Metropolis, Daily Planet Offices
10.57PM

Clark, Lois and Jimmy sat in Perry's office as he read through an article they had just finished collaborating on. This was eighteen months of pounding pavement coming to fruition. Lois did the research, Jimmy sourced all the photos and Clark was the writer. He suppressed the urge to sneeze mightily-doing so wold likely tear the fresh paint right off the walls.

The offices of the Daily Planet were still undergoing refurbishment after the fight with the android that had ravaged parts of the city centre, but the process was nearly complete and the place was really starting to come together. Clearly they'd gotten a fat purse because the executives had splurged on quality furniture, new computers and printing presses; even wall art and exotic plants and new kitchen appliances.

The downside was that the air smelled perpetually like wet paint and turpentine, which was murder on Clark's hypersensitive nose. It itched terribly. He really hoped he didn't sneeze. That might strip the clothes right off of Perry.

"Well? What do you think?" he asked, somewhat nervous as the editor took off his reading glasses.

"This is very good. Solid research, compelling photos, good citations, everything completely factual and verifiable. Beautifully worded too. I had no idea you had such skills, Kent."

"But?" Jimmy asked, knowing criticism was surely coming if he had began with praise.

"Its a scathing article." Perry said, lowering the laptop screen. "Some might even say defamatory." he crossed his hands over the tabletop. It was the shiny, heavy type with a polished surface.

"Well, its a critique on the local law enforcement's typically slow response to the growing organized criminal organisations mushrooming in the city. Its not supposed to pull any punches." Lois said, tap-tapping her cigarette into the ashtray. She was the only employee that could smoke in here, even though Perry loved his cigars.

"I get that Lois...But do you know who Bruno Mannheim is? He's not Lex Luthor, okay? He's not going to shake your hand with a smirk and buy you drinks at the next benefit gala because he admires you for having the courage to write about his shady business practices. If the things you've written about this...this..."

"Intergang."

"Yes, if the things you've written about this Intergang are true, then there are going to be some very upset people in this city tomorrow morning. Make no mistake, the Mannheim family aren't your average goombahs eking out a living for themselves in this city. Back when Boss Moxie was running the show, they were the sole distributors of narcotics, guns and prostitutes in the Southside. That's when everyone started calling it the Suicide Slums. Every casino, nightclub and sleazy little crack-den paid their dues to him just to keep from their premises getting burned down. Moxie had political connections across three different states, and when they finally locked him up on Stryker's Island he left all that to his boy Bruno. That's what you're dealing with here, a real life Scarface."

"Do you remember when you hired me? Do you remember what you said to me, in this very room, on my very first day, when I asked you what I should write about?"

"Lois-"

"There's only one story, Lane. Metropolis. She's the story. Those were your exact words, right?"

"Right, but that's not what I'm asking here. Do you know what you're getting yourself into?"

"I always know exactly what I'm getting myself into, Perry, and I think you know that too."

"Your funeral." he paused. "Kent, did you really have to call the District Attorney a..." he put the glasses back on. "A 'vapid, air-headed, narrow-minded bureaucrat whose legal interests go no further than the brown envelopes deposited at her office.'?"

"Its no secret that the DA's office has been grappling with increasingly larger cases of corruption over the past decade." Clark replied matter-of-factly. "We did a piece just last year on their Investigation Department, about them receiving bribes so they could ignore cases of staff abuse at factories outside the city limits."

"It's a little harshly worded, don't you think? You could have found a nicer way to say it."

"I don't believe in sugarcoating my opinions."

"We're journalists, son. We're not supposed to have opinions, we're supposed to sell the news."

"With respect sir, I have to disagree."

Perry raised an eyebrow, which was never a good sign. Clark had a feeling he'd stepped right in it, but if it was a question of morals or job security, he'd rather be unemployed than traitorous of his ideals. Maybe it was the turpentine fumes or something, but he was feeling ballsy tonight.

"Reporters sell the news. They do their research, state the 'facts', pick the goriest visuals and leave it for the audience to decide what to do with that information. Journalists have a higher responsibility. We don't just tell the truth, we tell stories by human beings, for human beings. We chronicle important life events. We must have opinions, strong opinions. We must criticize what we know is wrong and stand by what we know is right, even if the great majority disagree; especially when the great majority disagree. I refuse to suppress that fundamental quality required of all those who practice in this profession. I refuse to sacrifice my beliefs and opinions at the altar of political correctness, just to save some thin-skinned people the minor discomfort of hearing or seeing something that they dislike. This is the Daily Planet, not the Huffington Post."

Lois smiled quietly from her corner of the room. Jimmy nodded with approval.

"That's your final stand? You won't change it at all?" Perry asked.

"No, sir. I'd rather get that one person that reads and appreciates my content than target the mindless flock of sheep who consume whatever information they're fed without questioning its authenticity, simply because everyone else is doing the same."

"Huh." Perry leaned back in the swivel chair, rocking from side to side. "Alright, we'll run it."

"Really?" Clark asked. He'd expected a lot more opposition. In fact, he'd expected a flat-out 'No' and an order to focus on the NFL.

"Really." Perry said. "Now get the hell out of my office. My wife will hang my balls from her rear-view mirror if I'm late for our anniversary dinner."

"Yes sir. Thank you sir." Clark stuttered, rising from his seat.

"And Kent."

"Yes sir?"

"Stop calling me sir. I'm an editor, not your father-in-law."

"Yes s-..er, Perry."

"Damn Clark, I do believe you just earned Perry's respect." Jimmy said as the trio walked down the hallway moments later.

"Did I really?"

"Yup. When Perry let's you call him Perry, it means he considers you a colleague. You know you really roasted a lot of people in that article."

"It wasn't that bad."

"You called the Metropolis PD's approach to Intergang 'the most toothless, spineless, limp-wristed stance in the history of modern law enforcement since the Chicago Police Department's colossal failure to contain Al Capone and the Chicago Outfit.' That was pretty freakin' savage, bro. I hope you like having hate from the criminals and the cops."

"I don't care if the Metro PD and the DA start to hate us, this is the first time in ages that I actually enjoyed working on a story." Lois said. "Besides, its about time someone talked about Intergang, because everyone else would rather act like they don't even exist. Even the Mayor won't dare speak their name in public. I mean, the high-tech gear all these supervillains are getting isn't just falling from the sky, y'know? They're not cobbling it together from scratch in their basements either. In fact, as far as I know, nobody has this kind of tech yet. Last I checked, even the US military doesn't have pulse rifles capable of leveling a city block."

"It really is getting out of hand." Jimmy said seriously. "That Heat Wave guy last month, he could have killed hundreds of people in that robbery if the Flash wasn't there to save the day. If I'm honest guys, it kind of scares me how quiet everyone is about it. The authorities I mean. Not even a peep from, I dunno, the FBI maybe."

"They're too busy chasing Batman." Clark pointed out.

"Exactly. Why do we even have law enforcement agencies if they won't do their jobs properly?" Lois asked. "How is it that three cub reporters could conduct an investigation and figure out who is pushing all this stuff out on the streets? If we can do it, why can't the police do it? Why is the FBI chasing a vigilante for breaking into a government facility-for very good reasons by the way-and not chasing after people selling highly advanced technology to criminals on the black market? Isn't domestic arms dealing breaking some sort of federal law or regulation? It just doesn't make any sense. I mean... Look at Superman for example. He doesn't go around the world preaching the values of truth and justice, he actively works towards it every single day. Look at all he's achieved in a few years time and he's just one man. What's their excuse? Red tape? Fear of sanctions? 'Diplomacy'? And yet, its Superman everyone is afraid of, because 'muh he's way too OP alien that wants to pwn everything and enslave teh mankind'. I'd be fine with that if it was twelve year old's on message boards thinking along those lines, but its not, its everyone. Everyone. Frankly speaking its ridiculous and more than a little retarded."

Clark cleared his throat, uncomfortable as always with conversations on this particular subject matter.

"Smallville?"

"Yes Lois?"

"Why don't you take me out to dinner." she said rather than asked.

"What?"

"Dinner. You know, that meal people have after lunch, but before breakfast. Here's a hint, its eaten before they go to bed."

"I..I..I..."

"You? You? You?"

"I'd really love to-"

"It doesn't have to be tonight." she said, a little bit more urgently than she would have liked. "I mean...I'm sure you're exhausted."

"Tonight would be fine, its not that I don't want to..."

"Then what?"

"Its just...I don't think I can afford you."

"What am I, an escort?"

Jimmy choked back a laugh, concealing it as a cough when Lois glanced at him.

"No, its just...You probably like really nice places where you have to make reservations and observe dress codes and they give you separate menus for the wine and-"

"Clark, you don't have to worry about any of that. It'll be my treat."

"I don't-"

"Its the least I can do after all the work you put in."

Clark glanced at Jimmy, who had suddenly fallen silent.

"Um...Okay, I guess I can do that."

"Great. Just give me a few minutes to get ready, okay?" her hand squeezed his shoulder.

"Okay." he turned back to Jimmy, who was smiling. They walked on in silence.

"What's got you so amused?" Clark asked when they finally got back to their work station.

"Oh, nothing. Its just...Nothing at all." he sniggered, then he picked up his camera. "Goodnight Clark. I'd give you a condom, but based on what I saw that day in your towel, only a Magnum XL will do the job."

Clark blushed and turned away, smiling despite himself.

The restaurant they went to wasn't what Clark had expected.

He'd had visions of ugly boxy paintings on the walls, bright lights, strange furniture and servings the size of your palm, with a snooty M'aitre D recommending the day's specials. Instead it was a small, intimate, open-plan establishment. You could see the chefs working, which was a sight to behold as they chopped, fried and flipped the ingredients expertly, drizzling oil here and sprinkling powder there. The air smelled richly of herbs and spices. The walls were unpainted, exposing the red brick, and were mostly bare aside from a few large black and white photographs of Angkor Wat. Even at this hour there was a buzz of activity, people talking and laughing amongst themselves as they ate.

"I like the atmosphere." he said. "Very homely."

"Right? I hate that boring buttoned-up orthodox dining experience you get at five star joints. Its nice every once in a while for special occasions, but eating out is supposed to be fun and communal, not cold and detached. Maybe its the Army brat in me, but I like to eat with many people around."

"What exactly is the theme of this place?"

"Hard to say. The owner is half Vietnamese half Korean, and his wife who's the manager is Creole but raised in Thailand. The menu is so diverse, that's why I love it. Its like a mix of all the cultures."

"I never knew this place even existed. And its not that far from work."

"Most people don't know about this place, but I like it that way. Its a real mom and pop kind of establishment. I learned about it from my dad, he's longtime friends with the owner."

"Your dad."

"Yeah." she paused, switching off her phone. Clark was a little surprised, mostly because she and that phone were joined at the hip. But he figured it was late, and she didn't want to be bothered.

"Lois! I haven't seen you in weeks." a slim waiter spoke, approaching their table. "Have you been eating at that deli uptown?"

"No way Rodrigo, you guys are the best. Work has been crazy is all."

"I understand." he turned to Clark. "I see you've brought a friend." he smiled.

"Yes, this is Clark Kent. We work together."

"Ah." he said, smiling again. "Well, what'll it be, gentleman and lady?"

"I uh...I don't know what to order." Clark said feebly. "The most exotic thing I've ever eaten is Chinese takeout."

"Relax, I got this. Rodrigo, we'll have the smoked pork ribs, prawns with chilli, stir fried rice and sushi with wasabi."

"Coming right up. What will you be drinking?"

"Tequila. The good stuff, because Clark here has a disturbingly high alcohol tolerance."

"Alright."

"Now if you'll excuse me, I need to use the little girls room." Lois said, getting up.

"Okay." Clark said. He noticed the waiter lingering.

"Um...Is there something else?" he asked.

"Don't screw this up."

"What?"

"I've known Lois since she had braces, and she's never come here with a man that wasn't her father. Not even once. You are the very first guy I've ever seen her bring around here. So don't screw it up, and for God's sake don't let her pay. Don't even split the bill, okay? I don't care what year it is or how much you respect women, you will not let her even open her wallet."

"Um...Okay?"

The waiter nodded, then disappeared.

Clark half-smiled. Maybe his chances weren't as bad as he'd thought.

Metropolis Bay

"You're quite sure of this development, Mannheim?"

"Yes. My sources at the paper tell me it'll be public knowledge tomorrow."

"I see. Well, it was inevitable, given the upscale of activity. How badly are you compromised?"

"They don't know we've gone international, at least not yet. But as far as Metropolis is concerned...They're gonna blow the lid wide open on the whole operation."

"What of it?"

"Well uh...Bad press is never good for business. The variety of people I sell this stuff to don't exactly want their names plastered in the papers. Some of these guys...They scare even me, frankly speaking. I mean, its not like we're selling Ak's and AR's, y'know? This is some high-speed shit."

"Yes, I know, I am the one who goes through the pain of procuring this 'high speed shit' for you."

"So...What should we do?"

"We? Don't you mean you?"

"Yeah."

"Go on as always."

"But-"

"The authorities are all paid up, aren't they? You have the legal officers covered, you have the local politicians in your breast pocket."

"Yeah, but-"

"So what's the problem? Who cares if people know about you? Its not like they can do anything about it. Besides, this is free advertising. Your people have a saying, there is no such thing as bad publicity, correct?"

"Yeah, if you're some D-list Hollywood bimbo trying to make it to the red carpet by leaking a sex-tape. Look, the guys I deal with, I don't think you understand...They're mercenaries, assassins, metahumans...Most of them are just balls-to-the-wall crazy people with some really sick ideas in their heads. They don't like it when their one and only supplier is all over the news. Its a bad situation. It makes them uncomfortable, and when they get uncomfortable they tend to get a little...Let's say, proactive about fixing the situation. They do everything they can to make it disappear. I don't want my fucking name-"

Bruno Mannheim choked as an iron-hard hand closed around his throat, crushing down painfully on his windpipe and lifting him up.

"Perhaps I haven't made myself clear, human."

Bruno gasped, feeling the breath leaving him. He tried to kick out, but it was like hitting a wall of granite. He tried to speak, but it was impossible.

"Its not that I don't understand your reservations, believe me I do. The thing is, I simply don't care. I. Don't. Care. I also happen to know you're making good money here, very good money, and you'll make even more if things go according to plan. You live like a king in this city, with more power than just about anyone else. In your quiet moments, you've probably asked yourself why we've never coveted your assets. You've probably wondered why we've never asked you for a single cent. Am I right?"

"Mfgh." he grunted.

"Its because the money doesn't interest us. We're looking at the bigger picture. Yes, yes, I know that's impossible for a base lifeform like you to fathom, but there are things in this world greater than material possessions, things your feeble human mind isn't capable of comprehending even if I spelled it out to you in excruciating detail."

Bruno grunted again, pointing at his neck. His face was turning blue.

"Get this through your head now, human: you work for us. When we tell you to keep selling our product, you keep selling our product. Whatever happens tomorrow is inconsequential. Look at it as free advertising, and continue with operations as normal. You are not to stop sales at all, is that understood?"

Bruno made a sound between wheezing and grunting, nodding his head vigorously.

The grip was released, and he fell back to the ground, wheezing.

"D'you see how easy that was? Violence is never misunderstood, never. A man in your line of work should know this better than most."

"..Crazy old bitch..." he rasped.

"You've got more spirit than your father, Mannheim, I'll give you that. But you don't want to get on Granny's bad side. That was me at my most merciful."

Bright spots danced before Bruno's eyes as he hyper-ventilated.

"Well, the next shipment will arrive as scheduled, nothing's changed. Thank you for the update, it has been appreciated and this information will be relayed to the relevant sources. Until next time, then."

He closed his eyes to the blinding white flash of the boom tube, waiting until all was quiet before he opened them again.

"Damn aliens." he muttered, rubbing his sore neck and rising on shaky legs.

A/N: Read and review