The robbery was in full swing by the time Clark got there. He had managed to change while on route and was speeding through the streets, over the police barricade and into the bank by the time the first automatic weapons fire split the air. There were three of them, one bag man and two on crowd control. They were armed with heavy assault rifles, each wearing full body armor. Their tactics were professional, strike fear, keep the crowd reeling, and, so far, they hadn't caused a single casualty.

Clark had yet to encounter a scenario with such potential for death and violence, but he was not going to be cowed or intimidated by such men. He stopped at the bank entrance as the men gathered their money, preparing to make their escape.

"Now, gentlemen," Clark said, his voice carrying throughout the lobby, "I believe that you are preforming that withdrawal illegally."

"It's the Superman," one screamed, turning his weapon on Clark. In a matter of seconds, the three men had unload what remained of their clips at Clark. He hadn't even bothered to catch the bullets, or get out of the way. He just let them come, but suddenly realized his folly; several of the rounds that had bounced off of him still had enough kinetic energy to be lethal, and they were headed towards the civilians on the floor, behind the robbers. He was fast, but he had delayed too long and he could not go around these violent men without risking the lives of innocents.

He passed from round to round, catching each, but being forced to push the robbers aside as he did so, brushing them aside with as much restrain as he could. Still, the robbers were thrown bodily through the air, hitting walls and the tellers' counter, allowing Clark to catch up the bullets that were about to cause serious injury. As he finally caught the last round and looked up, he was disturbed by what met his eyes.

Each of the robbers were seriously injured. All had at least one fracture, two had mild concussions, and the amount of soft tissue damage they had reminded Clark of victims of traffic collisions.

Before his eyes, one of the customers that had been in terror moments ago suddenly stood and ran to one of the robbers, kicking the downed man harshly and spitting on him. A small group of the bank customers and a few bank employees gathered around Clark, giving him praise for a job well down. Several others backed away in fear, eyes averted and trying not to draw attention to themselves. As the police entered the bank, they took the men into custody, calling each an ambulance. Clark was turning to walk out when a police officer stopped him.

"You shouldn't be doing this," she said, sounding scared but determined.

"Let it go, Tony," her partner said, holding her arm.

"No," the officer said, shaking the arm off. "You don't know what you are doing out here. You think that you can show up all us cops in Metropolis? You don't got the right to treat us like we can't do our jobs and treat the world like we need you! We didn't ask you here, and we don't need you! You just put three perps in the hospital today. Are you proud of that? Are you prepared to answer for it? Are you ready for when you put someone in a body bag?"

Clark didn't know what to say, had no response. He sped out of the back, not caring what it looked like, and was on the roof of the Daily Planet in a few bounds. He stood there, thinking long and hard about what he was doing.

Why couldn't people see that he was there to help them? They were scared and afraid and he wanted to show them a better way, show them that there was a better life out there. Why couldn't they see the value in that? They had thanked him for causing pain, for injuring three men, thinking it was purposeful. That was worse to him than if they had known that he had misjudged his own actions. What if they were right, and he had no right to do the things that he did? What if he truly had no place in this world?

So lost was he in his thoughts that Clark didn't notice the altercation until the shots were already fired. He turned, leaping down among the buildings and finding the alley. The mugger was gone, but Clark could have found him if he wanted. Even so, there was no way the events that had already transpired could have been undone.

What had taken place was easy enough to see, even without the powers and abilities Clark possessed. The elderly woman was unconscious, injured but stable, her broken purse strap discarded beside her body. Lying, just down the alley, was the body of a small boy. Judging from the current development of his bones, he couldn't have been older than fifteen. He seemed tiny in death, the pain of his passing still the most prominent expression on his face. He wore a blue T-shirt, marked with Superman shield upon his chest. Through that shield were two bullet holes. From the proximity and positioning of the body and the woman, he must have been trying to stop the mugging. He must have been trying to help, and he was gunned down for his trouble.

Clark lifted the boy's body to his chest, held him close and carefully. And, for the first time since his Pa's death, he wept for the dead.