Metropolis, September 6, 2007. Superman had held his own for twenty-two and a half minutes in the ring, and that was just the first of many bouts that Luthor had promised. Lois watched through tear-filled eyes as Clark's bloodied form slumped to the floor, and she and Martha both knew that his system wouldn't be able to take much similar abuse. When the regular broadcast was back again on the airwaves, all the stations were showing highlights of the lopsided battle and calling it news. This infuriated Lois to no end.

"THEY'RE JUST GIVING LUTHOR AND FINNERAN MORE OF AN AUDIENCE!!!! Isn't it horrific and humiliating enough that it was aired a first time, now they have to repeat it?!?!? WHAT THE HELL IS THE WORLD COMING TO?!?!?!" she cried out in despair. Martha had presence of mind enough to turn off the TV; Lois looked at her semi-incredulously.

The elderly woman wiped her tears away with her sleeve. "Watching it again and getting indignant about it won't stop that man's fists from swinging, Lois," she said, the tears renewing themselves as her son's cut and bruised face flashed before her mind's eye. Lois moved up onto the sofa and held the sobbing woman close. They sat like that for ten minutes before Lois sprung up.

"Oh My God, Jason!" she ran down the hallway to her son's room, flinging the door open. The comforter on his bed looked as if it had been sat on but there was no other indication that he'd been in there; then the sound of music came from his closet. Timidly, Lois pulled back the door and found the boy sitting on the floor in the corner, a random radio station playing music as she had instructed while he stared vacantly off into space.

"Jason!" She sank to her knees and pulled him close, holding him tight for what seemed like hours. Martha finally made her way down the hall and into the room in search of them.

"Is everyone alright in here?" she asked, her eyes ringed in red.

"We're alright, Martha," Lois said, wiping the silent tears that had slid down her cheeks during the embrace. Jason nodded mutely, still too confused and upset to speak. Ignoring her own needs for the moment, Martha turned to address her grandson.

"Are you hungry?" The boy shook his head no.

"Thirsty?" Another nod in the negative.

"Tired?" This time she got a nod in the affirmative.

"Ok then, how about I go fix up some tea for the grown-ups while you get your pajamas on and then I'll read you a story, how's that?" He nodded yes once more.

"We'll be right back when you're ready, ok?" she and Lois back out of the room and partially closed the door behind them.

Lois was never a woman who was prone to hysterics; in fact, it was her cool head under pressure and her no-nonsense attitude that had garnered her as much acclaim in the journalistic field as it had over the last several years. Tonight, however, was not a night for the usual Lane composure.

"Martha, what are we going to do?!?! You saw how his body reacted! They have at least 15,000 pounds of Kryptonite hidden God knows where and ready for God knows what cruel purpose Luthor and Finneran can cook up! THE PEOPLE ARE BEING OFFERED A CHANCE TO PAY TO SEE HIM PUMMELLED! They're never going to let him go, THEY'RE GOING TO KILL HIM!" she screamed furiously, the rage and inability to contribute to the search finally boiling over. She looked over at Mrs. Kent, breathless from her tirade.

The elderly woman went pale and trembled at the mention of her son's likely death at the hands of such radicals. God doesn't intend for me to keep my children…she thought, the vision of her baby daughter gasping her last in her very arms followed by that of Clark fighting for his life on TV. I can't do this, I can't lose another child…Oh my boy… Lois saw the dazed expression come over Martha's face and knew that a part of the formidable woman had just shut down. Seeing her child so thoroughly weakened without being able to do a damn thing about it seemed to break her indomitable spirit.

Jason came padding down the hallway in his pajamas, his mother and grandmother having never made it all the way to the kitchen. He tugged on Lois' pant leg.

"What is it, Baby?" she asked soothingly. He'd been through enough trauma without having to witness her meltdown too. He spoke in a voice that was barely audible, so Lois dropped to one knee and he whispered in her ear.

"What does he want?" Martha asked in a faraway voice; if she couldn't take care of Clark she could at least look out for the well-being of his only child.

Lois turned to look up at her. "He wants to sleep in the big bed with both of us tonight."

"I think that's a good idea," she replied. "What do you think?" The younger woman just nodded as she stood up, and all three made their way down the hall to the master bedroom. The two women crawled under the covers without bothering to change out of their clothes, and Lois checked the phone line once more to make sure everything was working in case Agent Woodrow called with any news in the middle of the night.

They all sobbed into their pillows as the evening wore on, giving vent to the anguish, frustration and grief that they felt toward the situation before them. When they did finally drift off into a restless sleep, images of the World's Greatest Hero being used as a punching bag continued to haunt their nightmares.


Metropolis, September 7, 2007. Lois woke up a little after 5 am after her fitful night's sleep, the cordless phone still clutched in her hand. She looked over and saw that Jason appeared to be sleeping soundly, and that Martha had a protective arm flung over him as she dozed. She slipped out from under the covers and moved into the living room, turning on the TV to see if there was any new news while pulling Agent Woodrow's business card out of her pant pocket.

The first dial tone had barely gone through when a tired female voice answered. "Woodrow."

"Agent Woodrow, this is Lois Lane…"

"Miss Lane! Has there been any contact?! Did Lex Luthor or Nick Finneran attempt to communicate with you?! Has Superman escaped and been in touch with you?!" The urgency and desperation were apparent in her tone and Lois' heart fell.

"No, there hasn't been any news," she said, fighting back tears. "That's why I was calling you, to see if any progress had been made overnight."

Agent Woodrow took a deep breath, bracing herself for the disheartening task of imparting bad news to the person they all knew was closest to the Man of Steel. "Miss Lane, I don't know what to tell you. It's as if they just up and disappeared like dust in the wind. Everyone's been pouring over the footage from yesterday's attack on the playground, as well as…the other fight…" she wanted to gloss over this part quickly, for the sake of the reporter who didn't need reminding "…even our Tech people are baffled. They couldn't get a trace off any of the connections, and Luthor and Finneran were broadcasting on at least 25 major news channels around the world simultaneously.

"The only tangible connection we have at this point in the case is the paper trail you and Mr. Kent discovered regarding the Kryptonite smuggling with Finneran. We spoke with his secretary, Jeanine, yesterday when we went to his office to arrest him…once she learned what her boss was involved in she was more than happy to cooperate, and she's been able to put a few more of the pieces together. It looks like it all started to come together in mid-to-late May, and she only remembers because of the two unsavory men who came by the office shortly after the phone calls began. She told us it wasn't Luthor because she's seen his face everywhere, but based on her description it sounds like the type of crowd he usually runs with. We're trying to get some security footage on the two, see if we can follow them to Luthor and Finneran, but at this point it's looking very unlikely.

"Another lead we have, if you can even call it that, are the names of some of the playground attackers. Apparently we were right to be concerned; they've been recruiting ex-cons from the Slums for sometime. We're following up on the last known residences of these men but I doubt there will be anyone who will be able to tell us where they are now or what they've been doing."

Lois remained silent on her end of the line, taking in all the news. The two men had now had Clark for roughly sixteen hours…and they had enough of a Kryptonite store to keep him for 16,000 more if they so chose. Or they could kill him tomorrow…the thought sent a cold shudder down Lois' spine; We were so close, Clark and I…so close to getting our act together and they've taken him…

"Miss Lane, I'm not going to lie to you," Agent Woodrow went on. "This was a highly organized and efficiently executed plot. Despite our best efforts it's caught us all off-guard. But we're going to catch up to them, Miss Lane; he's counting on us to find him, and so are hundreds of millions of people around the world. You can't lose hope because if you lose hope then he won't have a chance."

Lois stifled a sob and simply replied, "I know."

"Alright then. The Mayor is going to make an announcement later on today…"

"I'll be there," she interjected quickly. Now it was Agent Woodrow's turn to remain silent. Then she added, "In an unofficial capacity."

"Just wanted to make sure. I've got to go, I'll be in touch if there's any news."

"Thank you, Agent Woodrow…I…I…I really…" Lois let loose the sobs once more, wishing she didn't have to be in this awful position.

"I know." The phone clicked as she hung up the line. Lois pressed the End button on her phone and refocused her attention on the TV. There wasn't any new information to be had, but it was good to see that they'd stop replaying the fight footage from the previous evening. One of the announcers stated that the networks had jointly agreed not to devote any more coverage to the bouts, largely due to the cries of an outraged public echoing around the globe. That bit of news bolstered Lois' spirits as she curled up into a ball on the couch and let sleep briefly reclaim her once more.


"???", Day 2.His first instinct was to seek out the sun. It was like water to a dehydrated man, and Clark was parched. He slowly lifted his head off the floor from the spot where his body had rolled to a stop, and he began looking around in earnest for a light source of any kind, however weak or artificial. He was disoriented and found it a struggle just to get into a sitting position…this made him quickly reconsider any notions he'd had about standing.

He'd had to deal with pain before, but never so much and for such an extended period of time. The last time Clark could recall his body feeling this badly was when he threw New Krypton out into orbit, and even then he'd only felt the burning and throbbing sensation course through his system for a short span of time; he passed out before crashing back to Earth and hadn't woken up from his coma until the worst was over.

He took stock of his wounds by groping about with his hands. His face was sensitive and irregular to the touch—it felt like pounded clay, and although he couldn't see it he suspected it was covered in bruises and cuts. Next he ran a hand along each arm; they too were sensitive to the touch, and he saw several tears where his suit had begun to rip. There were still more lacerations on his hands from defending himself.

After his face, his chest was the next most painful area of his body. Running a few fingers gingerly on each side he gathered he had a fractured rib or two, but without his x-raying capabilities he couldn't be certain. The suit had tears down there as well, exposing his finely-toned but weakened otherworldly physique. All his muscles, even those that hadn't borne the brunt of his previous exertions, screamed out at him in agony as he surveyed his injuries.

However, the worst of the damage was centered on his legs. The bruising was apparent there too, but what more they felt like Jell-o under his weight. He had managed to drag himself over to the chair he'd been tied to before and hauled himself up into a kneeling position. Ok Kent, you gotta do this…you gotta crawl before you can walk, walk before you can run, run before you can fly…standing is just a step in the process…he gritted his teeth and braced himself for the second attempt. Clark got to his feet briefly and stood up hunched and struggling for breath. When his knees buckled he went crashing to the floor, breaking the chair on his way down to meet the concrete.

"DAMMIT!" he cried aloud in frustration, banging a swollen fist on the wooden pieces beside him. Clark sat upright again, stretching his legs out before him, trying to get the circulation moving in a vain effort to get them back in working order. His cries must have been heard by someone on the outside, because the lights went on in the hallway and the metal door was soon flung wide open.

A large African-American man stood partially in the doorway. Clark paid him no attention and instead rolled himself over onto his back and into the light. This puzzled the obtuse guard, who stared at Superman while he bent down to put the metal plate of food in his hands on the ground. The way he lay prone on the floor, stretching all his limbs as if he were making a snow angel, made the thug wonder if they hadn't hit him over the head too hard the other evening. He beat a hasty retreat out of the cell, shouting "Eat up!" to his ward as he grabbed the handle to pull the door shut.

I already have. Clark smiled at the momentary relief that had been afforded him before the door swung closed and he was once more plunged into total darkness.