Agent Davison was sitting behind a small office desk with a white top. Or at least that's what color he remembered it being. As it was, he hadn't seen the top of the desk in months. Since moving to the FBI's MHD (Meta-Human Division) here in Metropolis, it seemed like every time he sat in the high backed, ergonomically correct, black mesh chair, he was looking down at a desk full of files, agent and officer reports, eye witness testimonies, maps, and a never ending collage of photographs.
On rare occasions, the random piece of hard evidence found it's was across his desk as well. Once forensics had ran their tests, took their own bundle of photos, and examined it at great length, Agent Davison was given free reign to examine it himself.
As was now the case.
The two pieces were identical in design, but varied in size. The first piece, the remains of the device from the ferry, was considerably larger than the piece recovered from the school bus. Besides that, they were almost exactly the same.
Forensics had spent hours comparing it to every explosive device they had on file. The bomb squad called in every expert they had, three of which were retired agents themselves. The lab spent more than twenty hours examining the pieces, de-engineering the remains, trying to recreate what the complete device would look like; trying to figure out how it might function…
And each and every one of them came away scratching their heads. Not a one of them had the faintest idea what the hell kind of device it was, how it was made, what type of explosive material was used, or even how it was detonated.
And now, the two pieces sat atop their respective plastic evidence bags, on Agent Davison's desk. He had been staring at them for almost an hour. He was no science expert. He wasn't a lab technician. He was not an expert in explosives, even though he had witnessed his fair share of explosions. He was just a federal agent with a job to do.
And that's what he was trying his damnedest to do.
He often equated solving cases like this with solving a jigsaw puzzle; one with a thousand pieces! Except you didn't know what the end result was supposed to look like, and some, if not most, of the key pieces were missing.
"Frustrating" was one word he would often use to describe the process.
The two pieces before him provided a handful of clues: One; whoever was behind this was smart. Not just "got all A's in school" smart, but next level, Stephen Hawking, Albert Einstein, "solves the New York Times crossword puzzle with a pen!" smart! Two; he was careful. The variance in the size of the pieces showed that he wanted to make sure he only destroyed what he was trying to destroy. The Lex-Corp Hydro-Nuclear ferry was roughly seven time the size of the Oakridge Middle School bus. The piece recovered from it was roughly seven times larger than the piece recovered from the bus. Each device was tailored to its target.
The third thing he learned from the pieces on his desk was that his suspect was someone with a serious grudge against Superman. You don't take this type of care and consideration; you don't invest the time and effort, unless you are seriously dedicated to making a statement. The devices were hand crafted with great care, and based on the reports from the lab; great consideration and expense. The materials found in even these small parts were not something you found in your local hardware store. The casings on both were made from a rare material, Depleted Promethium, and spectral analysis showed traces of a substance known as "Inth Metal".
The final thing he learned from it all was the indisputable fact that whoever was behind it all; the super smart, super careful, grudge holding individual; was beyond redemption. Anytime someone decides the value of human life is less than that of the point they have to make, they have crossed over to a point of no return. They can't be talked off the ledge. They can't be reasoned with. They will not compromise or negotiate. No… cases like this, Agent Davison realized; they don't end in trials, or prison sentences', or psychiatric treatments. They end in blood.
The only question was "how much blood?"
"Davison!"
He snapped out of his trance like reprieve and looked up. Agent Sanders, a female operator, and newest addition the MHD, had a look on her face that was a mixture of fear and dread.
Without a word, Agent Davison rose from his chair and followed her from the room.
The break room at the MHD was little more than a renovated storage closet. The ten by twelve foot space hardly had enough room to accommodate the two vending machines nestled against the wall on the right; one full of twenty once beverages, the other full of various candies, cakes, and cookies. There were two small tables, three chairs each, a small shelf with a microwave oven atop it, a small sink, and a small fridge.
Usually, there were no more than three people in the break room at a time. At the moment, every agent in the MHD was crowded inside the small area.
Agent Sanders and Agent Davison joined the group. The reason for all the commotion? The 32inch flat screen monitor mounted to the far wall. On it was the upper visage of a woman, early thirties, medium length black hair, currently cascading around her face in a moist, matted mess; her upper body covered by only a blue sports bra. She was sitting in a chair that seemed to be made of metal, and she was bound to it with leather straps that crossed each wrist and her chest.
"What the hell is this?" Davison asked.
"We were watching the game, and this… this just cut in…" one of the agents, an older man in the front of the group answered.
"Okay…" Davison said. "But what is it?"
"This woman tied to this chair… she's just sitting there."
"How long has this been on?" Davison asked.
"About two minutes."
"And all she's doing is sitting there?"
"Yeah."
"So change the channel."
"We did. It's on all of them." This from Sanders.
Davison frowned. "This is a cable satellite feed. That's not possible."
"That's what I said…" Sanders responded. "Then I grabbed you."
Another agent rounded the corner, out of breath and pulling a cell phone from his ear. "It's everywhere!" he announced. "Local. National! Even worldwide! Every station! Everywhere!"
"What the hell is going on?" Davison asked.
"What is your name?"
Davison's blood ran cold. The sound of that deep, electronically distorted voice coming from the television sent a wave of silence through the small room.
"You know what my name is!" the woman answered fiercely.
There was a slight flicker of light, and the woman's head shot back and she gritted her teeth. For one second, her body tensed and thrashed in the seat.
Beside Davison, Agent Sanders covered her mouth with her hand.
And then she went limp. Her head slumped forward and she took long heavy breaths.
"He's shocking her." Some stated.
"What is your name?" the voice asked again, calm and steady.
"Lois!" the woman shouted. "Lois Lane! And your name is Je—"
Another flicker, and again, the woman's body shot bolt upright. She screamed loud and hard as she twitched uncontrollably in the metal chair. Tears leeched from her clinched eyes. And two seconds later, she was slumped forward again, her breathing labored. She was starting to cry.
"Now, now, Lois…" the voice began. "My name is not important. You are much more the celebrity here."
Davison glanced at the agent holding the cell phone. "Get Metro One Network on the line. Tell them to run a trace on this signal." He ordered.
The agent stood there for a moment, his eyes transfixed on the monitor.
"NOW!" Davison barked. The agent blinked, looked at him with almost pleading eyes, the turned and walked away, punching numbers into his cellular device.
"Do you know why you are here, Lois?"
"No!" she answered through tears.
"You are here to help me teach Metropolis its final lesson. You're here to help me teach Superman his final lesson."
Lois raised her head; red, teary, blood shot eyes filling with terror as she looked towards the camera.
"He has saved you before, hasn't he?"
Lois didn't respond. She just looked around the room frantically. She pulled at her restraints, leaning this way and that, pulling hard at the leather straps that held her in place.
And then the flicker came.
And again, she screamed as the electricity coursed through her body. She trashed and twitched, she cried and yelled, she clinched her eyes and gritted her teeth.
And it lasted for four seconds.
When it was over, Lois was once again slumped in the chair, the strap across her chest the only thing keeping her upright. She was crying harder now, her shoulders shuddering as she sobbed.
"Has he saved you before?" the voice asked again.
"YES!" Lois screamed.
"How many times as he saved your life, Lois?" the voice asked.
"I DON'T KNOW!" she screamed again, her voice full of terror and frustration.
"I imagine you don't keep track. But I have. He's saved you twenty-eight times. Twenty-eight times! That's quite an astounding number, Lois. It would seem you have your own personal 'Guardian Angel'. Superman seems to have made your personal safety a priority. I wonder why that is…"
Again, Lois looked towards the camera, her face full of malice. "GO TO HELL!" she shouted.
"Nevertheless," the voice continued undaunted. "We have arrived at our lesson. You, Lois, like the rest of Metropolis, have grown weak and helpless. We depend on Superman to rescue us; to fly in on crimson wings and snatch us from the jaws of death. We depend on him, instead of one another, instead of ourselves. And it is because of this, that this final lesson must be taught.
"I less than two hours…"
Agent Davison glanced at his watch, as did most of the agents in the room. It was just passed nine.
"There will be a systems crash in the reactor monitoring and core temperature control system at the Lex-Corp Hydro Nuclear Power Plant. This crash will result in a complete shutdown of nearly every electrical grid in Metropolis. The good news is that the chair you are now sitting in will loose its power. No more shocks. The bad news is that the reactor will continue its power output as normal, but the cooling systems will be disabled. If the grids are not re-established by twenty after midnight, the power buildup will generate a meltdown. The explosion will be ten times Hiroshima. The initial blast will destroy everything within a two hundred miles radius. Whoever survives the explosion will more than likely succumb to the radiation fallout to follow. Metropolis will be the world's next Chernobyl. You and I, however, will be completely safe from both the blast and the fallout. In fact, I will personally deliver both you, and myself, to the proper authorities after the dust settles and the smoke clears."
"And Superman is the only one who can stop it. How? Well, I leave that to the Man of Steel to figure out. But there is a catch: the energy source that feeds the electricity to that chair is reverse hardwired. That means that the electricity is always on, and needs power to be stopped. When the grid is cut, the power won't start immediately, but it will begin to charge, like a battery.
"If Superman restores the grid before the melt down, the charge will be released. All of it. All at once! Five hundred thousand watts. One hundred Amps."
"That would fry her to a crisp!" someone shouted.
"So… the stage is set." The voice went on. "If Superman saves Metropolis, you will die! For you to live, Metropolis must be destroyed!
"My God…" someone whispered.
"I wonder which he'll choose… What do you think, Lois? Do you think he'll save you, or the millions of others in Metropolis?"
"He'll save Metropolis!" Lois said firmly.
"We shall see." Silence then. The image of Lois looking towards the screen, tears falling from her eyes, her chest heaving with each breath, filled the screen for a long moment.
"One final question, Lois." The voice said calmly. "What is your husbands' name?"
The color drained from Lois's face. She swallowed hard and shook her head slowly.
There was another flicker of light, and Lois screamed again. She bounced and twitched and thrashed violently. She screamed and screamed.
For eight long seconds, the sound of her screams filled the break room of the MHD.
When it was over, Lois screamed her answer. "CLARK KENT! HIS NAME IS CLARK KENT!" She was crying harder and her breath was labored and ragged.
"No… that's not right." The voice replied calmly. "I'm going to ask you again."
"Please!" Lois cried. "Please… please stop! Please…"
"I want you to think hard, this time." He went on. "I'm sure you know the answer. Let's try again: What is your husband's name?"
"His name is Clark Kent!"
And again, there was the flicker of light.
Lois screamed again as the electricity raced through her body, as pain tore though her every nerve ending, as her muscles spasm uncontrollably. But this time, her scream was different.
"HIS NAME IS CLARK KENT! HIS NAME IS CLARK KENT! HIS NAME IS CLARK KENT! HIS NAME IS CLARK KENT!"
"Stop it! Stop it! STOP IT!" This from Agent Sanders. She was crying; as were many of the other agents.
For eighteen, long, agonizing seconds, Lois screamed her answer to the world.
When it was over, Lois slumped forward and didn't move. She wasn't crying, she was no longer screaming, and from as close as the viewers could tell, she didn't seem to be breathing.
Several long tense moments passes as Lois sat there unmoving; un-breathing.
There was another flicker and Lois shoot up in her seat again. She screamed for a second, and then slumped forward again. This time, she sucked in a deep breath and began crying once again.
"His name is Clark Kent… His name is Clark Kent… His name is Clark Kent… His name is Clark Kent…" She repeated the statement over and over, her voice little more than a whisper. She spoke the words, and she cried; her body twitching uncontrollably every few moments.
And Metropolis watched.
After a few moments, the screen went dark. A second later, the game was back on.
The sound of the game was the only sound in the MHD break-room. Agent Sanders had her hand over her mouth and was sobbing silently. A few of the male agents were wiping their eyes as well, and looking around at each other. One agent raised a napkin to his nose and blew.
The first voice to break the silence was that of Agent Davison.
"We are going to assume that anyone watching a television set just saw what we saw. That means for the next…" he looked at his watch. "Two hours and forty-six minutes, over two million people are going to be trying their best to get the hell out of this city. Morales, Roberts, Anderson, Griffin: you're on evacuation! Contact the mayor's office, the National Guard, and MPD! Coordinate all efforts on securing and maintain a one way path out of this city, hospitals first. Berkins and Patterson, I want you to contact every local television and radio station. Priority one is providing evacuation information to the masses. Stress "calmly" and "orderly". We all know that is going to be chaos and pandemonium out there, but we still need to make the effort! Priority two is tracing that broadcast! I want to know where that signal came from, and I mean yesterday!"
"Simons, Lawrence, Evers; I want you at Lex-Corp Hydro Nuclear. Contact MPD and have that place locked down. I want every employee, security guard, and grounds keepers placed in protective custody, and transported off that island. After that: no one in or out! The exception is the technicians and the physicists! Anyone who can find the problem before it happens or fix it within that twenty minute window stays! Contact Metropolis University; grab any scientist they have with an I.Q. over 130! Our boy is smart, but maybe we'll get lucky and nab someone smarter!"
He looked around the room at all the agents; men and women he had worked with for months, and in some cases, years.
"It's going to be bad out there, people…" he began. "Make no mistake about it. Panic, chaos, anarchy, rioting, looting… you name it. And at midnight, if the lights go out, it's going to get worse. Twenty minutes after that, if the lights haven't come back on by then… then the lights aren't ever coming back on in Metropolis." He was quiet for a moment, allowing his words a chance to sink in. "There is going to be a city full of terrified people out there. That makes them dangerous to us and to their selves. It's our job to protect them and to keep them safe. It's not going to be easy, but if we wanted easy, we'd all be writing parking tickets right now! We are the Meta Human Division of the FBI. It doesn't get much tougher. We are professionals! Let's act like it! Get to work!"
And with that, the agents of the MHD fanned out, fueled by purpose and intent.
"Sanders." Agent Davison said over the rise of commotion that and began to grow around him. "You're with me!"
He started walking towards the exit.
Sanders wiped her eyes and fell into step behind him.
"Where are we going?" she asked.
"We're going to go find the person who may be able to help us figure out what the hell is going on." He answered. "We're going to find Clark Kent!"