Lois Lane stood outside of the entrance to Club Desaad with Clark standing hesitantly behind her, looking up at the lasciviously-lit building. The club was, tonight in particular, especially full because of a well-publicized special event that the owner himself had put on an especially brazen social media campaign stating that he expected the turnout of the year. If they were ever going to get a glimpse of the elusive Desaad, and if they were ever going to finally piece together the clues Claire had handed over, tonight would be their best chance yet.

"Clark," Lois said in a slightly motherly tone, albeit while she was checking the the small recording device she carried for investigation purposes was discreetly tucked into the cleavage of the small dress she was wearing. Indeed, she was near unrecognizable as Lois Lane, ace reporter. "Don't look so nauseous."

"Remind me again why I needed to come along," he replied with an uncomfortable laugh, reflexively reaching up to adjust the collar of his shirt - despite the fact that he wasn't wearing a tie and the top button was unbuttoned, so there was in reality no need. "Not that I don't appreciate the invitation, but this is hardly -"

"Hardly the place for a boy from small-town Kansas. I know, Smallville. You're blushing already," Lois said with a small, wry grin over her shoulder. "But you get into the VIP room by being a couple, so I'm going to need you to tone down the chivalry just a little bit. Just a little," Lois repeated, raising her eyebrows. "Come on, let's get inside, get the story, and get out."

"When has a Lois Lane exclusive ever been that simple?" Clark muttered under his breath as he followed Lois towards the door. There was no use trying to refuse, after all - Lois Lane always got her story.

After Clark and Lois had gotten through the line and gotten inside the club, however, a man emerged, dressed in all black from the nearby alleyway and disappearing off into the night. The man reached into his pocket and pulled out an old prepaid flip phone.

"Countdown has commenced, Mister Luthor," David said in a low voice into the phone receiver. "Forty-five minutes and counting."

"Perfect," Lex's voice said on the other end of the line. "I'm on standby. Now, the stage is set - get out of there before the show starts."

Forty Minutes Later...

"That room up there," Lois said, sipping from her glass and leaning in close to Clark where they stood at the bar. She made a hidden gesture towards the VIP area upstairs. "Look at people when they come out of there."

They both caught sight of a couple coming downstairs from the lounge, looking strangely withdrawn but returning directly to the dance floor and dancing exuberantly, even amorously with one another.

"Something isn't right," Clark murmured, his forehead creasing as he focused on the sounds coming from the upstairs lounge, just as the red door leading to the dimly-lit stairs - the same one Claire had noticed before - was opening again and the club owner just barely peered out to speak to the bouncer.

"That's two more," the man behind the door said, speaking so low that it seemed fake even to Clark Kent's augmented hearing. "Keep them coming. We'll have hit a thousand since we started before the night is through."

"Very well, Mister Desaad," said the bouncer clad all in black before slowly shutting the door and making his way towards another couple seated on the plush sofas in the lounge.

Visibly tensing, Clark turned to Lois with a worried expression, fighting back the reflexive curling back of his lip in disgust at the confirmation that there was something going on here - they simply did not know what. All of these innocent people were in danger.

"We're never to get up there with you looking like that, Clark -"

"We don't have time to do it this way," he insisted, taking a few purposeful steps in the direction of the stairs. It had been too long since he'd last felt well enough to help anyone. It had been too long that he'd been able to do nothing - and he realized that being just Clark and not Superman left a part of him feeling very empty indeed. Lois released her grip on her fiance's forearm, realizing that if he was set on storming up those stairs, he could not very well be stopped. Before he had taken more than a few steps, however, the floor was rattled by a loud series of booms that seemed to come from the floors below.

The explosions, however, were strong enough to send shockwaves through the entire warehouse, as though they had been perfectly placed so as to create the most impact on the structure - the walls seems to groan and shake for a few seconds before one of the steel support beams and some of the roof came crashing down, with more threatening to follow suit.

The music in the room cut off, leaving only the sound of panic - people running frantically, and screaming. One statement in particular, however, caught Clark's ear from far across the room - it helped him regain the focus over the overwhelming din.

"What's that smell? What's that smell?" one frantic voice called out. "It's gas - it's gas - and smoke -"

The implications ran rapidly through Clark's brain. This had been intentional. This had been strategic, and if a ruptred gas line had been part of the plan, logic dictated why. Instinctively, with speed that would render his actions imperceptible, he threw his glasses to the ground, pulled his collared shirt off to expose the blue and red suit underneath, grabbed a hold of Lois, and shot out with her through the hole in the roof, placing her down on the sidewalk across the street.

"Stay here."

"Clark, are you crazy? Someone could've -"

"Stay. Here."

But just as Clark turned around with the intention to go back inside and help as he knew he had to, there was a loud roar and a boom again, and a wall of flame erupted on one side of the building. He sped back to the outer wall of Club Desaad and, cocking back his arm, rammed his fist into the wall and creating a hole where people immediately began to climb out like ants swarming out of an ant hill. He saw immediately, however, that others were blocked inside or pinned by fallen debris and would be unable to escape. With a brief glance upward, he shot into the sky and surveyed the holes in the ceiling, now presented with two options: save people now, or use the advantage to see what was tucked away in the room at the top of the stairs.

For the first time, Clark hesitated to help. Couldn't he be a greater help if he got to the bottom of Desaad's plan and stopped it before it could be of aid to Darkseid? If another explosion were to wreak havoc on the building in the wasted seconds, or if the fire suddenly grew, was it worth the cost of the lives of the people still inside?

Before he could come to his own conclusion, he was distracted by a voice behind him - directly behind him, also in the sky.

"Kal-El of Krypton..."

Clark swiftly turned around, only to be met by a blow to his face that caused him to stagger and fall as yards downward before regaining his bearings and looking up to find a large, metal suit of armor, a strange shade of green that faintly gave off the feeling of Kryptonite, even though it couldn't be. What struck Clark harder, however, was the figure inside the suit of armor in the sky, smirking at him malevolently through a clear dome on the armor.

"...now, meet Lex Luthor of Earth."

And the suit of armor again shot towards him, though he was able to move quickly enough out of the way. Lex, however, continued downwards until he reached the ground and, with the gargantuan fist of his suit of armor, knocked the top half of a fire hydrant clean off so that water flew up into the sky in a graceful arc and began to douse the flames. He turned back to Clark with a smug sneer.

"We don't need heroes from other planets, my friend," he said, cocking his head and raising his eyebrows. The thick, giant metal arm of the suit gesticulated with a flick. "You're no longer needed here, Superman."

Meanwhile, at Wayne Towers

"Barry, I swear," Claire said as she went into the fridge, rummaging for leftovers to eat for dinner after a particularly late night at the clinic - she was still clad in her slate blue scrub bottoms and a microfleece vest over a white t-shirt, her hair in an unkempt bun and her eyes looking exhausted. Unable to find anything, she turned and crossed her arms, smirking at Barry as he sat on the couch, flipping channels. "You technically don't even live here, but you still eat half of all the food in the fridge."

"I've heard that's what friends are for," he retorted, not even turning back and looking at Claire. She rolled her eyes and began looking through the pantry cabinet to find something to eat. "But given my track record for social ineptitude - feel free to correct me if I'm wrong."

"Now I remember why I hate living with roommates," she chuckled as she rummaged. "I swear, if Bruce is going to cut you a paycheck just to sit around and eat my food until we need the Flash -"

"Claire."

The suddenly grave tone of Barry's voice halted Claire annoyed tirade, and she turned back to see that Barry's channel-surfing had stopped on a local news channel, which was showing footage of - of all people - Superman, being knocked out of the sky by why looked almost like a giant robot. The camera zoomed, however, and Claire felt her stomach lurch when she realized that it was Lex in the suit - that this was the suit he had shown her, and this had been his plan all along. Lex hadn't built that suit on a whim, like a boy building a model airplane. He had built it with a specific goal in mind - to give himself power that which he most feared.

The lurch in her stomach turned into a much deeper sinking feeling when she realized by sight where they were, and that she had more than likely played an inadvertent role in the events of the evening.

"They're at Club Desaad," Barry confirmed, reading off of the ticker tape text that ran along the bottom of the screen. "What do we -"

But before he could finish his question, his phone rang - the screen showed plainly that Bruce Wayne was calling. He shared a glance with Claire before answering.

"Already saw it on the news," Barry said in greeting. "What's the plan?"

Claire could hear that Bruce was giving Barry instructions, but she couldn't hear what they were. She moved closer to the couch to try and listen.

"Alright. Gotcha. Be there a-sap."

Barry ended the call and looked up at Claire. "Looks like the fire's under control - the club is totally wrecked," Barry said, shaking his head. "Doesn't look like they'll need us on the scene but Mister Wayne wants us at the Manor. Like, now."

"Then let's book it," Claire said, wasting no time in moving towards the door. "Are you riding with me or -"

"Ten steps ahead of you. Or, probably more like a thousand. If it's seventeen miles, and your stride length is about -"

"Barry."

"Right," he said, shaking his head fervently. "I'll let 'em know you're on your way."

And Barry, in a flash of red, was out the door, while Claire hurried to her car in his wake.

A/N

I know, long time no see! Real life has gotten super busy - nothing bad, but definitely a lot on my plate at the moment. My son just had his first birthday, and he contributed (read: banged on the keyboard) as I was working on this chapter, so please alert me if I missed any random strings of characters that my tiny-toddler co-author may have interjected into the text!

The next chapter, which I am currently working on but know better than to promise within a specific time frame, takes place in the immediate aftermath of the destruction of Club Desaad. Thank you again to everyone who checks in on me and reminds me why I got started posting - things get crazy, but I'm still so, so grateful that all of you, however few or many you may be, are out there reading and enjoying! Until next time, cheers!