------------Goosey Loosey's Beguile-----------
The door to his apartment was hanging off its hinges when he returned. The graffiti from that morning had been added to and spread inside. Deciding that whatever might lie in his apartment should fear him more than he it, Jimmy stepped over the mess of burnt bags of dog shit that littered the entrance.
Inside was worse. Utter devastation was the only thing that would come to mind. His meager furniture had been trashed. The television laid in ruins, spread across the living room. Bits of upholstery and cushion had rained down over dishes, shredded clothes, and the remains of breakfast nook. The only sign of his pictures and articles that once decorated the walls were burnt glass and ashes in the far corner.
Stumbling over something he didn't care to identify, Jimmy made his way to his bedroom. The wall hanging had been torn off and was now strewn over the kindling that had been his bedroom set. What he came for, however, was still intact. It seemed the vandals hadn't been able to get inside his wall safe. Though not from lack of trying if the scratches over it were to go by.
Taking the key off a necklace around his neck, he inserted it in the safe. After he twisted it and opened the main panel, he was presented with a control panel. He entered in the ten digit code and stood back. Where he had been standing, a thin metal tower rose up from the floor. The wood slats settled on top split down the center, ejecting his metallic case.
Jimmy quickly grabbed the case and slipped it in to his bag. Walking over to the wall safe again, he entered in a second code. This time a panel in the wall across from it slid back an inch with a hiss. He crossed to the panel and pushed it sideways to reveal another inset chamber. Inside, he grabbed the suit case and hanging garment bag.
Throwing the garment bag over his arm, he grabbed the suit case with his free hand. Walking back to the housing of the floor safe, he pulled the wooden slat off. A handle popped up from the hidden compartment. His hand shook as he wrapped sweaty fingers around the gun hilt. Pulling it out, he stuffed in to his courier bag along with the two extra clips.
Sealing his bag, he adjusted the garment bag back over his arm and walked out of the apartment.
He had an appointment to keep.
-----------------------------
A quick flip through the phone book told Clark where Jimmy lived. The trek across the city had given him time to put together several possibilities for a conversation. He would be sympathetic, justifiably angry for his friend, outraged for Superman, dignified in his stance against Lois. There were many topics and emotions he could have taken. Unfortunately, they all flew from his mind the moment he reached Jimmy's building.
Many of the surfaces were now covered in homophobic, anti-Jimmy rhetoric. The security door on the front had been scorched by more than one exploding bottle of burning gasoline, and subsequently put out. By the looks of the bricks around the ground windows, fire escape, and security door, people had tried to get in unsuccessfully. The surrounding streets and alleys were covered burning trash, over turned shopping carts, bombed out cars, and even a half dented dumpster that had been used as a makeshift battering ram.
Clark stood there staring at it in stunned horror for a few minutes. It was a scene out of war movie. Who would have done this? Any moment now, he expected jack-booted soldiers to come marching through.
Foregoing the security of his identity, Clark rounded the corner and floated up to Jimmy's window. The sheer destruction inside made him drop a foot in surprise. He quickly scanned the contents of the building looking for a body. Clark half expected to find him dead among the rubble.
What he found didn't fill him with much hope. The bedroom held a high tech security system which had been left open and deactivated. The contents of a vault he could see were gone. Frowning, he scanned the rest of the building to make sure no one needed his assistance. There was no one else inside, which made a little sense to him given the level of chaos.
Letting himself fall back to the ground, he scanned the rest of the block for people. There were a few two buildings over, but the rest of the block was abandoned. Shaking his head, Clark walked down the street to a payphone in front of a locked down bodega. Picking it up, he hit nine-one-one.
The line rang three times before an operator picked up. "Yes?"
"Hello?" His frown grew at the woman's attitude. "I would like to report a crime."
"Listen, we done told everyone out on Zelincia Avenue to evacuate. If you've been robbed, go to the precinct house on Broquero and Tine to report it with documentation of what was taken. A sargent will take your statement. Don't hold your breath, though, that place is a black hole."
"Now, wait a minute!" Actively glaring at the phone as if it were at fault, Clark squeezed the handset. "My friend Jimmy Olsen's building and apartment have been nearly destroyed."
"Whoa, whoa, whoa, wait a minute. Jimmy Olsen, as in James Olsen?" Her voice was practically livid over the line.
"Yes, that would be..." He stared in shock as the line went dead. Never in all his life had he thought something like this possible. This went against everything he had ever believed in or been taught. It just wasn't done.
Getting over his shock, he felt his anger from earlier resurface. They were no better than Lois, the whole lot of them! Closing his eyes, he forced himself to spit out that thought. It wasn't right, it wasn't who he was. Just because a few bad apples ruined for everyone doesn't mean everyone was rotten.
Jimmy. He had to think about Jimmy.
Leaving the phone hanging, Clark picked up his pace. He scanned entire city blocks with the sweep of his eyes. There was a lot of ground to cover and something told him he hadn't much time.
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Even though more modern by any standards than the offices of the Daily Planet, the Editorial Desk of the Metropolis Rising Star was cold and sterile in comparison. From his time as a beat reporter for the planet, he had grown accustomed to a warmer environment. The Star lacked the welcoming air that made him comfortable. It was a staggering difference that left him hollow and soulless.
A shiver ran up the spine of managing editor Sean Dilaby as he stepped off the elevator. Chuckling to himself, he tugged on the tie that had become part of his signature uniform. Earning three times the money his chief rivals at the planet made up for any lack of personal touches the Star's office held. Leaving was a decision he had never regretted in the ten years since until that morning.
A copy of the morning edition of the Daily Planet under his arm, he waved off a passing mail clerk. The boy had stars in his eyes ever since he got the job. It was a damn good thing his internship was over in another week. There were people milling about whom he knew had no business on the top floor other than to gossip. From their tones, he knew they were discussing the paper he held.
It wasn't a surprise, they had barely sold a single copy today. He wasn't worried, though, it was to be expected. The Daily Planet had gotten a better scoop, they usually did. What was a sex sting scandal involving the governor's daughter in comparison to a sex scandal involving Superman?
Nope. He wasn't worried. The planet should have been, though, since they didn't have anything that could possibly top that. And with the way they had alienated the resident extra terrestrial, it wasn't like they were going to get the chance ever again. It was one hell of a story to go out on, ending a career as prosperous and wondrous as Perry White's, but he wasn't aware the man had intended to retire. "Way to shoot yourself in the foot, Perry."
Smiling, he made gun with his hand and shot at a passing reporter. She was a good food critic, a much better Dom, but that wasn't something most people knew. She wacked him on the ass with stack of papers as he passed, making sure everyone saw. Yes, definitely a Dom.
Laughing to himself, he rounded the final corner of the marble and steel halls to come upon his secretary's office. She was busy flicking the keys on her keyboard in a annoyed manner, letting him know she had taken another call from one of the board members. He smiled for her, giving her a wide berth just in case she decided to lay in to him. Lucky enough, he made it in to his office without being accosted by her.
Unfortunately, the moment he was in the door slammed shut of its own volition, scaring the hell out of him. Jumping back, he dropped the paper. He took a moment to compose himself as he saw the automatic door opener light wink out. Someone else was in his office, someone who had gotten past Sheryl. Either his secretary was in on it, or she was losing her edge.
Turning around, he glanced over his shadowed office. The only light visible in the room came from the tiny space between his curtains and the window sill. Still, it was enough to make out the figure making itself at home in his desk chair, legs propped up on his blotter. Adjusting his buckle, he started towards the desk. "Stilettos, my favorite. Are you a gift from Frank in marketing, or did my ex-wife's attorney send me another summons?"
Clicking on the glass lamp behind him, Jimmy cocked his head to the side. A cascade of curls half covered his face as they slid down his neck. Pressing his lips together, he grinned. "As much fun as it might be jerking you along," his voice went from breathy to a false deep, "I've come on business matters."
"Olsen." Eyes traveling up Jimmy's legs, Sean shook his head. He exhaled in a rush. "Damn! How in the hell did you get a figure like that?"
"Silicon molding and garment tape." Smirking, Jimmy slid one leg up then unfolded them from the desk. Not feeling like playing head games, he stood up and came around the desk.
"What is the meaning of this?" Taking in the full effect of Jimmy's outfit, Sean let himself have another moment of fantasy before getting down to business. "Not that I'm complaining. It just seems ridiculous."
"A little insurance. I've seen how often Lois Lane gets kidnapped, shot at, and or tied up." Grabbing the purse slapping against his waist, Jimmy jerked the zipper back. He winced as the material tore from the action, then pulled out the slim metal case. "I could also say me too, but the only times I seemed to get hurt is when that bitch... when Lois is involved." His jaw twitched where a bruise had formed behind a caking of concealer.
"I know the feeling, boy, do I know." Snickering, he wandered over to Jimmy. "What ya got there?"
"When I called you Friday, I told you I had something big. The only reason I didn't bring this to you immediately when I learned you would hear me out was, because, at the time, I was still hoping to convince Mr. White." Handing over the metal case, Jimmy let his purse fall back. "That is no longer a concern."
"Yeah, well, his loss is my gain." He examined the outside of the case for a moment before slipping it under his arm. "Before we get on with this, I want to negotiate your contract."
"There isn't going to be a contract." Frowning, Jimmy resettled the purse on higher on his shoulder. "You are going to print this story, and then I go back to the Planet."
"You think you have a job with them after his morning?" Sean started to laugh, but the quelling look the man gave him made him bury it. He would laugh later. Right now, he would use this naivety to his advantage. "All right, then. We'll run this, whatever it is, no questions asked, so long as you give me an exclusive in reaction to Lois' article."
"That isn't going to happen!" Fists clenched, Jimmy closed his eyes and turned away. This wasn't going the way it was supposed to. Opening them again, he refused to meet Sean's face. "We had a deal, Mr. Dilaby. Either you agree to hear me out on this article and decide whether you will print it, or I walk right now."
Sean clutched the case tightly. "Now, just wait a minute. I am offering you a better deal. You get your story published, full page, even if it turns out to be a fluff piece..." As Jimmy reached inside his purse, Sean caught sight of metal in the lamp light and took a step back.
Pulling out a wetnap, Jimmy tore it open and scrubbed the cloth over his face. Turning around as he removed a large part of the concealer, he raised his chin so Sean could see. "Take a good, long look at my face. I have an entire city hounding after my blood because I dare to be friendly with Superman."
He couldn't tell which stunned him more, the sudden change in Jimmy's appearance or the fact he didn't suspect. Swallowing, Sean had to clutch at the guest chair to ground himself. "I didn't think, an' I'm sorry."
"I have lost my home, everything I owned. My good name and reputation are shot to hell; all because Lois Lane was jealous." Turning the wetnap over, Jimmy ran it over the other side of his face. When he was through, he wadded it up and tossed it over his shoulder. He didn't care where it landed. "Frankly, I don't give a damn how much damage I do with this article any more."
Eyeing Jimmy's face, Sean felt himself nod. "Very well. Let's see what you have." Slipping passed Jimmy, Sean went around his desk and sat down in his chair. It still smelled of Chanel. Turning on his desk lamp, he put the case down and examined the seam of the case. On the handle, he found a twelve digit key pad. "What's the code?"
"Eight-five-five-eight." Sitting down gently, Jimmy slid off his purse. From inside the bag, he pulled out a small make up case and a hand mirror. The much liter bag was gently set on the floor and he began to reapply his makeup.
Entering the code, Sean fingered open the case. There were papers containing familiar red ink stamps bound with paper clips. Fliers and small posters were bound in a folder. Pictures accompanied official documents with graphs in status reports. Looking it over, he frowned. "What is this?"
"You tell me." A final dab of concealer rubbed in to his cheek, Jimmy raised and lowered his face to check for flaws. "It's all there, any corroboration you want can be found on the streets."
Flipping through a stack of surveillance photos, Sean shivered. "I want this, but I need more."
"I don't have the time or resources. What you see is all I got..." Jimmy trailed off as Sean held up a hand.
"I need another article. We can handle the resources and fact checking, but I need your side of the story." Scrubbing a hand over the knee of his pants, Sean squeeze it until the last drops of moisture were absorbed in to the fabric. "If I post this article without a rebuttal from you, we will lose a certain critical amount of credibility. This will come across as little more than the ravings of a bitter ex."
Understanding didn't mean Jimmy felt any better about the truth. Closing his eyes, he nodded. "I didn't want to. Superman's my friend and I owe everything I have to the Planet...everything I had." Gritting his teeth, Jimmy opened his eyes and nodded at Sean. "You will get the article."
"Good. Now, where are you staying? You're already on people's shit list, but after this article hits the streets..." He finished with a shake of his head. "We've got an executive suite on the tenth floor. Extra guards can be here in twenty, people I know won't be bothered by this article."
Jimmy was about to protest, but as he opened his mouth, the muscles started to ache. Reaching up, he stopped just short of touching his skin. "I guess I can't stay in the city, can I? But, I don't want to stay here like some princess in a tower either."
"I understand." Sean sat back. Lacing his fingers together, he shook his head. "I don't know how long you can keep up that disguise, but the longer you do, the more chances you'll slip up. We both know what will happen then. Until today, I'd have thought... Stay here tonight, tomorrow, we'll come up with something."
"Yeah." Closing his eyes, Jimmy turned away. "Something."
-----------------------------
By the time the tops of half the buildings on the upper west side had lit up, drowning out the early rising stars, Clark had to admit defeat. There was nothing he could do for it, Metropolis was simply too big. Jimmy was a smart kid, he had survived twenty-one years on the streets. Since he obviously didn't want to be found, there was nothing anyone could do to flush him out.
It just galled Clark that the young man was alone in this.
Lois should never have written the article! For that matter, Perry shouldn't have printed it. The entire thing was pure lies based upon rumors and the bare minimum of circumstances. The fact that people believed it was another absurd problem. How little did they think of him to believe that garbage?
That they would do something so a grievous to one of his friends spoke poorly of their character. Those kind of people weren't what he had been raised to believe in, let alone stand up for. Remembering the destruction, Clark wasn't even sure he wanted to any more.
The loud ringing of church bells announcing the time drew him from his search and revery. Glancing to his wrist watch, Clark noted the time with a sigh. He didn't have the strength to put if off any longer, having delayed for three more hours for his friend. With quick glance to make sure no person or camera was paying attention, Clark dashed down a nearby alley.
A second later, Superman rose up from the dank recesses of Metropolis' Suicide Slums. Ignoring the cries and sharp calls his sudden presence elicited, he pushed one hand out in front of him. For the sake of his own conscious, he did a sweep of every building for ten blocks around Jimmy's. There was no sign of his friend he hadn't already found.
Closing his eyes, he rose higher in the sky. A news chopper buzzed near, trying to level off and capture him in the spot light. Gritting his teeth, he slammed his legs tight out behind his body and shot off. The wind caused the chopper to bank and shimmy as the pilot struggled to regain control.
He didn't care, they could all go to hell. Clamping down on every instinct which told him thinking like that would only lead to trouble, he set course for home.
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Flaming Presses: Burning Down Metropolis
By: Jimmy Olsen
Bombed out cars, shattered windows, graffiti, and evacuations; all have turned an entire neighborhood into a war zone, and for what, rumors? This is an age when we like to pride ourselves on tolerance, and, in the past, we had good reason. After all, we accept an alien on a daily basis, how much more tolerant can you get? But, for a lie, the public's perceptions of tolerance were thrown into an uproar this week.
It appears society is still only tolerant of differences when it fits into its preconceived norms. Apparently the ideals of privacy and sexual freedom are still just given lip service. People are politically correct, at least up until their sensibilities are offended, then it is back to an 'us against them' mentality.
Dare to question or cast their hero in any form of what they perceive as a negative light, then chaos and hate ensue. Respected journalists turn into vindictive, spiteful creatures. Their code of ethics, professional integrity, and reputation get sacrificed on the altar of spiteful jealousy and the all mighty dollar.
A perfect example: The Daily Planet had the distinction of record setting sales. Congratulations for moving circulars with a biased and completely unchecked article on the sexuality of Metropolis' favorite alien, the likes of which comes straight out of a check-out rack impulse rag. Set aside the fact there was no evidence, no proof, and focus solely on the sensationalism. After all, Superman's sex life can have no expectation of privacy.
For the record, this reporter/photographer, has never had a romantic and/or sexual relationship with Superman. The pictures featured in Lois Lane's article were taken during the course of a private conversation with The Man of Steel.
A quote taken from an interview with Superman; "If people would just focus on what they care about, I believe there would be no mobs," seems naive in light of current events.
-----------------------------
Super Friends or Super Frauds?
By: Jimmy Olsen
The public has always been fascinated with Metropolis's own crape crusader. Recently however this reporter has been forced to ask: "Has the public's fascination with the much beloved alien gone too far?"
Fliers advertising "The Friends of Superman" canvas Metropolis' streets. At first glance, these innocuous posters simply advertise a new neighborhood watch group. But, is this group doing more than simply capitalizing on the good well generated by Superman's name?
Members of this so called 'neighborhood watch' have been involved in several civic disturbances in the past weeks. They frequently perform citizen's arrests on anything from a purse snatcher to a car jacking. These actions would be admirable, if they stopped there, but sources tell this reporter that the club's members have not been content at simply stopping these perpetrators for now. Most of them have been found dead. Irrefutable evidence that an overzealous 'watchdog' actually committed the murder is swept under the rug.
Sources within the Metropolis' Police Department had this to say when questioned: "The death of these criminals is regrettable, but considering the great help that members of 'Friends of Superman' have been to this police force, and especially the community, a little excessive force can be forgiven. After all, it was self defense."
Questions about the exceedingly large amount of 'self-defense' rulings handed out were not replied to by Judiciary. Has the moniker 'Superman' become a get out of jail free card?
Editors' note: Neither Superman or representatives from "Friends of Superman" could be contacted in reguards to this article at the time of its publishing. This paper stands by the validity of its reporters and their sources.
Tomorrow: Superman Mania: Fans Of or Cult Following?
-----------------------------
Unfolding the morning edition of the Metropolis Rising Star, the cigar dropped from Perry's mouth. Front page, center, the picture of a burned out car in front of a ravaged building sent a chill up his spine. Despite the damage, he immediately recognized the building. Glancing to the corresponding article, he felt his blood pressure sky rocket and his jaw clench. Folding the paper in half, he stood up from the breakfast table.
Looking up from the piece of toast she was buttering, Alice raised an eyebrow. "Perry?"
"I've got something to take care of at the office. I'll probably be home later than usual." Grabbing his jacket, Perry didn't slow down until he was climbing in to his Lincoln. Once the car was started, he threw it in reverse and spun out of his driveway.
With a sigh of disgust, Alice took a bite of her toast.
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Up before dawn. Yawning, Clark wondered why he thought coming back to his family farm was so great. There was nothing wonderful about getting up at five in the morning to slop pigs or feed chickens. When he was through there, he had to go take a large bale of hay to the cows and horses. Not the rectangle kind either, the huge hay wheel.
It wasn't until he was on his way in from the back pasture, the smell of bacon in the air, that his memory was jogged. Jeans tore in several places, white tank top with more holes than swiss cheese, he knew his mother would sooner hit him with a spoon than let him sit down to eat breakfast in those clothes. Ruffling his hair to knock the dust and hay from it, he raced up the front steps and in to the house.
His father was already at the table, sipping a cup of coffee and reading a news paper. It was too early for the Daily Planet, so it had to be another rival. "What's that you're reading, dad?"
"The Metropolis Rising Star. It was dropped off here from a courier, straight from Kansas City." Setting his mug down, John turned in his chair to look at Clark. "There's something I think you should read."
"I will after I take a quick shower. I smell like Betsy and Pamela, those old cows still haven't learned they aren't dogs." Scrunching his nose, he took the stairs up to his room at a slightly slower pace. Still, he made enough noise to echo through out the house.
Shaking her head, Martha rolled her eyes towards the ceiling. He hadn't yet, but one day he might just fall through.
-----------------------------
Outside the Daily Planet, the mob of reporters from the day before had increased three fold. Many of them looked as if they had been there all night. Not caring to deal with them, Perry kept driving until he pulled around the corner and took the back entrance. The DP's private lot for employees usually left dings in the cars from inept drivers, but it also had a private entrance. Pulling in to his reserved spot, he barely had the car in park before he was out the door.
The loud hum of the morning's presses drowned out all other noise, including the grinding of his teeth. It was barely five a.m., they would be printing for the next twenty minutes. The papers would be out on the streets five minutes later, and ten minutes after that, spread across half the city. Ordinarily, he would be proud of their efficiency, but it only served to piss him off more today.
By the time he climbed aboard the elevator to take him to the lobby, he was certain there was steam rising from his ears. Stepping through the doors, he wasn't surprised to find the lobby filled with reporters. Ten steps across the elevator banks brought him to the main lifts. He hit the button, ignoring the cries from the reporters clamoring for his attention. When it arrived, he stepped on and hit the door close button.
The elevator tried to play a lite selection of music, but that stopped the moment he put his fist through the speaker. It hurt like a son of a bitch, but it was a good pain. Feeling a little better, he was no longer grinding his teeth when the elevator opened on the seventh floor. Stepping off, he found the newsroom eerily quiet.
There were a few people milling about, just night mail clerks, but no one else. Apparently he was the only one on the staff who received the Rising Star. He chose to believe that over the fact that they might not be coming in today. The empty desk by the water cooler made him pause. Perry cast a quick glance to his office door handle, before looking back to the desk.
His sense of outrage deflated immensely.
The journey to his office was made at a more sedate pace. At the door, he fingered the handle for a bit, testing the grooves. He squeezed on a whim and found it very much solid. A shudder ran through him and he turned it to open the door.
Perry dropped the Star on his desk and wrote a note to himself to have the handle replaced. On his desk were a dozen post-it notes with numbers. Pink phone message slips littered the blotter like used tissues. Not a single one held the name or number of anyone he wished to talk to. Picking up his waste basket, he swept the entire mess in to it.
He pulled off his coat and threw it over the coat tree. Wandering over to his side board, he pulled open the cabinet door, then took out a whiskey bottle and shot glass. Sitting them on his desk, he eased his tired frame in to the desk chair. For several minutes, he contemplated the bottle. It was a bad habit, drinking this early, but right now, he couldn't find a single reason why.
Perry's contemplation of the clear liquid was interrupted by the ringing of his phone. Startled, he picked up before he remembered he wasn't talking to anyone today. Since it was already to his ear, he took a long breath. "Hello?"
"Chief."
Perry would recognize that voice any where. He made several aborted attempts before he replied. "What do you want, Jimmy?"
"To explain."
"Don't bother. I'm sure you had your reasons, and to you, they might even be valid." Grabbing the bottle, Perry pulled out the stopper with his teeth. Spitting it in the general direction of the waste ben, he filled the shot glass. "So let's just cut to the chase, you're fired. I'll have personnel mail your final check."
Gripping the handset precisely, he firmly placed it back in to the cradle. For several seconds, he once again contemplated the bottle of whiskey. Grabbing the neck between two fingers, he snarled and threw it across the room.
-----------------------------
Staring at the handset in shock, Jimmy blinked many times before what had happened registered to him. Even when he understood the words, the idea behind them were very much alien. He couldn't have heard what he thought he heard. It was just impossible. Mr. White would never fire him.
Eventually, the busy signal coming over the phone speaker made him put it back in the cradle. Breathless, he put his thumb nail between his front teeth. Before he realized it, he was shaking his head in denial. He had to try three times before he could make himself stop.
"It, just, doesn't make any sense." Even the sound of his own voice was unbelievable in his ears. The world wasn't real. This was all just some big night mare, a disgusting practical joke. It couldn't be happening.
He hadn't really lost everything.
Sitting back on the couch, Jimmy drew his knees up against his chest. Closing his eyes, he started to rock, head shaking no. It didn't happen. Couldn't happen. Things like this never really happened to people, only in soap operas and dime store novels. He still had a job.
He still had a job.
He still had a job.
-----------------------------
Sean Dilaby was on top of his news paper, looking down to the top of the world. He was soaring high, nothing could touch him, not even superman. Drunk on success, and quite possibly a little bourbon, he spun his office chair from side to side.
Outside his office window, Metropolis was coming to life. His papers were flying off news stands and market shelves. Like the Daily Planet the day before, he was seeing record sales. Unlike the Daily Planet, he had a guaranteed selling point for tomorrow's morning edition as well. With the information he had bargained for from Jimmy, he had enough for an entire week's worth of top grossing papers.
Damn it was good to be him some times.
A quick look to his phone showed all his lines were still lit. The message tally had flicked to triple digits and was slowly rising. If he didn't make a announcement soon, the restless natives would probably storm the keep. Snickering over the image of reporters climbing his building, he stood up.
Sean had to catch himself on the desk as he started to topple over. So may be he was more than just a little drunk on bourbon. That was okay, he'd been up all night, so the rule of no drinking before nine am didn't really count. Humming to himself, he checked his appearance in the mirror. He could use a shower, but that was beyond him at the moment.
He supposed he could go down to the executive suite and take a quick one. There was a set of clothes for him to change in to down there as well. When a smelly burp erupted past his lips, he figured it best to at least take a shower before hand. Didn't want to come across as a drunk when he made his statement to the rest of the news media.
Staggering out of his office, he gave a quick salute to his secretary and stumbled down the hallway to the elevator.
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The first thing Lois did when she read the cover of the Rising Star over while holding her breakfast burrito was squeeze the stuffing out of it. In a rage, she threw it at the kitchen wall. Throwing the paper in the opposite direction, she immediately regretted the action when it bounced off her aquarium. After she checked to make sure her fish were all right, she ran to her bedroom.
For the hundredth time in the past month, she was grateful the annoying brat that deigned to call itself her sister had moved out. That meant her silk and leather strappy number was still hanging in her closet. Above all other outfits, the bad girl, slutty ensemble had served her best in gathering information. No heterosexual male had a defense against the redirected flow of blood.
As she teased the curlers from her hair, Lois knew she wasn't the only one to come up with the idea. There would no doubt be stiff competition, the thought of which made her grin. The last of her hair artfully arranged, she applied copious amounts of red lipstick, eye liner, and enough rouge to highlight her cheek bones. The perfect Bon Jovi video slut stared back at her from the mirror, a decade out of fashion, though.
Grabbing her leather jacket from the hangar in her closet, she slipped it on. Grabbing her purse, she transferred the contents from her normal black bag to the jean one, including two recorders. A pair of black suede pumps, stiletto, completed the outfit. It would kill her by noon, but if her hunches were correct, then Jimmy's moment of fame would be so much dust.
No body out scooped her!
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In the main lobby of the Metropolis Rising Star, well over a hundred reporters and their crews had gathered. The noise from their idle chatter echoed terribly, upsetting the most sensitive of ears. Thankfully, most were use to it, and could ignore the conversations they didn't want to be part of. Therefore, it came as no surprise when they all fell silent at the ding of the elevator just before the doors opened.
A collective drawing of breath echoed in the silence as two security personnel stepped off the lift first. They did a quick scan of the room, checking with their counter parts across the lobby. When the were certain, they nodded to someone still in the car. The next moment, Sean and two more people stepped out.
He held up a hand and waved cheerfully. An explosion of questions erupted from the crowd. Walking up the three steps to the small stage, he motioned for them to quiet down. "Please be seated. Let me make my statement, and then I will answer your questions."
Reluctantly, most of the crowd did as they were told. The camera men at the back of the lobby kept hold of their cameras, zooming in on Sean.
Feeling more in control, Sean took a moment to make sure his hair was still smoothed back. Taking a moment, he sized up the crowd, and felt his pride swell. They were there to see and hear him speak, and he was going to give them only enough to get them to buy tomorrow's paper. "All right, let me just start off by saying, everything we printed in this morning's edition was completely true."
The expected eruption was silent except for the snapping of cameras and the scratching of pencils on paper. A nervous edge fluttered through the crowd of reporters.
"I have no idea why the Daily Planet printed their article, all I can say is I am grateful. Not for the harm it has caused to two very nice individuals, or the city they call home, but that it gives me a chance to tell a story ordinarily never heard. In so doing, it also gave me first pick at an article highlighting a growing, frightening trend." As he finished speaking, Sean was once again grateful for the drama lessons forced upon him in college as part of the 'well rounded education'. "It is our hope, that with these articles, we can circumvent any future injustices and right the ones already happening. I will now answer your questions." Sean pointed at a person randomly in the crowd.
Rising from her seat at the front, a blonde woman with a channel seven, LNN microphone, smiled. "Hi, Brenda Adams-Smith with LNN." Taking a moment for her picture to be captured by every flash camera, she smiled again. "What proof do you have that can confirm anything you've printed?"
Smirking, Sean winked at her. "Page A-three. There are plenty enough pictures that even the skeptics at LNN will be convinced as to the validity of the true scale of violence. Page A-six reprints excerpts from official police reports. Sworn and signed affidavits from police, civilians, and victims are quoted. We have copies our lawyers can provide if anyone wishes to challenge."
Brenda gave him a smile with the edges turned up a little too far. "Thank you, we will be in touch." Taking her seat, she once again posed for photos.
Raising his hand, Sean used his fingers to point to someone in the middle of the audience.
Standing, the immaculately dressed woman raised a leather billfold. Flipping it open, she revealed her badge. "My name is Hellen King, I am with the district attorney's office."
Straightening his posture, Sean's smile dimmed. "What can I do for you, Ms. King?"
"I have come on behalf of D.A. Mathers. Giving the striking evidence you presented, it would seem many among the police force can not be trusted with this situation." Her words sent a thrill through the gathered press. Ignoring their whispers, she raised her chin. "We wish to speak with Mr. Olsen in person. I am here to ensure his safety."
"Forgive me," Sean's smile went up a notch, "but I doubt you can provide any better protection than what the Metropolis Rising Star is currently offering."
"So, Mr. Olsen is here, that correct?" Her tone was light and inquiring, but her expression hardened.
Sean cast an amused glance to the woman over his shoulder before looking back to Ms. King. "In a manner of speaking."
Opening her suit jacket, she started to slide the badge back in to her pocket. "That's all I needed to hear." When she pulled her hand out, a small cylinder was clutched between her fingers.
Nodding, Sean looked else where for another speaker.
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Glaring at the radio, Perry almost chucked the damn thing out the window. Instead, he and the rest of the senior staff were listening to the press conference in the conference room. Over to his right, Kat was busy tending her nails between sending death glares to Lois. The other reporter had come in with a red welt around her eye that was quickly darkening in to a bruise.
"You are most welcome, Ms. King. Now, who's next?" The smug voice of Sean came through loud and clear over the radio.
If it hadn't been ten years, nothing could have kept Perry in his chair. But, his second best reporter leaving for a rival paper had happened a decade ago and his wife's therapist told him to let it go. He'd let it go, when hell froze over and winged monkeys flew out of his ass. The man would get what was coming to him one day.
Sean's laugh came over the speaker, booming and raucous. "Yes, the woman from Channel Eig..."
A loud hiss of static echoed over the speaker. Half a heart beat later, before anyone could react to the sudden change, the entire building shook violently.
Thrown from his seat, Perry clutched at the table as he impacted against it. Cries of shock and pain filled the room as people were tossed about. A second later, the windows exploded inwards with a deafening roar.
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Wiping the sweat from his brow, Clark took a moment to admire his handy work. It had been eight years since he last stacked hay. He had forgotten how seeing things a menial as this completed made him feel. It was a wonderful experience to simply be Clark Kent: Farm Boy once more. No one expected too much from him, and everyone knew everyone's business, so secrets weren't something to be kept.
The worn old pair of overalls he wore were more than a bit cliched, but it was one of the few clothes his mother hadn't thrown out or given away. The latter of which mainly because no one around there wore them any more. The deliberate rip in the knees spoke of just how long ago they had gone out of fashion. At least they fit, unlike the other two pairs of pants his mother had saved.
If he was going to keep his modesty hidden, as his grand mother used to say, he was going to have to head back to Metropolis soon. He would get the clothes he could use on the farm, and leave the others for another time. In the mean while, he had another three bales needing stacking before he could call it a job well done.
Grabbing the ropes holding the bale together, he positioned them in the center of his gloves. If it had been twine, they would have snapped in an instant from the weight. When he was relatively certain he could now pick up, Clark strained backwards, easily raising the monstrous load off the ground. Then he dropped it, hands shooting to cover his ears.
Falling to his knees as the wave of pure noise washed over him, Clark squeezed his eyes shut. It continued on for several seconds as more and more explosions joined the initial blast. By the time the last concussion had passed, his ears were ringing and he was on his back. Blinking up at the roof of his parent's barn, Clark tried to make sense of what had just happened.
It was obvious something some where had blown up. That had to have been in a city, because he recognized the sound of collapsing buildings. In the distance, as his hearing reoriented itself, he could hear people from counties away talking, laughing, crying, screaming. Cars screeched, airplanes roared, even a few trains went shrieking by. But above all this, several gasps could be heard as television stations every where were interrupted by special bullies.
One word was repeated several times. A word he was intimately familiar with.
Climbing to his feet, Clark staggered out of the barn towards the house. He had to get his suit.
Metropolis needed Superman.