One of Those Days

There were some threats no hero was capable of fighting. No amount of strength, or speed, or smarts were enough to combat something that so inevitable. An evil so despicable, yet one so brave was helpless to its might. With a piercing shriek, it destroyed all hopes and desires, truly a scourge among men. Nothing could stop it; nothing would stop it, at least until a hand pressed down on it and ended its terror with a loud crunch.

Blinking the sleep out of his eyes, Clark picked his head up from his pillow and stared at the remains of his alarm clock. The small device that had once tormented him was gone, its innards spilling out from its sides while his outstretched hand remained in the middle of its plastic corpse.

He was going to need to buy another one. At least in Metropolis, there was many stores that sold them, so needing to keep going back to the same one and raising some eyebrows at his many purchases of the same item could easily be avoided.

Still, it didn't mean the man from Krypton liked it.

Several moments passed before he found the will to push himself up and out of bed, taking a lot of care not to put too much force in the action. Yes, the Man of Steel had once destroyed his own bed by pushing down on it too hard. The cover up was too embarrassing to mention, though his memory was dead set on reminding him.

Getting out of bed was still a chore, even in this big city. That hadn't changed, not even since his days back in Smallville. Like any ordinary human, the need and desire for sleep was no stranger to him, and Clark found that the similarity was one he treasured. For a short amount of time, he was the same as anyone else on the planet, and that feeling felt good.

Placing his feet on the carpeted floor, the journalist by day stood up and stretched his arms over his head, a morning ritual that he also shared with the inhabitants of Earth. From there, Clark proceeded with the rest of it, meaning it trekked to the kitchen to make a light breakfast and followed that up with cleaning up for the rest of the day.

However, it was going to be one of those days. By that, he accidentally tore the top off the waffle iron, squeezed the shampoo bottle a bit too hard, and even though he handled the toothpaste better, the toothbrush ended up crushed.

To be honest, there was a downside of being a man with the amount of strength he had. The world was like it was made of cardboard, everything so breakable that if he didn't concentrate and focus…

Sometimes it was more trouble than it was worth. But on the other hand, Clark wouldn't give up what made him who he was, even if given the chance. There was no one he knew who he trusted enough to give such power to and who wouldn't be corrupted by it. There were too many blinded by power as it was.

Clark didn't see himself as a martyr, though. Far from it. Why begrudge a quirk of birth if it meant he could do things that no one else could, save those who needed to be saved the most, and inspire people who were searching for that one thing to motivate them to do good?

Even if his dress shirt had to suffer another rip into it. Damn, those coat hangers always wanted to hold on and never let go.

Blowing air through his lips, Clark could only mutter, "It's going to be one of those days," before tossing the ruined shirt aside and reaching for another shirt. He took extra care removing this one.

High above the Earth, a lone station orbited the planet. What had once been a research center had been refurbished and remodeled into a surveillance station, one meant to monitor both the planet it loomed over and the furthest reaches of space.

Within the confines of this station was a monitor room. A large computer shifted and sorted through the enormous amount of data that was sent to it via satellite signals. It was a steady stream and the computer software was more than up to the task of detecting impending threats.

Of course, there were other features to this computer, but for the time being they were not being utilized. Seated before the monitor was J'onn J'onzz, a resident of the now-dead Mars. It was his turn for monitor duty, something he did not mind in the slightest. Of course, there were others that preferred other assignments, but every member of the Justice League had to perform this duty at some point.

As the computer performed its functions, J'onn took the moment for a quick nap. Eyes wide open, they glowed a brighter shade of orange, his mental facilities shut down for the moment. The computer would announce to him anything that required his attention and he was not a deep sleeper by any stretch of the-

The sound of the door opening reached his ears, but they did not disturb him. The rather loud voices of two Leaguers, on the other hand, did. Eyes dimming, J'onn took a moment to gaze about dazedly before his mind sharpened. Turning his chair around, he caught sight of the Green Lantern and the Flash, both in the middle of a rather heated discussion.

"Flash, what you're saying is impossible—as in physically impossible. The very universe itself can't even function that way," John Stewart was saying.

"And I'm telling you, it very damn well did," the red-clad man countered. "I mean, I get what you're saying and normally I'd be all with you, but I'm telling you, it happened. I've got the proof locked in my closet."

J'onn raised the Martian equivalent of an eyebrow. This seemed an odd choice of topic.

John Stewart was shaking his head in disbelief. "Alright, whatever you say, but until I actually see the proof, I don't believe you."

"Oh, so now you want to see the proof. Just a moment ago you didn't care enough." Flash actually sounded enthused. "Five minutes, we can be down in my apartment and I'll show you the kid and his giant clown shows. Unless he's figured out that he can spin really fast and drills his way out of there." Flash paused as his eyes began to grow wide. "Oh God, I hope he hasn't figured that part out."

"How long did it take you to figure that out?" John Stewart asked, a smirk appearing on his face. "The drilling part, not the kid figuring it out."

"You mean we I thought on how to do it? I don't know, a week? Week in a half?" Flash shrugged his shoulders before he let out a sigh. "God, I hate time traveling."

"I beg your pardon?" J'onn interjected, which earned him the attention of the two Leaguers. Immediately, the Green Lantern was gesturing for him to stay out of the conversation even as the Flash focused all of his hyperactive attention on him.

"J'onn, old buddy, old pal! Wait until you get a load of this!" the red-clad man exclaimed. "So I've got this kid you see. He's a speedster, idolizes me, but he's annoying as heck."

"Doesn't that sound familiar," John Stewart muttered.

"No idea what you're talking about, GL. Anyways, kid claims to have come from the distant future and he's eating me out of house and home. I kinda need a break from him. You wouldn't mind taking him off my hands for a bit, would you? You could even keep him in the Watchtower!"

J'onn shook his head. "Non-members are not allowed on the Watchtower, a protocol we put into place after the last unexpected visitor. We voted unanimously to pass that measure."

Flash stared at him before his shoulders sagged. "Riiight, I forgot. Still, you willing to babysit for me? Just one night?"

"I'm afraid I am unavailable after my shift, Flash."

"Damn, it was worth a shot." Flash then looked in either direction, checking the rest of the room before he shot John Stewart a rather odd look. If J'onn had to describe it, it was suggestive. "So GL, what's with you and Hawkgirl?"

"None of your damn business," the Green Lantern grunted back, arms crossed over his chest. "We're just good friends, that's all."

"Just friends, huh?" Suddenly, the speedster darted to stand next to J'onn's chair, resting an arm on the back of it as he leaned conspiratorial towards the Martian's ear. "I hear these two have been meeting each other in secret. Sounds more like a date to me."

"Flash, I find this topic rather inappropriate," the green man warned. "And Green Lantern, as a subject, does not wish to speak of the matter."

"Well said," John Stewart agreed.

"You two are no fun." Then he again looked back and forth before he said in a hushed tone, "Any word on Wondy? Or is she still on that never-ending quest of hers?"

Both men stared at the red-clad man, J'onn impassively while Green Lantern gave a disapproving look. Looking between the two, the speedster groaned. "Seriously, you two are no fun."

"That's because office gossip has no place on the Watchtower," John Stewart rebuked him. "If you're interested in that kind of nonsense, take it somewhere else."

An alarm went off, causing the three men to turn their attention to the computer, on screen an image of the Earth appeared, just before it zoomed in on specific region—in this case, the northeast United States. It took a moment before a satellite image of Gateway City appeared on screen, a red dot blinking over and over towards the southeast sector of the city.

"What's going on, Johnny?" Flash questioned as he leaned towards the screen.

Facing his chair to the monitor, J'onn tapped a few keys before a small window appeared in the lower right corner. "A local disturbance," he read out loud. "Police are requesting SWAT assistance."

"Wonder Woman is down there, right?" Green Lantern asked, receiving an affirmative nod from the Martian. "She can handle it."

"That's for sure," Flash agreed, then grew uncharacteristically stoic. "Would have thought we'd get that call from the other city."

For a moment, J'onn wasn't sure what the speedster meant before he searched the entire screen and found what he was referencing. While Gateway City was towards the top of the screen, which allowed them to focus on the southern area of the city, towards the bottom of the monitor was another city.

Gotham.

"Still haven't heard anything," Flash remarked after a few moments, his tone subdued. "How about you guys?"

Green Lantern shook his head as well as J'onn. "Not a word," the dark-skinned man replied. "I guess he took his resignation seriously."

"It still sucks, though. While we were out fighting some giant cockroaches on a dying planet, he had his back snapped in two. Completely disappears for God knows how long, then comes back as if nothing happened and proceeded to kick the crap out of the guy that beat him."

J'onn was inclined to agree with that sentiment. Upon their return from Rijal-4—a planet that was being invaded by cockroach-like race which ended in the destabilization and eventual destruction of the planet—they had learned of the events that had transpired upon their absence. In spite of Batman's resignation, they had done all they could to find him; J'onn had even performed a mental sweep of the globe, only to come up with nothing. It was as if the man had vanished, reappearing when he was ready.

The relief the League had felt upon his return was palpable. However, none of them had any idea as to the full story.

Following that incident, it was voted that at least one, preferably two members of the League were to remain on Earth, removing the possibility of a full League response to deep space missions. Fortunately, an incident had yet to enforce this new rule.

Of course, Gotham had not been silent since the Dark Knight's return. There had been upticks in crime, an attack of the Gotham Police Department, and strangely enough the ouster and takeover of Wayne Enterprises. There was no further information other than those public stories.

J'onn, however, still had an open communication line with the vigilante. It was a benefit of still retaining the man's confidences; however, he had offered no details other than his wellness. The Martian was forced to respect his privacy.

"You know, we've had our own adventures," Flash spoke then. "Those hostilities in Kahndaq—again; a civil war in Gorilla City; even the emergence of a new Lantern corp. What did you call them again, GL? Yellow Lanterns?"

"That's right," John Stewart said.

"And yet, we damn near drop everything we're doing to pay attention to that one city. Why is that?"

"Regardless of Batman's status, he is still one of us," J'onn replied. "We don't stop caring for people, no matter presence or distance."

And that unofficial policy would carry on unabated.

It was a landmark of Metropolis, one of the iconic buildings that always came to mind when one thought about the city. For a man who grew up in rural Kansas, the sight of the Daily Planet never failed to inspire awe in him.

Maybe it wasn't the tallest building, but the large globe that sat on the top, one with the name of the news agency inscribed into it, made it stand out as part of the skyline. Initially a feat of architecture, one that had been done for the sake of doing so, and one that had caused some fear in the populous as potentially rolling off and crushing anyone that might be under it, nowadays no one could think of Metropolis without having it.

The fears were unfounded, but people were always suspicious of something new. Clark would know personally. Trust was always something difficult to gain, whether you were a person or a building with a new twist to it.

The Kryptonian always felt awe when he looked upon the building, and there was a sense of pride that he worked there. It had been luck, or maybe fate, that his first and only job in this city was here, and he wouldn't give it up for anything in the world, well, correction, most things. Until the day he had no choice but to leave, this place, this career would have no other home than the Daily Planet.

Inside it, there was always activity, a lobby with never ending traffic, and elevators that were always in use. Clark's floor was high up, and held one of the best views of the city that wasn't one which required flight to see. There were rows upon rows of desks, filled or empty, but all covered in notes and computers whose sole purpose was investigating the various aspects of the city from the everyday news to the matters that happened behind closed doors. Phones would ring, though for the most part it was the journalists who were doing the calling, leaving a soft din of voices as the background noise to this bullpen. With the exception of one wall that had only large windows that allowed the natural sunlight in, the rest held smaller offices, ones reserved for the higher ups or the big names.

So far, Clark had yet to get his own, but he was sure one day he would. It took a lot of effort and a lot of time to do so. Heck, it was only a couple years ago that Lois Lane, the prize reporter herself got her own. Even though she had hid it well, there had been pride at this latest accomplishment, a sign that years of work were paying off.

You would think that being part of foreign correspondence would net you an office of your own, but that didn't seem to be the case. Nonetheless, Clark would continue working towards that goal, one that he and the rest who were still stuck in the bullpen were fighting tooth and nail to get.

Before he was able to reach his desk, he was greeted by the friendly freckled face of Jimmy Olsen. The young man who seemed to defy age and remain as youthful as a high school student seemed to have a sixth sense for anyone passing too closely to him, and would always look up and say something to whoever it was. "Hey Clark. Wonderful day, isn't it? Got a good feeling about it myself."

"It's been fine, Jimmy," Clark found himself answering, not having the heart to say he felt the opposite. Jimmy's optimism, he found, was always a bit contagious for the Kryptonian.

"Go long, Kent!"

He had been perfectly aware of the football in the air, could hear the air parting from the tip of the ball, knew how fast it was going and everything, and even as he turned in the direction of the yell, Clark did nothing to stop the ball from striking him in the chest. Normally, something like this would mean nothing to him; in fact, Clark didn't feel anything. Yet, the journalist still stumbled back as if trying to keep his balance and almost failing.

"Whoa, need better reflexes there, Kent!" called out Lombard, the Planet's sports columnist. The man himself looked like a former athlete, and seemed to make a point of reminding everyone of his prowess. It was common to hear him brag about winning the football championship game during his senior year in high school, scoring not one, not two, but three touchdowns all by himself. "How do you think you'll keep up with the guy who scored three touchdowns in one game?" There, you see, wasn't too far off. "Gotta pick up the pace before I leave you in the dust."

Yes, because Lombard was a new hire. The dark-haired Kyrptionian saw the mustached man as a jerk, but one that he needed to tolerate. Fortunately, Lombard had a habit of leaning back into his chair and balancing on two of the legs; it made it so easy to use a low powered heat vision on the legs and allow gravity to do the rest.

"Give it a rest already!" Now that was Ron Troupe, another new hire, but one Clark found he could talk with over at the water cooler. A dark-skinned, African American, Troupe always seemed like he had a chip on his shoulder, always needing to work harder to prove himself, and be more vocal as if by not speaking up, he would always be silenced. As a result, Troupe tended to butt heads more often than not with Lombard.

"What's the problem? Just trying to bond with Smallville over there," the sports columnist defended himself, his voice jovial, but with a defensive edge to it.

"The problem is that I'm the only one that gets to call him that." And there was none other than Lois Lane herself, the dark haired woman cutting in both verbally and physically between them all. "Find your own name to call him. Now get back to whatever meathead game you're suppose to be watching. Do your armchair coaching or whatever it is you do." Lois could a saint sometimes. Then her eyes zeroed in on him, and served as a reminder that again, today was going to be one of those days. "Smallville, you didn't send me your draft. How the hell am I suppose to crosscheck if you aren't going to do your part."

Oh yes, the two of them happened to be working two different angles on the same story. He was suppose to have sent his version while she did the same. Odds were, there was an e-mail from Lois waiting in his inbox, and he...had to put on his other workclothes to take care of an emergency. Several emergencies, truth be told, and all involving the Queensland Bridge collapsing.

Odds were, Lois was going to have to cover that. A disaster like the failure of the city's infrastructure would be big news for the next few weeks.

"I'll get it sent to you right now," Clark answered as he adjusted his glasses. As he looked away from her, he caught Jimmy giving him a sympathetic look and he returned it with a small but grateful smile. This was the role he sometimes played, but a necessary one.

As he was beginning to boot up his computer, Lois standing nearby and watching like a hawk, waiting for him to do his part, another reminder that today was not going to be good one descended from a higher plane of authority.

Though Clark towered over him, it was like the earth itself trembled whenever Perry came out of his office. Always in a dress shirt and tie, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the editor of the Planet barreled his way through the journalistic bullpen, his booming voice always catching the attention of whoever had caught his ire or needed to be sent out to cover the next breaking news event. This morning, Perry White was barking down half the people he came across, and then he spotted his foreign correspondent.

"Kent! That you right there? I need you to get down to the zoo. They have that exhibit opening up and I want you over there."

"Not before he sends me that draft he owes me," Lois pipped up, arms crossed but not taking any assertive stance against, well, her boss.

"What are you still doing here, Lane? Why aren't you over at Queensland?" Perry demanded, rounding on her.

"I just got back from Queensland," Lois replied. "Soon as I heard, I was already down there. I'll have you know I gave up a good night's sleep in order to get some good sources down there."

"That's what I want to hear. Get back with me in twenty minutes, I want to go over everything you got so far," the editor was swift both in his praise and in his planning. Say what you want about how gruff he could be, Perry knew how to run a newspaper. "Kent, what are you still doing here? They had some officials from China that's going to be there and I want to get everything on that. Move."

"As soon as I do my part here, I'll be on my way," Clark promised, already bringing up the windows, one for his business e-mail and another for his files. He was already behind and needed to get going.

"Speed it up. Those scoops aren't going to find themselves." Then Perry was back on the war path. "Troupe, what's going on with that serial bomber story? Gimme me some details!"

Well, all attention was off of him, for the most part. It was a simple matter of attaching the right file into the correct email and off it went. "Just sent it, Lois."

"Should've done it last night," the award-winning reported replied, though she did give a small smile of her own. "Now I need to get to doing my job. Have fun with the monkeys or whatever they're doing this time, Smallville."

As she walked away, the Planet's foreign correspondence couldn't take his eyes off of her. It took a force of will to interrupt it, but the sense of yearning always followed. Sure, when he wasn't being a mild-manner, if not spineless, reporter, or being the Blue Angel of Metropolis with all the confidence and fortitude that went with that, at the end he was unable to really go all in and say what he felt about that woman.

How many times had he saved her? Too many to count, but the thankful looks she gave, even when Lois tried to hide them, made it all worth it. But he couldn't help but want more. If only he could find the courage to say what he felt and wait for what answer she may have.

It was a dream, and for the foreseeable future, it would remain that way.

"Psst! Clark!" Jimmy was giving him a hopeful look. "Mind if I come with?"

He took a moment to think about it before giving an affirmative. Clark didn't see any problem with having a tagalong, plus, this business at the zoo might not be going very far.

All in all, it still looked like it was going to be another one of those days.

The vastness of space could hide so much. The emptiness allowed a freedom to move that most places didn't, but the distances were so great that even the most scientifically minded of individuals had trouble grasping it.

Through this void, what appeared to be a small meteor sped through it. By all appearances, it didn't look any different from the trillions of others of its kind that raced among the stars. A closer look would reveal some inconsistencies, such as the fact that it wasn't made of rock, but metal.

Outwardly, there didn't appear to be any propulsion system, meaning something else was responsible for its trajectory. In the distance, there appeared nothing but space dotted with pinpricks of light form countless stars, but if it continued on its path, it would find itself on a collision course with a planet.

The planet, however, had picked up on its approach.

Located in an isolated area off the coast of Alaska, an innocuous research station maintained by NASA was already aware of the metal-based projectile.

Watching the radar, the technician on duty watched it with a keen eye for a moment, determining that it was first not some optical illusion nor a glitch in the system before calling over for his supervisor to double check it.

"Doesn't look too big," the supervisor muttered, peering at the screen and training his eyes on the green dot that slowly moved across it, heading towards the center of the radar screen. "Keep an eye on it anyway. Mark down distance traveled, speed, etcetera. Odds are it'll burn up in the atmosphere."

The technician nodded and continued to watch as the radar continued to unfold this development. His supervisor was probably right; it wouldn't be the first time an object was detected and ended up coming to nothing. Very rarely did anything from space breach the atmosphere and strike the earth below with a few exceptions.

There shouldn't be anything to worry about here.

FlackAttack: I don't think it's a secret that we've used the DCAU as the primary basis for this series. Both of us grew up with it, so there's a very special place in our hearts for it. As I recall, in Superman the Animated Series, Brainiac was indirectly responsible for the destruction of Krypton, in that it detected the disaster in advance and deliberately chose not to inform Krypton about it. Still, it puts Brainiac in the trope of the being the killer of the protagonist's parent(s), much like Joe Chill to Batman. The difference for this story, natural, is that Brainiac was more direct this time. Also, I think it has been implied that Brainiac, in the comics had something to do with Krypton's destruction but it has never been confirmed for one reason or another.