Day broke, he knew that much. He could see sunlight filtering through the shut blinds, but he didn't care. What did it matter anymore? He shuffled through the somewhat spacious apartment, discarded cans and empty bottles tossed carelessly aside. There was something that he was... ah. There it was. He lifted the bottle of whiskey from its resting place on a desk and shuffled to the kitchen. He grabbed a glass and poured an amount into the glass. He shuffled back to the bedroom. Drunk. He was drunk, he had been drunk, and he was going to be drunk for awhile yet, if everything went according to plan. Clark sighed. He really could see the appeal of alcoholism. Just let it take away your thoughts. Maybe then it wouldn't be so hard.

Maybe then he wouldn't see twenty million faces every time he closed his eyes.

He had failed these people. He had failed them all. A death or two once in awhile was understandable, inevitable in this business. He had had people die on him before. But... this. This kind of horror couldn't be allowed to continue. He stood, resolve restored. He would... he sat again and held his head between his hands. He drank and refilled the glass. He had, after all these years, finally hit his limit. Finally met his match. It wasn't Mongul. It wasn't Darksied. It wasn't any of the beasts or creatures or super powered people he had faced over the years. People. People had killed the Superman deader than Doomsday had. People and their love of killing each other.

Maybe it was the Jack, or maybe it was the fact that he hadn't slept in the three days since Gotham had been blown up. Whatever the reason, the Man of Steel was startled when he heard a knock on his door. He stayed quiet. They would go away if he stayed quiet. There was another knock. "Clark!" a voice called from the other side. Clark sighed. "It's Alan! Clark, I know that you're in there!" Clark sighed to himself again. Alan Scott. Earth's original Green Lantern. He stood and walked to the door, squinting when the light from the hall hit his eyes. "Hi, Alan," he said to his old friend. "C'mon in." He wandered back into the apartment with Alan following, and the other man couldn't believe his eyes. It was... dirty. He had always known Clark to be neat, organized... determined. What he saw now was a wreck of a man living in a cluttered apartment.

"Clark..." he said. "What... what happened to you?" Clark looked blearily at the older man.

"The Emperor happened, Alan."

"Interesting that you'd mention him," Alan said, pulling an envelope out of his coat pocket. "Bruce just sent me over with this." He handed Clark the envelope. Clark opened it and read the short letter inside.

Clark, it started, I know that you're taking this Emperor situation hard. But you're Superman. Remember that. Remember that, above all, you're a man who wants to help people, to make a difference in lives. The Man of Steel can't afford to bend now, when we need him most. He thinks he's taken you out of the picture; you need to prove him wrong. You need to get back in the game, just like you always do. You're the world's biggest Boy Scout, Clark. Time to get a badge for duty.

Clark re-read the letter a couple of times, and it made him think. Bruce was right, just like he usually was. He was Superman. He was one of the only ones who could do this. He looked at Alan. "Where is he?" Alan smiled and held up his hand. He was engulfed by green flame, and when the fire died, the Green Lantern stood there, cape billowing behind him momentarily. "Get changed, and we'll get going."