if one listened very carefully, as the sun rose, they would be able to hear the clamorous chirp of Martha Kent's award-winning prize roosters. And in the west, one would usually notice the humming of Mel Lane's tractor, the old man having become notorious amongst the community as the earliest bird in town, as well as the hardest worker.
However, amongst all of the hundreds of thousands of Middle-American tropes that Smallville fit into, the small town harboured a deep seeded secret. A secret that everybody who lived there knew. It wasn't anything particularly scandalous. It wasn't one of those cliched, big, bad, scary secrets that the small towns on the television had. There was no secret cult. There was no underground society. There was no haunted burial ground. There were no science fiction monsters, per se. There was only a boy. A boy who fell to Earth. A boy who came from the stars.
Everybody knew that there was something special about Clark Kent. Something different. Something just-slightly off. It wasn't the fact that he had jet-black hair and blue eyes whilst his parents had neither. It wasn't the fact that, despite having the body of an athlete at peak performance, he never, ever tried out for Smallville High's football team. It wasn't even the fact that he had a room in his basement dedicated entirely to Bruce Springsteen memorabilia. All of that seemed ordinary compared to the big bombshell that the entire town was carrying on its back.
Clark Kent was an alien. A real-life space-alien.
In February 1996, something happened that would change Smallville's claim to fame as the "corn capital of the world" to the "meteor capital of the world". A class B meteor shower, carrying pieces of the lost world, Siegeltown, all the way from the Swan System, or, as it was known in the Rao System, its proper alien name, Krypton, occurred. Amongst the hundreds of thousands of space-rocks that shot over into the flatlands of Kansas, there was a single starship. A starship carrying a baby boy and a white Labrador.
(That's right, Clark Kent had a space-dog.)
When said starship landed, it was discovered by a pair of passing motorists, Jonathan and Martha Kent, who were springing out of the trap they both grew up in to find their own calling in life. Their own destiny. Their own direction. They'd later joke to their adopted son about how they only had to drive about half-a-mile out of town to find it.
Everybody doubted them. Nobody believed that they could do it. That Jonathan and Martha with their leather jackets and rock-n-roll music, they'd never cope raising a child, let alone a child from outer space. Some even made bets about how long it would take before they threw in the towel.
But they never did.
Raising a child was not, is not and never will be a walk in the park. Alien or not. If you'd have asked either of the two, neither of them would ever have said that it was easy, because it wasn't. But they tried their hardest to raise a good son. And to train a good dog. And they managed to do both, at least, for the most part. Krypto did tend to go a little crazy every year during Smallville's signature thunderstorm season. Occasionally, he would also wander off in the middle of the night, chewing up power-lines and sacking sausage factories across the Midwest.
But back to the point.
Clark Kent was, deep down, at his core, a good man. And a good son. But, like any young man, there was a longing within his heart to find some purpose in life. It was no good staying on a farm and waiting to inherit his parents' land so he could watch over cornfields forever. He, like his parents, knew that he could do a lot better elsewhere, even if he didn't want to admit it. Eventually, he broke away from it all. He broke away from his family and he broke off from his friends.
With the crystal he was left with from his birth parents, he travelled up north and came back home with a mission that led him all away across the country into Metropolis. But there, in the big city, he found there was something missing. Something wrong. Not only with the city, where the divide between the rich and the destitute was clearer than ever, but also with himself.
He had to go home, or at least, next door to home.
Racing across the highways out of Metropolis, from the East Coast of the country into the Mainland, just under the speed of sound, Clark Kent, strange visitor from outer space, found his way home to the place that adopted him. Smallville, Kansas. Although, he did get lost a few times on the way there.
Knock. Knock.
Knock, knock, knock.
Knock, knock, knock, knock, knock, knock.
Knock.
A young man with ruffled and messy black hair stood at the door of the Ross Family Home, leaving a snail trail of chipped and charred pavement behind him- which lead off to a freshly made crop circle drawn in a massive field of corn. He wore a red and brown plaid shirt, blue jeans and white converse sneakers. Mud and dirt covered his calves and cuffs, his right shoe exhaling a thin, white figure of of smoke and his face streaming with sweat. Quietly, he whispered, "Come on. Come on," under his breath.
The door opened. A friendly looking middle-aged woman stood in the doorway, her wrinkled and jolly face triggering happy memories of sleepovers, camping trips and school dances. "Hey, Clark." Mrs. Ross smiled, "How're things going in Metro- -"
"I really gotta talk to Pete, Mrs. R. Sorry." He cut her off, rushing past her at almost literal lightning speed, a speeding train of air and wind hitting the old lady, knocking her off her feet. His face screwing up with embarrassment, Clark turned, catching her with his super-speed before she fell. "So sorry."
Within a millisecond the boy who fell to Earth had already sped up the stairs, sitting across from his lifelong best friend, catching him by surprise as he lifted his arms up in self defence. "AGGGHHH-"
"It's me, dummy."
"-HHHHHHAAGGH!" He took a very, very deep breath. "Dude. You can't do that. You'll give a guy a heart attack." Pete Ross rubbed his face. He had been Clark Kent's closest and best friend since before either of them could remember. He offered a cynical, grounded voice of reason to Clark, and Clark offered a sort of optimistic, though sometimes somewhat naive, support to his friend. Pete was a short, skinny, young, bespectacled African-American man with a massive, side-parted black afro which he hadn't touched in about five years. "What're you doing b- -"
"Shut up." Clark interrupted. "I got a story to tell. And I need you to do me a favour."
"Okay- -" Pete sighed, "What'd that be?"
"Could'ya get Lana over here?"
"Yeah no." He quickly snapped back, "I ain't gonna wander my way back into that minefield again. Nuh-uh. No way."
"Please, Pete. Pleaaaase." Clark went down to his knees. "Literally begging you right now, buddy."
"No. She told me to not even talk about you when you decided to become this "dark and brooding vigil- -"
"Pete."
"- -ante" and to be honest, I'm still not even sure if I'm haaa-"
"Pete. I was wrong."
"- -ppy about that." Pete took a moment to process what Clark had just said, "Wait a minute. Incorruptible, infallible Clark Kent admits he was wrong?"
"Call her."
"Gladly." Pete whipped his iPhone out of his pocket. "Wouldn't miss this for the world."
Later.
"What the crap do you want?" Lana frowned as she sat on Pete's bed, Clark standing over the both of them. Lana Lang was, simply put, who Clark considered to be the peanut butter to his jelly, and he always figured that Smallville was the bread that kept them both together. She was always his rock for support but she also was never afraid to tell Clark when he was, quote-unquote, being 'a complete and utter jackass'. Kent zoned out for a minute, giving himself a second to admire her once again. It had been over a month since he had seen her or even spoken to her. Her beautiful, shimmering red hair. Her bright blue eyes, even when she was angry they captured him. Cupid's arrow stabbed into his chest, his eyes turning into a pair of pink hearts.
"Is he having a stroke?" Lana asked, annoyedly pointing at the dumb, loving expression on Clark's face. She turned to her side, Pete bashing his fingers against a touchscreen, not paying attention. She turned back to Clark, "Hey. Moron."
"Sorry." Clark regained focus. "Erm- I'm, uh- I'm sorry. I was wrong. I was too wrapped up in myself. I was an idiot for pushing the both of you away. Especially you, Lana."
"So we're playing favourites here, huh?" Pete said with a hint of sarcasm, his head bouncing back up. "Fine, apology not accepted."
"You. Are… such an idiot." Lana spoke to Clark, looking back down. "Like, honestly, I don't think I've ever met somebody as idiotic as you."
"Seconded." Pete remarked. "Sorry, buddy."
"I know." Clark sighed, "Look. I got a story to tell. I can explain everything. Why I'm back here, the lot of it."
"Is this a short story or a long, "I've got a story to tell" story?" Lana asked, Clark pulling an apologetic-looking face, "Ugh. Go on, then."
"Thank you."
A Week Ago.
At...
The Manheim Hotel, •New Troy, Metropolis
Clark Kent stood in the centre of his company-paid-for hotel room in the five-star Manheim Hotel, his boss, Mr. George Taylor's, treat. The young(ish) editor of the Daily Star had always thought that it was important to make any one of his newly hired employees feel right at home at their place-of-work. He was adamant that Clark would stay in the best place money could buy until his new reporter was back on his own two feet and had found a good place in the city. Clark, naturally, had gotten to work on that immediately, not wanting to cost the sweet, young(ish) editor any more than he needed. Besides, he wasn't exactly comfortable with his boss essentially paying money to an infamous mobster.
The Manheim Hotel was owned by the millionaire Bruno Manheim, whose family had a long and bloody legacy as the masterminds of Metropolis's world of organised crime. His father, little, old man Moxie Manheim, was then-currently serving a quadruple life sentence for murder-in-the-first-degree, extortion, theft and armed robbery. His little sister, Jennifer Manheim, had been murdered a few months ago for, presumably, trying to break away from the fold and go her own way, leaving the life of a mobster. She had recently donated hundreds of thousands out of her own trust-fund to the Alexei Luthor Foundation, which helped to benefit struggling places around the world, Clark remembered reading about it in the paper.
Lex Luthor, at least, Clark thought, was a good man. The most honourable man in Metropolis. A genius too. The son of the billionaire, Lionel Luthor, he had thought up some of the most innovative and handy technology in the world. He made the first touchscreen phone in his basement, years before Steve Jobs or any of those clever people at Apple had ever thought of such a thing. As well as being a technological genius, he was also a medical one, having found a cure for cerebral palsy and directly administered it to clients for free, as to not get his work mixed up in the mess that was the American health industry. Word was that he was going to tackle cancer next.
Lex Luthor was somebody you could believe in.
Somebody Clark could believe in.
And, as if by some sort of miracle, the boy who fell to Earth had actually spotted him on only his second day in Metropolis. He had seen him walking across the golden lobby of the Manheim Hotel and making his way to a private elevator. It wasn't the first time he had seen him in person, though they had never officially met, as Lex's father, Lionel Luthor, once gave a speech at Smallville High. It was an odd and seemingly random event, the elder Luthor hadn't grown up in Smallville, nor ever taken an interest in the small town before, but, nevertheless, his presence was welcomed, at least by everyone but Lana, who believed he was a "corrupt hack". It was on that day when Clark spotted a young man standing at Lionel Luthor's side, the one who would later become Metropolis's most favourite son. Clark continued to think about how baffling it was that he saw Lex Luthor on his second day in the city, in the Manheim Hotel, of all places.
Even in the big, old city of Metropolis, it was a small world.
Clark was talking to his editor on his cellphone, pacing back and forth in the centre of the living room, right in front of the massive window that gave him a good look at the sprawling skyline of the city he had recently sworn to protect. He spoke into his device, "Yeah, the hotel's really just… spectacular… but I think I've found a place."
"Well, how'd you get it so fast and cheap?" George Taylor asked through the speaker, his nasally and loud voice projecting through into Clark's ears and partially off-setting his super-hearing, "It's not in Suicide Slum, is it?"
"No. Course not." Clark answered, telling the partial truth. His "new place" wasn't in Southside. It wasn't really a "new" place at all. It was in Smallville, almost one thousand and five hundred miles away. Kent figured he could just run home to his parents' and back every day, though he hadn't figured out how he was going to explain it to his boss, nor how he was going to deal with apologising to Lana. "Definitely not in the SS."
"You sound like you're lying."
"No, sir."
"I just don't know how you were able to find a place so quickly, I mean, finding somewhere in New Troy is a pain in the ass." George continued, "And the rent? Oh boy, it's even worse."
"It's… uh… not in New Troy. It's in-" Clark went through the names of the friendly neighbourhoods his editor had told him about, "-uh, Little Bohemia?"
"Was that a question or an answer, sweetie?"
"Answer... sir."
"Good. And stop calling me "sir". I told you, George is just fine." George continued, "Just keep yourself away from the SS, alright?"
"Alright."
"I mean, that old farmer's muscle might help you out back home in Littletown, Kansas but out here they'll tear your throat out and kill your dog, okay, honey?"
"Yeah."
"I mean, the only reporter I ever saw walk into that place and come out with both limbs intact was Lois Lane, and we don't talk about her, remember?" George nervously laughed. Losing ace, Pulitzer-considered reporter Lois Lane to the Daily Planet was, at least he thought, his greatest failure in a decade of editing the paper, and he reminded his staff of it almost every day, "Damn that Perry White. Worst editor in Metropolis."
"Worst editor in Metropolis."
"Yep." Taylor paused, losing his train of thought, "Welp. Anyway. I'll get out of your hair. You enjoy yourself in that five-star hotel room, alright?"
"Of course."
"But nothing too crazy."
"Of course not."
"Just… relax, kick your feet up… because soon you'll be so swamped that you won't find time to."
"The life of the reporter, eh?"
"It's just that." George chuckled, "Seeya."
"Catch you later." He threw his old, scratched-up red Motorola flip-phone onto the couch, stepping up to the massive window that allowed him to look down on the city from almost a bird's-eye view. A web of buildings was laid down in front of him, the city was shrouded in darkness except for a large collection of boxed up specs of light. From up there, if you looked hard enough, you'd be able to spot the bright, electronic billboards and signs of Glenmorgan Square, and if you listened hard enough, at least, at that very moment on that dark night, you would be able to hear the loud ring of an alarm bell blaring from LL Department Store, and the police and media circus that followed it.
Clark removed his glasses. Widened his ears. Closed his eyes. The screaming. The screeching. The sirens. The gunfire. The madness. Yes. That was why he was there. Why he was really there. That was the reason he left Smallville. He ripped his shirt open, revealing cold, black Kevlar. He pulled a matching shadowy cowl over his head. A shroud of complete and utter darkness covered his face, two blood red pupils radiating from within it.
Creek.
The window opened, Kent standing at the edge. His toes lifted the rest of his body up, his hands fixed hard to his sides, he leant forward and then he dropped. A hundred-thousand nuclear bombs made of thick, heavy air collided with his face, his arms springing out like an eagle's wings at the exact right moment. A gravitational field began to form around his body, completely consuming him, a collection of dust beginning to float around his feet and hands. His body propelled forward into the sky, the farm boy finally beginning to break through the air like a bullet. Like a battering ram, the boy smashed through the soft and smoggy grey clouds and into the city.
It was beautiful. Or had the potential to be. He veered his right side down, heading to the Department Store in Glenmorgan Square.
2016, A Thursday in January
Ross Corn Farm, •Smallville
"Wait. Wait. Wait. LL's?" Pete interrupted, "You mean that place that got shot up last week!? That place? So you… oh, you're not serious…"
"Look. I'm getting to that."
"No. No. No. No. Your mom was over here scared out of her mind about you. You're not glossing over that!"
"I'm not gonna!"
"Have you apologised to her? Have you even spoken to her!? Explained what happened!?" Pete yelled.
Clark paused. Pete glared into his eyes, outraged and disappointed.
"You complete dumbass." Lana groaned. "Honestly, you've hit a new low."
"Pete. I need you to do me a favour. Please."
Pete's face slammed into his palms, he pulled out his phone once more and dialed up a number.
"You can just click on your contac-"
Pete gave him a dead stare.
Later.
A woman in her mid 40s sat between her son's two best friends on Pete's bed. She looked around the room, instantly noticing the dirty pile of clothes on the floor, the empty, greasy pizza box sitting on the kid's desk and the clumps of dog hair littered around the space, letting out a quiet sigh. Clark broke the ice. "So how's it going, Ma?"
"Aw. It's all good. I'm just glad you're home, son." Martha Kent beamed, "I wish you'd have told me you were coming back, I'd've set up your room for you."
Clark gave her a loving smile, "You don't need to do that, Mom."
"It's no trouble, son."
Lana cut in, ending their little moment, "Um, Mrs Kent. Martha. Clark has a story to tell. And an apology to give."
"Yes. I was wondering why you all dragged me here. But an apology for what, son?" Martha enquired.
"I… uh… I scared the life out of you last week. And it's not just that. It's other things. Just please. Let me tell you what happened."
A Week Ago.
LL Department Store, •Glenmorgan Square, Metropolis
Lois Lane was not someone who would ever want to be caught dead in a department store, especially not one owned by Lex Luthor.
She was returning a gift that the big man himself had personally delivered to her, the most expensive thing in the place. Upon reception, she rejected it like the body did to poison, because it may as well have been if it came from him. As well as for that reason, high-end, designer fashion was simply not her style; if something was cheap, practical, looked reasonably presentable and kept her warm during the winter, Lois Lane would wear it. She didn't care much for what was in vogue or what would grab her the most attention, of course, unless she needed to grab somebody's attention for work purposes. That was how her strange relationship with Lex Luthor started, after all. And somehow, that strange relationship led her on this path. To this moment in time.
Lois was sat up against the checkout desk of the LL Department Store on the ground floor whilst two armed men marched up and down the area before her, the crooks demanding that the police bring her nemesis, Lex Luthor, to them so they could, presumably, execute him. In her hand she held the expensive, verdant green dress that the billionaire philanthropist had given her, tearing apart its fabric in a moment of stress. There she was, stuck right in the centre of a story. A big story. And if, maybe, hypothetically, Lex Luthor really showed up and really let himself be publically executed to save the lives of innocents, the biggest story.
But a hypothetical wasn't enough for Lois Lane, neither was a simple department store robbery with a couple of your bog-standard faceless crooks. Maybe it might have been special because of where it was but she needed more. She needed motive. She needed cause. She needed drama. The story behind the story.
Closely watching the mannerisms and paying attention to the movements and speech patterns of her captors, she almost instantly noticed a weaker link in the pair. One had a slight shiver in every step, a shake in his walk. His voice was higher, but not naturally, it was the result of obviously being forced to do something he did not want to do. He was scared. Scared out of his mind.
The Daily Planet's ace reporter waited for something to separate the two, and given how alarmed the both of them were, though one was more so than the other, she knew it wouldn't take long for some sort of noise or paranoid hunch to send them up to the unguarded first floor. And she was right.
"Stay here." The larger, more confident one commanded, almost as if he was the one keeping the other one there, "I'm gonna go look upstairs."
"Mhm."
"Don't do nothing stupid." He said, "Try me and you're dead. Understood?"
"Uh… understood."
"Good." He headed to the elevator, pressing the big, black button and then waiting a second for the lift to arrive. Both doors opened, the man stepping in leaving. Lois smiled.
Taking a breath, she spoke, "What does he have on you?"
"What!?" The armed crook turned, nervously shouting back, "You better- you'd better be quiet!"
"Listen. I'm a reporter, I work for the Daily Planet. I have friends in high places, I can help you."
"Ain't nobody that can help me except myself, alright?" He turned to watch the sirens through the windows, "Nobody. I just… I just gotta do what I gotta do and then it'll all be fine."
"Hey, I…"
"Look, writing some fancy article isn't gonna help me get out of the great, big pile of shit I'm in so I… I suggest you just shut up before the other guy gets back, okay!?"
Lois thought for a second, "What's your name?"
"Huh?"
"What's your name? Mine's Lois." She paused, "Come on, it's not like it's gonna matter for much longer."
"Art-Arthur. My name's Arthur." He sighed, "People call me Artie."
"Alright, Artie, let me help you."
"I…" He's cut off by the ding-a-ling of the elevator, its two doors shuffling open and revealing the sorry, barely conscious carcass of Artie's partner.
The thug looks up, his nose bleeding into his mouth, he groans, "He's coming…"
Artie yells, frightened, "Who!? Who's coming!?"
"Me." A fast-moving, blurry black mass spoke, its distorted voice echoing through the room. It sped into the helpless Arthur, causing him to drop his gun, and slammed him against the wall at the end of the room. As it stopped, Lois's eyes began to be able to focus on it, on the massive, red-eyed, armoured monster who held its terrified victim up into the air.
"Who…? What…?"
"I'm The Bullet." Clark Kent spoke from behind his mask, "And you're scum." The Bullet's head turned, his ears detecting the cock of a gun. He looked up to the lights, his heat vision handedly taking out the bulbs and allowing him to escape into the darkness. The other thug, who was now back on his feet and stalking the ground floor of the store, marched back and forth, looking for the Bullet. Clark watched him from the far-right corner of the ceiling, deciding to gracefully and silently descend from behind him and take him down that way. It would have worked if his mother hadn't decided to call him at the least convenient time possible.
The thug turned, alarmed by the ring of Clark's phone, and shot five rounds into the boy who fell to Earth. The Bullet flew across the room, finding cover behind the counter and leaping over the crouching Lois Lane, who scurried across the room undetected by the gunman. Clark pulled out his phone, clicking a button and answering it, "Ma!"
"Clark, honey, I know…"
"Ma! This is not a good time!"
"Clark!?"
"Ma!"
"Clark, are those gunshots!?"
"Mom! Bye!"
2016, A Thursday in January
Ross Corn Farm, •Smallville
THWACK!
Clark received a slap in the face that was harsher and more draining than any shotgun blast ever could be. His mother stared into his eyes, "So it WAS gunfire, huh?" She put her finger in his face, "Don't you dare ever do that to me again."
"I'm sorry, Ma." He responded. "I'm really, really, really sorry."
Mrs. Kent sat back down, beginning to calm. "I know you are." She continued, "And you owe your father an apology too... and Pete here."
Clark looked to Pete, who was trying his hardest not to burst into laughter, "Sorry buddy."
"It's ok- -" He chuckled. "It's ok- -it's okay. I forgive you."
"Moving on."
"That's not even end of the story?" Lana groaned, "I thought we were done here."
"Nope."
A Week Ago.
LL Department Store, •Glenmorgan Square, Metropolis
Clark Kent, the Bullet, felt around his face. Just a little blood. A few scratches. His mask was completely torn away. He looked down at his stomach where the bleeding was worse, unable to resist touching it and unleashing a shower of cold, harsh pain which ran through his entire body. The gunshots continued to ring and ring and ring, the back of Clark's neck now beginning to be able to feel their impact in the air. Smacking his crown against the wooden counter, and almost smashing his entire head through the timber in the process, he let out a sore wail as he questioned what in the world it was he was doing. I'm such an idiot. Idiot. Idiot. Idiot.
And then, all of a sudden, the gunshots stopped.
Clark lifted his head up over the counter, his eyes finding a tall, petite, brown haired young lady standing over the unconscious body of the thug who had taken the store hostage. In her hand, she held a bloodied, heavy, blue metal hole-puncher. She laughed, "Would'ya look at that? I just did your job for you."
"Uhhh…"
"Come on over here, Mr. Bullitt."
Clark complied, "Uhh…"
"Uhh?"
"Uhm."
"Uhm…?"
"Darn."
Lois sighed, turning to Arthur, who ran over to the two in a haste, "You two! You idiots don't know what you've done! He's got her! I gotta… we gotta save her…"
"Arthur, calm down." Lois tried to console him, "Who? He's got who?"
"He's got Cassie. Manheim, he's got her… he has my daughter..."
"Bruno Manheim?" Clark asked, "Bruno Manheim has your daughter?"
"Yes."
"He made you do this?" Lois asked. "Bruno Manheim made you?"
"You have any idea where he's holding her?" Clark asked, "Any at all?"
"They're at my place." Arthur pulled his ID out of his pocket and handed it to Clark, "Please. You gotta help her."
"Got it." Clark turned to leave, Lois putting her hand on his shoulder. "Excuse me, Miss?"
"You're taking me with you."
"It's too dangerous."
"I just saved your life, you thundering dumbass." Lois explained, "I'm a reporter, chasing the story is what I do."
Clark let off a slight grin, allowing her a bit of professional courtesy, "Alright. Try not to throw up."
2016, A Thursday in January
Ross Corn Farm, •Smallville
"Cute." Pete smiled, "Did you get her number?"
"Nope. Not even her name. Though I think I might've seen her face before."
"Tragic." He remarked, leaning back and trying to ignore the killer glare that Lana was giving him, "The two of you could've talked about… about reporter stuff."
"She sounds mean." Martha spoke, throwing her opinion into the ring as she looked over to Lana, trying to reassure her, "Very, very mean."
"What… uh…" Lana broke in, trying to forget that the last few moments had just happened, "What happened next?"
"Well. We… we went over to Suicide Slum… or Southside, rather. My editor told me not to head down there. I'd heard of it in the news, I'd… well. We've all seen it. It's not got too good of a reputation. And we went straight through. It wasn't the evil I thought I was gonna fight when I arrived in Metropolis and put on that dumb, dumb costume… it was desperation." Clark paused for a second. "I ran until we reached a place right on the edge of town."
A Week Ago.
The Andrews Household •Suicide Slum, Metropolis
They reached the worn-down and rotting wooden door of a small, decaying old house, Clark taking note of the weathered "Andrews" decal printed on the old-fashioned, 50s-style letterbox. It was fitting as the whole place looked like it hadn't been refurbished or even touched since that time, though, in comparison to the other houses on the street, it looked like the Playboy Mansion. The entire area seemed like it had been abandoned, despite the fair amount of loiterers who were hanging about on the street, and the two reporters were practically up to their waists in trash, which covered the sidewalks and spilled out into the road. Along the footpath, a long, curved line of street lights stood, dimmed out and a good number of them just plain-not-working.
Clark stepped up and lifted his arm to knock and then relaxed it when he heard the voice of Lois, who was trailing behind him on the porch. "Hold up!" She said as she tried to readjust herself after having travelled 600 miles-per-hour to get to their current location. "Wait."
Slamming his head into his right palm, Clark let out a sigh, he'd forgotten about the effect his super-speed had on others, turning his head and telling her that "It's okay if you throw up. Everyone does the first time."
"Everyone?" The reporter choked, leant over the porch of Artie Andrews's home, "I never asked, how do you do all this?"
"Oh. Uh. I'm an alien."
"Ah. Suppose that makes sense. Which planet?"
"Krypton. You've probably never heard of it."
"Ha. Ya know. Besides the whole spooky red-eyed devil thing, you're not very good at being scary." She remarked as she tried to stop her stomach from exploding, "Let me guess, small-town-boy trying to make a difference in the big city?"
"I'm not going to answer that."
"So that's a yes, then?" Lois straightened her back, walking ahead of Clark and signing him to follow, "Alright, vamos."
"Cool. Wait here."
"Look, I'm a big girl, I can- -" Before she could finish her sentence, Lois was forced to watch as her new friend smashed through the front door, like were made out of paper mache, and zoomed into the interior of the house. "- -handle myself."
She sighed.
As the ace reporter waited outside and listened in to the insane, superhero movie-esc action set piece that ensued like a blind lady at the movie theatre, she began to think about how in the world she would convince her editor, the famous, iron-willed sceptic, Perry White, to publish an article which would claim that she was saved from certain death by an incompetent, wannabe-Avenger. There was only one other reliable witness, the girl who worked at LL's behind the checkout desk, but asking her for an eyewitness account would be tough, given how short and rude Lois had been with her about returning that ugly green dress. Perhaps footage from the store's security camera would be able to give her some sort of credibility but the Daily Planet's best reporter knew that the Metropolis Police Department's Special Crimes Unit would have that under lock-and-key as soon as they found evidence of a real-life, flesh and blood superhero on it. They were tricky like that.
And then, like lightning, she was struck with an idea.
She thought, Maybe, if i...
And then, all of a sudden, she was interrupted.
Damn.
"All done." The Bullet spoke as he popped his head through the doorway, "Vamos."
"Vamos." She grinned, stepping inside and looking around in suppressed awe at the scattering of unconscious bodies laid around the living room of the old house. "So I was thinking, it makes sense that Manheim would want to kill Luthor, right?"
"Yeah, I mean, Luthor would be his biggest rival in the city, if you think about it."
"Yep. But…"
"But why would he need Artie to do it? Why pin it on him specifically?"
"There has to be a reason why Bruno Manheim chose Arthur Andrews out of anybody in this whole entire city to kill Lex Luthor. We have to find out why."
"Are you guys cops?" A pitch-black silhouette with a feminine figure spoke from the very top of the tall staircase at the end of the corridor, which led out from the front door. Her voice had a sickly raspiness to it, every word spoken like it caused her pain to speak, as if she had small, jagged stones in in her throat. She continued, "If you are, just… leave, alright? I don't want anything to do with… Just take that trash away from me and leave, please."
"We're… uh… friends of your dad's." Lois spoke back, "We're just trying to piece together what happened. With Luthor, with Manheim, with your father."
"Yeah. I heard everything you were saying." She paused for a moment, about to turn away but changing her mind mid-spin, "I can tell you. About everything."
Cassie's Room, •Upstairs
Clark Kent and Lois Lane sat across from Cassie Andrews, staring into her eyes as she began to tell the two a story. Her story. Her face was heavily scarred, the right side of it covered in severe burns and her iris on that same side a milky grey. Her hair was a bright blonde, the left side of her face covered in freckles. Clark was struck by her natural beauty, almost managing to look past the distorted lens her right side had to be viewed through. Almost. Lois's eyes stayed fixed and unaffected, her face carved out of the hardest, roughest stone.
Tears were already beginning to form in Cassie's eyes as she tried to remember. As she forced herself to remember her time with Lex Luthor. She began, "So I just cut his hair… and we… we hit it off. We were making fun of each other, he was really charming. We just had a nice… y'know… flow with each other." She stopped for a moment. "So I got finished with it and he pays me. He stops. Asks me if he knew who he was. I say "no". Then he just leaves. So that's the last I think I'll ever see of the guy." Her voice crackled, the tears beginning to fall.
"Miss. Uh..." Clark pulled a packet of tissues from his pocket. "Here." He passed them over to her, Lois watching and holding back an enchanted grin.
"Thanks." She wiped her eyes. "So a few days later… it's Christmas morning- - you probably heard of this on the news- - or somewhere- - but a guy dressed up as Santa knocks on our door and gives everyone on the street a free phone. Everyone in the city. It was the, uh, the LX C. People were lining up for days for that thing outside the L-Tech stores but… turned out they were all getting one for free. On the box was this big picture of that same guy I'd cut the hair of a few days earlier.
So a couple of days later… when we'd reopened after the holidays, he rocks up again." She choked for a moment. "Asks me if I know who he is now. He offers me everything. To leave all this behind and come with him and live in his tower. All this money… and… I say- - oh god, I'm an idiot- - I say yes."
"Hey. It's okay." Lois cut in.
"Thanks, miss. But it's okay. I was… I was dumb. So I stay with the bastard for 10 months. He gets abusive. He gets distant. He gets manipulative. So I get paranoid, I start taping him, I bug his office and I find out about something big."
Clark and Lois, both eager reporters, leant forward.
Cassie continued, "The Manheims, the Glenmorgans, the Vincenzos… they all answer to him. Everything wrong and screwed up about this city, it's all his doing. Him and his society."
"Society?" Lois asked. "What society?"
"There's a little council he has who run the city with him." Cassie explained, "There's him, there's Veronica Cale, there's Maxwell Lord, G Gordon Godfrey, Rudy Jones and Barbara Minerva..."
"The popstar?" Lane almost laughed, Clark's super-hearing detecting the slight chuckle and passing judgement on her.
"He has this crazy idea on controlling people through what they listen to… I never paid much attention to it…"
"So what did you do?" Clark asked, "After you found out…?"
"I cut myself off from him. Went back home. But no one cuts off Lex Luthor. A whole ton of pictures of me… bad ones… "leak" out on the Internet the day after I break it off. Entire world sees me like that. And… that phone that everyone got… it has it built in so that it alerts you each time Lex posts something on Facebook, Twitter… anything. So I'm getting sandblasted from all over the place. Then. When all of that dies down… a guy comes up to me at work and throws some stuff in my face… all I remember is… just… the burning. Screaming. The pain."
"Did the cops-?"
"Cops wouldn't do anything. He owns the cops. He owns the media too. He and all those other guys. Nobody could help me. No one can. So. I- -uh- - I appreciate what you're trying to do here, but it's just… it's all just so pointless… and now my dad's gonna go to jail for something he didn't do."
Lois bitterly nodded, Clark shocked at her almost nihilistic and blind acceptance.
"You're wrong." He said, as he leant back in his seat. "Got a pen?" Cassie reached over and handed him one and he wrote down his number and name, "Here. Name's Clark. Clark Kent. I'm a journalist. If you ever need anything...give me a call."
Lois laughed, the other two staring at her in confusion. Cassie turned back to Clark, "Thanks, but- -"
"Cassie." The Kansas boy cut her off. "I'm not going to stop until you get the justice you deserve. I promise you that."
Two Minutes Later.
Clark and Lois exited the house, walking back into the chill of the cold Metropolis night. Clark leant forward into her in a rush of anger, adrenaline and morbid excitement, Lois relaying this energy back onto him and madly grinning. He began to speak and think, the cogs in his brain spinning and spinning, "Alright."
"Alright."
"So Manheim, old style mobster guy, right?"
"Right."
"He gets sick of the new management, Lex Luthor. Wants to get rid of him, get back to the old ways, but he knows that Lex's friends are powerful enough to trace any of the hired goons he'd hire to kill Lex back to him, yeah?"
"Yeah."
"So he finds a guy with motive. Arthur Andrews, a guy who's daughter's life was ruined by Lex Luthor. There's no reason this guy wouldn't want to see Luthor dead. Forces him to go over to LL's and pull the trigger himself. Yep?"
"Yep. So."
"So that's the whole picture. We've also got Lex Luthor, billionaire philanthropist, hero of the city, down as the real-life Kingpin of crime. We've got it!"
"We've got it." They both paused, Clark beginning to come down from the trill of the hunt and wonder what his next move was going to be. Lois, on the other hand, psychotically grimaced at her fellow journalist as if he were a piece of fresh meat, she chuckled, "So… Clark Kent. You're that new kid at the Daily Star, aren't you?"
"Please don't tell."
"I'm not going to."
"Thank you."
"I've got a good enough story to tell with Luthor being in cahoots with Barbara Minerva of all people." Lois joked, "Suppose it makes sense, really. Can't destroy the world without ruining the music industry."
"What?"
"What!?"
"Sorry, repeat that."
"No…?"
"Are you serious?"
"What?"
"You mean, you knew Luthor was a bad guy? You knew all along!?"
"...yeah?"
"And that's all you took from what we just heard…!? That Luthor's boinking some popstar!?"
"Boinking?"
"It's a phrase!"
"God. Look, Kent. What happened to that girl in there is just… god awful... but, in this day-and-age, it's ancient history. We can't do anything about it. We can't take Luthor down on charges of a messy breakup, okay!?" She continued, "Believe me, I'd love to. He's a creep when he's lonely."
"But a life, somebody's life… the life of that girl we just spoke to is over. He took everything from her. They all did."
"They've taken a lot from a lot of people, kid." Lois sighed, "They do it every day."
"So we should stop them."
"What do you propose we do? What are you even doing? What is this thing that you've decided to become? Did you think punching criminals was really going to solve this city's problems?" She stepped up to him, "How are we going to stop Luthor? Or Manheim? Or Lord? Or Glenmorgan? Or any of these crooks? Are you going to kill them all? As far as I can tell, those crooks over at the store and those guys in there are still breathing, you're not making an example of anyone. You're not a threat to any of these guys."
"Alright, we'll attack with our words, then."
"Nobody cares about your words, Kent."
"So… so Lex Luthor and his team of billionaire bad guys, they just roam free, sucking the life out of the city, yeah?"
"Yeah."
"And people like us, we're just supposed to let them get away with that?" Clark began to squeal, "It's not right."
"I know."
"It's kind of awful, in fact."
"I know."
"It seems like you're saying that you know but you really don't know."
"Trust me, I know what you're saying, Kent. But take a look at where we are right now, it's called Suicide Slum for a reason. Nobody cares about what happens down here."
"Jesus Christ. You call it that like it's nothing, like those words mean nothing."
"Well they don't. And they haven't. Not for a good while." Lois began to walk away, a hint of regret and sadness visible in her eyes. However, it is just a hint, and is unable to stop her from leaving, "Just… just forget it, Kent, it's Chinatown."
And he was left there, alone in the middle of the street with an uncontrollable rage building up inside of him. Forget it, Kent. He repeated in his head, forget it, Kent.
Just forget it.
Forget. It.
2016, A Thursday in January
Ross Corn Farm, •Smallville
"You paid Luthor a visit that night. Surely. You had to have." Lana spoke for the first time in 20 minutes or so. "Clark. If you didn't, I'm going to murder you."
"Of course I did. I put a new mask on, red eyes, everything. I was going to scare him. Put the fear of God into the guy."
A Week Ago.
LexCorp Tower •New Troy, Metropolis
Alexei Luthor stumbled into his office, drunk out of his mind. His arms and legs swayed back and forth, two beautiful young women on each side of him, kissing his neck. He giggled, his left shoe falling off as the two dragged him straight into the bedroom.
All of a sudden he stopped.
"Ladies, how about you go in there and wait?" He got to his feet, straightening out his posture and fixing his cuffs. He patted his hair down, his voice becoming deeper and more serious in tone. "Well. Hello there."
The Bullet sat across from him in his own chair, behind Luthor's own desk, hiding in the shadows. "Alexei Luthor." His eyes grew red.
"That's me. Hold still for a minute." Luthor pulled out his Android from his right pocket, taking a picture of the shadowed figure and posting it on every social media outlet possible with a clever caption. "Those are some cool contacts you have on there."
"Cassie Andrews. You ruined her life."
"You her new boy-toy?"
"You publically shamed her and then threw acid in her face."
"What proof do you have?"
"Listen, buddy-"
"No. You listen, cupcake." Luthor marched up to the Bullet. "Look at you. A man in a mask with a chip on his shoulder, trying to scare me with some spooky contact lenses. What're you going to do, arrest me? Take me to the police with that dumb sock over your face? No self respecting member of the MCPD is ever going to trust a masked psycho over the most respected and valued man in the city. In fact, nobody would." He paused. "Quick lesson. Basic Logic 101 here. Wearing a mask makes you seem like you've got something to hide. That's dangerous. That's scary. Look at me. I'm out in the open. My life is plastered all over the walls in this city. I'm an open book, you see. What, are you trying to scare me with that mask? I assure you, I've seen worse. Much worse."
"It's not about scaring people. It's about justice."
"JUSTICE!?" Luthor laughed. "Justice? I am Chief Justice in this town. And the Mayor. And the Commissioner of Police. And the Force. I am the media. I am the jury. I am the people. I am… well, I guess I'd be God. And do you know what it took to get here?" Lex pulled a spare LX C from his pocket and threw it at the Bullet. "Just one of these. You can keep it. I don't get the sense that you know who I am. Not well enough. It's basically my ongoing autobiography."
"You're wrong." Clark yelled. "I know exactly who you are. You're the diseased maniac who destroyed the life of an innocent girl. You're the leech draining the warmth from the heart of this city. You're nothing but a bully. And I'll be watching you very, very closely. You don't know who I am… but you're about to." The Bullet removed his mask to reveal the face of the boy beneath it. He stood, turning his head and melting the handle of the window with his heat-vision, swinging it open. His feet pushed against the ground, propelling himself into the air. "Look out for me."
Lex watched in awe as the mystery man magically flew away, uttering under his breath "Diseased maniac? What is this, 1978?"
2016, A Thursday in January
Ross Corn Farm, •Smallville
"And that's why I'm here. Lana. Pete. You were right about me going it alone in the city… being a dumb… vigilante. Wearing that stupid mask. I realise now that these people don't need fear, the good and the bad, not even monsters like Luthor. They need hope. And I can't give them that hiding behind a mask, trying to scare people. We can't." Clark stopped for a second. "And I want you to come with me. To Metropolis. Like you wanted to in the first place. These people think they're Gods, they think that they can walk all over and manipulate and oppress. It's time we used their weapons…" Clark lifted up the LX C Lex gave to him, "...against them. It's time we made a difference. Properly. By fighting against injustice."
"Cool." Pete smiled, "Alright. Nice pitch."
Martha clapped her hands, leaning back and letting the three friends talk amongst themselves and hatch a plan to save Metropolis. Lana leant forward, interested and ready to give Lex Luthor a great, big, kick-up-the-backside but curious as to how they'd do it. She asked, "Alright? How?"
A Month Later,
Southside, •Metropolis
Clark carried three boxes, all stacked on top of one another, into a building all three of the old friends from Smallville had leased, Pete trotted on behind him, struggling to carry just one of them. "Show off." He laughed, "Just not fair."
The two met Lana, who had already set up their phone on the ground floor, as well as one of the offices. She smiled at them, "Are those the last ones?"
"Yeah." Pete groaned placing his last box down. "Thank God."
Lana scurried over to Clark, who laid down his share of the last few boxes, holding something in her hand. "The cards came in the mail." She shows him a handful of them, "We are now all official members of the 'Call Kal' organisation."
The cards read:
'If you ever need help, just give us a call!'
An address and the name of the organisation were also printed onto the cards. Lana continued, "These also came in the mail. Uniforms… which you informed neither of us of." She lifted up a clear plastic packet which contained three blue shirts with a yellow and red "S" shield printed onto them. "What do the S's stand for?"
"Southside, of course. And Smallville. Gotta rep, Lana."
"It's kind of a corny design."
"Maybe we need a bit of corny. Bit of fun."
Pete jumped in, "I know a way we can have a bit of fun!" A chilly bottle of champagne was in his right hand, as well as three glasses.
"Here, here!" Lana yelled, Pete pouring the liquid into each of the three glasses. "To Southside."
"TO SOUTHSIDE!"
"To Southside! And Smallville!"
Their celebration was cut off by a loud barking sound, which sounded like it came from their car outside. Clark chuckled, "Shoot. Aha. Left Krypto in the car. Be right back."
TBC.
Stay tuned for more chapters in this series. While you're at it, check out some of the other Wave I DC Redux titles in this bold new shared universe, which include: Batman: Beyond Gotham by Ivan Krolo, Green Lantern: The Book of Oa by Bodhi Ouellette, The Flash: Incandescent Legacy by James Brady and Green Arrow: KIA by George Jones.
Also be sure to check out some of the NEW Wave II DC Redux titles coming out, such as, Catwoman: Valentina by Bodhi Ouellette, the anthology title, DC Redux Showcase Presents by various authors and Wonder Woman: Young Americans, also by Joey West.
Here's an epilogue.
2016, a Friday Night in January
Kent Farm, •Smallville
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
Clark Kent made his way right to the very end of the field at the outside of his childhood home, marching his feet through the snow. At the end he found his parents, gazing at a crater in the ground filled with green rock, which was mostly hidden by a thick sheet of snow, Clark looked to his parents, "I'm sorry… about everything. How I've been for the last few months."
Martha patted her husband on the back, "I know, son. And I forgive you." She left, "I think you two need to talk. Alone."
"Dad, I-"
"Son. When we found you and that dog in this crater and decided to take you in we knew what we were getting ourselves into. What we were setting ourselves up for. You found out who you were, son. You found your real family."
"No. Pa. I didn't. I found history. I found my heritage. But my planet, my- birth parents- all of it, long dead. I found that- in search of home… I ended up getting further and further away from it. Jor-El and Lara… they gave me life. And I will be eternally grateful for that. And I will honour them until the day I die. But you guys… you're my mom and dad, you're my family. You raised me. And kept the dog...which was a real sweet thing to do. I'll be a Kent till the day I die." The two embraced, snow beginning to fall once more.
"I love you, son. Now you be careful out there, alright? You, Pete and Lana."
Clark nodded.
"And take Krypto too. He's a great big pain in the ass without you around."
End Chapter.