Author's note: You guys are awesome. Shoutout to my THREE reviewers for the previous chapter: .7982, GreenVelvetCurtains and JenB. Keep reviewing guys, it makes me feel so popular, and it's really motivating. But again, I have to stress that I might not be able to update as often as you like. Hope you enjoy the chapter!

CHAPTER 3

"—And Superman once again has saved the day, rescuing a shipwrecked crew from dangerous sea waters early this morning when their ship caught a bad wave and flipped. All nine crew members were rescued safely, but are being evaluated at the hospital for any possible injuries. When asked about his heroic rescue, Superman merely replied, 'I am doing what I can to help society.' What a dynamic man. Superman, we're so lucky to have you to keep New York and Metropolis safe. In other news…"

Claire was twirling a piece of hair around her finger absentmindedly as she listened to the four o'clock news radio broadcast and edited the cover page, which Jimmy, the photojournalist, had asked her to critique. She smiled to herself as she heard the good news. It seemed as though Superman never slept, with the amount of crime-fighting and life-saving he was doing these days. Her thoughts of admiration were interrupted when someone approached her desk.

"Claire, would you be so good as to look this over before I hand it in?" Jonelle, her good friend and coworker asked with her article for next week's edition in hand. Claire and Jonelle got along fine, but Jonelle was infamous for giving Claire her articles last minute and right before the end of the workday to look over, which understandably annoyed Claire a bit. She sighed but smiled and took the papers.

"Sure, Jonelle, no problem." She took a big gulp of her coffee and dove into the article. Claire was able to drink coffee at any and all hours of the day and not have any problems falling asleep afterward, so she was always seen with a cup in hand.

She made quick annotations in the margins and crossed things out, and when she was done with the piece it looked like someone had splattered red ink all over the paper. Claire was very precise, to the point where she could be perceived as a perfectionist, especially when it came to the articles for the Daily Planet, trying her hardest to make each article as good as it could be.

Critique from Claire was taken seriously, so getting handed back a paper from her that was covered with her writing was usually taken well by most reporters, and used as effective constructive criticism. By most, that meant every reporter in the office except for Lois Lane, who would get highly offended if even a comma was crossed out on her work. She was known for being very high strung and unforgiving—but perhaps when you're one of the best in your field and won a Pulitzer prize for you work, you're entitled to act that way.

Anyway, Claire walked back over to Jonelle's desk some time later and gave her back her article. Smiling gratefully, Jonelle took it and instantly began making the corrections. Claire took note of the time and began to pack up her things, seeing as it was time to leave. She began to fantasize thoughts of Chinese take-out and a nice long bubble bath as soon as she got home. However, her plans for take-out and bubble baths were interrupted when Perry White, her boss, approached her desk.

"Claire, I need you to stay late for the five fifteen meeting. I need someone to take notes because my regular secretary is sick." He addressed her, no greeting, no apology, just the facts. Internally, Claire could have cried, but she instead gave Perry a weary smile and said she'd be there. She plopped down her bag and coat and sat back down, massaging her temples. She suddenly felt very tired, the stress and lack of sleep of the week catching up to her all at once. She prayed that she wouldn't fall asleep during the meeting; because they were usually incredibly boring and Claire was already sleepy, she had a heightened chance of passing out in front of her boss.

Three agonizingly (and not surprisingly boring) hours later, Claire was finally released from the stuffy meeting room. She left her notes on Mr. White's desk like he had asked her to, then returned to her own desk.

Claire looked at her desktop clock and noticed that it was eight o'clock, three hours past she was scheduled to leave for the day. She gathered her coat and bag and bee-lined out of the office, in case Perry changed his mind and decided that she was needed for longer. She emerged into the crisp autumn air and breathed in deeply. The cold made her head less painful, but it still hurt and she still was very tired.

Because Claire's apartment was centrally located, and she was not very far from her workplace, she saved herself some gas and walked home most nights. She had a car, a dark blue four-door sedan, but only used it for long trips or when it was bitterly cold outside. Most nights she didn't mind the ten minute walk, but on this Friday night, due to her pulsing headache and strong desire to get in bed (forgetting her plans of Chinese and bubble baths), she reluctantly took the short way home that cut through a sketchy part of town to get home faster, knowing the dangers of taking that route. But, she had taken the 'sketch-route' several times before without even being approached, so she wasn't overly concerned.

She walked amongst three and four story buildings, mostly brick, with rusty escape fire exits hooked to the walls like metal caterpillars. The alleyways she went through were not well lit (because sensible people would not travel through this part of town) and littered with trash. Her authoritative heels clicked loudly in the silence.

For some reason she suddenly felt the hairs on the back of her neck prickle. She stopped walking and heard footfalls behind her. Her heart leaped and she instantly tensed up. But she did not turn around. She started walking again at a faster pace, and she heard her follower's pace speed up too. Her heart pounded and she feared it would give her emotions away.

She rounded a corner and ran right into someone. She looked up and began to apologize, but stopped when she saw the cunning look on his face, his mouth twisted into an evil smile. He looked up over Claire's shoulder and made eye contact with the man who was following her and smiled again.

"Princess, what are you doing out in these parts all alone?" The one in front of her drawled with alcohol saturated breath. Claire winced at the smell and took a step back from him.

"I'm going home. Excuse me." She said and tried to sidestep the man, who mimicked her motions to block her. Claire's heartbeat sped up, but she was also still cranky from her headache and exhaustion from a long day at work, so she snapped at him.

"Come on, loser, let me through!" She said with anger staining her voice. He smirked at her.

"Oh, feisty. This one'll be a lot of fun, I bet." He said to the man behind her. Suddenly, Claire truly realized what a horrible position she was in. She took another step back and was met with the other man's chest. But still, she did not let her fear show through.

"Let me through!" She yelled and pushed the man in front of her roughly. That seemed to push him over the edge. He whipped his hand up and slapped her across the face, hard. She looked down and saw blood trickle out of her mouth. The other one crushed her to the wall and punched her in the gut. She coughed up more blood.

"Stop—please!" Claire managed to squeak out around the blood in her mouth. Ignoring her pleas, she was punched again, harder this time. Claire felt something snap near her ribcage and doubled over and fell to the ground in pain, her mask of annoyance fading into pain and terror.

"You bitch. How dare you hit me. You're gonna get it real bad now, Princess." The man she had first hit sneered at her, leering over her now outwardly terrified face. He hit her again, causing her head to ricochet off the pavement.

"HELP! SOMEBODY HELP ME!" Claire mustered, screaming louder than she had in her entire life. She was in so much pain that the effort hurt her more.

"Shut up!" One of the men hissed. But it was too late. Someone was already standing in the alleyway, his red cape fluttering in the slight evening breeze.