It had been three months since the fateful day when Percy had bumped into the Man of Steel himself. Not that he realized it.
Not everyone thought good about Superman. Recently, he heard that some reporter had gone to this place in Africa for an interview with a terrorist. Why she'd do that he didn't know, but when things went sour, Superman had gone there and killed everyone to save her. At least, that's what he heard.
Percy didn't really believe that. It was a bit ... farfetched. He didn't know why, or how, but all he knew was that it wasn't Superman's fault. And the media always tended to over exaggerate things beyond what they seem. After all, he had been targeted too. Once, when he had to retrieve Zeus's Master Bolt, the mortals thought that he kidnapped his own mother and ran across the country. Not cool.
He briefly wondered if the Mist concealed Superman's actions the way it did for demigods, but he quickly threw that theory out of the window. Firstly, he was a mortal. An alien, but still a pure one hundred percent mortal. Percy doubted that an Olympian would leave the planet, go all the way to another planet and screw an alien. But … what if Superman's planet had gods of their own?
After a long day as an intern working for an annoying boss, Percy reached home, which was on Butler street in the Upper East side of Metropolis. It was actually quite near his own workplace, which was on 14th Street, near the LexCorp tower.
He walked to the house and used the key to open the door. Yeah. House. Having a dad who's also the sea god is quite the advantage when it comes to money. After the giant war, Poseidon basically forced them to take the gifts, and how could Percy refuse. As a demigod, he learnt one thing. Don't refuse gifts. They can be quite useful. And now it was. Instead of living in the cramped apartment in New York, they lived in a nice comfortable little two storey house including a garage in Metropolis.
"MOM! I'M BACK!" Percy shouted.
His mother, Sally Jackson-Blofis, came rushing down the stairs to give her son a big hug, which Percy graciously returned. After the several disappearances Percy made, Sally wouldn't let her son out of her sight. So when Percy got an admission into the Metropolis University, Sally and Paul both moved too. Not that they complained! The place was nice. It was cheery and was definitely a better choice than say, ... Gotham.
Ah. Gotham. The city with the highest crime rates. Though it was being toned down by The Batman. Percy didn't know what to make of The Dark Knight. Eventually, he just thought that anybody who's willing to sacrifice his sleep to fight crime is definitely a plus in his books. And by what he'd heard, Batman had been doing it only for a few years now! Now that's efficiency. Plus, Percy had to admit his suit looked cool.
Paul, who was inside in the living room, glanced at the pair and said a cheerful 'Hi Percy!'.
After assuring his mother that he was absolutely fine and everything, Percy went upstairs to his bedroom, where he stripped down bare and got into the bathroom. Using his powers, he summoned the right amount of water and suddenly the tub was filled. He touched the water. Right temperature too. Putting some soap, he got into the tub, relaxing as the water completely soothed him, filling him with raw energy. He felt as if he could take on even Superman in a fist fight.
After what felt like a few minutes to him, he heard an angry yell that could only belong to his mother. "PERCY! COME DOWN! IT"S BEEN AN HOUR!"
Percy jolted upright. He'd lost track of time again. He quickly got out of the tub and didn't even bother to wipe himself with a towel, choosing to will himself dry instead.
Putting on a pair of grey jogging pants, which he used to sleep in, and a t-shirt, he ran downstairs, where dinner was ready.
He quickly grabbed his plate and sat on the couch instead, earning a glare from his mom. Rolling his eyes, he called them over too.
He was flipping the channels until he arrived at a news channel talking about Superman. Now, while Percy knew to trust his instincts, his time with Annabeth made him trust his brain too.
He learned not to blindly believe anybody. Luke was proof of that.
So he decided to keep an eye on this Superman. For all he knew, Superman could well be a danger if left unchecked. Internally, Percy grimaced at the thought. He was starting to sound like Zeus.
The camera showed Heroes Park, where there was a giant statue of Superman. But the 'S' symbol was being scrubbed by some kind of bleach and when he looked closely,, he could make out the words - FALSE GOD, spray painted red.
"Emergency responders quickly created a precautionary perimeter around Heroes Park while they brought the man down from this beloved monument. The suspect has been identified as Wallace Vernon Keefe."
Percy saw a bearded man screaming as he was dragged away by the authorities. He had both legs missing.
"I work for Bruce Wayne!" He exclaimed
"I work for Bruce Wayne!" He screamed.
Ignoring the screams of the man, the reporter continued. "There'll be arraign on charges of vandalism, resisting arrest and a felony charge of making terrorist threats. That carries up to forty years in prison."
Percy blinked disbelievingly when he heard that. Forty years? Damn. And why? Just 'cause he spray painted and vandalised?
He knew it wasn't Superman's fault, but the police were taking this waaaaaayyy too seriously. You cannot imprison a man for forty years just because he spray painted a monument. Even a few years is harsh, let alone forty. If it weren't Superman's statue they wouldn't give a rat's ass about what he vandalised.
In the meantime, Percy knew what he had to do. Well, it wasn't something he wanted to do, but more like something that the gods ordered him to do. Apparently, the gods wanted Percy to go and destroy Superman. Well, at first anyway. He managed to convince them to allow him to just confront him. He wouldn't exactly be confronting him but talking to him.
(In an underground fighting club)
Bruce Wayne stood there and watched as his most trusted employee was being beaten up by a bigger, stronger fighter. When the big white man punched the dark skinned man hard enough that he went toppling over to Bruce, he was stopped by a pair of strong arms.
Sighing, Bruce pointed out the other man's weaknesses. "Don't go all out Dave. Make sure you hit his left."
Bruce pushed the man back into the ring. This time, Dave was ready. When the other guy swung his arm at him, Dave ducked his head delivered a punishing right cross. And another.
The white man was now stumbling and before he could recover, Dave got in close and gave a jaw cracking elbow to his face, making him drop to his knees. While he was down, Dave brought his hand back and smashed it into his opponents face, not giving him a chance to react. He swiftly followed it by four punches in quick succession and a devastating front kick to the face.
By now, the crowd was cheering and the other guy was down for the count. A Russian man grunted and pulled out a card before tossing it over his incapacitated fighter.
Later, the Russian had gone to the counter to take a drink. Putting his phone down, he took the vodka shot given to him. Beside him, Bruce Wayne appeared, putting a carbon copy of the same phone on the table.
When the Russian left, Bruce picked his phone and turned it around to see the screen.
Device Cloning Successful.
The next day, when Alfred entered the hideout of Bruce Wayne, he was met with a sight of Bruce Wayne downing bottles of the most expensive alcohol, but otherwise NOT drunk ... somehow. Who knew the Batman had a high tolerance?
Alfred felt a little disappointed. "I hope the next generation of Waynes won't inherit an empty wine cellar." He said.
Bruce looked at Alfred briefly, before going inside the kitchen.
When Bruce was out of earshot, Alfred muttered "Not that there's likely to be a next generation."
When Bruce arrived, he handed a cup of coffee to Alfred, who smiled a little. "Thank you sir."
Ignoring that, Bruce pointed to the coffee table, which was littered with all kinds of papers. A small laptop acted as a paperweight, keeping the singular sheets from flying away. "This is every call made from the Russian's phone. Two mentions of business with the 'White Portuguese' and it's continuing transmitting black out data to the personal residence of Alexander Luthor." He pointed at the computer screen, which showed an encoded message being played.
Alfred frowned. "You think Lex Luthor is the 'White Portuguese'? I can't see that he needs the income from imported arms."
Bruce rolled his eyes at Alfred's bluntness. Of course, he couldn't tell Alfred that it wasn't 'arms' but Kryptonite that he was after.
"Regardless, I'll need to put a 'leech' in his house, and I'm going to need the suit." Bruce declared.
Alfred shook his head. "The Bat interrogated six people and came away with nothing. It was Bruce Wayne that got the information."
"Well, Bruce Wayne can't break into Lex Luthor's house." He retorted to Alfred.
"Bruce Wayne won't have to. He's been invited." Alfred said, showing him the invitation which mentioned his name.
Bruce stepped into the elevator which took him down to the basement.
He stared at his bat-suit for a few moments before turning away.
Sighing, he pulled the cover off of his favourite car aside from his bat mobile. The Mini Cooper.
Clark Kent was having a bad day. Why? He'd seen the footage of his monument being desecrated. Now, he didn't care about the monument at all. It was the words written on it.
FALSE GOD.
He wasn't even trying to be a god. It wasn't really his fault people thought of him that way. But then again, it wasn't the people's fault either. They believed in god as a saviour, a protector. That's exactly what he did. He saved people. He protected Earth.
Seeing those words spray painted on the statue, he looked away, unable to look at the television. Across the seats, Lois saw the pained expression on his face and felt her heart clench. It hurt her to see her boyfriend looking so dejected.
While Clark mulled over the words, Perry White (who was actually black) approached his table.
"Kent!" He exclaimed. "You're sports today. I want you to follow up on the football. Underdog dreams dashed. Ten yards between Gotham and glory."
Clark sighed. He'd have to go over to Gotham. Alone. He couldn't ask Lois because she would be assigned some other story.
As Clark was leaving, Perry shouted after him. "Also I need you to cover Luthor's party. The Governor will be there."
Clark's eyes widened momentarily, before nodding his head. He started collecting his things and prepared to travel to Gotham City. Finally, he'd be able to get some information about the so called Batman.
(Alexander Luthor's Residence)
Clark was busy looking around and fumbling with his camera when a black Mini Cooper arrived in front of the red carpet. The door was opened by one of the chauffeurs and a well built man stepped out of it.
The man was tall. A few inches shorter than Clark himself and he was very well built. If Clark wasn't Kryptonian, he knew he'd lose in a fist fight with this guy. But the man must've been famous, because all the reporters snagged his attention.
"Mr. Wayne!"
"This way Mr. Wayne!"
But Clark was thoroughly confused. He turned to a photographer next to him.
"Who's that?" He asked.
The photographer stared at him incredulously. "You must be new! That. That is Bruce Wayne!"
Clark shrugged and decided to go inside with the rest of them.
Inside, a blonde woman wearing a white dress stood in the centre on a small stage. "Philanthropist. Bibliophile. True friend of the library of Metropolis. Mr. Lex Luthor."
In the centre of the audience, a young man in his late twenties mock gasped. "Nikki. You're embarrassing me." Lex Luthor said as he made his way to the stage and went to the top.
As he stood in front of the mic, everyone stared at him, waiting for some kind of epic speech.
"Speech. Speech. Uh, blah blah blah. Open bar."
Everyone started laughing and Clark wanted to face-palm then and there. Bruce, who stood a little behind, narrowed his eyes ever so slightly. Clearly Lex wanted to say something else. Why did he cover it up?
"The word Philanthropist, comes from the Greek. Meaning a lover of humanity. It was coined about, 2,500 years ago ..."
At this point, Bruce decided that he had enough and decided to go and do what he came for. He spoke into his nearly invisible earpiece. "Alright, where am I going, Alfred?"
"Approach the elevator, to your left. That where it must be. It's in the service corridor in the basement. Go down the stairs."
He followed Alfred's instructions.
Unbeknownst to him, a certain reporter had very clearly heard both sides of the conversation and a curious Clark Kent decided to keep an eye on Bruce Wayne.
"Now you got the kitchens on your right. To the left." He went there.
"Right in front of you, that's where you want to be." Bruce took out a small device and attached it to the top of of the ceiling. He had just finished when,
"May I help you Mr. Wayne?" A petite asian woman asked.
Bruce wanted to curse so many words about now.
He looked at the woman, putting an innocent confused on his face. "Uh, I just ... thought the bathroom was down here. I must have ..."
He cursed mentally. He hadn't prepared for something like this. Finally, he found a convincing answer. "My last martini was too too many I think."
"Men's bathroom is upstairs Mr. Wayne."
"Great, I'm okay." He replied. When he saw her suspicious face, he added "I like those shoes."
The woman didn't look convinced, but she dropped it. She smiled lightly before going off elsewhere.
Bruce mentally slapped himself "I can't stay down here Alfred." He muttered.
"Go upstairs and socialise. Some young lady from Metropolis will make you honest ... in your dreams Alfred."
Bruce frowned at the last part. What was that supposed to mean?
When he went upstairs, Lex Luthor was still speaking. "Books are knowledge, and knowledge is puff worth. And I am ... Heh heh heh, no." He stuttered. "I, umm. No, what am I?"
"Alright, what am I suppose to say?" He looked at the audience, who now looked at him in slight amusement.
He then got serious all of a sudden. "No. The bitter sweet pain among men is having knowledge with no power. Because ... Because that is PARADOXICAL!" His voice rose at the end.
"And umm ... Thank you for coming." He ended.
For formalities' sake, everyone clapped lightly at the end of his speech. Truthfully? They didn't get a word he said.
Bruce felt something odd. He looked in front to see a tall black haired woman in a backless red dress looking at him. He was about to go over to her but was interrupted by a man nearly his size. The young man, probably in his mid-twenties, wore a brown suit with a reporter's ID. The Daily Planet. Bruce wanted to curse colourfully at this point. The Daily Planet was his most hated newspaper. All they ever did was write about Superman, as if he were some celebrity.
"Clark Kent, Daily Planet." The man said.
Purposely acting clueless he replied. "Oh, my foundation has already issued a statement in support of the ... cause." He said, staring at a woman's cleavage without any shame.
Clark frowned. Why was this guy behaving like that? A few minutes back he was completely different. Clearly Bruce Wayne was covering up something. He had gone to do something downstairs. He heard that much from the conversation.
"I'm sorry?" Clark asked.
"Wow. Pretty girl. Bad habit. Don't quote me, alright?" Bruce said, smirking a little as he watched the woman with the backless dress pass by.
Clark then quickly shifted the topic. "What's your position on the bat vigilante in Gotham?"
Bruce really wanted to avoid that topic. "Daily Planet. Wait, do I own that one? Or is it the other guy?"
Ignoring the previous statement, Clark continued. "Civil liberties are being trampled on in your city. Good people living in fear."
Bruce frowned, his eyes narrowing. Now that was just over the line. He spent day and night for two years fixing the city and this was what people thought? "Don't believe everything you hear son."
Clark interrupted him. "I've seen it Mr. Wayne. He thinks he's above the law."
Bruce wanted nothing more than to smack the reporter. How dare he presume his intentions?!
Clark could make out the rising heartbeat and the blood pressure from his interviewee. He mentally frowned. Either Bruce Wayne was a fan of The Batman or he was The Batman. He shook his head at the latter. Impossible. An obnoxious playboy like Bruce Wayne could never be Batman.
Bruce snorted. "The Daily Planet criticizing those who think they're above the law. A little hypocritical, wouldn't you say? ... Considering every time your hero saves a cat out of a tree, you write a puff piece editorial, about an alien who ... if he wanted to, could burn the whole place down. There wouldn't be a damn thing we could do to stop him."
Clark frowned slightly. Was this how people really thought about him? "Most of the world doesn't share your opinion Mr. Wayne."
Bruce had a faraway look as he spoke. "Maybe it's just that ... Gotham City and me, we just, ... have bad history with freaks dressed like clowns."
Clark felt insulted. "What?", he asked hotly.
Lex Luthor appeared at the scene, relieving the tension from the air with his fake-joyous attitude.
"Boys!" Ah! Bruce Wayne meets Clark Kent! I love bringing people together! ... How are we?"
"Lex." Bruce said, with a smile on his face, but only he knew it was fake.
"Hello, good."
"Lex. It is a pleasure -OW!" He said when he shook Clark's hand.
"That is a good grip, you should not pick a fight with this person!" He said, lightly tapping Clark's chest.
As the conversation went on and on, the seven minutes were over and Bruce had to go collect his item from downstairs. However, when he went, it was missing. He looked around, panicking. There was the same dark haired, red dressed woman, looking at him.
He cursed. How could he not have figured that out. He tried to go after her but someone or the other kept walking into him and at one point a waiter pushing a trolley full of dishes passed by him.
By the time he got to the reception, the woman smirked at him and got into his car, driving off before he could stop her. Cursing loudly, he called Alfred, asking the butler to bring another car.
A/N: Another chapter for you guys. Pretty quickly too if I say so myself. So, Percy is ordered by the gods to confront Superman, but obviously he won't do that. Knowing Percy, he's gonna chat with him.
Q: Why do the gods even care about Clark?
A: Because he's nearly as powerful as an Olympian and Zeus is a paranoid little shit.
Q: Why don't the gods speak to Clark directly?
A: Because they don't want to reveal the Greek world to a mortal. (even though they are fine revealing it to the mortals they have sex with)
Q: If the gods don't want to reveal Olympus to Clark, why do they send Percy who will most likely blabber?
A: Because the gods are morons.
Once again, I would like to remind you guys that Percy is 21, while the others are somewhat close to that. Batman isn't middle aged. He is 23. But he is still brutal at first.