Clark stared at the scant few lines on his computer screen, drumming his fingers on the desk, trying to think of what to write. It was a 150-word story to fill some space on page seven of the Planet. It shouldn't be this hard. But that had been happening every time he'd written a story since the Capitol explosion over a week-and-a-half ago. He replayed the fiery blast in his mind's eye, wondering what he could have done differently.
Elbows on his desk, he leaned forward and rubbed his forehead. When would the FBI finish its investigation? Would they find out why Firefly's flamethrower had exploded?
And how can they do that when there's barely anything of that weapon to examine?
Even if the FBI found that the explosion wasn't his fault, what would it matter? It would be another example of innocent people being hurt or killed when he tried to help. The story of his life, it seemed, ever since becoming Superman.
Clark lowered his head. Maybe his father had been right. Maybe the world was not ready for him. All his life he'd wanted to use to powers to help, to do good. But he'd never had any formal training to use his abilities, to know how to fight while avoiding collateral damage. And who the hell was out there to teach him these things? Who had the same powers, and the experience in using them?
Answer, no one.
But . . . Clark's gaze fixed on the corner of his desk as he thought. There might not be anyone on Earth as powerful as him, but there are others who'd been superheroes longer than him. Maybe he could get advice from someone like the Atom or Green Arrow. Certainly not the Question, unless he wanted to know how to fight reptilian aliens in human guise or chemtrails or whatever delusions that crackpot believed in.
Would they have good advice, or would they not be able to relate to him, never having thrown people through buildings or fired heat blasts from their eyes?
Clark rolled his chair closer to the desk, exhaling loudly. He made himself focus on the story. Anything to get his mind off all the crap of him being Superman.
He started typing. The story concerned the U.S. Navy naming its newest amphibious warship the USS Metropolis. Clark inserted quotes from a city councilman and a Navy vet from the local American Legion post about the honor, then finished it off with some specifics about the ship.
He read it over, ran it through Grammarly, and sent it off to Perry. A nice enough story, but not the sort of meaty, foundation-shaking story that other reporters like Lois were known for.
It could always be worse. You could be stuck writing obituaries.
Next, he opened his contacts page and highlighted the spokeswoman for the state transportation department. Night work had been slated for next week for the part of the interstate running through Metropolis. It wouldn't have the sort of impact as road work during the day, but the city's night owls would probably like to know their drive would be . . .
Clark caught movement out the corner of his eye. Kristen Oyler, one of the Planet's crime reporters, threw various items into her bag and hurried away from her desk.
"Hey, Kristen," he called to her. "What's going on? Hostage situation at city hall?"
"Even better. Leslie Willis is on a rampage."
Clark drew his head back in surprise. "The shock jock? Didn't she get hit by lightning? How can she be on a rampage? Last I heard, she was barely alive."
"She got better, and powerful," Kristen replied. "According to the cops, she can shoot lightning bolts from her hands. Can you believe it?" Her voice went up an octave. "Superman, Zod, now this. The world's going crazy, Clark. On the upside, it'll keep us in business. Gotta go."
She hustled to the elevator.
Clark chewed on his lip. Another menace with superhuman powers? He started to rise, then stopped. He'd promised to honor the President's request to stop being Superman until the investigation into the Capitol explosion was complete.
Surely an exception could be made for this. Could the police even stop someone like Willis?
But he didn't like going back on his word. He'd grown up in a community where giving your word meant something, and his parents had reinforced that belief.
His finger hovered over the laptop's touchpad. He shouldn't do it. He shouldn't . . .
He clicked on the website for WGBS TV. It showed a live shot from 8th Street. A slender woman with short, shock-white hair wearing a black, form-fitting outfit stood in the middle of the street as two MPD patrol cars pulled up near her. Clark winced as lightning bolts from her hands blasted the front ends of the vehicles. Sparks and smoke poured from their engines. Civilians on the sidewalk ran screaming.
"Willis now appears to be heading to the Marchek Building," said the reporter off camera. "One of its tenants is Metro One Hundred, the biggest rival of Willis's radio station."
Clark checked his watch. Just after 9:30 a.m. Bill Thornton, the so-called Madman of Metropolis, was still on the air. He'd become Leslie Willis's major rival over the past year, to the point the two got into a shouting match a few months ago at a bowl-a-thon for the local Boys and Girls Club. Could she be going to attack him? Maybe . . .
Teeth clenched, he thought about the police cars Willis took out with ease. Would the Metropolis cops be able to deal with her? Would she keep attacking the city even if she got Thornton?
The camera panned to one of the burning police cars. An officer dragged his partner out of it, the wounded man's face covered with cuts and burns.
Clark clenched his fists. How many more people would Willis injure, or God forbid kill? Could he just sit here while that happened?
You made a promise, to the President no less. Did that promise extend to letting a woman who could shoot lightning bolts rampage through Metropolis?
Clark pushed himself to his feet and strode across the newsroom. He passed Lois's desk. She had a phone to her ear, talking to someone, then looked up at him.
"Clark?" She covered the receiver with her hand. "Clark?"
He ignored her, pushing open the door to the stairwell. Clark lifted his head, scanning the floors above with his x-ray vision. No one was using the stairs. In a flash, he made it to the roof, already in his Superman uniform. He leapt over the enormous, brass globe with the Daily Planet banner and flew to 8th Street.
More police cars and ambulances speed toward the scene, along with an armored van carrying a SWAT team. Superman easily beat them all to the Marchek Building. He scanned the fifty-story structure with his x-ray vision. Willis was already on the twentieth floor, which housed the offices of Metro 100. He also spotted Thornton and his show staff running for an elevator.
Superman focused on an empty office and streaked toward it. The window and the surrounding steel exploded into fragments as he smashed through it. He stopped in the hallway, a few feet behind Willis. She swung around, electricity arcing around her body.
"Well, well, well." She grinned. "Look who it is. The big, blue alien murderer. Gonna bring the building down on me? Kill me and a couple thousand other people? That is your thing, isn't it?"
Superman glowered at her. He let out a harsh breath. Now wasn't the time to relieve his fight with Zod. "Ms. Willis . . ."
"No no." She wagged a finger at him. "New name now. Call me . . . Livewire."
"Okay, Livewire. This needs to stop."
"You kidding me? I thought I was done for when that lightning hit me. Instead . . ." A bolt leapt from her hand and sparked off the ceiling. "See that. No more spouting off into a microphone or on Twitter about what a racist, ranting asshole Thornton is. Now I can shut him up once and for all."
"This is wrong." Superman took a step forward. "People have gotten hurt because of you. Please stop. Let me take you to a hospital where you can get help."
Livewire bobbed her head left, then right. "Mmmmm . . . No."
Lightning bolts flew from her hands. A hot, hammer blow threw Superman across the hall and through the wall. Glass and steel burst all around him. He tumbled once, twice, then righted himself above the city. He stared through the hole with narrowed eyes, then flew back inside the building.
"Livewire!" Superman landed a few feet behind her.
She sighed. "You're back?"
"I tried to be nice about this."
Livewire turned to him. "Yeah, I'm not into nice guys."
She raised a hand.
Superman moved in a blur. He slipped behind Livewire and wrapped both arms around her.
"Get off me, you prick!"
Arcs of white bolts surrounded the two. Tremors of white hot energy burned through Superman's body. He gritted his teeth, fighting off the pain. He kept his hold on Livewire.
"Oh, screw this."
The woman shimmered and turned into a lightning bolt. It zipped into one of the ceiling lights and vanished.
Superman stumbled back, taking deep breaths. Every inch of his body stung. He shunted the pain aside and looked up at the ceiling, blinking in amazement. Not only could Livewire shoot electricity, she could actually turn herself into living lightning.
He x-rayed the ceiling. Several wires glowed more intense than the others, and led out of the building. That had to be Livewire.
Superman flew outside, checking the street below. Sparks blasted out of a streetlight. A bolt streaked to the sidewalk, and formed into a woman.
Wind rushed around Superman as he dropped in front of Livewire. Several civilians ran away from them. Good. Maybe this time he could fight a superhuman menace without hurting any innocents.
"Enough!" He slashed a hand in front of him. "Thornton's probably long gone. Give up before you make things worse for yourself."
"Give up?" Livewire barked out a laugh. "You've seen what I can do. You think a prison can hold me? Hell, even you can't beat me, you alien freak. I own this friggin' burg."
Superman's jaw stiffened. How the hell did he capture someone who could turn into electricity? And how do you contain someone like that?
Think. What counters electricity?
He had the answer when Livewire nailed him with another blast. Superman flew backwards.
A metallic crunch engulfed him. Hundreds of glass shards flew around him. He grimaced, shook his head, and looked around. The breath froze in his lungs.
He'd hit the front of a bus. Three people lay on the aisle, moaning. A woman a few seats away clutched her face, blood flowing beneath her hands. To his left, the driver was trapped behind crumpled metal.
Superman reached over to help the man when he noticed Livewire walking toward them. Bolts of electricity crackled from her hands.
He pushed himself forward, flying out of the bus. The last thing he wanted was for the people in the damaged vehicle to get burnt to a crisp because of him.
Superman soared over Livewire. She fired, missing him. He rolled on his back and unleashed his freezing breath. A dome of ice stretched over the street, anchored by the buildings on either side. He righted himself and landed halfway down the street.
Livewire looked up at the ice dome and snorted out a laugh. "You making an igloo? Oooh, I'm so scared."
Superman raised his head. Intense red beams shot from his eyes and struck the ice dome. It melted, turning into an instant downpour that drenched Livewire. Sparks erupted all over her body. She arched her back and screamed. The sparks blotted her out.
Suddenly, they dissipated. Livewire swayed, then collapsed.
Superman reached her in one jump. With his super hearing, he detected breathing and a heartbeat. Good. She was still alive. And his idea worked. Water and electricity never mix well.
He hurried to the bus, splashing through puddles left over by the melted ice dome. Firefighters and paramedics were swarming onto the damaged vehicle.
"Here, let me help." Superman reached out for the trapped driver.
"Haven't you done enough?" snapped the woman with the bloody face.
Superman stared at her for a moment, bristling. He sighed and pulled back the crumpled metal pinning the driver. The man cried out in pain. Superman grimaced at the sight of the driver's bloodied legs. My God, they looked bad. Would they have to be amputated?
"Thanks, Superman," said one of the firefighters.
He stood back as the first responders carried the driver off and helped the other injured off the bus. Ten in all.
Superman lowered his head, clenching a fist. He'd stopped Livewire, yet innocent people still got hurt because of him. Worse still, it happened after he'd promised to suspend all his superhero activities.
He could only imagine what kind of backlash would result over this.
TO BE CONTINUED