Chapter 4

I wake to the buzz of cars zipping through central Metropolis. Somewhere in the city an angry driver screams at a pedestrian. Sirens blare. I bury my head back in my pillow; I don't want to get up. The hum of a sleek engine cuts through the vibrant city noises, like a panther's cry right before it goes in for the kill. I jolt awake and hit my head on the bedpost. I must be losing my mind, there is no way he is here in Metropolis after our last encounter. And in broad daylight! I hope I'm wrong, trouble follows him like an unshakable plague. I sit up straight in bed and strain to hear the engine again, but all I hear is the excited buzz of the city waking up. I'm imagining things. I chock it up to nerves and shove the covers off, and blindly pull a shirt on. My alarm clock reads 8:55 and I swear. I must be really out of it if I slept through my alarm but the sound of the imaginary Batmobile wakes me up. Classic Clark Kent.

I stumble into the adjoining bathroom between Pete's room and mine, still half asleep. I'm in no hurry to be on time to work today. So what, if Clark is late? Superman is never late. I'm entitled to a peaceful morning before the Cat rips me to shreds.

I slap some cold water on my face and groan when I see the telltale sign of a five o'clock shadow on my chin. If there is one downside to being Superman it's that I can't use a normal razor. Out of habit I check to make sure I have no audience before digging the handheld laser gun out of the drawer. In a matter of seconds my face is as smooth as a baby's bottom. My skin stings a bit, but at least I don't look like a redneck Superman anymore. I am about to comb my hair back when the landline starts to ring insistently.

I zip towards the kitchenette, grab an apple off the counter, and answer the phone. "Kent, speaking," I say.

"Good, you're awake," Pete says in a way of greeting. His words are quick and snappy, which makes me wonder how many glasses of coffee he's running on. I hear the bustle and hustle of a hundred voices mixed together in the background. I frown. Isn't it a bit early for Happy Hour? "You're going to be late to your own interview," he says.

"Good morning to you too," I say, pulling on a pair of khakis as I balance the phone on one shoulder. I wander over to my closet and skim through my many ties. Lois's scent lingers in the air from last night, and my heart flutters at the memory. Things are finally falling into place. Maybe I can even put a ring on her finger.

Slow down cowboy, you don't want to scare her away. "Chill Ross," I say through a mouthful of juicy apple. Lois would be waiting for me at the Planet. "I have loads of time. Interview isn't for another five hours, I've got to get to the Planet. . ."

"Actually you don't." Pete says. "I might have tweaked with your alarm clock a wee bit," I can hear the smirk in his voice.

I'm wide awake now. "You did what?" I scramble in the darkness for my cell, praying he's pulling my leg. He wouldn't needlessly stress me out like this. But it is exactly the sort of stunt only Pete Ross can pull off. Well, Barry too, come to think of it. Two of the worst roommates on the planet. At least Barry never messed with my things. No he just ate all my food and kept me up all night with his so-called 'detective work.' Finally I find my iPhone entangled in my laundry basket. I swear when I see the battery is at 9% and the clock reads 1:55 Pm. I have eleven missed calls from Lois, that's never a good sign. I let out a growl. So much for a peaceful morning. "You're pure evil, you know that?" I scream into the receiver. "There is a special place in Hell reserved for you!"

"I'd make sure to grab a drink with Lucifer," Pete has the gall to laugh. "You'll thank me later C.K," he says. I seriously doubt that. I thought I would have time to mentally prepare myself for utter humiliation.

"Screw you, Ross," I hiss.

"Love you too, bro," He chuckles to himself. "See you in five." There is a click on the other end and he hangs up.

I rip my clothes off, not caring if I destroy them in the process. I twist the ring on my finger and slide into my other suit. It is skin tight and smells like ash and rubble. I was going to pop by the Superman Foundation and get a clean suit before the interview, but that doesn't seem to be in the cards anymore. I settle for spraying some cologne on. On the bright side, I am wearing the original suit, so it's like having a little piece of home with me. Mom would be there with me through every horrible second.

It would take me approximately twenty minutes to reach The Morrison Theater by car. The idea holds a certain appeal to me, it would give me a chance to collect my thoughts, figure out what the heck I am going to say. But then I remember the photo Cat Grant has in her possession, and think maybe not.

I shoot out the window and into the clear blue sky. I startle a poor bird; it gawks and swerves out of my way. "Sorry buddy," I wince, choking on feathers. I sometimes forget that there is traffic in the sky, too. The sunlight reflects off the buildings beneath me, turning the world into a kaleidoscope of colors. Cars zip by resembling busy ants hard at work. I envy their normalcy. Clark Kent wouldn't have to worry about paparazzi. The public does not care who Mr. Kent of the Daily Planet sleeps with. Superman is the problem.

It was a mistake creating Superman. He's brought me nothing but bad luck. Some would argue Superman paints a giant red target over Metropolis. I can't help agreeing with the naysayers. Darkseid set his sights on Earth after my big debut. He razed Metropolis and rivers of blood flowed through the streets. Thousands died; I was not strong enough. It's my fault Zod escaped from the Phantom Zone. I let my human emotions get the best for me. People died because of me again.

I fly over Ace of Clubs and I'm reminded why I started this crusade in the first place. There are people down in Suicide Slums, innocent people lost in an endless sea of darkness, who just need a friend to show them the light. Suicide Slums is Hell on Earth. It's where the worst of humanity collects, cutthroats, drug dealers, sex traffickers, rogue Gothamites, but where there is light, however miniscule, there is hope for a better tomorrow. Ace of Clubs, once the home of mobsters, rises above the grime and filth, a beacon of hope amongst the downtrodden souls. It's a reminder of how one simple act of kindness can make all the difference.

When did I lose focus of the mission? Superman now is as much a caricature as Bugs Bunny or an Elvis impersonator singing on the streets. Superman is supposed to be a beacon of hope not a freaking action figure for sale. I'm to blame as much as Sam Lando. Both of us have lost sight of the reason we created Superman to begin with. Superman is supposed to be a helping friend in the darkness; he does not pose for pictures and give out autographs.

It's my own fault I'm in this sticky situation, I let my guard down and was reckless and stupid. Hopefully Sam Lando has pulled another of his miracles. Maybe he has a robot that looks like me. I soar over a skyscraper, and the silver dome comes into focus, almost as bright as the sun. A spattering of gilded windows lined with gold covers the dome. Lex Luthor certainly spared no expense when building the Morrison Theater. I wouldn't be surprised if Lana's engagement ring is carved from one of the windows.

It takes me no time at all to find the circular skylight, but I pause when I see the growing crowd below, a thousand voices swarming around my head. 'My future husband is finally going to meet me!' a teenage girl dressed like me squeals, holding up a makeshift sign with I Heart Superman painted in bold letters across it. An embarrassed blush creeps up my cheeks. If she knew me at all she would know Superman hates the spotlight.

My heart begins to beat a mile a minute, sweat trailing down my neck. I can do this. It's no big deal, just a crowd full of cute puppies. You're freaking Superman! Superman is not afraid of an itty-bitty interview. It's just Cat. You've seen her come out of the girl's lavatory with toilet paper stuck to her rear. Nothing can be more embarrassing than that.

But there is nothing itty-bitty about Cat Grant's methods. She's almost as formidable as Lois.

One. Two. Three. Five. I take a deep breath and plunge into the deep end. The crowd goes wild, roaring as loud as a rogue lion, and my ears start to sting from all the noise. Fingers claw towards me, eager to get a hold of my cape, a lock of hair or any part of me that their greedy hands can grab. The undying devotion, bordering on worship unsettles me. I'm just a guy helping out where I can, but to them I am a god. I don't understand my fans. I let out an involuntary shriek when someone in the upper level grabs my boot. I shake the big guy off easily, thankful for the noise to hide my unmanly cry. Men and women of all ages ogle at me and I start to feel like an exotic fish trapped in a fish tank, icy water cutting off my air supply. An eager little boy, eyes wide in adoration waves at me, calling my name. I wave back and force a smile on. Puppies. Cute, newborn puppies barking. That's all this is. You're not afraid of puppies, Clark. Suck it up and move forward.

But where am I supposed to go? I scan the sea of faces frantically searching for an opening in the mob. My vision is obscured by wild hands that by the second start to look more and more like snapping hydra heads biting at my ankles. I lurch back as a Superman/Wonder Woman Forever sign flies in my face. The walls begin to close around me and it grows hard to breathe. I imagine being buried alive feels much like this, but quieter. I scan the many faces for a familiar face, an anchor to pull me out of the depths, but everything is such a blur. I've never seen so many sharks in one place.

After what feels like an eternity I spot a golden light in the distance. I push through the raging puppies clawing at me, and towards that light. I let out a sigh of relief when I see Cat, sitting with her ankles crossed on the stage, smiling as if she's won the lottery; she wears a sophisticated emerald dress, a far cry from her usual scandalous garb. Finally a familiar face. She beckons to me as if we're old friends, and I suppose we are under different circumstances. That's right, you are just chatting with Toilet Paper Girl. Keep thinking about that. The memory makes me smile.

I keep my gaze on Cat and will the rest of the theater to disappear. Just a den with angry puppies, I keep repeating that mantra in my head. The white light of a camera flashes in my eyes. My stomach twists into knots and bile rises up my throat. I swallow down my nerves and keep moving forward. Think positive. Sprawling cornfields, the sun on my shoulders. Cool waves brushing against my bare feet. Lois's arms around me.

I'm positive I am going to make a fool of myself.

I look past Cat to the man sitting next to her, and my stomach drops. My twin smirks at me. What the hell? His slick black hair is combed back in pure Clark Kent fashion, wearing my bulky glasses askew on his face. He wears a loose tweed jacket that has a bullet hole on the exact same pocket as my own jacket at home, the hole covered by a starched handkerchief; that's the first sign he's an imposter. Clark Kent does not own any handkerchiefs. What the frick! Pete what are you playing at? Where did he find this guy? I quickly X-ray him and am disappointed when he proves to have all his working organs, no robotics in sight. What the hell!

There is only one person I know that can pull this off, but he's a loose cannon with more one night stands than Cassanova. I haven't spoken to Bruce since he barged into my barn uninvited to interrogate me. But no, it can't be him. What could Sam Lando possibly have on the Prince of Gotham?

"Wayne - ah Whah?" For a second I forget I'm Superman. Identical blue eyes watch me from behind glasses, cold and calculating. He shows no sign of hearing me. He slouches in the seat and somehow still manages to look all important, like a bored . . . well, like a bored playboy who has better things to do than roleplay. I don't sit like that. How is everyone falling for this? He's clearly not me, are you lot that blind? How did Lando get Bruce Wayne to pose as me? This is insane. Superman did not sign up to be outshone by Clark Kent.

Unable to take my eyes off the new and improved Clark Kent I fly headfirst into the stage's curtain. I have enough time to think uh-oh before tumbling out of the air, the black curtain trailing behind me. I crash land on the stage, and there is now a decidedly Superman shaped dent on the floor. I swallow down a curse. There are kids in the audience, keep it PG Clark.

My head spins as I groggily pull myself up. There are a few half-hearted don't know what to make of me. If I were Flash, it would be just another day in the office. Flash is always running into things and making a fool of himself. If I wasn't blushing before I definitely am now. A million lights flash in my face blinding me. The entire universe is never going to let me live this moment down. The audience is shocked into silence, questioning eyes boring into me from all angles. I realize they think I'm drunk. Superman isn't supposed to be clumsy. I'm their hero; I'm not supposed to be a buffoon. My shocked face is displayed across all six bigger than life screens. I look like deer about to turn into roadkill.

"Your Clarkiness is showing," a familiar voice says in the front row, below a whisper but I still hear her all the same. Her smug voice is all it takes to unfreeze me. Lois sits squeezed between two foggy figures, her expression scrunched in pain from trying to hold her laughter in. Gee, I'm really feeling all the love, Lois. I blink and the other two figures zoom into focus. Sam Lando sits on one side, trying to disappear into his seat, covering his eyes as if he's stuck in The Shining. On the other side of Lois sits a young raven-haired boy in stitches. His laughter rings as loud as an elephant's roar. Well, Dick, I'm glad Bruce hasn't completely ruined your childhood. Little Flying Grayson is one of the only ones laughing.

"Sorry about that," I say lamely, my voice echoing. I try to come up with a decent excuse for my behavior and hit a wall. I'm blinded by the spotlight.

"That is quite an entrance," Bruce comes to my rescue, more or less. "Superman hardly needs introduction, or should I say Klutzman?" A wave of laughter flows through the audience for real this time. I did not realize being a comedian is one of Bruce Wayne's talents. Dick seems to agree and eyes Bruce as if he's grown a third head. Yeah! You're talking to the world's favorite hero! Have some respect, Mr. Playboy Billionaire. Dick Grayson clearly has the brains in that dynamic duo. "Tell me Superman, do you make a habit of drinking while flying, or is this a special occasion?" he smirks at me, but his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. It's the smile of someone who has forgotten how to smile. The laughter shifts into uneasy chuckles. They were all thinking the same thing, Bruce just has the balls to say it, or should I say Clark Kent. I scowl at him. I can't really fault him for his question; it's exactly the sort of question Clark Kent would ask under the circumstances. Maybe not that exact wording though.

I slip into the seat opposite him, folding my cape beneath me, secretly glad to be able to rest my shaking limbs. "I never drink and fly," I say, keeping my voice even, but I am silently screaming inside my head. I can't even get wasted if I wanted to, but they don't need to know that. Barry and I are the best fake drunk buddies out there.

"Then how do you explain?" he makes a whooshing motion with his hand. You're really going to make me spell it out aren't you? I take back what I said about Pete. Bruce Wayne is pure evil not Pete.

I look down at my feet. "I sort of have stage fright," I admit, cheeks going red. It's more or less the truth. There is a chorus of oohs and ahs from the crowd. 'I love you even more now Superman!' somebody screams loudly in the audience, loud enough for the whole neighborhood to hear. 'Marry me!'

"She better keep her panties on," Lois grumbles in the front row. My eyes flick to Lois, unable to wipe the stupid grin off my face. "Or she'll find my fist in her face." That's my girl. Cat watches me critically from the corner of her eye, and I school my expression back to normal.

"So, the Boy Scout has a chink in his armor," Cat jumps right in.

Oh shit. Cat knows. She knows Lois is the chink in my armor. My cover is blown! I knew this was not going to work. This was a terrible idea! She's seen Clark Kent flirt with Lois way too many times to not recognize the signs. All it would take is for her to look towards the front row to connect the dots. Lois is hard to miss in her scarlet leather getup.

"What other fears do you have?" Cat asks, handing me the mic.

I let out an involuntary sigh of relief, and it's a struggle to keep my 'Superman' face on. I want to run home to Mom and pretend this whole 'Andrina' thing never happened. Fear. This is one question I can handle.

Where to start? Closed off places make me nervous. The criminal population would have a field day with that. I hate snakes as much as Indiana Jones. Hardly newsworthy. Half the population is afraid of snakes. I'm ashamed to say a man dressed as a bat scares the bejeezus out of me. Not really. I simply don't trust him. He's more alien than me. There is one constant fear in my life that would never change."I'm afraid of losing control and hurting those close to me," I say in a rush, ready to be done with this interview.

"Have you ever hurt anyone close to you?" Bruce leans forward in his seat, all serious. Of course the playboy asks the hard questions. I lock eyes with Pete and quickly look away, guilt stabbing me in the gut. That is ancient history. Pete has long since healed, and has the use of his legs again, but some days it's easy to forget with him masquerading as my crippled brother. Every time I look at Sam Lando I can't help being reminded of The Dark Days known as high school.

"I try not to, but sometimes accidents happen," my larger than life face blinks back at me across all the screens and I look about as guilty as I feel. Sam Lando holds up a whiteboard with 'TMI' written across the front, and he pokes his head over the board scowling something fierce. I glare right back at him. What was I supposed to do, lie? He's the one that promised Superman would tell nothing but the truth. I'm just following the rules.

"Define accidents," Cat prompts, smiling triumphantly at the other Clark. Pete burrows deeper into his seat and Lois looks at me as if I committed a felony and she doesn't know whether to kiss me or scream. I am treading on a slippery slope.

"Well," I start. I'm too far in to go back now. There's no way anyone is going to read between the lines, unless your name starts with L and rhymes with pain. "I was on the high school football team - this was way back before I could control my powers -" I quickly add. "I just wanted to fit in like everybody else, but I learned the hard way that wasn't possible," I say. This next part is hard to say."I injured Sammy during the game. It wasn't pretty."

"No freaking way," Cat explains, her eyebrows disappearing in her bangs. "Superman went to high school!" I literally told her my darkest secret, and that's all she cares about? Typical. She needs to sort out her priorities.

"No, I went to E.T School and shared lunch with little green men." Bruce's mouth quirks up into an amused smile. I get a few chuckles from the audience. Who's the comedian now Brucie boy?

"Cute. The Man of Steel has a sense of humor," Cat marvels, winking at me. "Sammy seems to be doing pretty well for himself, legs aside," Cat observes, her gaze gradually shifting towards the front where Sam Lando sits between Lois and Dick. She presses her mouth into a thin line when she sees Lois. Lois waves, grinning conspicuously.

I laugh. "You could say that again," I agree with her. "Sam isn't one to let an injury slow him down." Even in high school when he was paralized, he never failed to find something to smile about. It could be worse Clark, I could have been beheaded - I'm very fond of this head. It's a ladies magnet. Part of me wonders if he put on such a brave face for my sake. Would we still be friends if he never healed? I guess I'd never know.

"How long did it take him to forgive you?" Bruce asks. Again, with the hard questions. Are you sure you're not related to Lois Lane, I want to ask.

Pete Ross was a bit preoccupied with the knowledge of his best friend being super, to think clearly. "You'll have to ask him," I decide that is the safest course of action. Bruce's eyes narrow into slits and he glares at Sam Lando.

An awkward silence stretches between us. Cat's heart flutters nervously, and it dawns on me, this is her first major interview. Been there, done that. Let's get this over with quickly, please. It'll be best for all parties involved. Cat continues to stare at me mouth agape as if she can't believe she's breathing the same air as Superman. Newsflash! You breathe the same air as Superman on a daily basis. Pull yourself together Grant! I'm sure Bruce has a brunette waiting for him in Gotham. Speak of the devil, Bruce elbows Cat in the side, jolting her back to attention.

"So Kal . . . you don't mind, I call you Kal, do you?" Cat asks.

"It is the name my parents gave me," I say, but to be quite honest I've never quite warmed to the name. It's an echo of a dying world, a reminder of the culture I would never know.

"Right, your alien parents who sent their only son to Earth to be our salvation," She says unhelpfully. We all know the story.

"Cat's bit off more than she can chew," Lois insists. "My offer still stands Smallville," she says, knowing full well I can hear every word as clear as if she stood right next to me. "It's not too late to throw her under a bus." Dick eyes Lois with a degree of concern, as if she's a hair's breadth away from landing herself in Arkham Asylum . "Or you can just sit there looking pretty." I scowl. We are going to have to have a talk about Lois being more subtle. She's lucky the Wayne clan already knows my secret.

I ignore her and focus back on Cat. "I wouldn't say I'm Earth's salvation," I say, trying to move the interview along. "As you know, Krypton exploded," I explain. "My parents sent me here for no other reason than to save me from sharing in their fate."

"Do you resent them?" Bruce asks in a low voice, his gaze hard as steel. The question seems to come out of nowhere. "Resent them for leaving you alone on this planet?" he clarifies, a flicker of anguish twists across his features, but it is so quick only someone with my keen eyesight would see it. I don't think we're talking about me anymore. He puts on such a charismatic front, I forget deep down he is still that lonely boy in the alleyway waiting for a miracle that would never happen.

"Once maybe," I admit truthfully. My waking hours in my youth was consumed with grieving the parents I never knew, and wondering why they didn't want me. I thought I was a monster. "But I've made peace with their deaths," I say. Besides, I've never felt alone not for a second. I'm Clark Kent, son of Martha and Jonathon Kent, so much more than The Last Son of Krypton.

"How?" It is the small plea of a child lost in the dark. From the corner of my eye I see Dick shoot out of his seat, mouth agape. I'm surprised Bruce hasn't opened up to his family.

That is a loaded question for an interview. How did you find peace? How did you outrun your past? How did you find it in you to forgive yourself? There is no easy answer. I shrug. "I suppose I've learned to be grateful for what I do have and not focus on what I've lost," I decide after a pause. "I do wish I had a chance to know my parents. I have no memories of them." I say, my voice sounding distant and moody to my own ears. At least Bruce had his parents, even for a short while.

"No memories of Krypton whatsoever?" Cat raises an inquisitive brow at me. I shake my head, no. "What is your earliest memory then?"

"You don't have to answer that Clark," Lois whisper-screams.

But don't I? It's a pretty straight forward question, albeit a bit too personal. Cat sees me hesitate and subtly takes her phone out, flashing the screen towards me; I catch a glimpse of Andrina and I. I get the message loud and clear: Talk or I publish. Alright then. Blackmailing Superman; color me impressed. She might have the makings of a reporter after all, or at least the kind Lois Lane approves of.

I reach back far in my memories. I am in pre-k, the other children swinging from monkey bars and playing tag in the hot sun. Suddenly the air shifts and I'm bombarded by skeletal figures, hearts pumping in their chests grotesquely. I climbed up a tree and refused to come down till I saw Mom. She carried me home all the while whispering words of comfort. When Dad hears what happens he sits me down and calmly explains we will figure this out together. You are not alone. I swallow hard. Superman does not have supporting parents, Clark does.

"I'm sorry Ms. Grant," I say. "I don't remember."

"I thought you had total recall," she says with a coy smile. "Isn't that right Mr. Kent?" she turns to her cohost. "You wrote an article on Superman's powers as I recall."

The look Bruce shoots Cat could raze buildings. It's a small miracle he doesn't have heat vision in his arsenal. "Right," he says curtly, not bothering to elaborate. Cat as per usual is oblivious to the impending danger.

"Seems a bit convenient you remember zilch," she observes. "Almost as if you have something to hide, a traumatic experience perhaps?" She's ruthless.

Bruce balls his hands into fists."If he did he certainly won't tell the likes of you!" I wince. Well, there goes my cover. Bruce couldn't be a mild mannered reporter if his life depended on it. Sam Lando conveniently forgot Bruce Wayne's dodgy reputation with the press. "You reporters are bloody vultures." I swallow down a chuckle at his word choice. There is no doubt in my mind Bruce was raised by a badass, British nanny. One of these days I need to pop in and say hello to Alfred, and thank him for blowing my cover today so royally.

Cat's mouth falls open at the blatant display of animosity. She lowers the mic and narrows her eyes at Clark Kent, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Clark, need I remind you you're one of those bloody vultures," she says through a thin smile.

Bruce crosses his arms over his chest, looking more like me by the second; it is unsettling to say the least. "Last time I checked, I don't have wings of lies," he says stiffly. I knew that gossip piece, Cat wrote, was going to come back and bite us one day. Bruce Wayne does not take kindly to falsehoods, especially when it involves his ward.

Cat flicks her gaze nervously towards the audience, who are watching the two of them like a tennis match.

She lifts a hand, and waves tentatively, sensing the uneasiness in the air. "We will be back after this short commercial." The cameras click off for the meantime and the screens go dark. The spotlight gradually dims, and I can breathe easily again. I let out a sigh of relief when I see the crowd slowly thin, people eager to stretch their legs.

"Wait, we're not done?" I ask.

"Of course not, I've barely scratched the surface," Cat winks at me. She pointedly turns her back on Clark, and turns her attention to me. Bruce doesn't know her enough to know she is giving him the cold shoulder. "Off the record though, how did you and Andrina meet?" She says the last bit in a hurried whisper in case there are any eavesdroppers in the audience.

"Jeez, why don't you ask her?" I demand a bit testily. "I hear Lan -Andrina loves talking about herself." I thought the deal was I'll give her the interview of the century and she'll drop the whole Andrina/Superman fiasco.

"So, you admit it?" She squeals. I turn my head towards the crowd, and am relieved when no one seems to be paying attention to us. Most folk are too busy fiddling with their phones to notice the catastrophe unfolding on stage. She lowers her voice to a whisper. "You are having an affair with the future Mrs. Luthor."

"All I admit to, is helping a friend in need," I say.

"You mean like helping a friend out of her bathrobe?" She persists.

Bruce intervenes before I have a chance. "Piss off!" he growls through clenched teeth, and I shudder; there is something eerily familiar about that growl. "Have you no shame?"

Cat Grant shoots Bruce a funny look. "Are you okay Clark?" she asks, brows knit in worry. "You're acting really strange."

It's my turn to step in and save the day. "He just woke up on the wrong side of the bed," I say. "Mr. Kent, a word if you don't mind?" I stand up, my cape trailing behind me, and nod towards the back of the stage, away from prying eyes. Bruce begrudgingly follows me backstage, mumbling something under his breath about pesky secret identities.

"Where do you think you're going?" Cat screams after us. "We're back on in five!"

"Don't worry," I reassure her. "I'm faster than a speeding bullet, remember?" I offer her cheeky grin over my shoulder, which probably looks much too Clarky. "Back in a flash!"

Based on DC Characters. This is my own take on what the iconic superheroes would be like in a literary form, so some characters might be a little different than what you're used to; this story does not fit into any tv shows or cannon, but I might borrow tidbits from different sources.

All the DC stories I write would be connected in some shape or form. I have so many DC story ideas I can't wait to share with you!

Happy reading!

Thank you for reading!