Guidance: A Smallville Fanfiction
By Peter Amico
(Disclaimer: I don't own one bit of the rights to Superman or Smallville
or any of the other character pertained herein. If you've got an issue
with any of them, take it up with DC or Warner Bros.)
Author's Note: This is sorta a different type of fanfic than anything out there. There aren't any pairings, no drama, no action (well maybe a little), just dialogue. I wanted to do a small little fic that examined some of the guiding forces that would shape Clark into who he eventually becomes; to take a look at his reaction to the philosophies out there as he begins to shape his own. I hope you enjoy
Part I: Guardian
Part I Note: The Guardian is the former vigilante of Metropolis. He was around before Superman got there, but he didn't have any powers, just a shield, sorta a toned down version of Captain America.
"Remind me why we're doing this again?" Pete asked Chloe as he stood there carrying a stack of metal chairs. He grunted and shifted them around in his hands.
"Because it's a great way to earn extra credit and you owed me a favor," she laughed, waving a clipboard at him. "Besides, stacking chairs is good for you. Helps you stay in shape for football."
"I am in shape," he protested angrily. The chairs started to slip out of his hands and he had to quickly set them down so they didn't fall all over the cafeteria.
"What kind of shape is the question," she commented.
"Come on," Clark said behind them, "aren't you even a little psyched about this? Having Jim Harper come to our school to speak, the guy's a celebrity."
"The guy's a nutcase," Pete laughed. "He ran around in tights and carried a shield, need I say more?"
"Uh, Excuse me," Clark said. "He was a legend in Metropolis; the Guardian! The GUARDIAN! Do you know how many criminals he's credited with arresting? How many times he saved the city?"
Pete smiled and looked at Clark frankly. "Tights, Clark. T-I-G-H-T-S."
"You're impossible," he fumed. Chloe laughed at both of them.
"I didn't know you were a Guardian fan, Clark," she said.
"Are you kidding?" Pete remarked. "He had the action figure and everything. Even this little motorcycle for him to ride around in."
"Until you broke it," Clark snapped. "I'm still mad at you for that."
"That was like the third grade."
"Boy's and their toys," Chloe sighed. "So, I guess you have all his books too, huh?"
"Practically," he admitted. "I've got his memoirs and then the Life Picture History of his Guardian Appearances. I'm missing the last part of his Guardian Case files though."
"Now we know what to get you for your birthday," Pete said, picking up the chairs again. "How many more of these chairs do we have to put out, anyways?"
"Until you can fit the entire class in here," Chloe said. "Keep working, I'm counting only thirty so far and so that means you've only got about two hundred to go."
"And what about you?" Clark asked, carrying another stack of chairs over. "If you're in charge of this why don't I see you helping?"
"I am helping," she replied, waving her clipboard. "I've got important supervisor-type duties to take care of. Yep, I'm much, much too busy to help lug around chairs."
Clark and Pete looked at each other for a moment and then both of them put their chairs down. "Hey, no breaks," Chloe said, as they started towards her. "Wait, what are you doing?"
"I've got her," Pete said, picking her up and slinging her over his shoulder. "Get the clipboard."
"No!" Chloe said, shrieking with laughter as she held the clipboard out. "Put me down you big lummox!" Clark, laughing as well, darted around Pete trying to snatch the clipboard out of her hands as she swung it around. Even though he was supposed to be helping him, Pete started to turn around in circles making Clark follow around him.
"Getting dizzy!" Chloe shouted. Suddenly Clark dashed forwards and pulled the clipboard away.
"Got it!" he yelled and Pete turned around so he could see.
"Blank?" he asked
"Yep." Clark held it up for him. The papers clipped to it were absolutely bare. Chloe grimaced and sighed.
"Supervisor-type duties huh?" Pete asked over his shoulder.
"I guess I could give you guys a hand on chair duty," she remarked, shrugging absently.
He stood at the podium on stage, staring out over the crowd of students. "Good afternoon, Ladies and Gentlemen. Some of you might recognize me, but for those of you who don't, my name is Jim Harper, formerly of the Metropolis Police Department, 5th Precinct. What some people seem to find more important though was the name I used to call myself after I got off my day-job; the Guardian." Jim Harper, even though he had to be pushing sixty, was still an intimidating figure. Dressed in a casual blue suit, he carried with him an air of instant authority. He was tall, well over six feet, with a kind of solid, intimidating figure that radiated strength. He had a kind and open face though, the sort that automatically inspired trust. Clark had seen his picture before of course, but meeting him in person now, he was surprised with how warm the man could be.
I bet we'd be great friends; he thought briefly and then dismissed the idea wryly. The chances of that ever happening were just to this side of slim to none.
As he gripped the podium though, Clark noticed something about him that sent a slight chill through him. Harper had large, red looking knuckles, almost twice normal size. They looked like they'd been cracked and bruised countless times, which was probably true, he realized. His hands were also swollen and meaty looking. It wasn't very difficult to imagine him crushing a brick in those hands. Or something else.
Pete leaned over next to Clark and whispered, "At least he's wearing a suit. If he'd come out in the blue and gold tights, I don't know if I could have kept quiet." Clark frowned at him, but Pete just smiled back. One of the teacher's shhh-ed loudly at them and they both sat back, quiet. The entire sophomore class was crammed inside the auditorium to listen to Harper.
"Now I've been up and down the state talking to a bunch of student's this past year," he said, "which gave me a lot of time to discover something: I can't write speeches. Not for the life of me. So what I like to do is open up the floor right away for a bit of question and answer. You ask, I answer, that's the deal here. Anything you want, I'm fairly open."
Harper looked out over the audience, waiting for some hands. There were no immediate takers. The silence ticked on a few uncomfortable moments as the student's looked around at each other. Finally, more to keep the mood going than out of curiosity, a teacher in the back raised her hand.
"Yes?" Harper said, smiling at her.
"I was just wondering why you got started as the Guardian? What motivated you?" Harper frowned and then a wry smile broke out over his face.
"I guess it was a lot of things, first among them probably the thrill of it," he laughed. "You might find that hard to understand, but bear with me. You see, the first time I put on the costume, there wasn't much of a costume, just a shield and helmet that I'd scrounged out of an old costume shop. I did it really to protect myself. You probably know the story; I was a rookie police office, wet behind the ears and too gung ho for my own good. I tried to bring in a gang of thugs by myself and they got the jump on me. Kicked the living hell out of me and stole my gun. For a rookie, for any cop, that's inexcusable. Rather than call for back up, I wanted to bring them in myself." He shook his head again, laughing softly. "Like I said, I didn't have much sense."
"I stumbled across the costume shop as I was trailing them, and saw the helmet and shield in the window. Without my gun, I thought a little added protection would've been a smart move. That was all I was thinking really, no grander motive than saving my own hide."
"Well," he said, looking up briefly, "to make a long story short, I found the thugs and managed to take them into custody without too much difficulty. I was surprised, I remember, with how right it seemed fighting with the shield. I always find that funny, thinking back over it. How right it seemed," he murmured. He was silent for a moment and then shrugged.
"Here's a fun little fact for you," he smiled, looking over them again. "If it hadn't been pride, there might never have been a Guardian. I left them tied up in an alley and called the police in anomalously from a pay phone. There was no way I was going to bring them in myself, because then I'd have to reveal the whole story about losing my gun and trying to tackle them single handedly. I'd been a lucky fool, and even I knew it by then."
"But pride's a funny thing. The gang wasn't willing to admit that they'd been beaten up by one guy, so they laid it on a little thick. Oh the stories they told," he laughed.
"One said I had been ten feet tall and shot fire at them. Another swore there'd been five of me, all dressed the same way. It seems they never recognized me in the mask, and even if any of them had, they weren't going to let it slip that one lone cop got the better of them. So my secret was safe and all the city could talk about was its new guardian angel."
One of the student's hands shot up and Harper nodded at him. "What was it like to read about yourself like that in the paper?" he asked quickly. Harper smiled and laughed loudly.
"Oh, pretty good, actually. I got a thrill every time I heard someone talk about "the Guardian" as the name was shortened. It was a kick, I won't lie, but I thought that people would lose interest after a while. I didn't have intention of going out again, so I thought things would go back to normal. But people kept talking about it, trading theories and rumors. There were even a few more Guardian sightings, of which I had nothing to do with, I'll add. After a while, even I got the bug, and I started planning out things. Improvements to the costume, learning new fighting style's, training myself, it was a busy few months. All told, I think there it was six months after I'd stumbled into that costume shop that I had my first, official Guardian adventure."
A few more hands shot up, none the least of all Pete's. Clark stared at him as he stood up, waving. Harper nodded towards him and Pete smiled. "I was just wondering," he asked slowly, "why the tights? I mean, why wear the helmet and the blue and gold outfit? Didn't that kind of strike you as strange?" There were a few chuckles from the audience as Clark buried his head in his hands, mortified. Harper though, seemed to take the question in stride.
"There's always someone who asks that question," he laughed. "Well, it's a legitimate concern and something I've asked myself at a few times. I'd like to assure you right off that bat that I didn't have any "obscure psychological motives" for wearing tights. They're not even tights really, the original costume had a bullet proof vest and the leggings were sewn with strips of iron mesh. Later on, I upgraded it to Kevlar, and of course, the shield and helmet have always been incredibly durable. Aside from my fists, I had no other weapons and no special abilities, so I needed all the protection I could get. So I could say that it just the best way to protect as much of my body as possible while enabling me to move and fight, but that wouldn't be completely correct. No, there's a lot more to it than that."
"How many of you love Halloween?" he suddenly asked. There was a moment of silence and then a general murmur of agreement. "Do you enjoy putting on costumes and going out to the parties and the like? Of course, most people do. But why do we enjoy it; that's a difficult question. Part of it might be because when you're putting on the costume, you're not yourself anymore, you're someone else."
"Have you ever dreamed of being someone else?" he asked rhetorically. "Of escaping your lives and leaving all your problems behind? That's the sort of logic that drives people to put on costumes. They want to be someone else, someone better, stronger. They want to leave all the baggage of their other life behind for a little while. Does that answer your question?" he asked Pete.
"Yeah," he said slowly, no longer laughing. "One thing though," he added, looking a little confused, "isn't that a little schizophrenic? You know, like multiple personalities or something?"
Harper burst out laughing, slapping the podium fiercely. Pete swallowed and look around nervously as some other student's started to chuckle as well. "Young man," Harper said when he had regained control, "you're the first student, I think, to ever call me crazy."
"I.I didn't mean,"
"No, no," he waved Pete quiet, "I don't mind. I respect it actually. You've got a keen mind and you just don't blindly accept what people tell you, that's a rare thing. As to your question, yes, it is very much like what a schizophrenic person might do, or someone with multiple personalities. That's what drives most people like that, their lives get too painful, and so they try and find a way out. As for myself and other's like me, well." He paused and frowned, rubbing his chin.
"Well. I've seen a lot of things in my life. Some beautiful, some too horrible for words. Some things that I could put away and forget about, and some that still send me screaming awake at nights." He paused and looked down at the podium briefly, shaking his head. "A very wise man once said," he stated, still looking down, "that it's our madness that sometimes keeps us sane." He nodded and looked up, smiling softly at them. "Sorry about that. Next question."
Clark raised his hand, not even conscious of it. Harper seemed to look straight at him, and for a moment, it seemed that something sparked between the two of them.
"Yes?" he asked.
"Why did you stop being the Guardian?" Clark asked. He hadn't even thought of a question, it had just popped into his head from somewhere.
Harper stared at him oddly for a long while, not saying anything. Then he cleared his throat loudly, but didn't say anything. One of the teachers stood up hurriedly, smiling anxiously at him.
"I'm sorry about that, Mr. Harper. You don't have to answer that it you don't-"
"No, it's alright," he said, not taking his eyes off Clark. "I was just a little surprised. I think I've wanted somebody to ask me that question for a long time, but I never expected to hear it today." He took his eyes off Clark and looked out over all the students.
"A lot of people have assumed that I stopped being the Guardian just because I got old. Foolishness," he laughed. "I may be slower but I'm stronger and more full of tricks than I've ever been. No, I didn't stop because my hair turned gray, I stopped because the times were changing, and I was being left behind." He glanced back at Clark and then out over the students again.
"Pay attention to this word, children: metahuman. Metahuman. In laymen's terms, it means a person with powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal men. When I started as the Guardian there were other's like me out there, hero and villain. Most of us had no special powers; oh there were a few odd cases here and there, but not very many. But as time passed, I saw more and more of those special people begin to spring up. Some were born that way, some get their powers through accidents, it doesn't really matter how but that they exist."
"At first no one noticed, but then as more and more of them started to show up, it became increasingly obvious to the rest of us what was happening. We were being replaced. I mean, when someone can punch through a steel door or shoot energy beams out his hands, what use is there for an old guy with a shield?" he laughed without a trace of bitterness. "Yes, we were being replaced. Some of us took it the wrong way and got bitter and paranoid. They thought that these super-humans were not just going to displace us heroes, but the entire human race. I don't believe that for a second, never did."
"There are more and more people with these abilities surfacing every day," he told them. "I don't fear them though, because no matter what they can do or become, they remain human inside. We share the same hopes and fears, the same heartaches and joys. Some of them might be driven to become villains, to use their powers selfishly. But can we say any differently about some 'normal' people. We've always had our villains, and there have always been people willing to stand up and fight them."
He looked at Clark for a moment. "There always have been and there always will be."
Author's Note: This is sorta a different type of fanfic than anything out there. There aren't any pairings, no drama, no action (well maybe a little), just dialogue. I wanted to do a small little fic that examined some of the guiding forces that would shape Clark into who he eventually becomes; to take a look at his reaction to the philosophies out there as he begins to shape his own. I hope you enjoy
Part I: Guardian
Part I Note: The Guardian is the former vigilante of Metropolis. He was around before Superman got there, but he didn't have any powers, just a shield, sorta a toned down version of Captain America.
"Remind me why we're doing this again?" Pete asked Chloe as he stood there carrying a stack of metal chairs. He grunted and shifted them around in his hands.
"Because it's a great way to earn extra credit and you owed me a favor," she laughed, waving a clipboard at him. "Besides, stacking chairs is good for you. Helps you stay in shape for football."
"I am in shape," he protested angrily. The chairs started to slip out of his hands and he had to quickly set them down so they didn't fall all over the cafeteria.
"What kind of shape is the question," she commented.
"Come on," Clark said behind them, "aren't you even a little psyched about this? Having Jim Harper come to our school to speak, the guy's a celebrity."
"The guy's a nutcase," Pete laughed. "He ran around in tights and carried a shield, need I say more?"
"Uh, Excuse me," Clark said. "He was a legend in Metropolis; the Guardian! The GUARDIAN! Do you know how many criminals he's credited with arresting? How many times he saved the city?"
Pete smiled and looked at Clark frankly. "Tights, Clark. T-I-G-H-T-S."
"You're impossible," he fumed. Chloe laughed at both of them.
"I didn't know you were a Guardian fan, Clark," she said.
"Are you kidding?" Pete remarked. "He had the action figure and everything. Even this little motorcycle for him to ride around in."
"Until you broke it," Clark snapped. "I'm still mad at you for that."
"That was like the third grade."
"Boy's and their toys," Chloe sighed. "So, I guess you have all his books too, huh?"
"Practically," he admitted. "I've got his memoirs and then the Life Picture History of his Guardian Appearances. I'm missing the last part of his Guardian Case files though."
"Now we know what to get you for your birthday," Pete said, picking up the chairs again. "How many more of these chairs do we have to put out, anyways?"
"Until you can fit the entire class in here," Chloe said. "Keep working, I'm counting only thirty so far and so that means you've only got about two hundred to go."
"And what about you?" Clark asked, carrying another stack of chairs over. "If you're in charge of this why don't I see you helping?"
"I am helping," she replied, waving her clipboard. "I've got important supervisor-type duties to take care of. Yep, I'm much, much too busy to help lug around chairs."
Clark and Pete looked at each other for a moment and then both of them put their chairs down. "Hey, no breaks," Chloe said, as they started towards her. "Wait, what are you doing?"
"I've got her," Pete said, picking her up and slinging her over his shoulder. "Get the clipboard."
"No!" Chloe said, shrieking with laughter as she held the clipboard out. "Put me down you big lummox!" Clark, laughing as well, darted around Pete trying to snatch the clipboard out of her hands as she swung it around. Even though he was supposed to be helping him, Pete started to turn around in circles making Clark follow around him.
"Getting dizzy!" Chloe shouted. Suddenly Clark dashed forwards and pulled the clipboard away.
"Got it!" he yelled and Pete turned around so he could see.
"Blank?" he asked
"Yep." Clark held it up for him. The papers clipped to it were absolutely bare. Chloe grimaced and sighed.
"Supervisor-type duties huh?" Pete asked over his shoulder.
"I guess I could give you guys a hand on chair duty," she remarked, shrugging absently.
He stood at the podium on stage, staring out over the crowd of students. "Good afternoon, Ladies and Gentlemen. Some of you might recognize me, but for those of you who don't, my name is Jim Harper, formerly of the Metropolis Police Department, 5th Precinct. What some people seem to find more important though was the name I used to call myself after I got off my day-job; the Guardian." Jim Harper, even though he had to be pushing sixty, was still an intimidating figure. Dressed in a casual blue suit, he carried with him an air of instant authority. He was tall, well over six feet, with a kind of solid, intimidating figure that radiated strength. He had a kind and open face though, the sort that automatically inspired trust. Clark had seen his picture before of course, but meeting him in person now, he was surprised with how warm the man could be.
I bet we'd be great friends; he thought briefly and then dismissed the idea wryly. The chances of that ever happening were just to this side of slim to none.
As he gripped the podium though, Clark noticed something about him that sent a slight chill through him. Harper had large, red looking knuckles, almost twice normal size. They looked like they'd been cracked and bruised countless times, which was probably true, he realized. His hands were also swollen and meaty looking. It wasn't very difficult to imagine him crushing a brick in those hands. Or something else.
Pete leaned over next to Clark and whispered, "At least he's wearing a suit. If he'd come out in the blue and gold tights, I don't know if I could have kept quiet." Clark frowned at him, but Pete just smiled back. One of the teacher's shhh-ed loudly at them and they both sat back, quiet. The entire sophomore class was crammed inside the auditorium to listen to Harper.
"Now I've been up and down the state talking to a bunch of student's this past year," he said, "which gave me a lot of time to discover something: I can't write speeches. Not for the life of me. So what I like to do is open up the floor right away for a bit of question and answer. You ask, I answer, that's the deal here. Anything you want, I'm fairly open."
Harper looked out over the audience, waiting for some hands. There were no immediate takers. The silence ticked on a few uncomfortable moments as the student's looked around at each other. Finally, more to keep the mood going than out of curiosity, a teacher in the back raised her hand.
"Yes?" Harper said, smiling at her.
"I was just wondering why you got started as the Guardian? What motivated you?" Harper frowned and then a wry smile broke out over his face.
"I guess it was a lot of things, first among them probably the thrill of it," he laughed. "You might find that hard to understand, but bear with me. You see, the first time I put on the costume, there wasn't much of a costume, just a shield and helmet that I'd scrounged out of an old costume shop. I did it really to protect myself. You probably know the story; I was a rookie police office, wet behind the ears and too gung ho for my own good. I tried to bring in a gang of thugs by myself and they got the jump on me. Kicked the living hell out of me and stole my gun. For a rookie, for any cop, that's inexcusable. Rather than call for back up, I wanted to bring them in myself." He shook his head again, laughing softly. "Like I said, I didn't have much sense."
"I stumbled across the costume shop as I was trailing them, and saw the helmet and shield in the window. Without my gun, I thought a little added protection would've been a smart move. That was all I was thinking really, no grander motive than saving my own hide."
"Well," he said, looking up briefly, "to make a long story short, I found the thugs and managed to take them into custody without too much difficulty. I was surprised, I remember, with how right it seemed fighting with the shield. I always find that funny, thinking back over it. How right it seemed," he murmured. He was silent for a moment and then shrugged.
"Here's a fun little fact for you," he smiled, looking over them again. "If it hadn't been pride, there might never have been a Guardian. I left them tied up in an alley and called the police in anomalously from a pay phone. There was no way I was going to bring them in myself, because then I'd have to reveal the whole story about losing my gun and trying to tackle them single handedly. I'd been a lucky fool, and even I knew it by then."
"But pride's a funny thing. The gang wasn't willing to admit that they'd been beaten up by one guy, so they laid it on a little thick. Oh the stories they told," he laughed.
"One said I had been ten feet tall and shot fire at them. Another swore there'd been five of me, all dressed the same way. It seems they never recognized me in the mask, and even if any of them had, they weren't going to let it slip that one lone cop got the better of them. So my secret was safe and all the city could talk about was its new guardian angel."
One of the student's hands shot up and Harper nodded at him. "What was it like to read about yourself like that in the paper?" he asked quickly. Harper smiled and laughed loudly.
"Oh, pretty good, actually. I got a thrill every time I heard someone talk about "the Guardian" as the name was shortened. It was a kick, I won't lie, but I thought that people would lose interest after a while. I didn't have intention of going out again, so I thought things would go back to normal. But people kept talking about it, trading theories and rumors. There were even a few more Guardian sightings, of which I had nothing to do with, I'll add. After a while, even I got the bug, and I started planning out things. Improvements to the costume, learning new fighting style's, training myself, it was a busy few months. All told, I think there it was six months after I'd stumbled into that costume shop that I had my first, official Guardian adventure."
A few more hands shot up, none the least of all Pete's. Clark stared at him as he stood up, waving. Harper nodded towards him and Pete smiled. "I was just wondering," he asked slowly, "why the tights? I mean, why wear the helmet and the blue and gold outfit? Didn't that kind of strike you as strange?" There were a few chuckles from the audience as Clark buried his head in his hands, mortified. Harper though, seemed to take the question in stride.
"There's always someone who asks that question," he laughed. "Well, it's a legitimate concern and something I've asked myself at a few times. I'd like to assure you right off that bat that I didn't have any "obscure psychological motives" for wearing tights. They're not even tights really, the original costume had a bullet proof vest and the leggings were sewn with strips of iron mesh. Later on, I upgraded it to Kevlar, and of course, the shield and helmet have always been incredibly durable. Aside from my fists, I had no other weapons and no special abilities, so I needed all the protection I could get. So I could say that it just the best way to protect as much of my body as possible while enabling me to move and fight, but that wouldn't be completely correct. No, there's a lot more to it than that."
"How many of you love Halloween?" he suddenly asked. There was a moment of silence and then a general murmur of agreement. "Do you enjoy putting on costumes and going out to the parties and the like? Of course, most people do. But why do we enjoy it; that's a difficult question. Part of it might be because when you're putting on the costume, you're not yourself anymore, you're someone else."
"Have you ever dreamed of being someone else?" he asked rhetorically. "Of escaping your lives and leaving all your problems behind? That's the sort of logic that drives people to put on costumes. They want to be someone else, someone better, stronger. They want to leave all the baggage of their other life behind for a little while. Does that answer your question?" he asked Pete.
"Yeah," he said slowly, no longer laughing. "One thing though," he added, looking a little confused, "isn't that a little schizophrenic? You know, like multiple personalities or something?"
Harper burst out laughing, slapping the podium fiercely. Pete swallowed and look around nervously as some other student's started to chuckle as well. "Young man," Harper said when he had regained control, "you're the first student, I think, to ever call me crazy."
"I.I didn't mean,"
"No, no," he waved Pete quiet, "I don't mind. I respect it actually. You've got a keen mind and you just don't blindly accept what people tell you, that's a rare thing. As to your question, yes, it is very much like what a schizophrenic person might do, or someone with multiple personalities. That's what drives most people like that, their lives get too painful, and so they try and find a way out. As for myself and other's like me, well." He paused and frowned, rubbing his chin.
"Well. I've seen a lot of things in my life. Some beautiful, some too horrible for words. Some things that I could put away and forget about, and some that still send me screaming awake at nights." He paused and looked down at the podium briefly, shaking his head. "A very wise man once said," he stated, still looking down, "that it's our madness that sometimes keeps us sane." He nodded and looked up, smiling softly at them. "Sorry about that. Next question."
Clark raised his hand, not even conscious of it. Harper seemed to look straight at him, and for a moment, it seemed that something sparked between the two of them.
"Yes?" he asked.
"Why did you stop being the Guardian?" Clark asked. He hadn't even thought of a question, it had just popped into his head from somewhere.
Harper stared at him oddly for a long while, not saying anything. Then he cleared his throat loudly, but didn't say anything. One of the teachers stood up hurriedly, smiling anxiously at him.
"I'm sorry about that, Mr. Harper. You don't have to answer that it you don't-"
"No, it's alright," he said, not taking his eyes off Clark. "I was just a little surprised. I think I've wanted somebody to ask me that question for a long time, but I never expected to hear it today." He took his eyes off Clark and looked out over all the students.
"A lot of people have assumed that I stopped being the Guardian just because I got old. Foolishness," he laughed. "I may be slower but I'm stronger and more full of tricks than I've ever been. No, I didn't stop because my hair turned gray, I stopped because the times were changing, and I was being left behind." He glanced back at Clark and then out over the students again.
"Pay attention to this word, children: metahuman. Metahuman. In laymen's terms, it means a person with powers and abilities far beyond those of mortal men. When I started as the Guardian there were other's like me out there, hero and villain. Most of us had no special powers; oh there were a few odd cases here and there, but not very many. But as time passed, I saw more and more of those special people begin to spring up. Some were born that way, some get their powers through accidents, it doesn't really matter how but that they exist."
"At first no one noticed, but then as more and more of them started to show up, it became increasingly obvious to the rest of us what was happening. We were being replaced. I mean, when someone can punch through a steel door or shoot energy beams out his hands, what use is there for an old guy with a shield?" he laughed without a trace of bitterness. "Yes, we were being replaced. Some of us took it the wrong way and got bitter and paranoid. They thought that these super-humans were not just going to displace us heroes, but the entire human race. I don't believe that for a second, never did."
"There are more and more people with these abilities surfacing every day," he told them. "I don't fear them though, because no matter what they can do or become, they remain human inside. We share the same hopes and fears, the same heartaches and joys. Some of them might be driven to become villains, to use their powers selfishly. But can we say any differently about some 'normal' people. We've always had our villains, and there have always been people willing to stand up and fight them."
He looked at Clark for a moment. "There always have been and there always will be."