Memento

Secretary Devol's idea of smoothing things over was with a press conference.

Steve couldn't help but feel this was a bad idea. As brash and heavy-handed as the Secretary could be, he didn't get to where he was by being stupid. Like all politicians, he had an ulterior motive for this, but for the life of the intrepid soldier and A.R.G.U.S. agent, he couldn't figure it out.

However, Director Bordeaux had agreed to it. Then she had turned to Waller to see how they could use this to their advantage. To be fair, Waller was the type of person who could turn a disadvantage to an advantage. There was her secretive project called Task Force X that she was working on which stood as a testament to that.

Devol had gone all out and gotten them the Briefing Room in the White House. Unexpected, but the media exposure was going to be through the roof. Maybe that was the intention. Regardless, he was standing up on that stage, the Director herself taking point at the podium that most journalists were familiar with.

The flashes from various cameras, the large number of eyes trained on them, and all the attention but him on edge. Under the right circumstances, Steve could schmooze with the best of them. Like some of the best, dealing with the media tended to be more of a mixed bag. At the very least, Bordeaux would be handling the exposure; he just needed to stand there and look pretty for the cameras.

"As the people of this great nation know, several days ago, our nation, the world even, was under attack by a foreign aggressor," Director Bordeaux began. In a blouse and dark blue jacket, her hair once again styled to hide the scar just over her left eye, the dark-haired woman presented herself professionally. "There were power outages. Our electrical grid and cyberinfrastructure came under fire. The Justice League came down to handle the threat and end it. These are the facts which no one can deny.

"Everything else that came after has been subject to speculation, and wild theories have run about. Today, I would like to take some time to assure you and the public about what's really going on and hopefully dispel any and all suspicions and paranoia. The incident that occurred this past Wednesday did indeed happen, and we are still assessing any and all damages that may have resulted from it, including both cyberinfrastructure and property damages."

Steve kept himself calm, alert for any and all threats. Was it strange for him to see the gathering of reporters as a threat? A danger that could lash out at any time, even though the worst they could do was sensationalize an already sensational incident?

He needed to trust that the speech that they had written up for Bordeaux would be enough. The Director had been run through multiple scenarios, as demanded by Waller no less, asked variations of the same questions, sometimes even asked out there questions. Tempers had flared, toes were stepped on, calls to back out were made, but they were here at long last. There was no going back now.

"This attack, for that is what it is, was not isolated only to our nation," the Director continued. "Other nations, both allies and enemies have reported similar, if not identical attacks. We are still in the midst of contacting our counterparts across the world, pooling what information each of us has gathered. It is a work in progress, and I ask for the public's continued patience until we have ascertained the motives and the purpose of this incident."

Flashes from the cameras were a constant onslaught, never ending, and completely nerve wracking for the soldier now government agent. Why did they have to let cameras in here? At least turn the damn flashes off; it made this a security nightmare. Who knew when one of those flashes would have a bullet following after it, not that Bordeaux was high profile enough to warrant such a thing just yet.

"As for the hacking and infiltration of the cyberinfrastructure, again, we are still assessing and processing the extent of the damages. Keep this in mind, the extent of this cyberattack was so great, all levels of every digital network, not just in the United States, but the whole world, was hacked. What this attacker was looking for, we do not know, and will inform you, the public, what it is once we know what it is and how it affects you. Unfortunately, due to the large scale of the attack, this is something that may take weeks or months to investigate and I ask for your continued patience."

The only reason why the reporters had yet to jump down Bordeaux's throat, yet was because they had yet to enter the question asking phase of the conference. It was protocol for these things, to allow the person or persons the chance to inform everyone then allow questions as follow up. Steve was dreading the questions, because every single one of those journalists were at their limits holding back. Once the go ahead was given, it would be like a pack of wolves pouncing on them for the slaughter.

Suddenly, espionage looked so much more inviting.

A glance to the Director gave the blond man the blink and you miss it sight of Bordeaux taking a deep breath. This was the part of the conference that had had much debate, but his side of it had prevailed.

Then again, how was he to do his job to the best of his abilities unless he had the go ahead to do it? There was a reason why A.R.G.U.S. was formed, but due to recent upheavals in the government, well, much of that had been put on the back burner until it was most appropriate to get back to it.

"I will not mince words here," Bordeaux spoke again, the dark-haired woman not wavering once, "this is a mystery, one we are determined to solve. To achieve, and to be sure that all available resources have been exhausted, I will announce here and now the intention of our agency, A.R.G.U.S., the Advanced Research Group Uniting Super-Humans, to pursue a liaison with the Justice League and form a united partnership in order to address whatever threat this recent attack represents until such time as it is neutralized and our national security is assured. To the Justice League, if you are watching, know that despite out initial encounters, we are not your enemies would extend any olive branch in the spirit of cooperation as well as peace for our world.

"The decision to accept is up to you."

There, the announcement he was waiting for. This is what A.R.G.U.S. was created for; to create a link between Washington and the independent Justice League, a group that had no allegiance to the United State or any other country in the world. Naturally, a group with the kind of power the League had was a cause for both hope and concern, but mainly concern for those in the government who felt that someone else was budding into their arena.

The die was rolled and from this point on, it was waiting for the response.

"The floor is now open for questions."

Should it have been a surprise the Fortress of Solitude picked up cable network TV?

Batman watched as the press conference went on, a horde of journalists trying to shout over each other to ask Director Bordeaux questions, usually the same three or four said in slightly different ways. The vigilante had been behind the podium himself and he knew how those people acted. As if they thought the speaker couldn't tell they were asking the same thing.

However, the message of the conference was interesting. A.R.G.U.S. was requesting cooperation from the Justice League, after everything it had done to exclude them. This smelled as if they were trying to distract the public from their activities. No doubt there would be people calling for the League to lend their assistance.

"These guys have got some balls," Flash said bluntly as he continued to stare at the monitor screen. "We were basically told to piss off by these guys and now they want our help? I don't think so."

"It is a change in tone," J'onn admitted. "I wonder what is at the heart of this change."

"That isn't much of a stretch," Hawkgirl was quick to say. "I bet you if we were to look at the news surrounding the probes, someone somewhere announced to the world that A.R.G.U.S. was involved and that put them on the defensive. Most likely it was a leak."

That was Batman's thoughts exactly. Then, Superman actually spoke up to the contrary. "As far as I can tell, the first mentioning of A.R.G.U.S. was from Lois Lane's piece and I know for a fact she got it from Lex Luthor. After her piece went out, that's when you had a flood of journalists trying to get interviews and scoops on A.R.G.U.S."

Luthor? Batman felt his eyes narrowing. How did Luthor learn about A.R.G.U.S.? Then he remembered LexCorp had been one of the many places attacked by the Brainiac probes. No doubt the billionaire would want to find out what attacked him and destroyed his cybersecurity infrastructure. That would have led him to A.R.G.U.S. and most likely they stonewalled him just like they had done with the League.

It seemed there was another player in this matter.

"Well, I'm all for blowing these government agents off," Flash said. "We've come further than they have and without any of their help. We've got this handled."

"I don't think we should turn away from this either," Hawkgirl interjected. "Despite our recent history, these guys just invited us with open arms to help. Maybe we can use this as a way to find out what they've uncovered. Rather than us helping them, they'll be helping us."

"I can speak with Steve Trevor again," Diana volunteered. "I can act as the liaison between them and us."

"That's not a bad idea," Batman concurred, which earned him the other's attention. "Diana's position and status in the world will keep A.R.G.U.S. from trying to double-cross us, at least through public opinion. Whatever smear campaign they try will be second-guessed by the public initially and we can use that to turn their tactics against them."

A smirk appeared on Hawkgirl's face. "I like the sound of that."

"Then let's do it that way," Superman said. "Diana, you go talk to Trevor and find out whatever A.R.G.U.S. has uncovered. J'onn, I'm certain you want to continue using the Fortress' database and mainframe to uncover more about Brainiac."

The Martian nodded his agreement. "I do."

"What about the rest of us?" Hawkgirl asked. "I rather not sit around twiddling my thumbs."

"I guess the rest of us can help J'onn or Diana," the Kryptonian suggested, slightly shrugging his shoulders. To Batman, it looked as if the dark-haired man had other ideas, particularly pertaining to himself. "I have an errand to run myself. Those with secret identities may want to go secure theirs and come up with cover stories."

"That's a good idea," Flash agreed. "It might take me a day or two to arrange some time off from the lab."

"I'll do my own investigation," Batman said then. "There might be something else we're missing and I'd like to cover our bases."

Superman nodded his acceptance. "Alright, just be careful." Then he stood up from his seat. "Now if no one has anything further to add, I have to go. I'll be back soon."

Batman kept an eye on the Kryptonian as he made his way out of the room. For once, he wasn't sure what the man was up to, but he could only hope that their short conversation was still on his mind. They couldn't let him act brash, not when they knew so little of this potential threat. They were already down Green Lantern and he was a powerhouse all of his own. They couldn't afford to be down two heavy hitters.

It wasn't all too surprising that A.R.G.U.S. would respond this way. Luthor had been expecting some kind of response. While it was a sign that the government agency was scrambling about, trying to do damage control, the announcement of their intentions to seek council with the Justice League was unexpected.

The CEO had been expecting whoever ran A.R.G.U.S. to adhere to the current, nationalistic political climate, but it appears he had erred on that account. Then again, despite his best efforts, even he hadn't been able to learn all he could about this secretive group.

Yes, there was a government website, but if you read between the lines, you would realize that it was nothing more than gibberish. Other public information was the same, including the little tidbits given to the media. The agents that were selected for the group went through a screening process so intense and thorough that it difficult to get a mole in. So far, his attempts had been unsuccessful, but one day, with the right candidate, it would be achievable because nothing was impossible for Lex Luthor.

Until then, he would exploit them from the outside, such as making them scapegoats.

Beside him, always on guard, was Mercy. "So where do we go from here?" the no-nonsense woman spoke, her question more of a statement than a query.

Luthor took his time, considered all the possibilities he could, before he answered. "It is too much to hope that the Justice League and A.R.G.U.S. butt heads with one another. However, as today as shown, anything is possible. I have no one in any position on either side to interfere or sabotage any relations that are born from this. The only thing that I have going is that the Justice League was unable to get its hands on one of the robots before A.R.G.U.S. confiscated them. Wouldn't it be something if they had managed to do so and kept such knowledge out of A.R.G.U.S.'s hands? That would be awkward on the League's part if it ever came out."

It wasn't something to be counted on. The worst case, and the most vomit inducing, was that the two groups would get along and start singing Kumbaya around a proverbial campfire. Such a thing couldn't be allowed, but prevention was not a weapon he could use at this point.

Looking away from the large screen television, the tycoon looked down at an iPad, one that had other sources of information about the press conference on it. One small window on the small screen was a livefeed from a social media site with comments from the public lighting up the feed at a rapid pace.

There were comments that were supportive, such as "Yes! Let's get Superman on this!" or "About time. Lord knows we need the help." There were also some, ahem, "emojis" and such also expressing approval. Then there were those who opposed such a move, saying things like "We don't need outsiders' help." or "America's got this, we don't need some aliens' help" and then there was his personal favorite, "Fucking traitors. Somebody needs to remind them what being an American is."

Yes, much of these comments were censored because Luthor was not a man who reveled in being obscene for the sake of being obscene. Also, hashtags were completely beneath him. That, and spelling and grammar mistakes. So naturally, what he actually read, was severely parred down.

Still, there was a national divide over this conference, and it was something he could use. After all, all of this was buying him time to continue his own research. Speaking of which…

"Any reports from Happersen?"

"Nothing new yet," Mercy reported. "They are still working on the translation according to your instructions."

Luthor grunted. "They need to step it up. They're working on borrowed time as it is. The sooner they can get that code translated, the sooner I can try to replicate it and the robot itself. As soon as that can be done, there will be no further need to continue hiding it."

"Then what? Try and sneak it back to A.R.G.U.S. while they're still trying to put out the media fire?" the bodyguard asked.

The bald CEO stifled a snort. "Why do something as stupid as that? It's too important to simply give back to the government. No, I'm not about to do that. Perhaps reverse engineer the software and replace what's damaged. It's still too early to decide and frankly, I am not about to go thar far into the future. Instead, I'll focus on the here and now and buy Happersen time."

"How will you go about it?" Mercy inquired, speaking for the sake of putting the words out there.

"A.R.G.U.S. is trying to make friends, and according to the livefeed, controversial ones. There may be a way to use it, but it'll have to be opportunity," Luthor thought aloud. He tapped a finger against the flat surface of his desk, a purposeless gesture that at best could create a tempo for his thoughts to follow. "That a relationship between our two would-be friends hasn't happened yet speaks to there being something else beneath the surface. There's no sense speculating what. So I'll put some pressure on the people I do have positioned and see if I am able to create an opportunity to create conflict in the ranks." It did not need to be said that under the circumstances, that was the best he could do.

Time, that ever precious resource, time. Even the best couldn't hold a candle to the foolmaker that was time. Yet, time was what he needed.

It was the only thing that mattered.

The sky was like a blanket full of white pinpricks, yet it was a sight that could captivate anyone with its beauty should they ever look up. Each of these little pinpricks twinkled, glowing brighter then dimmer only to brighten once more. In hindsight, each one of those little bots may have had life near them, orbiting them, worlds teeming with untold life.

All of this hung over a two-story farm house in the middle of rural America. Manmade light filtered through the windows, and if one stood in the right place, they would be able to maybe spot a small family in there, gathered around a table in the kitchen. All were adults, but the way they were relaxed around one another would suggest familiarity. Two of them possessed gray to white hair, signifying their age. The third still possess black, and was much more youthful than the other two.

It created a dynamic of a son returning home to pay a visit to his parents. A social call to catch up on one another's life, and to share stories they would entertain or to describe the extent of a problem one of them was facing.

"I think some things are better left in the past, Clark," a gracefully aging woman remarked, even as she ladled out a generous portion of mashed potatoes.. Having given up the battle against the changing color of her hair, Martha Kent was still a force to be reckoned with. The kitchen was her domain, and no one, not even a superpowered Kryptonian would be able to tell her what to do. If she wanted to serve her son with the best of her home cooking, she was going to do so and he was going to enjoy it.

Not that that last part was hard to do. Ma Kent always did know how to make a savory roast.

In one hand, Clark held a fork, and in the other a yeast roll—homemade, not store bought because the former was not allowed in this house. "If what my father said was true, there's something out there that murdered an entire planet. It needs to be stopped."

Ma Kent shook her head, even as she served herself. A metal serving spoon clacked against the ceramic plate, an attempt to coax more potatoes off the serving instrument. "I don't like this, Jonathan," the elder woman stated, her worried eyes expressing distaste for the situation behind a pair of glasses not unsimilar to the one her son wore.

His hand still holding a roll, a bite taken out of it, Clark held it up a little higher than normal. "Um, Ma? I'm right here."

"I don't like this," Ma reiterated, turning back to her son. "What are these things doing here? Why did they come now? What do they want?"

From his seat, Jonathan Kent, or Pa as he would always be known here, spoke up. "It sounds like reconnaissance to me. General information gathering and the like. Just, wasn't subtle about it. Made a lot of kids, both young and adult, lose their internet for longer than a minute. Terrifying, I know."

"Jonathan," Ma reprimanded, rolling her eyes as she took a seat. With a fork, she stabbed into some of her roast with unnecessary force. It caused the metal prongs of the eating utensil to scrape against the plate, and for a man with superhearing, it was really high up there in the decibels.

Clark appreciated the joke. Though sometimes Pa's sense of humor was out there, and a lot of the time, it tended to be what one would call dad humor, it was enough to make him stop for a moment, forget about the situation, and enjoy the precious seconds of levity before returning to the matter at hand.

"We're...I was thinking about reversing the transmission signal one of the probes used. If I could use one of the ships I have in the Fortress, I could go out there, and find where Brainiac came from and stop it before it becomes a threat to Earth." From behind his glasses, Clark peered up at his parents.

Ma had stopped eating, fork and knife placed on the table with her hands still clenching onto them. Pa hadn't missed a beat, and was still chewing. Ma would be the first to speak, but by now she was repeating herself. "I don't like this."

Taking a glass of water, Pa took a long sip, and it was only after he put it down when he said casually, "When you're done, come outside with me."

There was no inflection in Pa's voice that gave away what he was thinking. Clark had met a lot of people in his life whom he had trouble reading, but if anyone had the top spot, it was Pa. No matter how hard he would try, even when he was growing up, he could never predict what the older man would say. It caused a bit of anxiety within him, the kind that only a parent could cause in their kid.

There was another meaning to Pa's words, though. Drop the subject, it's upsetting your mother. That part was clear and you didn't need superpowers or incredible deductive reasoning to pick that up. It made Clark recall how he referenced Jor-El, and in front of Pa as well, making him internally wince.

Pa was his father, no matter what. Yet, ever since he had learned who he was, his Kryptonian nature, the dark-haired man had struggled to reconcile parentage. Jor-El and Lara were his parents biologically, but Ma and Pa raised him, raised him to be right, to do right by others. Jor-El and Lara never had the chance, murdered by Brainiac.

Them, along with the rest of Krypton.

It was after supper was done, and Ma began clearing off the table, that Clark found himself outside of the farmhouse, Pa at his side as the two walked beneath the starry sky above. It was from one of these many stars that he had first known life, and ever since all he had been able to do was look up at them, wondering which one of those stars was the one. Not this night, though. Not with Pa right next to him.

"Ma's not happy," Clark eventually said, dead grass crunching underneath his shoes.

"Your mother is just worried about you," Pa confirmed, his pale blue eyes looking straight ahead and at the barn that was just ahead of them. "We both are. Ma is just...well, you know how she is when it comes to you. Always worried."

"Then she's been worried a long time," the glasses-wearing male said ruefully.

"Of course. What parent wouldn't be worried?" Pa remarked. "What you were talking about in there. You were talking about fighting something unknown. What do you really know about this Brainiac, other than what's on some computer? You have no idea what you're facing."

"You could say that about everything I've fought," Clark retorted.

"There's a difference between things made on Earth, and things out there," was the quick response. "It is not things here that I'm worried about. I know that you can handle those, even though I do worry about you. Ever since that day we found you in that cornfield, I've always look up there and wondered what else is out there and would it one day come looking for you? You've always managed to attract trouble, like any normal kid."

"Just not intergalactic trouble," Clark said grimly, his hands shoved into his pockets.

"Trouble is trouble, intergalactic or not," Pa grunted. As the pair arrived at the barn, Pa was the one who insisted on opening it up. Sure, Clark could have done it himself, but Pa's days of opening and shutting the barn were numbered. This was something he could have, and the younger man would allow it.

The thing about barns was that the insides were always dirty; there was never any sense in cleaning it outside of maybe sweeping the floor every now and then. This led to dirt getting everywhere else with perhaps one exception: Pa's tools. The workbench they were hung over or laid on could have used a good wiping, but the tools were well maintained. However, it was under the bench where various boxes were stored that Pa went to, bending down on aging knees to do so. Clark wanted to volunteer, but again, there were things he needed to back away from because they were things Pa felt he still needed to do.

The Kyptonian held too much respect for the elder man to deny him much of anything. The sounds of Pa rifling through boxes was the only sound that existed between the two of them.

Eventually, Clark spoke, "You don't think I should go, do you? You don't think I should go out there and try to find Brainiac." It was easy to tell that Ma didn't want him to; she was afraid he'd get hurt despite the fact that the majority of ways to hurt a person didn't affect him.

"I've long ago decided that I wasn't going to stand in your way when it came to making decisions," Pa answered. "You're a grown man, that's your right. Heh." Pausing, Pa turned his body slightly, holding up a hand that held a torn-up baseball. The outer covering was falling apart and stitches barely held what remained. "Remember this?"

It took the younger man a moment, thinking hard about why Pa would have such a ratty baseball. Why would he keep it, and in the barn no less?

Then there was a memory, one from what felt like a lifetime ago. He had been twelve, and the two of them had been playing ball. As Pa had explained it, it was a way for him to practice control, to make sure the ball didn't go into lower orbit. Their game ended after the first hit, a beautiful home run that kept going and going and going and going until even he had lost sight of it. But...could this really be the same ball?

"I spent six months trying to find this dang thing," the older Kent explained, his eyes trained on the "baseball" fondly. "Found it in one of Bill Hubbord's fields. He thought I was crazy when I told him I was looking for arrowheads."

An arrowhead indeed. Clark couldn't help the small smile that grew on his face as the memory had grown clearer. It had taken several swings before he had managed to hit the dang thing. Pa hadn't gotten mad then, had congratulated him on the nice hit. Even though their game ended then and there, that hadn't stopped his adoptive father from getting him an ice cream.

Then he noticed that one of the boxes that Pa had been going through, there were other things in it. The dark-haired man soon realized that what might have looked like some really strange odds and ends were anything but. They were mementos, from the pair of sneakers that had been worn out the day he first outran the truck, the oil slick shirt from when he had accidentally damaged the oil tank on the same truck, a cracked pair of glasses that were slightly smaller than the pair he wore now. A ball of barbed wire that was literally crushed into that shape, a rock with a handprint in it, the remains of an old barbeque pit—there really hadn't been much left of it after his heat vision spontaneously ignited the propane tank—the remains of the propane tank, a dirtied shin guard, so many things from a time that felt so long ago.

"You...you kept all this?" There was a strong emotion welling within the man, one in his chest that seemed to spread with every second.

"I knew we couldn't keep you.' Pa gave him a smile. "It would be selfish, and it isn't like you to keep to yourself, especially when you could help someone. I've known that your place was out there, wherever it was you ended up. You're too important, to the world, to the universe. But even an old man like me needs to hold on to something. Since I couldn't hold on to you, I'd hold on to the things that made me smile, that made me proud to be your father."

Right now, he could identify that powerful emotion: pride. Proud that his Pa thought of him this way, willing to let him leave, but keep some kind of keepsake because he was that important to the older man. Now, though, some guilt was slipping in. Ever since he had seen the recording of his father, and the message to run, his thoughts about been all about a man whom he had never been able to meet. Yet, here was the man who raised him, who was there for him when he needed a father.

It was almost like he had forgotten him, swept up in a rage of fury and anger to the latest threat to his home. It made the Kryptonian clench his fists tightly.

"If...if I were to go out there, and find Brainiac, no, if you were the one who went out there, what would you do?" Once more, the powerful Kryptonian felt like a child, one looking up to his parent, hoping for any kind of guidance.

Pa was listening, he always was. "I can't tell you what to do, Clark. I really can't." With a hand on his workbench, the aging farmer pulled himself back onto his feet. "But since you asked, if it were me, I would want answers. Whoever or whatever this Brainiac is, it has done a lot of harm. It destroyed a world you could never know, not even in a million years. But not get answers, to give into vengeance, that would make you no better than it, right? And then what? For the souls lost, they need justice, not revenge. Brainiac needs to answer for its crimes, before a jury of its peers, whatever that might be. But those are my thoughts. Whatever you have to do, you do it, but do it because it's right."

There was a burning in his throat, the same one anytime Clark felt like crying. How long had it been since the last time?

"Though, there is one thing I am thankful for this Brainiac for." Blue eyes snapped back to the farmer. Pa then made eye contact with him, and the wrinkles on his face had never looked so clear. "I was able to be your Pa, and there is nothing I would trade the world for if it meant losing that. I know it's hard to grasp, knowing that you are constantly between two worlds, always apart yet wanting to be a part of both. No matter what, you can always count that I'll be there, always at your side. That's what a father does for his child."

The burning now was in his eyes, but eyelids held back all but a tear. Wiping it away, Clark composed himself, even as he looked away. Because of that action, he noticed a horseshoe hanging up on a nail. It was supposed to be used for one of the horses, but for the life of him, he couldn't remember which. Judging by some of the rust on it, it had been hanging there for some time.

Taking a few steps to it, he picked it up and held it before himself, the Kryptonian lifting his glasses up as the pupils began to turn red. Twin beams fired out, angled in such a way that they met at the exact point. Seconds passed, the beams stopping for less than a second multiple times until they stopped completely, and Clark lowered his glasses once more.

Turning back to Pa, he held the horseshoe out to the man. "Here's something else for you to hold on to," he said, smiling as best as he could under the circumstances.

Curious, Pa took the horseshoe, and his silence said volumes. Nothing else needed to be said, only the way a smile lifted the old man's face.

Clark was already leaving the barn, but what he had left on the horseshoe was still clear in his mind's eye.

World's Greatest Dad

Even with his Kryptonian heritage, he wouldn't trade his childhood growing up as a Kent for anything.

FlackAttack: We can't all be caricatures, even someone as goofy as Wally West needs a serious or reasonable moment. Same goes with Batman always competent, Superman the symbol of hope, and Wonder Woman always headstrong. Without those little out of character moments, they become so boring, don't they? Speaking of, for a woman with a Lasso of Truth, I would think she would begin picking up on the little tells that give away liars. Behaviors, certain phrases and ways of speaking. Once you hear the lie, then use the lasso, eventually, you get good at picking up on bullshit.

You know, I forget is Clark knows that Lois knows. I do recall that he knows she was in Gotham and had met Batman, but if the Man of Steel knows his bigger than life crush knows about a certain vigilante's alter ego, you might want to ask ShadowMajin. And on that note, I know we've mentioned a time or two to one another on how we could introduce Supergirl, but as far as I recall, I don't think we've come up with anything concrete yet. A lot of things aren't concrete yet. Thanks for reviewing.

Guest: The first story is The Nineth Circle, and you can find it on my co-author ShadowMajin's account. When you finish one, be sure to read the author's notes at the bottom, they'll tell you which story is next and where to find it.