Fear the Unknown
Chapter 4:
(Disclaimer: all characters are copyrights of DC Comics, a division of AOL- Time Warner. I don't own any of this stuff, sadly.)
Los Angeles, CA
"I'm telling you, it wasn't natural!"
Si Templeton ran a hand over the shining surface of his head. Si was a simple man with simple perceptions of right and wrong, which is why he was Los Angeles' district attorney. The Hall of Justice in Salem liked people who saw things in black and white.
"Look, Peter, I don't doubt you. You're a smart boy with a good head on his shoulders. But these are some serious accusations that you're making, here. You claim that you were rescued by someone or something using magic."
"What else could it have been, Si? I was thrown from a window and landed without a scratch."
"Some might call it a miracle, Peter, a blessing from the almighty."
"I don't think I'm all that important in the great scheme of things, Si."
"I'll tell you what. I'll speak with the Dark Arts division in Sacramento. We'll see what they think. You say that there was no record of any of this on your building's tapes?"
"None at all. The tapes were completely wiped clean."
"Hm. All right. Well, you just keep your nose clean for a while, Pete. I'll let you know in a few days."
"Thanks, Si."
Across town, a feeble old man wove his way through the crowds of businessmen and minor bureaucrats that swarmed like ants through downtown. He was unshaven, with ragged hair. He look as if he had once been handsome, but something horrible had taken its toll on him, making the thirty-something vagrant look closer to sixty.
"Someone." He mumbled. "Anyone. please, help me."
He blundered into walls as he staggered more with each step. As he became more and more erratic, those around him began to take notice.
"Please. help me."
"STAY WHERE YOU ARE." A voice boomed from overhead. The crowd stared skyward as dark black helicopters whipped around the corner of a building into view. They were thick hulled, painted jet black, with bold white crosses glaring defiantly from their fuselages.
"No! They've found me!"
The old man redoubled his efforts, stumbling away with as much speed as he could muster, the crowd dropping away from him, terrified. Six men dropped from one of the helicopters, their black boots thudding to the ground as they pulled out their weapons.
"Don't make us use force, old man. Our orders are to take you alive."
The old man's face twisted in confusion as he was surrounded.
"Why? Why don't you just kill me?"
"Who knows? Now, are you going to do this the easy way, or the hard way?"
For a moment, the old man wavered, then he saw, out of the corner of his eye, a large framed man, just barely beyond the fringes of the crowd. His neat suit barely concealed the thickly muscled body beneath, and his dark- rimmed glasses couldn't mask the fury in his eyes at what was happening.
"No!!!" The old man, invigorated for some reason by what he saw in that man's eyes, threw off the tattered overcoat that he'd been hugging around him, and the crowd gasped collectively in shock as the wiry, battered body rippled and changed, glowing with energy and power. What had appeared to be flesh melted away and revealed what could have been golden armor beneath. The man's head erupted in some sort of flame and he rocketed skyward, to be chased by the helicopters.
Clark looked on as the choppers flew away, hating himself because he knew that he could have helped the man, but that he was bound by his promise to the others, not to do anything until the time was right.
But who was that man?
Chapter 4:
(Disclaimer: all characters are copyrights of DC Comics, a division of AOL- Time Warner. I don't own any of this stuff, sadly.)
Los Angeles, CA
"I'm telling you, it wasn't natural!"
Si Templeton ran a hand over the shining surface of his head. Si was a simple man with simple perceptions of right and wrong, which is why he was Los Angeles' district attorney. The Hall of Justice in Salem liked people who saw things in black and white.
"Look, Peter, I don't doubt you. You're a smart boy with a good head on his shoulders. But these are some serious accusations that you're making, here. You claim that you were rescued by someone or something using magic."
"What else could it have been, Si? I was thrown from a window and landed without a scratch."
"Some might call it a miracle, Peter, a blessing from the almighty."
"I don't think I'm all that important in the great scheme of things, Si."
"I'll tell you what. I'll speak with the Dark Arts division in Sacramento. We'll see what they think. You say that there was no record of any of this on your building's tapes?"
"None at all. The tapes were completely wiped clean."
"Hm. All right. Well, you just keep your nose clean for a while, Pete. I'll let you know in a few days."
"Thanks, Si."
Across town, a feeble old man wove his way through the crowds of businessmen and minor bureaucrats that swarmed like ants through downtown. He was unshaven, with ragged hair. He look as if he had once been handsome, but something horrible had taken its toll on him, making the thirty-something vagrant look closer to sixty.
"Someone." He mumbled. "Anyone. please, help me."
He blundered into walls as he staggered more with each step. As he became more and more erratic, those around him began to take notice.
"Please. help me."
"STAY WHERE YOU ARE." A voice boomed from overhead. The crowd stared skyward as dark black helicopters whipped around the corner of a building into view. They were thick hulled, painted jet black, with bold white crosses glaring defiantly from their fuselages.
"No! They've found me!"
The old man redoubled his efforts, stumbling away with as much speed as he could muster, the crowd dropping away from him, terrified. Six men dropped from one of the helicopters, their black boots thudding to the ground as they pulled out their weapons.
"Don't make us use force, old man. Our orders are to take you alive."
The old man's face twisted in confusion as he was surrounded.
"Why? Why don't you just kill me?"
"Who knows? Now, are you going to do this the easy way, or the hard way?"
For a moment, the old man wavered, then he saw, out of the corner of his eye, a large framed man, just barely beyond the fringes of the crowd. His neat suit barely concealed the thickly muscled body beneath, and his dark- rimmed glasses couldn't mask the fury in his eyes at what was happening.
"No!!!" The old man, invigorated for some reason by what he saw in that man's eyes, threw off the tattered overcoat that he'd been hugging around him, and the crowd gasped collectively in shock as the wiry, battered body rippled and changed, glowing with energy and power. What had appeared to be flesh melted away and revealed what could have been golden armor beneath. The man's head erupted in some sort of flame and he rocketed skyward, to be chased by the helicopters.
Clark looked on as the choppers flew away, hating himself because he knew that he could have helped the man, but that he was bound by his promise to the others, not to do anything until the time was right.
But who was that man?