A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews! They would really help a writer through the troubled waters of their fanfic. Hehe. Moving on... From this point in the story, events will derail from continuity and take on a course of its own. Jon is still Lois' boyfie though. Pity.

Disclaimer: As always, I don't own Superman and the related characters. He is originally created by Jerry Siegel and Joe Schuster. The rights to the characters belong to DC and Warner Bros., though a review does fuel this writer's hunger for constructive criticism :)

Reviews are welcome! Let me know what you think and what you would love to see next. God bless!

3:

By afternoon, the tension in the newsroom gradually died down and some of the senior staffers were even stealing naps in their cubicles. From the corner of my eye I see Jimmy's head lolling too even if he's chatting with the interns in the pantry. I shake my head and type Perry's revisions to the Suicide Slum homicide case story I'd finished last night – a day earlier than my deadline.

Henderson's coffee and Clark's outburst pumped my adrenaline and I found myself typing in inglorious hours at my apartment just to keep myself from thinking about it again. For one, I never dwell in the past.

I kick my heels off my feet and stare at my computer. Sleep is taunting me, what with the gracious help of Ralph's classical music playing from the next cubicle. Maybe the coffee's power lasts for only twelve hours long…

"Ma'am Lane?" a sheepish voice calls behind me.

The new blonde intern Farrah stands beside my table with a folder in her hands. I turn to her. "Please, Farrah, it's just Miss Lane."

"Miss Lane," she says, smiling a bit. "Here's the statement of S.T.A.R. and the flash drive. It just got in this lunch." She fishes a tiny, black flash drive from her pants pocket and hands it to me, along with the folder.

I nod and take the parcels from her. "Thanks."

"No worries, Miss Lane." She walks away.

I lay the folder on my table, and tuck the flash drive in the deepest pocket of my leather jacket. Before I could even open the folder, my phone beeps again. It's the mysterious sender.

Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust. Trust me, Miss Lane. Just trust me.

It's like messaging the Joker.

I don't reply and resolve to myself to meet this stranger once and for all. Nothing to worry since I have the Police at my #1 speed dial. Clark had been in my #2. What now? Maybe I'll have to delete him.

Delete Clark from my life forever.

It seems like an awful thing to do. Clark's name and number glare at me from the screen. No. I will not delete it in my speed dial. He was my best friend. He still is, for me. Even if he won't save me, I understand. I cannot bring myself to replace him in the #2 spot; he'd save me countless of times than the police had.

Perry's right. I should have kept my mouth shout for at least this time.

I turn my attention back to the folder. S.T.A.R. said in the statement that they have no affiliations with Dr. E.H. Johnson nor are they connected with the metahuman creation wreaking havoc in Metropolis. Of course it's easy to deny. Oftentimes, to get a confession one has to resort to covert operations.

By 6:50, I park my car on the road nearest to Metropolis Central. A road that is easy access lest I should get into trouble. I stay in the car, open my phone and text the stranger.

Where are you?

As soon as I send it, my phone beeps of a new message. The binary stranger.

Looking at you.

My eyes quickly dart to find a sinister looking fellow nearby. He should be nearby to see me. Then, near the corner, my eye caught a dark man in a worn jacket with a grey bonnet and shades. He places his phone in his ear.

Sure enough, my phone rings.

"Hello?"

"Hello, Miss Lane," the dark voice said, "thank you for coming. I know I could trust you."

I grab my wheel, ready to dart as soon as possible. "Okay. Now, I'm here. What do you want?"

The man in the worn jacket and grey bonnet nodded and from a distance I could see him smile. "I have a news for you."

"Very well, what is it?" I say, tiring of this wordplay. "Look, mister, I'm very busy."

"I understand," he replies, chuckling, "you are one busy girl in every world."

Every world?

"Excuse me?" I frowned.

The stranger laughs like taunting me is the most enjoyable past time in the world. I wince. "Someone messed up with the multiverse and elseworlds. Now, all of us are trapped in this mixed up world."

I sigh. "Fine. Speak."

"Dr. Ernest Howard Johnson, formerly at Metahumans Division, right?" he continues. "He'll tell you. I cannot tell you more than... A great foe is coming. I'm just a concerned citizen here for our Big Blue Boy Scout."

So this is about Superman, all right. Somehow people always think I'm his secretary. My eyebrows furrow. "I'm not his girl Friday, mister. Anyway, what is it? A creature stronger than Superman?"

"Yes, Miss Lane. Exactly," he says, "in fact, this creature has killed him before. In another time stream that is. If this thing is brought here, in this world, why, I think the world's favourite Kryptonian might find himself dead."

Clark must know about this. "Dr. Johnson where could he be found?"

He goes deathly serious. "He's transferred to Belle Reve, I believe. S.T.A.R. doesn't want anything to do with him. Good night, Miss Lane."

"Name?"

"Viktor Dusnayev at your service."

The line goes into a steady beep. The stranger salutes from his place and vanishes simply among the crowd. The golden rule of journalism: always check your sources. The appearance of this Dushnayev is doubtful enough, but I'd see to his profile later.

I stare at my phone. Dr. Johnson is an elusive man. It's true that S.T.A.R. fired him immediately. Their projects are leaking because of this certain Dr. Johnson.

It's time to pay a visit to Belle Reve.

As I open the door of my apartment, my phone beeps again.

Jon Carroll

Can I drop by?

I reply that he can't. It's a long discussion anyway and I don't want someone to talk to right now. Jon understands that. He's a convenient boyfriend and doesn't shove into my affairs that much. Both of us are busy all day to even watch each other. And recently, he's been cooling it off without telling me. Not that I'm jealous.

So it's pretty understandable that he only messaged me again with a cheesy note telling me to meet him at the Gold Room on Friday night next week, and to "wear your best too".

I sit before my work desk at the far end of my apartment and open my personal laptop. Right now, there are much more important things than my boyfriend. Being a reporter too, he could understand that.

My flash drive should hold the surveillance videos at S.T.A.R. and a purported confession of Dr. Johnson before he disappeared. The Metropolis Police has just converted them two days ago for me.

Plugging my flash drive in, I open my phone only to see Jon has messaged me again.

I turn my phone off and place it back in my pocket. After the flash drive loads, I open the folder Vid. Sure enough, the six videos are there. I play the first one and sit back.

It's Dr. Johnson himself looking at the camera.

He certainly aged since the last time I saw him, which is two months ago while I cover a suspicious laboratory fire. The hairs left on his head had turned silver and a few shades of grey. He seems agitated and weary as he stares at the lens. In a muffled voice he begins his tale.

"I have done nothing wrong," he says, shaking his head, "I know you are filming this. Whoever you are, watching right now, you must understand. You must listen to me carefully. They will silence me because I know what they are doing. The metahumans are going to rampage. If we do not stop them, they will bring about the end of this world. Again. Just like what they had done to mine."

The elseworlds? So is he even human or not?

"No," he says, as if he heard what I was thinking, "I came from one of the many possible futures. I am dead in a certain time stream, but you see I found a way to go back to the past of this world to live. Prime Earth. Your world borne because of a mistake, a loophole. But if you help me, we can make this mistake right."

Prime Earth? I wince. He smiles. His eyes seem to stare right through me.

"Let us help each other-"

The video buzzes and turns off. When I close my player, I realize that the other five surveillance videos had been corrupted and cannot be played anymore.

This must be a joke. It has to be. But it's not anywhere near funny.