SIX MONTHS LATER.
11AM, A Friday in July
1929 Feet Above Ground
Lex Luthor's Penthouse • LexCorp Tower, Metropolis
Slowly, hazily and painfully falling through the thick, eggshell-white-painted walls of a hard drug and alcohol fuelled sleep, eighteen-year-old ex-Disney kid, Harmony Faith reached over the King-sized bed she laid in and through the impossibly soft 1000 thread count bed sheets, expecting her hand to meet the warmth of the insanely wealthy man she had shared the night with. She only met what felt like a bucket of ice cubes compared to the cushioning and comfortable heat she had generated in her long, uninterrupted sleep.
The sheets rolled over each other, as her back threw itself up and onto the ebony headboard, giving her a full view of the room at daylight. Her perfect, shimmering blonde hair flowed down her spine like a smooth tide, pulling everything north towards her head, which she obsessively scratched and rubbed. A beautiful verdant green set of eyes rolled around twenty-five-year-old billionaire Lex Luthor's bedroom and, as they did, it became apparent to the young pop star pretty quickly that this was the real Andy Warhol museum and that the building in Pittsburgh which claimed to be was one big fat lie. Dollar signs, revolvers, cows, a Campbell's soup can, a couple of Mao Zedongs and a number Marilyn Monroes stared at her with dead eyes as they hanged from the walls like a band of face-painted criminals.
Her feet hit the thick fur of the ivory white bear rug which was laid out beside Luthor's bed, both of them sinking in and almost becoming lost within its river of chalky hair. After a moment of inspection, she noticed a plush Winnie the Pooh head crudely stitched onto the piece of fur in place of a real bear's head. She then put one foot in front of the other, repeated, and then continued repeating, travelling past the transparent glass door (noticing a "foggy glass" button which was connected to it by a pair of loose wires) and into the library, which was the next room from the bedroom.
A complete change in aesthetic took place as while the bedroom was more of a modern art project, the library took shape as more of a wooden carving. Her finger followed along the lone but massive and sprawling bookcase. The books had no specific order, not alphabetical by name nor author. There was no pattern. "Thus Spoke Zarathustra", "The Sandman: Dream Country", "Capital and Other Writings", "The Complete The World At Will and Representation", "One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest", "How I Accidentally Started the Sixties", "V For Vendetta", "The Wonderful Wizard of Oz" and "Northern Lights" all stood together, some in hardcover form and some in paperback. A framed, vinyl copy of Pink Floyd's "Animals" hung from the wall, next to it a series of movie tickets and lanyards from Cannes, Sundance and Venice film festivals. The smell of incense spread throughout this room and grew stronger as Harmony walked into the next, her nose welcoming its sweet aroma.
The popstar pushed past the tall mahogany door and into the next room on floor 163 (of 164) of LexCorp tower, which sat empty but for a vintage Michell Focus One record player and the waist-high box that it sat on, which at that moment played "Otis" by Kanye West and Jay-Z, the music echoing through this floor and into the one above. The walls were painted a solid matte black, the floor a set of large white tiles. A mockingly tall, thin but super-strong glass window bent over the room into the ceiling and stood at almost 15 feet tall. Alexei Luthor stood looking down directly at his iPhone, bare and naked for the entire city to see. Miss Faith headed over to him, the pristine white tile floor freezing her heels and toes with each step she took. She rested her right hand on his chiselled, unbelievably muscular abdomen and played with his long(ish) ginger hair with her left. Smiling at him, she asked, "Whatcha looking at?"
He let off a mumble which sounded vaguely similar to "shut up", her eyes then leering over his shoulder and then back down at his phone, where he scrolled through his Twitter feed. All of the tweets seemed to have the same hashtag attached share the same subject. They were all about some kind of hero. Some kind of superman.
"Dirk S Nighy
•DkSeedisNigh
•TheRealLexLuthor Told you the end times were nigh and you didn't believe me. Now a man is flying #thesupermanexists
6:24AM- 16 Jul 2016
G Gordon Godfrey
•TheRealGGGodfrey
The world is on fire. People are flying. Shooting fire from their eyes. It's official: the rapture is coming. We'll all be judged. #thesupermanexists #jesus
6:29AM- 16 Jul 2016
Jim Bradester
•AwShietBradee
Superheroes are real now. Gonna be top bants. #thesupermanexists
6:36AM- 16 Jul 2016
The Daily Planet
•DailyPlanetNews
Anonymous superhero stops plane crash in Metropolis. #thesupermanexists
6:03AM- 16 Jul 2016
Leah Moore
•LeahMoore
Dad's response to superhero stopping plane crash and in the process hundreds of lives: it's all bullshit isn't it? #thesupermanexists #shitdadssay
7:05AM- 16 Jul 2016
Maxwell Lord
•MaxLord
So glad that so many people got to keep their lives today and owe a great debt to the hero who made it happen #thesupermanexists
7:06AM- 16 Jul 2016"
Luthor's dark eyes painfully lifted themselves up from his touchscreen and onto the Metropolis skyline. The sky had turned into a rich, sparkling gold as the sun awakened and began to climb out of its own slumber. It was all so clear. Beautiful Too clear. Too beautiful. There should be fire. There should be brimstone. There should be ash. There should be chaos, the billionaire thought.
His eyes wandered down again, his thumb scrolling down a bit until reaching one tweet.
"Jimmy Olsen
•JOlsenDailyPlanet
•PWhiteDailyPlanet •LLaneDailyPlanet I gots the shot. Behold: The Super-Man #thesupermanexists
7:08AM- 16 Jul 2016"
Below was the instantly iconic image of Metropolis's new Man of Steel stood like a Titan. His shoulders were lifted high, his chest a thick slab of stone with a massive red and yellow "S" shield stretched across it. His shirt was a filthy white, dots of ash and embers covering his shoulders and arms. Both sleeves were cut short to reveal his massive biceps, which looked stronger than the densest and most powerful of metals, veins popping out from beneath his thick skin. Protective climbing gloves coated his hands, scratched and worn on their what was only their first day on the job.
Luthor ignored all of these details, instead deciding to focus on his face. That face. He'd seen it before. The boyish features, that look in his unnaturally bright blue eyes, the obsidian black hair and that way his face moved when he was determined. It was the demon that visited him all those months ago. That damned flying demon. His own personal Mephistopheles.
For the first time in a long time, fear ran through Alexei Luthor's bones.
A loud, annoying beep sounded off from Luthor's iPhone, the screen becoming a blindingly bright white and then a cool, deep sea blue. Bright, hot pink text appeared on top of it, reading,
"Just a minute, guys. Sorry for the inconvenience."
It was signed off with a golden "S" below it, Luthor stared in confusion.
NUMBER ONE:
#BANG
A DC REDUX JOINT
TYPED UP BY JOEY WEST
Call Kal HQ • Southside, Metropolis
"Alright, this is it… you cannot screw this up now."
"I know, Lana"
"No. You don't understand, you CANNOT screw this up, Clark. This is going live on every phone, every TV, every radio in the city. This would've been so much easier if we'd just pre-recorded it like I said."
"Well- the thing about recording it live is… yeah you were right. Boy, I'm really nervous."
"Oh god. I made you nervous. Don't be nervous. Nervous is bad. Nervous doesn't give us a good image. Nervous is scared little kid who doesn't know what to do with his superpowers."
"No. Don't you get nervous. You getting nervous is making me even more nervous."
"Shut up. We're almost ready." Pete Ross shouted from behind the "camera", the camera being an 118kg man of ambiguous age with a cybernetic eye called Cave Carson. He wore a straw cowboy hat, which was slightly worn and very dirty, a red and black plaid shirt and moderately torn jeans. Long, greasy ginger hair bled from under his hat, which lead to a badly kept beard which grew from his reddish, slightly wrinkled mouth. Above sat a regular looking nose and a regular looking left eye. His right, however, looked normal but for a noticeable red dot in the centre of the pupil which would be able to unsee you once you saw it. It was cybernetic. Nobody knew how he got it and nobody had ever asked. Nobody knew where it came from or how he lost his old eye. And nobody ever asked.
Because nobody knew who he was. Not Clark, not Lana, not Pete, not Krypto, not anyone. Not even you, the reader. You may have noticed that he wasn't in the last chapter and may want some explanation as to where he came from, how he joined up with the group, how he got a cybernetic eye which doubled as a camera… etc. I'm not telling you. I may not even know myself. Cave Carson has a cybernetic eye. Deal with it.
Anyway.
A USB cable was plugged into the side of Carson's head, which itself was connected to a MacBook, which, on its screen, showed Kal-El of Krypton standing in front of his new office, which Lana had neatly laid out a day earlier in preparation for this moment. Cheap lighting which looked semi-professional was hidden off-screen, beyond the sight of the camera in Cave Carson's eye. Pete laughed, "It works. It actually works. Aight, Cave's eye-camera is now ready to broadcast on every smartphone in Metropolis."
"Toldja." Cave hollered. "Let's do this thing."
"How does he look?" Lana asked.
"Handsome." Cave jested, until Pete rudely interrupted.
"No. He's just trying to be "nice and cool Cave Carson". He looks like crap. Put on the makeup."
Lana quickly pulled out a box of makeup from her handbag, Clark knocking her hand away, "You're not putting that on me."
"Yes I am."
"No. You're not."
"Yes. I am."
"Lana."
"Clark."
"Not to freak anyone out but you guys do realise we've held every phone in the city hostage for over two minutes now, right?" Cave cut in.
"Crap." Lana jumps out of the way of the camera, "Alright. Don't screw this up."
"I'm not gonna mess it up!" Clark whined, his voice then lowering as he began to prepare, "Okay then… uh… let's go."
"Alright. Alright. Alright." Cave remarked, pressing the enter button on the MacBook. "Broadcast begins in 3. 2. 1."
11PM • LAST NIGHT
Lucky House Chinese Restaurant • Southside, Metropolis
"Thanks." Clark Kent, dressed in a red zip-up hoodie, an ironed white T-shirt, a tie and his signature pair of glasses graciously spoke as he grabbed a big full of delicious Chinese food from the second-best place in Southside from across a tall, marble counter.
"Enjoy." The raven-haired girl behind the counter smiled, Clark smiling back and dopily looking into her eyes for a moment, his closest friend (and usual straight man) having to snatch the bag from his hand and quickly respond to her.
"We will." Pete broke in, tugging on Clark's tie, almost dragging his friend out of the Restaurant.
"Have a nice evening!" The boy who fell to Earth quickly blurted out as he was pulled out into the freezing cold of Metropolis's night.
They had been working to make a difference here for a few months now but still were struck by the place every time they stepped their foot out of the door. It was smoggy, it was messy, it was grimy and it was dirty but it had a kind of charm within it that the group couldn't place. In a way, it reminded them of Smallville. Everybody knew everybody, and despite the poverty and excruciatingly high crime rate, it felt oddly friendly. People of all shapes and sizes greeted Pete on his way back to his apartment, the red and yellow "S" he wore on his chest having become a kind of bulletproof vest in Southside, some were alcoholics, some were drug users, some were gang members and some had done unspeakable things but they all acknowledged that the people at Call Kal were just trying to help out, which is why they had become off-limits due to unofficial street rule. And everybody knew Clark Kent was the only reporter who had the guts to live in and write about what was really going on in Southside (against his editor's wishes, I might add), so they had a great deal of respect for him too.
The two friends walked in relative silence until Pete's head cocked up in delayed confusion just as they reached the old, abandoned Southside Train Station, turning to his old friend and asking, "So why were you making gooey eyes at Cho?"
"...am I not allowed to do that?"
"I thought you and Lana were playing the "on-again, off-again", "will they, won't they" kinda game."
"It hasn't been that way for a real long time."
"Nah, really?"
"Not since like before we left Smallville." Clark said as he leant down to put a dollar in a sleeping homeless man's cup. "You seriously hadn't noticed?"
"So what the hell was the flirting and the play fighting and the hugging when you were doing the dishes last night?"
"Urm… just some friendly hugging, Pete."
"She tore your shirt off."
"Yeah. As a joke. We're a trio of 20-somethings living in an apartment on a wacky adventure to save Metropolis, we pull pranks on each other. We weren't exactly going to do anything while you were sitting right over there- -" Clark pointed to a random direction. "- -in the apartment, were we?"
"Do you do the nasty when I'm not home?"
"What!? No! Gee, Pete, what do you think we are, animals!?" Clark paused for a second. "Can we not talk about this, please? Let's talk about something else."
"Alright. Why did we go to this place? Happy House is so much better." Pete whined.
"Because Happy House is really expensive."
"Because it's better."
"Well, not to tell you what to do with your life but maybe if you got a proper job, we'd have some more money to spend on stuff like take-out and movie tickets."
"So I'm supposed to manage our "non-profit organisation" AND get a job on the side?"
"That's what me and Lana are doing… and Cave, I think. Though I have no idea where he gets his money from." Clark lost focus but bounced back again. "It's the whole reason why I have this secret identity thing."
"Yeah and I still don't know why you don't wear a mask." Pete continued, "And don't start with the whole "hero with a face" thing, you've told me that about a billion times."
"I'm waiting for a 'but'."
"But people just mistake you for the other dude all the time. I'm pretty sure a few of these guys catcalling us are doing it right now."
"And you know what I say to them?"
"What?"
"I tell em that I'm not the other dude." Clark explained, "And then we usually have ourselves a nice conversation about how Kal and I could be long-lost twins or whatever, and then we just move on with our lives."
"Alright, it'd be one thing if Clark Kent and Kal-El had completely separate lives but Clark Kent and Kal-El also hang out with the exact same people." Pete continued to argue, "I mean. Come on."
"Hey. It's just… it's worked so far, alright? Somehow. I say we just run with it."
Pete stopped, "That's not an argument." Clark's face scrunched up a bit, trying to think of something to say but he's cut off by his friend before he can even begin, "Hey. What's going on…?"
A stampede of police cars and ambulances sped in their direction and began to circle around the block. An African-American police officer with a pencil thin moustache jogged over to them, Clark beginning to notice other police officers knocking on doors and heading into the train station, rounding everyone up and leading them out. The officer spoke, "Excuse me, we're going to need you to come with us into one of these ambulances."
"Uh. Of course. Could you tell us why?" Clark asked nicely.
"Um. Yeah. Why?" Pete asked in a less than nice manner.
The officer sighed, "Look. All we've been told is that some rich kid has gone crazy and has decided going to kamikaze his private jet into the station. We're doing our best to evacuate the area. Now please, would you head over to one of those ambulances? They'll take you safely away."
Pete began to walk, Clark stopping and staring into the sky, watching the blood red and sterile white lights of the jet edge closer and closer, becoming slightly larger and brighter. He then looked around at the people being rushed out of their homes, the passers by on the street being courted off to safety and the legion of homeless men and women being slowly hoarded out of the train station. All of these people were either going to lose their homes or even their lives and that made Clark furious. He removed his red hoodie and handed it to Pete, as well as the contents of his pockets which included his phone, his keys, and his wallet. He also pulled a pair of climbing gloves from his back pocket and puts them on. "Hold these for me."
"Cl- Kal. What are you doing?"
"Something that may or may not work out… but I have to try. They're not going to make it in time. I gotta do something." Clark's tone became more serious, his shoulders broadened, his chest becoming larger. "Alright. Do me a favour. Update the Daily Star Twitter page, I'm not having the Planet beat us to this story… uh… make sure Lana and Cave are safe and… uh… try not to throw up."
He tore his shirt open and threw it onto the floor, revealing a white T-shirt with his now-signature Southside or Smallville "S" printed onto it. "Alright."
"You're not thinking of-" Mid-sentence, Clark zipped away, grabbing everyone who was in danger of being hit by the plane two-at-a-time and utilising his super-speed to evacuate the area faster than an entire army of police officers and ambulances ever could. It took about two minutes to get everyone, a blurry red-white light-show effect being created as he ran as fast as he could to get everyone out as a precautionary measure. Just in case he failed. Lastly, he grabbed Pete by the chest, taking less than a second to drop him off with the rest of the people he had evacuated a few blocks away. Pete instantly started to gag. Clark returned his spot, right outside of the train station, looking back up.
Using his enhanced vision, his eyes zoomed far into the sky, confronting the mean face of the airplane. He grimaced at it in determination, his feet pressing deep into the crackling tarmac below the soles of his shoes and then launching him into the air at 800 miles per hour, his body clashing, contorting and wrapping itself around the nose of the private jet just a moment after launch.
In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. In. Out. He tried to breathe and calm himself down. His heart was going faster than it ever had, wind and small particles at dust cutting at his skin and his clothes like an army of razors. Both of his eyes were locked shut, Clark having to muster up the courage to open his left to see how many people were inside the jet. Only three. Thank God, he thought. Only three.
Digging the tips of his fingers into the hull, he dragged his body up, fighting against the air and wind, to the side of the jet, looking down to see how close it was to the ground. He breathed a sigh of relief. Still got time. Once there, with his thumb, he pushed himself back a bit, almost losing balance and sliding off, and then pulled his weight in to crash his shoulder through the walls and into the cabin of the vehicle, being thrust forward and grabbing a chair so he could stand. Two of the passengers laid pressed against the door which lead to the cockpit, one trying to attack the other but being hindered by the air pressure. He took another breath, letting go of his balance and allowing himself to fall and grab the two men, break through the door, pull the pilot into his arms and smash straight through the nose of the plane. In mid-air, he swiftly turned all three of them over, allowing his back to take the damage and the shock from the harsh landing, saving the lives of all three men.
A rush of pain spread up into his spine as he laid in the crater he created, his teeth grit. All three of the men stared down at him, perplexed that they and their saviour all survived. He climbed up to his feet, which was no easy feat, but he managed. Looking up into the sky, the jet's mean face was dangerously close. He didn't have the strength nor time to fly back up and attempt to catch it or reroute it. Okay. This is either genius or really, really darn stupid.
A literal fire brewed in his eyes, a blurry line of heat beginning to launch into the sky, hitting the nose of the plane. No. I need more heat. Come on! He clenched his fists. Come on! Blood began to pour from his nose. Come on! His feet broke into and buried themselves in the ground. Come on! A righteous fury built inside and burst from within him, consuming him. Every face he'd ever seen in Southside echoed throughout his head and didn't relent. The thought of any them either dead or hurt made his fingernails bury themselves in his palms, drawing his own blood. For the first time, Clark Kent knew what rage was. For the first time in his life, Clark Kent saw red. "COME. ON!"
KA-BOOM!
A pure white flash.
KA-BLOOM!
The jet stopped in mid-air.
BANG!
BANG!
Grey and white ash fell from the sky like snowflakes, Clark wiping the blood from his nose as he smiled. And the day… is saved.
11AM, A Friday in July
1929 Feet Above Ground
Lex Luthor's Penthouse • LexCorp Tower, Metropolis
Lex intensely glared down at his phone as the once blue screen turned to a solid black and then to a live broadcast. The flying demon which visited Luthor all those months ago stood there in the centre of the frame, smiling with the utmost sincerity. He wore a blue T-shirt with an S-shield printed onto it, a silver pendant hanging around his neck and going down under the shirt. He stood in front of an office, which was neatly tidied but obviously very cheap. He spoke with a southern twang in his voice. "We are so sorry for the inconvenience. We'll make this quick. Alright. Hi. I'm Kal-El of Krypton, I'm a superpowered alien from outer space and you probably saw a lot of me in the news last night. When I was a child, me and my puppy, Krypto- -"
"My puppy and I." Lex muttered under his breath. "Moron."
"- -were sent to this planet following the destruction of our own… where a kindly couple, found us and raised us as their own. And now, I've decided to give back to the people that took me in with open arms by setting up a superhero hotline. If the chips are down, if you're at the end of your rope and if you need someone to count on, we'll be there. If you see a wrong that needs to be righted, send us a voicemail, a video message, or hit us up on social media. You're not in this alone, take a stand with us and Call Kal at- -"
Lex let out a blood-curdling scream, smacking Harmony off of his shoulders and throwing his mobile phone through the 15-foot-window.
"GET OUT!"
12PM
Call Kal HQ • Southside, Metropolis
Pete, Kal and Cave all sat in a circle around Lana, who leant against Kal's desk. She read off from a list on her Android. "Okay. So. Pete you know you've got to meet Mrs. Schneider in like 5 minutes, right?"
"Yeah. It's only like a two minute walk from here."
"Alright. Clark. Kal. Sorry. Gotta get used to that. You've gotta find the mayor's dog, which shouldn't take long cause you'll be taking Krypto with you."
"Did he send a picture?"
"I'll ask for that. Cave. You're on receptionist duty for the day."
"Alright. Alright. Alright."
"...and I've gotta go fix Mr. Jones's engine. Engineering for the win..." She looked up from her phone. "...and we all gotta be back by 2 though because we have that interview with Miss Lane from the Planet at quarter-past."
"Noted." Kal said. "I've got no assignments from the Star so I'll be available all day after the interview thing."
"Sweet." Lana spoke. "I've gotta be at work for 6 but before then, I'll be free."
"I…" Pete attempted to break into the conversation.
"You don't have a job, Pete." Lana cut in. "We know you're available all day."
"Mhm."
"Then I'll keep you all posted if anything comes up." Cave spoke.
"Well, alright then."
1PM
Castle Gardens • Northern Metropolis
A snowy white labrador with a bright, bombastic red collar turned to bark at his master, the new Super-Man of Metropolis, Kal-El of Krypton, or Clark Kent, as the dog knew him. Next to him sat a slightly confused looking chihuahua, who became even more disoriented after spotting the floating man who descended towards her. "Good boy, Krypto." Kal turned to the chihuahua, "Hey, Precious. How about we take you home?"
He then paused and looked into the distance, checking on something, perhaps someone, he looked at his watch and muttered under his breath, "I got time."
Rog's Hair Place • Suicide Slum, Metropolis
With a ding-a-ling of the bell, Kal-El of Krypton burst through the door of Roger Slevitch's barbershop with a chihuahua in one hand and his Kryptonian companion dog in tow. He looked down on Alexei Luthor, who sat on a luxury leather chair while his face was being shaved, with nothing but contempt in his eyes. Cassie Andrews, who had only recently mustered up the courage to go back to work, stepped out from the back room with a look of worry on her scarred face. Kal smiled at her before looking back down at Lex, snarling. Krypto, the Superdog, began to growl. Precious, the mayor's chihuahua, let off a high-pitched bark.
Kal spoke, "Think it's time we had ourselves a talk, Alexei."
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.
