I gotta say I'm rather surprised how much this lil' fic is being enjoyed. I'm glad the few of you that have read it like it as much as you do. Tell your friends . Har har. Also, sorry for the long wait.

Disclaimer: I haven't been doing this, so I'll start now. I don't own anything of Smallville....except Kristin Kreuk. She is my love slave foreva' '.

Note: The language is a bit harsher in parts of this chapter, so if it's enough for an R rating (I don't feel it is), let me know.

Special Thanks To: Sera for giving me the energy to start this process a couple months ago. Chuck and Komm for the votes of confidence. Thanks you guys. Thanks a lot.

Chapter 1- The Dark Side of the Moon

"Hey! You scream again and I swear I'll slit yer' throat you stupid bitch. Just hand over that sweet little wallet of yers' and I'll be on my way." Grunted the unkept man tossing the small knife from hand to greasy hand.

Coal black hair dirty with clusters of dirt and filth from nights of rummaging through trash cans and assorted dumpsters flowed to the dandruff ridden shoulders of the criminal. He sniffed roughly as she shuffled frantically through her unorganized, pink leather purse. The man's pale green eyes darted left to right second after second, obviously worried someone had heard her initial scream. He laughed a nervous laugh to himself, who would hear (or care about) a squeaky scream from a small little alcove like this. It was near a crappy grace C deli, but it had practically no customers and those it did have came to discuss their next gang hit on one street or another.

This girl, it would seem, had gotten no such warning and had made herself an easy target for a desperate man such as himself. Her long, streaming blonde hair and preppy pink skirt and silk spaghetti strap top told anyone with half a brain she wasn't from this part of town. What she was doing here, besides stuffing herself with food-poisoning from the deli rat hole, was beyond him. The heel of her white leather high tops clicked against the asphalt with unease as she rushed to pull out her wallet in the midst of her crazed sobs. Whether from the nocturnal humidity or the situation at hand, the criminal's face began to glisten with perspiration. Finally she offered the wallet to him with a shaky hand, eyes lifting to meet his...and then past his.

"Hey! Over here! This guy's stealing my wallet!" She called out to the lone figure several miles back down the "catacombs" of the back alleys.

Her assaulter immediately glanced back, growling at the sight of the silhouette in the distance. Before taking time to deal with that problem, he turned to pistol whip the woman who was so suddenly filled with a shimmer of hope. Her frail frame immediately hit the ground, a cut split open just over her left cheekbone. Blood trickled down a bit from the smear on the gun, the severity of the strike apparent. However, turning back to aim the gun at the mystery man, only the bitter cold night air filled his vision.

"Good, a smart one." He smiled, trying to sound tough over the heavy relief in his voice.

To his dismay, he found himself suddenly looking up at what appeared to be the same man as he turned back around to claim the wallet that had fallen to the ground in the slight confusion. He wore blue jeans and a black sweater with a fairly large white "S" on the chest and the cream colored words "Smallville Crows" below on his gut. His face was hidden by black strands of hair and the shadow from the hood of the sweater cast off by a low power street lamp.

"How the hell....." Confusion was painted in his voice like a portrait.

Clark said nothing, a stoic guardian angel standing over his charge. Frustrated by what he felt was a showing of disrespect, the mugger swung his pistol in an attempt to club Clark in the temple. He found his arm stopped almost as soon as it had moved, a vice grip tightening around his wrist. It was the same sensation one got when fingers are slammed in a door, only this pain and pressure kept increasing until he heard his bone snap.

"Ahh! God damn! God DAMN! What the hell are you doing! Let go of me you prick! Ahh!" The man said, starting to go limp as the hot pain began to course through his entire body like fire.

"Ok." Clark responded, grasping the man's throat with his other hand and lifting him up.

As the man began to cough and fight to loosen himself with his other hand, Clark growled as he turned around and tossed him into the wall with the force of wrecking ball, the sound of vertebrae cracking against concrete echoing through the alley. He felt a cold sense of satisfaction at the sound, like he had every time he hurt scum like this during what had been so far a three week stay. Every broken leg or cracked rib was a shot at the man who had killed his parents.

The dull thump of his body stirred the girl into consciousness, Clark looming over her.

"W-who are you?" She was just afraid of Clark as she was of the mugger.

Clark only pulled out her cell phone and handed it to her.

"Get him an ambulance." His voice seemed to command, though no body lingered around the woman anymore except the unconscious man at her lap.

"Another break Kent? You're lucky you're so good at what you do or you'd have been out of here the first week." Clark's supervisor, Rick, sighed in disappointment.

Clark muttered an apology and began to change into an orange jumpsuit with the Daily Planet logo embroiled on a small chest pocket. His hair lay in wild clumps thanks to the hood of the sweater. Not really concerned with how he came off as a janitor, Clark simply ran his hand through his hair and grabbed a broom handle attached to a yellow bucket of murky grey water.

It was a job as empty as his heart, crappy hours with even crappier pay. It didn't matter too much though, it was just enough money for a decent downtown apartment and it gave him access to important resources. Clark had applied for the job, for the most part, to get those resources to help him somehow find that black heart that took away his life. He knew he had only been there for a couple weeks, but the fact that nothing had turned up was a definite downer. High Lane Automotives had been shut down for several years which meant his only lead was a dead end. He had been waiting for something to pop up through the system. Anything from another murder or a robbery, something he could work off of.

Something inside Clark told him his nightly vigilante crusades might be scaring away his attacker. Yet, the man thought Clark was dead and even if he found out otherwise he had the means to fight and Clark wasn't sure he would be scared away by the attacks. Before he could get too deep into thought about it the annoying crack of his supervisor's voice filled his ears.

"That toilet overflowed again. Let's see you spend more than two seconds fixing it this time Kent. Quality over speed." His face split a wide grin at his words and Clark's misfortune.

Not a second after Rick's little comment did his shirt burst into flames. His cries suddenly filling the 15th floor as his flailing body found its way rolling on the ground. The fire licked up his back and leaped onto his polyester pants, blisters spreading like a plague on his body.

"KAL! Put me out!" Rick forced through clenched teeth.

Clark acted as surprised as he could and prolonged dumping the mop water on the screaming man's back. He darted around the small closet looking hurried and desperate before snatching up the bucket and dumping the murky water on the flames. What didn't go out Clark took care of by patting down and Rick took care of by rolling.

His temper had become something that controlled him, Clark knew. There was just something about the release that made him not care. If someone could just go around and shoot innocent people, Clark could lash out.

'At least I don't kill them...' Clark thought, reassuring himself.

He tried not to look at the 1st and 2nd degree burns covering the man's back and cooking on his abdomen. He knew there would be questions, but he was far away from Rick and Rick had walked passed a bottle of kerosene. All he could do now was notify the boss and get Rick an ambulance; the second ambulance in less than an hour. An ambulance, Clark felt, he didn't deserve.