Disclaimer: Yep, we all know the drill…Making no profit from this yada yada yada…Smallville, and Supergirl, and any other shows made mention of here, are the profit of those people who own them (grrrr, and How I hate them.) If I did own Smallville, why in all of the wacky planets in our universe would I be doing this... :)

Hallo hallo again. The next part is entirely new- a new character, and a new development ensue. (Oh, and by the by, try to guess which little cameo, not quite a cameo character from another series was oh so subtley dropped).

Enjoy...

CHAPTER THREE

SAME DAY…

Oh, no.

This wasn't happening. It couldn't be happening. No way. Not now! Trembling hands gripped the paper unsteadily. The words blurred slightly and he swept one hand up to swipe at the sweat gathering on his brow.

Closing tired eyes against the thundering in his temples, the man sat back into the leather of his desk chair, frustratingly exhausted and emotional.

Not Brandon! Reaching out for the glass tumbler off to one side, the man poured himself a hefty amount of scotch into a chipped, novelty mug, with a disturbingly chipper squirrel adorning the side.

Bloody awful. He grimaced at the design, and sculled the fiery liquid in one desperate gulp before turning back to the disarray of paperwork littering the desk in front of him. Smiling sardonically up at him from his latest novel, his own profile stretched across the cover page of the latest manuscript, 'Do you know where you kids are? The occult in the average American's own backyard'.

Another bloody controversial flop, no doubt! Bloody American's and their berk-ish ideas on the supernatural. Fraught with commerciality and completely unaware of the dangers surrounding their daily colonialist lives!

Professor Manners poured himself another glass, and glared down at his pseudo-serious reflection…one that now was barely a reflection of his now haggard appearance. Bloodshot eyes and rumpled clothing gave off the impression of many previous sleepless nights. True enough, he sighed, frustrated, that even his secretary had given up trying to get him to rely on more decent sleeping patterns.

Which is why a jerry rigged cot now took up the remaining space behind his desk. Along with the piles of books jutting up from the floors like random paper anthills, and framed posters of famous supernatural phenomenon lining the walls, it was little wonder none of his students ever paid his office a visit lately. Except poor Brandon.

As the alcohol induced fog flittered into his brain, already beyond a state of pure exhaustion, he ground the heel of his hand into his eye, rubbing at the grit, and sleep, and encroaching darkness surrounding his vision.

"Mr Manners, ss-sir, "hesitantly, his assistant, the plump Mrs Burch, ducked a timid head inside the doorway adjoining their offices. "There's mail here for you and…"

He peered up at her from his chair, sighing "Yes, thank you Sylvia. Just leave it on the desk please." Timid little mouse, that one.

Amused, he watched as she toddled into the mess of his office, dropped the brown wrapped parcel on the only free space on the smooth mahogany counter, and scurried out again.

Tentatively, he eyed the package before reaching across to bring it right in front of him. Quite possibly, judging by the telltale rectangular size of the thing, the manuscript he'd sent away for had finally arrived. . About bloomin' time too!

Padding down his jacket, he found the reading glasses tucked snugly in his pocket and slipped them on to the edge of his nose, eyes still drawn to the parcel. Rupert, I do hope you've sent me something useful this time.

Another soft cough at the door brought his bespectacled gaze up again. "Yes, Mrs Burch," he sighed, her timidity sorely testing his patience. "What is it now?"

"There's a student here wanting to speak with you…and I.I.." Cutting her off swiftly he turned his attention back to the desk, unconcerned.

"Mrs Burch, tell the student that my consultation times are from 2 til 3 pm Monday afternoons. Today is not, as I'm sure you are well aware, Monday. It's Tuesday. Tell them to try again next week, or, and here's a unique thought, consider e-mailing me first and save themselves the fuss. Good day."

That set her running. Oh, well, I'm not in any state to for a q&a session, anyway. His breathing hitched, and he knew before seeing it, that this just might help him solve the mystery he'd been researching. Fingers hovered hesitantly before ripping the brown wrapping aside, to stare excitedly down at the gleaming gold cursive monotype of the title.

Giles, I could kiss you. Grinning broadly, Manners let out a triumphant yell before, settling into a scurry of activity gathering up the necessary paperwork and items needed for what was to come next.

Now, he thought positively, Let's go stop this monstrosity before it begins.

Out in the hallway, Mrs Burch smiled warmly at the anxious young man sitting across from her. "I'm awfully sorry, Mister, um Sir, um…"she flustered, face settling down from a previous shade of crimson.

"Sullivan, Dave Sullivan. I go to school here," he supplied, relaxing slightly in the motherly atmosphere of the office. "Is Professor Manners able to see me?"

She smiled again, although comfortingly this time. "I'm sorry dear, but Mr Manners is currently indisposed at the moment and requests…"

The pair of them both jumped, startled, at the high-pitched yell that sounded from the office next door. Completely unsettled, Dave hurriedly reached for his bag and practically bolted from the chair.

Before speeding out of the office, he spared a grateful glance back at the timid secretary. "Maybe, next time, I'll just e-mail him first, eh?" and ran out into the corridor as quickly as was humanly possible.

Silently composing herself all the while, the timid Mrs Burch settled back in behind her desk, tapping out a stucco rhythm on the computer keys as she sighed.

"Yep, get's the little suckers every time."

"Hey, George... Surf's up man!" Troy Palmer, 22, and still as mature as he was at age 10, balanced, arms pin wheeling as he walked the safety railing on the complex's second floor.

He'd been dirt biking through the glade since high school- and it seemed to everyone at the construction site that morning that not much had changed since then. Still revelling in the attention seeking daredevil stunts that earned him an expulsion from Smallville High. And, much to his parent's disapproval had grown into the pranks, rather than out of them.

Nobody took them seriously much anymore. Friends like George, milling around the stacks, who watched the crowds drawing a breath as Troy pretended to loose balance for a split second, only to straighten up with the goofiest smile plastered all over his face.

If his father catches him doing that… George resisted the urge to tell Troy off. It was an impulse that he squashed often around him.

Mr Palmer will not be impressed.

Troy's father, as a sign of good faith during the Luthor Corp construction on Glade, was to land the pair hardhat positions for the month, pulling strings like nobody's business. The old doc thought Troy would improve with something to distract him. George, however, thought it was pretty damn naïve.

But, then again, concerned parents were like that.

It was concern that George shared. After the recent divorce, the police had escorted Troy home twice since August, simply shrugging off the lectures and firmly insisting that he was not the suicide jumper they had been called for.

All of this did nothing for his reputation around town either. Lately he'd been practically living at George's tree house.

Luckily, his parents didn't ask. They were being filled in on the same rumour mill that was feeding the town. Poor kid- Mother ran away with Dad's Associate, don't ya know? My boy says he was expelled for setting fire to the principal's car…

George merely sipped his coffee, and rolled his eyes as the construction workers behind him broke into raucous laughter as Troy mimed the Macarena, still clinging on for dear life to the rigging supporters.

Suddenly a man looking very out of place in a laboratory coat pushed his way to the front of the crowd. George, halfway through his coffee, choked as the hot liquid flew down his air pipe. Oh shit.

Dr Palmer watched, frozen in disbelief as his son jumped from the balcony, landing squarely in front of the crowd, and bowed to wild applause.

Troy grinning broadly jogged over to a nervous George, unaware of his father's thunderous gaze fixed on the pair. "Dude, was that the biggest rush or what."

George's dark skin flushed, his eyes darting from Troy to Dr Palmer as he approached.

"Ah, Troy…" Look around you putz! George's throat felt like he had swallowed barbed wire, the coffee making little difference as he gulped it down, and prepared to run.

"I tell you, I could've stayed up there all day." The glint in his eyes dimmed as he noticed the change in his friend's expression. Even as the question was on the tip of his tongue, he felt the hairs on the back of his neck tingle.

"That would NOT be a smart idea, young man." Troy could feel his Dad's anger burn through the back of his jacket. He locked a silent glare on George, before turning around. Thanks for the warning, buddy.

Thoughts raced rampant through is head, calmly meeting his father's expression as he cooked up his latest excuse. Oh crap.

Dr. Palmer was angry.

George knew it.

Troy knew it.

Even the construction crews that darted around them to their work stations kept their heads bowed, as they rushed to appear busy in the midafternoon hustle.

It was probably this atmosphere that made Troy's retort cause George to pinch the bridge of his nose, and his father to turn a dangerous shade of purple.

"Look, Dad, if you make so much money off jobs like these," Gesturing the construction behind them, Troy locked eyes with his father, "then I'm sure you can afford a nice anal retrieval operation to lose the foot long pole you have crammed up your butt."

He finished cockily, smiling at his father, eyebrow raised in challenge. A red flush had crept up George's forehead, and he felt it disappear into his hairline as he almost turned around and hit Troy himself. Troy, you are a miserable, psychotic little idiot!

Son and father stood, locked in silent battle for several terse seconds. Then, in a disturbing change, Dr. Palmer smiled maliciously. "Troy, I appreciate your opinion."

The two boys shared a look of pure confusion. George paused mid-turn, surveying Troy's apparent unease, slightly disturbed at the out of character response.

Curiosity pulled them back to Dr Palmer. Troy couldn't help it, and attitude overrode self-preservation again. "Are you on medication?"

His father continued, ignoring his son completely. "Fine then, boys. Grab your hard hats and follow me please." Troy and George watched Dr. Palmer's retreating back as they bent to retrieve their hard hats, forgotten in the mud. They rushed to catch up with him, the dirt cementing to their shoes from their heavy treads.

Only one thought came to Troy as they bee-lined for the elevator to the caves. He felt it flash in mind like a neon warning sign.

Sometimes, I just don't know when to shut up.

"Man I swear that you don't know when to shut up!" George blew the sweat from his eyes, puffing as he set the seventh crate down on the pallet. He winced as he heard his back crack as he straightened, and stretched his aching arms behind him.

"I still think we got off easy."

He didn't need to turn to feel Troy's glare across the room.

"Speak for yourself." Troy muttered, the headache behind his eyes pounded as he surveyed the tangle of wires at his feet. For the last two hours, rewiring the speaker system had required every ounce of Troy's attention. Even now, he grimaced as he realized he'd barely made a dent. Desperately, he wished for the sneaky little voice in his ear to shut up; the urge to just ditch the job, was tempting enough to make his mouth water.

Troy felt George limp over to stare at the motherboard, whistling softly. "I'm just saying. It could've been wor… Oh, never mind," Troy turned to glare at him, and George shrank back a little, slightly guilty that his work was finished. "Guess I'll be helping you then."

"Damn straight you will." Shocked to hear the hostility on his voice, Troy relented. "Please." He sounded desperate, tiredness stripping away any sarcasm.

Sighing, George shook his head. He really wanted to get home to bed. But he couldn't just leave Troy with all of this…Glancing over at his friend's face, worn into creases, he gave in.

Don't do it. He's just using you. What other use as a friend are you?

Mid bend, he felt his arm stiffen trying to grab the pliers. George's face flushed, neck craning around, as if the source of the voice was near. "What the hell!" I didn't think that. He glanced over at Troy, now levering open the second panel behind the motherboard. Did I!

Neck tingling, Troy glanced up, noting his friend's mouth hanging open slightly, eyes clouded with confusion, and something else…what was it? Like the wide eyed stare of a rabbit, caught in the trance of a snake. "You okay buddy?"

"Uhh…yeah. I'm fine." Plastering a fake smile, he grabbed clumsily for the wire cutters. "Let's get to work."

Setting to work, they were soon both elbow-deep in the multicoloured tangle. Glancing over now and then, they shared smiles, the competitive streak of both boys pushing them to out-wire the other.

Time flew by, and after a pause, Troy glanced down at his wristwatch. The hands were frozen on seven o'clock. That can't be right.

Irritated, he tapped on the surface, and then held it up to his ear, to ascertain whether it was really broken.

"Ahh, Troy…" He glanced up, recognising the same mixture of impatience and weariness in George's expression, marred with a scowl. "My watch has stopped. What time do you have?"

Bizarre. "Don't know. Mine's busted too." Silence pervaded the cave, and with a jolt, Troy realized that he could no longer hear the heavy buzz of machinery and the commotion of the construction site. The silence deepened.

George broke it. "Well, whatever time it is, we're done." Both looked down to see, that they had indeed finished; the last of the wires soldered in place.

Shaking it off, Troy recovered, "I guess, I'll screw on the panel." He sounded uncertain, slightly off put by the creeping shadow darkening the room.

It snapped shut, resounding deafeningly amongst the darkness. The entire room seemed to draw a breath, wind whipping through the cavern. The sudden drop in temperature raised goose bumps on both the boys' arms, cat's claws scraping down their spines.

At once, they sprinted to the exit.

"Why won't the lift work?" George dropped to one knee, elbow bracing his head, as he felt the throngs of an all-out panic attack.

"Not sure" Troy wasn't far behind him. His heartbeat pounding way too fast, echoing in his eardrums.

If it were possible, the room seemed to react to the boy's fear- darkening further still.

Troy jerked wildly, and his heart threatened to explode in his chest as the power ebbed in the overhead lighting- and suddenly, he was blind.

Craaap. The main power grid is down. Next to him, he heard his friend moan in despair.

"See Troy, I told ya…"

George was barely keeping it together. With his voice stuttering, he continued, a strain of anger evident in his tones. And Troy knew, that even though he couldn't see George, that the guy was about ready to punch him.

"This is the sort of shit that happens to a person with karma like yours."

"Shut up, man."

"Come on. Where is it?" Pulling up the cave plan in his mind, Troy measured the steps between the emergency lights and the lift. He took slow, deliberate steps, and ran his hand along the cave wall for guidance. The chill of fear settled in his stomach, and instead of pin wheeling back to the lift, he concentrated on the rough, broken surface underneath his fingers.

"There." Troy jerked back as he hit the cool smooth metal of the surface panel. Deftly he pried into the lid, and the panel gave way beneath his touch. Sucking in a breath, he mashed down hard with his right hand.

"Troy," George searched the dark for his friend. "Where are you? Did you find the switch…"Suddenly the room was illuminated with a blood red glow, and George felt his spirits lift at the metallic hum of the secondary generators whirring above their heads.

"Guess you did." George let relief wash through his mind, and for a second, while he was still processing this small victory, he was calm.

Troy, on the other hand, was already in motion. Striding to the elevator shaft, his fingers grabbed the wire mesh, and gave it a violent shake before searching the room again. Running a hand through his mussed hair, the desperation pulled him like gravity to the spot.

And then, there was that voice again. Whispering…

"It's hopeless. You're never going to get out of here."

"What the fu..?" His eyes swept the room, head turning to see if George had spoken. Completely unsettled, he rose again, and let out a breath. "George, there's no need to be pessimistic."

Rolling his eyes, George stepped away from the control panel, unable to locate the switch for the elevator emergency override. "And why is that?" As he crouched below the motherboard display, his voice was muffled as he let loose a stream of obscenities as his head hit the steel underside.

"Troy, if you know something I don't, please enlighten me. Because, otherwise, the most optimism I have in our escape, is saying, 'We're screwed', in a cheerful voice." Crawling out from the control unit, he continued.

"It's at least midnight. On Friday, which means we will be spending the weekend in this shit-hole of a cave. Not to mention the temperature drop, considering we're below ground, so it's going to get a lot colder." He was on a roll now, anger overflowing into words, and Troy took it with shoulders slumping further and further.

"And the emergency override, which we have been working on for the last…" he automatically checked his watch, then remembering threw his hands up in the air, and laughed in irritation. "God knows how long, has for some obscure reason, short-circuited. So, please, seat that DAMN optimism, because I'm sick of it." He plonked himself down next to Troy; anger spent, and sank with the weight of depression.

"Feel better?"

"Much, thanks".

The room had developed an echo, and suddenly the conversation was the only sounds in the large cavern. "This isn't that bad. But you know what we need?" He turned, a smile spreading on his face at George's look of complete disbelief. "Do you know?"

Recovering, George shook his head. "No, Troy. Other than a working elevator, what do we need?"

"A couple of beers and a stereo pumping out pure rock."

George smiled in spite of himself, and joined in. "The way you crank it, we were sure Mrs Hinch was gonna call the cops again."

Troy paused, and surprise flittered across his face as something stirred in the recesses of his mind. Fragments pulled themselves together and he almost cried in triumph. "Yesss!"

"That's it." He jumped up, and scrambled over to the motherboard, snatching up his pliers and powered up the system. George turned, slightly shaken by Troy's sudden mood change. "Have you lost it?"

"No. George, you are a genius."

"I am? Do you want to share something with the class?" He walked over to the panel, and noted suspiciously the order of operating systems, eyeing Troy with concern. Troy hit the power for the speaker system, and looked over, his eyes shinning.

"What's the best way to get the police called?"

Flabbergasted, George searched for an answer, his eyes still holding confusion. "I guess, create a disturbance!" He felt like he was in school again, hoping he'd answered correctly.

Troy reached for the volume and static control, excitement speeding his movements. "Yes! And since we have this huge speaker system at our disposal…"

"You wanted to crank the volume on this sucker, and hope somebody in the vicinity hears, and calls the cops," George finished, as his head jerked up with realisation, finally understanding. He spoke the next words with a slight irony. "Good idea."

"Thanks," Troy surveyed the motherboard with an air of finality, then turned to George, who stood several feet away. "Ready?"

Nervously, the pair shared a glance, before Troy turned back to the board. He donned a pair of headphones before instructing George to do the same. "Since there's no CD to play," he spoke loudly; with the headphone's muffling sound. "The machine should just play feedback."

Wiping his hands on his jeans, George nodded, and swallowed nervously. Troy's finger was poised inches above the button, and for a second, he hesitated. Steeling himself, Troy clenched his jaw, and pushed it.

Nothing. Both boys stood, eyes squeezed shut, tensely waiting. Troy popped one eye open and did a quick sweep of the room. Sighing, he reached for his headphones. "George, man, it didn't work…"

That's when the first soundwave hit the cavern.

The walls shuddered, and the pallets standing at the other end of the room, began to quake. A silent screaming filled the air, and pierced through the soft cushioning of the headphones.

It was metal on metal; a horrible vibrating that shook the two boys with such force they were thrown to the floor.

"Aaaahhhh!" The pain that was ripping through Troy's eardrums couldn't be explained. He doubled over, hands clenching his ears; the headphones were useless. Gasps of breath poured out his mouth, and he spared a glance over at George, whom he couldn't hear. His friend's mouth was stretched in a thin white line, and a small trickle of blood dripped out his nose.

Troy realised then, too late; watching his friend, eyes wide, that if they didn't turn the sound off, the stress would cause serious damage to their nervous system.

"No, no, no.!" Struggling to his feet, he staggered over to the motherboard, everything in his body screaming, and he gripped his head with one hand.

Crazily he felt over the keyboard, pressing buttons at random, desperate to stop the noise. In one single moment, the glowing green of the main switch caught his eye, and before he knew what he was doing, he pressed it.

It was as if the entire room had sucked in a breath. Somewhere deep inside the motherboard, feedback collided and the wiring snapped.

As Troy's brain processed the information, and he saw the switches in front of him, flash and crackle, only one thought came through clear. "Oh shi…"

Time froze; a terrific thunder rang through the cave, as the motherboard exploded in a great flash of fire and light. Then there was chaos.

The wall behind the motherboard was obliterated; and shockwaves threw George clear of the pallets, into the elevator mesh. His neck snapped back, and he felt the back of his head tear open where then mesh and it connected. Sliding down, his legs were rubber as black spots danced in and out of his vision. He was out even before he hit the floor.

The cavern groaned, and rocks fell from the ceiling, splintering the pallets into bits that were then sent flying, embedding themselves in the walls. Heatwaves rolled like storm clouds through the air, and anything that wasn't on fire, began to superheat, and melt.

And all was quiet.

Sand trickled down from the ceiling, but the girders held. Black smoke was everywhere, and the only sound to be heard was the fires cracking over the remains of the speaker system.

A black stain covered the ground where the main switchboard once stood. Like an open mouth, was the wall that had been blown out, and Troy had been thrown through. Rubble built up around the entrance, and air rushed into the hidden cavern, sucked by a vacuum into the darkness beyond.

Then, a different kind of air filled the room. It woke, breathed and pulsed; visibly mirroring the slivers of green meteor rock found weaving in the walls of this ancient place. The glow lit up the room shinning an eerie light into the centre of the room.

Troy's body lay, broken and bleeding, vacant eyes staring up at the ceiling. His arms that stretched out to either side of him, were still, fingers frozen, mid- grasp. His chest was high, his back arced from where he'd landed on a bolder, and the spine had snapped.

The force coiled up and through the air above him like an invisible snake. As the glowing rock caught it in shafts of light, it pulsed green; gaseous.

Descending, the gas slithered over the rocks littering the floor. As it settled over Troy's face, the air seemed to grin maliciously. With a hiss, it entered his mouth and nose, and his chest lifted and fell, as it wove itself around his lungs.

For a second, the loud hisses emanating from Troy's body dimmed.

A loud rhythm filled the silence as his heart started again, and his eyelids closed. Gasping for breath, Troy awoke, jerking into a sitting position. Hunched over his knees, be breathed noisily, confusion written on every line of his face.

As he looked up now, his eyes gleamed; not blue but a strange green, too bright. As it wove itself around his brain, he jerked and twitched, shaking as the glow spread underneath his skin, into his fingertips.

It sat; frozen for a time that seemed an age; processing the information from the boy's brain. It found images, shadows; and words. It liked the shadows.

Casually, it stood, stretching to twist the spine into place with a sicking snap. Smiling, it looked down, and slowly took its first steps out of the cave.

As the boy's form broke free of the darkness, and stepped into the ruins of the main cavern, it let the smile grow; stretching unnaturally from ear to ear.

Tilting the head to one side, it surveyed the smoking remains. Drawing from the boy's mind once again; it accessed the parts for memory. Striding over to the Kryptonian display, it store through the railing, and stood still, eyes widening as it recognised the familiar script.

Its fingers twitched as they traced the surface of the key hollow. Images raced through its brain, and it perceived. "Yessss..."

Turning to the exit, it knew what had to be done. As it reached the elevator, it looked down on George's still form, and something akin to disgust removed the smile from its face. Kicking the body aside, it pulled open the mesh doors, and grabbed the cable.

Muscles corded in the boy's arm as it pulled itself up the elevator shaft. Without strain or effort, it paused, and glanced over its shoulder at the room. It spoke; one word filled with centuries of hatred.

"Numaaan."

It continued to climb.

What? Oh, I hafta say something? Well (gagging to clear throat), hope you like the bad guy, yes it's kind of (but only a little) dark, and the next chapter will be lighter, I promise...Ha, ha ha. Fooled you...I promise NOTHING (evil cackling).

Oh and please read and review, or I'll set Segeath on you (yes that is it's name.) Just kidding...maybe...

(P.PS. Did ya find it? yup, our intrepid plaid wearing Brit from...) He he, fooled you again. Wait and see.