The Last Son of Tomorrow

Stranger in a Strange Land

Terry was pleased to learn that not only did Superman exist, but that he wasn't evil. The same was true of most of the heroes he knew or had heard of. As near as he could tell, there wasn't anyone good or evil that he wasn't used to being that way, which simplified things. Feeling relieved, he decided to check up on Batman as well, and while there were a number of things shrouded in mystery about the Dark Knight—which he knew was probably the way Bruce liked it—he was a publicly recognized figure as a member of the Justice League.

Terry pondered the Justice League for a moment. What he'd learned was a bit interesting, but it didn't really strike him as particularly good or bad. The Justice League had been founded by Superman, Batman, Wonder Woman, Flash, a Green Lantern, Aquaman and Martian Manhunter. The founding Green Lantern definitely wasn't Rex's father and Hawkwoman wasn't among them, but both Mr. Stewart and Sheyera—who almost certainly wasn't Mrs. Stewart, given the presence of Hawkman with her pretty much all the time—had joined later. The League had gone public only recently and added a few new members, which probably meant they'd been hidden for quite awhile.

He imagined Bruce approved of that kind of caution.

But for all the minor differences, Terry just had to shrug. They worked together and saved the day, so minor changes didn't evoke any particular feelings from him after seeing a heroic Lex Luthor during the crisis. In fact, he was pretty numb to weirdness after what he saw during that time.

Closing the book about the History of Heroes that he'd skimmed and set it besides the newspaper he'd found detailing the Justice League's coming out. He'd gathered a number of books, mainly ones about specific teams or heroes, but also several that complained about the effects of Superheroes, just to make sure there weren't any horrible crimes he needed to be aware off. All told, he'd been in the library for a few hours.

Mother Box had long sinse fixed his broken ribs, but he was starting to get a bit hungry. With the conflict and the rush into a new Universe, he had mainly subsisted on anything he could eat quickly for…several weeks, actually and it was getting harder to ignore, even with Mother Box's help. Mother Box would need some time to recharge soon too, since he'd been pushing her hard.

Recharging Mother Box wasn't a problem, since he could just plug her into the city's power grid and let her leech off of it until she was at full power. He, on the other hand, had no money and would need to figure out a way of getting some before long.

But for now, it wasn't an issue. With Mother Box's support, he'd be fine pretty much indefinitely, though it would leech at her power supplies. And if he couldn't find anything to eat for free, he could just travel into the wilderness and go hunting or find some apple trees.

But thinking about things like that caused Terry's thoughts to drift towards his next course of action.

"What do you think, Mother Box? Should I contact them?" He asked.

Contacting Bruce and Clark would be simple enough to do. He could get to Wayne Manor easily and contacting Clark would probably be as simple as turning on the signal he'd given him. Superman wouldn't be able to help but hear the sound and he'd probably come looking. Even if, for some reason, that didn't work, he could just carve a giant bat or 'S' into some roof to get his attention, or a Kryptonian message. Then he'd just have to sit and wait for him to see, which would only be a matter of time.

They'd be suspicious, of course, but he could work with that; he'd be suspicious in that situation, too. Getting them to believe he was a time-traveling man from another Multiverse here to save infinite Worlds by restarting them with the power left behind by some malicious, genocidal, extradimensional Superbeing might be a little bit hard, but he might be able to prove that too, with all the data he had with him.

He wanted to see the old men again, even if they probably weren't old in this time period and didn't know or trust him.

And yet, he needed to really think about this. These were his first steps in this World and he had to make sure his choices were the right ones. Now that he'd had time to sit and think instead of just rushing from conflict to conflict, things were starting to settle in. It was like a heavy weight that was settling over him and he, quite frankly, found it more than a bit scary.

It was not an exaggeration to say that the fates of infinite worlds—and more importantly, infinite lives—depended on his success. If he failed, they'd more then just die; they would never have existed in the first place. Everything he'd ever known or loved would be gone and no one would mourn.

Wow. No pressure or anything.

Mother Box pinged in concern, but he just shook his head.

"I know. This is really important, but I can't let the pressure get to me. I just have to do everything I can." He said resolvedly. He was Batman; he acknowledged danger, fear, and pressure, but he didn't let them slow him down. "Still, should I call in the cavalry?"

Mother Box was silent for a moment, before giving off a suggestive ping that only its owner could really interpret.

Terry paused, lifting his eyes to the ceiling contemplatively.

"You know," He began. "Bruce probably does have an 'In Case the Universe Ends' plan—or else came up with one when it started to. Think it's on one of the Hard Drives?"

She pinged again.

"Of course it would be; what am I saying? If he had it, he would have sent it with me. Let's go check it out."

XxXXxX

Using the Batmobile's on board computer, Terry checked the first of the hard drives, thankfully marked such. Even with the end of the Universe impending, Bruce had been organized. All the files were sorted neatly into carefully marked folders. The very first file stood out, brought to the top by an asterisk before and after the name. It was titled 'The Plan.'

"I knew betting on Bruce's paranoia would never let us down," He told Mother Box. It beeped back at him. "I am, I am; just give me a second."

Opening the folder, he looked quickly through the short list of files before clicking on the top one again, marked Warning between another pair of asterisks.

Bruce's face quickly appeared on the screen.

"Terry," He began bluntly. "That you're hearing this must mean that you survived the transit in one piece. I hope you found this message quickly. Listen to this entire message and then read the other files in this folder thoroughly before acting, because this is important. There are a number of things I need and want to tell you, but we haven't much time. I know I don't have to tell you to be careful of whom you trust—so I'm just going to tell you not to trust anyone."

Terry blinked slowly and tried to be surprised, but there were things even Batman wasn't capable of.

"I know you're thinking that I'm paranoid, which I freely admit that I am, but being paranoid in our business is the same as being smart. I know you realize how important this mission is and I know how hard this will be for you, but you need to be extremely cautious of whom you involve—especially the Justice League or any equivalent, if they exist. There are few people I'd trust with the fate of the world, but none of them are present so I will admit that they, my Justice League, make up the majority of the list, just as I know you feel the same about yours, but I didn't always share things with them and there's a reason for that which has nothing to do with how trust worthy they are or are not. The League has enemies watching it, as does every team of heroes, and secrets stop being secret once they're spread throughout a group."

Bruce looked at him flatly through the screen.

"What you're looking for is the combined power of countless Universes—and anyone who laid claim to that power could call themselves God and it would be a reasonably accurate assessment of their capabilities. If the League is seen moving, people are going to wonder why. People like Lex Luthor and Darkseid. The power you're after is enough to make any of their wildest dreams into a living nightmare for everyone else. The League had thousands of enemies that would wage war over something like this and entire governments and worlds that probably would as well, not to mention the possibilities of mind reading and control; I don't need to remind you of Starro. Whether it is the League or something else, if you seek help on this from any of them, you involve their enemies in this as well and complicate things immensely. The existence of a source of power such as this is needed to know information and no one needs to know. The fates of many Universes depend on this; don't involve people in it lightly. If it becomes necessary, you can ask for help later, but so long as it's not, do everything you can to keep anyone from learning of this."

Terry exhaled abruptly. He could see Bruce's point; after what the Anti-Monitor had done, it was impossible not to. The last thing he needed while saving the world was half the Universe duking it out for the prize, which was a scarily real possibility with a prize like this. But at the same time, it meant doing this all by himself and…he didn't want to admit it but wasn't even sure where to begin, much less whether he would be able to do it alone.

"For that reason among others, the information contained on these hard drives is dangerous beyond words. Some of the things within them people would destroy worlds for. I sent these with you, to help you in any way I can, but you cannot let these fall into the wrong hands. There are corners of the Universe that are full of dangerous and horrifying things, places where most people wouldn't dare look and there are Sectors of Space the Green Lanterns don't know about; I know, because I've been to more than a few of them and I left you a list. When you aren't using these hard drives, use the Mother Box to hide them in the furthest regions of space where no one can find them but you. For what it's worth…I'm sorry that I have to make you do this alone but I've included everything I thought could help in these files; look at them carefully. Good luck, Terry; I'll see you when you get back."

Terry took a deep breath before snorting as he realized something. Bruce hadn't questioned whether he could do this or not; he'd just been rueful of putting him in such danger.

"Okay, Bruce," He said, closing the finished video. "What did you leave for me? If I'm gonna do this alone, I'm gonna need all the help you can give me."

XxXXxX

A journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step.

Terry was familiar with the phrase and yet he still had to shake his head in amusement as he walked back to his car. His second day in this new reality had been spent…serving fast food.

Flipping burgers to save the world, he thought to himself. Well, not that he was actually flipping burgers yet.

Looking through Bruce's plans, he came back to the same problem he had thought about earlier—he was going to need some money. Getting it wasn't hard, especially when one could get around as easily as he could, but he still needed to get it and working at a fast food restaurant was the easiest way to get it, for now. He managed to get himself a fake ID and enough information to keep it from falling apart on a cursory inspection, but he didn't want to work anywhere that would stare at him too long until he got a chance to make a more convincing one.

But the work was easy, for him, though it was a bit boring and repetitive. And even minimum wage racked up fairly fast when you didn't need to spend it on anything. He slept in his car, which didn't need gasoline. He'd had some time to charge Mother Box so he didn't need to eat. At some point, he'd like to get some new clothes or take a shower, but Mother Box took care of that, too. Since he was used to long hours anyway and had nothing to do and nowhere to go at the moment, he started early in the mornings and finished late at night and didn't have any problems doing so.

Besides, it's only temporary. He just needed some money to buy a few things was all.

Bruce's hard drives contained many, many details about a variety of inventions and not just the ones that had been built by Wayne-Powers. He had the schematics and, more importantly, he was pretty sure he could build them.

Not all of them, of course—there were a lot that would be impossible to make without specialized parts and machinery—but definitely some and that was enough for now. Bruce had known he was going to enter this world with nothing but the clothes on his back, just as he'd known that if Terry wanted to save the world, he was going to need a lot more than that, which had been why he'd included those designs.

He could build a few futuristic machines now, fall back on Bruce's notes on the business world and the lessons he'd given him before the Crisis had interrupted, and make plenty of money off of them. He wasn't a Metahuman—if he was going to save the universe, he was going to need tech, equipment, knowledge, and every other advantage he could get.

More than that, he was going to need to know where to start looking. Mother Box could take him anywhere he wanted to go, but the Universe was a huge place and he had no idea where to find what he was looking for—he didn't even deserve to be compared to a speck of dust against the immensity of the Universe.

Searching randomly would get him nowhere. He'd die of old age long before he could finish checking Sectored Space alone if he had to search city by city or even planet by planet. Worse than that, he had to assume it wasn't anywhere obvious or someone probably would have noticed the presence of such an unbelievable amount of energy.

Even Bruce couldn't tell him where to look.

But he could help him try to find it. In what little time he'd had at the end, Bruce had called up the greatest minds left after the Qwardians were through with their Earth and gathered them together on a single project—an altered version of the technology they'd used to defend the Earth's from the Anti-Monitors. This time, rather than a massive array of connected, inter-dimensional satellites, it would only exist in one; but it served the same purpose. To gather information without being noticed, allowing the Earths to both plan and defend against attacks, even on inter-dimensional scales.

An array of satellite's scanning massive regions of space for any hints of what he was looking for…The OMAC Satellites had been a turning point in the war against the Anti-Monitor's forces and had played an important role in defeating them. Perhaps they'd help undo the destruction they'd caused as well.

But it would have to wait for now, since he didn't have anywhere near the resources he'd need for such an ambitious project, much less the power to build such a thing without the wrong people noticing and getting suspicious. He didn't have what he needed, yet. It would have been easier to try and convince this world's Bruce Wayne to do it, but someone was always watching Wayne Enterprises; a lot of things changed with time, but that wasn't one of them. Whether it was the press, enemy corporations, villains that wanted Wayne Enterprises money or technology, there was someone watching. Bruce had managed, somehow, to slip the materials needed to make the Watchtower through the cracks in his budget, but he didn't think even the original Batman could get thousands of satellites into space without anyone noticing. He still wasn't sure how he was going to do that.

But he had to, so for now he'd play the hard working teenager and bide his time. He could do that—considering what was at stake, he could do just about anything.

He just had to hope, as he tried to make himself comfortable in the seat of the Batmobile with Ace on his lap, that he didn't do the wrong thing.

XxXXxX

A part of Terry wondered if maybe he should have spent some money to buy himself a suit, because, while he'd left his jacket in his car, it didn't change the fact that he was still dressed a bit oddly for this time period. Not enough to really startle people, but enough to draw attention.

On the other hand, perhaps that was for the best.

Attention was what he was trying to get, today.

Terry had spent some time debating on what he should do first. He knew from the beginning that he couldn't break out the flying cars, even if he had the money to afford to. Something like that would immediately garner a huge amount of questions and both the manufacturers and the scientific community would go over both his designs and his background with a fine tooth comb, picking out every little inconsistency. At the same time, his design would probably get picked up pretty quickly by a company and others would want to get their hands on the designs, too, which would get complicated very, very fast. One way or another, he'd make a quick rise to fame and a lot of enemies.

And yet, he was going to get that result eventually, no matter what he did. There was a reason Bruce had told him to not let anyone find out about his plans and intentions, rather than about him period—the latter simply wasn't going to be possible. If he went around producing futuristic inventions, people were going to notice and questions were going to arise; there was really no way around that.

It didn't mean he couldn't hide anything, though—both Bruce and Derek Powers had proven you could have secrets, even when all the eyes in the world were on you—but it did mean he would have to hide them well.

For his first two weeks in this world, Terry ran around, meticulously piecing together his background in this world. People would start looking at it closely soon and he had to make sure they didn't find anything that couldn't be explained away. He had to use both his suit and Mother Box to slide into a variety of databases and physical records, filling out forms and information without anyone noticing. He had to get the specific type of birth certificate used in New Jersey and detail how his parents died, leaving him alone at a legal age to keep from making any inconsistencies in the details of orphanages and foster homes and decrease the number of people who'd recognize him, take another driving test to get his license after modifying the records to say that, yes, he'd gotten a permit, waited the correct amount of time, and done the required hours of driving. He had to fill out medical records, dental records, grades, insurance files, alter taxes to reflect his existence, and fill out the dozen other links in the paper trail every one left simply by being alive, and fill out his school records as being Home Schooled to minimize the numbers of people who'd be suspicious if they didn't recognize him.

For the same reason, he didn't have any sports teams, extra-curricular clubs, jobs, or awards in his background—and he also didn't create any flying cars after appearing out of nowhere.

Such an invention—and one that would be fairly easy to make widespread once the proper infrastructure was in place—would raise too many questions. Where did the technology come from? How did he come up with it? How did he test it? Where did he learn enough to make them, as a teenager?

Lex Luthor could get away with a lot of outlandish breakthroughs and inventions on credit alone, but Terry couldn't. Not yet, at least. People would question it too much and it would take time to make absolutely sure the background he'd crafted for himself would really hold up under scrutiny. If he was going to do this, he was going to have to do it right, which meant starting slowly and making a name for himself. It had taken him a while to decide what to do, but at the beginning of the second week, he'd written a report based off one that had been written years ago in his reality, clearly recounting exact details and results, making notes and detailing side-effects, filling it out as he was expected to and then sending it to a carefully selected business as Bruce had instructed.

He knew they'd be interested, but it wasn't until a week later that he received a response. And so after two weeks without sleep, doing menial labor from before the sun rose until long after it set and working hard to create a paper trail according to Bruce's specifications during every other moment he had, Terry was about ready to check himself into an insane asylum…

He finally managed to get a meeting with a Medical Company.

Standing in front of the doctors with a small case in his hands, Terry suddenly wasn't sure what to say. He was sure that he'd written a speech for this at some point, but after over three hundred hours without sleep he was struggling to remember what it was. It occurred to him that this was the first time he'd ever done something like this before; act like a businessman without Bruce anywhere nearby, telling him what to do when he wasn't sure.

He realized he was going to have to get used to that feeling, too.

At his side, Mother Box gave a quiet but reassuring beep, urging him to speak. Unwilling to let his nerves get the better of him over something as stupid as public speaking, Terry licked his lips once and swallowed before putting his best smile.

"Thank you all for seeing me," He said. "You all probably know why I asked to meet with you, since I sent you my findings and, well, you let me through the door, so let's get straight to the point."

He opened the case, letting them all see the vials.

"You saw the details in the reports I sent you, but here they are. The cure for Creutzfeldt–Jakob Disease."

Clinical testing would take a long time. Documenting everything and proving his findings would take longer. They'd need to run Kaplan-Meier estimators, expectation-maximization algorithms, and a bunch of other things he didn't understand. And then they'd have to navigate the paperwork to make the drug legal, produce it, ensure everyone it was safe, produce it, and distribute it.

It might be years before this investment started paying back and the success of the drug went public.

But he could tell by the gleams in the eyes of the doctors and businessmen in front of him that they were interested in the kid that had walked through their door, and for now that was all that mattered. He had plenty of faster ways to make money—for now, all he needed to do was get the faith and interest of this company. He needed a place he could use to build himself up in this reality and he had it or would before too long.

He looked around him once, at the modest, for Metropolis, building he was in, the headquarters of this company, and knew with a quiet certainty that it was going to be his someday soon.

Nervousness fading quickly, Terry continued to speak, the words he'd planned earlier coming back to him alongside his confidence.

XxXXxX

After a moment of sitting in his new chair, Terry allowed himself to relax. In all likelihood, he wouldn't be in it for long, but it would do for now. He was upward bound and he knew it, especially once the implications of the Bio-MEMS he'd showed them had truly had a chance to sink in.

A part of Terry was hoping that the board of directors and the major stockholders, who were mostly the same people, would be impressed with his work enough to consent to a friendly takeover. It would be the ideal solution, for him, allowing him to both save money and avoid making enemies, but he was also prepared to do this the hard way. He'd already begun to acquire stock within the company, devoting a major fraction of his income towards that end. Since he still didn't have a house and he didn't need much in the way of what other people considered necessities, he only had to set aside a portion for funding his creations.

If a hostile takeover became necessary, then he was prepared for that. It would take time, but as he'd managed to negotiate payments in stock into his contract to save the humble company from having to bankrupt itself to pay what a number of his inventions were worth. That had been one of the reasons Bruce had advised him to start with a smaller company, after all—to make taking over easier. A part of him felt bad, but if he hadn't allied himself with the company, a larger corporation would have simply crushed it instead, so it was a small part.

Terry's thoughts were interrupted as the window of his office shook in its frame. He felt the muscles of his back tighten as Metropolis' Man of Steel flew by his building, off to fight robots or aliens or whatever was attacking the City today.

It was something he'd long since gotten used to in his world, with one major difference.

Usually, when Clark did that while he was around, Terry would follow him. After all, they were Superman and Batman, a team that had existed long before even the original Justice League. They'd find whatever it was that was endangering people today, smack it around, and send it packing.

Terry laid down his pencil, suddenly not feeling like writing anymore.

It wasn't that Clark was gone—not just that, at least. The absence of his friend hurt, of course; all the more so since it was impossible to forget it with the seeming omnipresence of his symbol in Metropolis. It was on signs, on the news, in the papers, and even on other people's shirts, constantly reminding him and that hurt…

But it wasn't why he turned away from his work, as if he were ashamed of it. And it wasn't why his eyes avoided his backpack where it stood, propped up against the wall.

He hadn't been out as Batman in over three weeks. He hadn't used the suit for what it was supposed to be used for since he'd come to this world. He had his reasons and they were good ones, but that didn't change the facts. If he went out as Batman, someone would notice eventually and probably sooner, rather than later. It would make the news, too, of course, because Batman was a founder of the Justice League, and he'd start attracting all kinds of attention that he didn't want. Bruce would come looking for his imposter for sure, he knew, and the World's Greatest Detective was…exactly what his title said he was. And Clark was a reporter by trade—one that could see through walls at that.

He didn't need that kind of attention. Which meant not going out with a red bat on his chest.

He was Batman. He'd earned the title, made himself worthy of it, and made it mean something.

But he couldn't be Batman. Not right now, when his position was so tenuous. He couldn't go out Superhero-ing at all when his position was so tenuous. It wasn't much of an issue with Superman patrolling the city, he told himself, but that wasn't the issue and he knew it.

He wanted to be out there. He needed to be out there. Superman couldn't be everywhere in metropolis and even if he could there were other cities. There was always someone who needed Batman.

But at the moment, there were an infinite number of people that needed him to shut up, sit down, and get back to building up his company. Right now, they didn't need Batman, they needed Terry McGinnis. It wouldn't always be that way—they'd need Batman, too, eventually. He'd be out there soon enough.

But not just yet.

So Terry unclenched hands that he hadn't realized he'd curled into fists and exhaled slowly, turning back to his work.

Besides, while he could do a lot of good out there, but he could do a lot of good in here, too. The technology and medicine he was creating would save lives and make them better. It wasn't the suit that mattered—it was the man who was in it.

He picked up his pencil and rolled it between his fingers for a moment, trying to recapture his train of thought.

And then Superman spoke behind him.

"Mr. McGinnis, right? Terry McGinnis?"

Terry nearly had a heart-attack right then and there and he only managed to keep from snapping his pencil—or worse, something more drastic—by force of will.

Releasing a shaking breath, Terry turned around. In typical Metropolis fashion, his window double for the entire back wall, giving him a marvelous view of the city. A part of him wondered if that was to be able to watch their resident Superhero, but he shook his head. Metropolis had always been like that, near as he could tell.

He looked at Superman for a long moment, unworried about giving himself away; Superman got stared at all the time. He, however, knew Superman better than most, so his reasons for staring were a bit different. Superman could be sneaky when he wanted and stealthy enough for anyone. He could lie quite well, too, despite what some people thought.

But he usually didn't. He didn't like to lie for the same reason he didn't like to wear masks—how do you trust someone if they don't let you see their face? How do you believe the words of someone who makes a practice of lying to you?

There was a part of Superman—a large part—that was the result of the loving choices and sacrifices of Jor-El and Lara Lor-Van, but just as much was farm boy raised by Jonathan and Martha Kent.

So he looked Superman in the eyes, saw the emotions plain on his face, and smiled like he was greeting an old friend.

There was no suspicion there, nor any anger. Just the calm welcoming face of Clark Kent, the Man of Steel.

"Superman," He greeted in the same tone anyone in Metropolis would greet its resident hero—unless they had something to hide, of course. He had to work a bit to keep from slipping into the casual tone he normally used with Clark, however. "I just saw you fly by. What happened?"

"Just a few robbers downtown," Superman said. "Nothing to worry about; they're in police custody now."

"That's good to hear. Is there anything I can do for you?"

Superman chuckled easily and shook his head.

"Just wanted to talk to you a bit," He said.

Terry nodded.

"I don't think this window opens, but I can call Jim down in front and ask him to let you in if you want to talk inside. Not that I really need to, I imagine." He said, wondering what Clark wanted to talk about. The Man of Steel's eyes never even twitched towards his backpack and he hadn't done anything in it since his first day here, so it probably wasn't that, but then what was he here for…?

"I'm afraid I can't stay," Clark said, smile turning apologetic. "I have a meeting soon that I need to attend, but I wanted to stop by to thank you for all your hard work."

A proverbial light bulb went off.

"Oh!" Terry remembered. "The Daily Planet! I was a bit busy this morning but some of my coworkers congratulated me about it. I heard Ms. Lane and Mr. Kent worked on it, though, so I'm sure it's good."

"I'll be sure to tell Lois that next time I see her," Superman said, normal smile returning and then widening to show several white teeth. "I'll ask if she can pass the message on to Mr. Kent, too."

"Thank you; I'll be sure to pick up a copy after work." Terry paused for a moment before allowing his brows to come together in honest confusion. "To be honest, though, I'm not sure exactly what I'm being thanked for…?"

"A lot of brilliant men and women pass through Metropolis," Superman said, turning his head to look at his city, eyes growing sad even though his smile didn't change. "Some of the greatest minds I've ever known. And yet…it's sad how few of them choose to use that brilliance to help people."

Terry stood slowly from his chair, moving to stand across from Superman before following his eyes to a tower in the distance.

"You're referring to Lex Luthor, I take it?" Terry asked quietly. Luthor was before his time, like many of Superman's older enemies—but that didn't mean he didn't know about the man or what he'd done.

"That's one example," Superman admitted, before turning back to him. "Sadly, it's not the only one, however. But I'm glad you're not like that, Mr. McGinnis. So I just wanted to thank you on behalf of all the lives you've helped and will help."

Terry turned his eyes away a bit, embarrassed, but that didn't stop his smile from growing.

"And thank you, too, Superman, for everything you've done for Metropolis and for the World. I don't want to keep you, but stop by sometime and I'll buy you a coffee; it's the least I can do in return for all the times I'm sure you have and will save my life."

Clark laughed at that, all farm boy, and nodded.

"I'll try to stop by some time," He promised, rising into the air. "I have high hopes for you, Mr. McGinnis. Keep up the hard work."

And then he was gone.

Snorting, Terry returned to his seat and picked his pencil up again.

He had work to do and lives to save—and he didn't need to be wearing a suit to do it.