Chapter Summary

Previously, Clark fought off a monstrous Sandworm and was rescued by a Meryl at the last minute. While the League of Lois Lanes and our villain are both on the move, a new group of heroes reawakens in Kasted City.

Now, two very confused and overwhelmed reporters (one also a superhero) from two different worlds meet. Clark and Meryl dive into investigative mode. A wavering neutral party delivers an ominous message.

"Ha! Hahaha! Oh, ha. Not this time! You Worms got nothing on Mad Meryl!" Meryl's blood was flooded with adrenaline. She felt like a complete moron, driving like a madwoman and laughing her manic head off in front of a complete stranger.

The van bounced roughly over the hilly landscape as Meryl high-tailed it out of the Grand Worm's territory.

The bewildered, cloaked man was gulping in large breaths of air. He gripped the arm of the passenger door and dashboard to keep from getting launched out of his seat as they sped along.

His bright blue eyes had quickly gone from wide-eyed—flicking back and forth from the side mirror to his rescuer in the driver's seat—to drooping wearily after he could catch his breath and slowly start to relax.

It helped to be able to finally buckle himself in once the desert leveled out and Meryl let up off the gas.

Meryl continued to rant, just shy of sounding insane, coming off her high. "Stupid, stupid! Oh, let's just drive right up to the Grand Worm, Stryfe! You seriously have a death wish. You sure as hell didn't learn the first time!" She shivered. "I hate Worms. Ugh, I really hate Worms!"

"Uh, miss? A-Are you okay?" the stranger, who was almost a Worm's lunch all of two minutes ago, asked. His voice was deep but soft, his concern genuine.

"Am I…? Am I okay?!" Meryl took her eyes off the road, staring in awe at the man. Her eyebrows rose way over the rims of her sunglasses. "What is wrong with you? Are YOU okay? I thought you were a goner!" her voice rose in disbelief.

"Uh, y-yeah, yes?" he made a lackluster attempt to look himself over. "I think I'll be okay," he gave Meryl a wry grin. Meryl just gaped in return.

How this guy was completely uninjured, she had no idea. Meryl expected her rescuee to be a heap of mincemeat, bleeding all over her passenger seat after going toe-to-toe with a Grand Worm.

Gazing back and forth between the land outside the windshield and the stranger, she finally had a moment to take in the man's appearance.

The first thing she noticed was that he was a big guy. He had to be well over six feelz tall, from the way his hat brushed the roof of the van. And the way he hunched in on himself in the passenger seat showed that he was aware of that fact. Plus, his broad shoulders were only exaggerated by the way his bright red cloak draped around his neck and shoulders.

He looked young, fresh-faced, not even a hint of stubble. Maybe her age? Even younger? Somewhere in his early twenties.

His clothes—while coated in sand, dust, and sweat—were vibrant primary colors of blue and red, with yellow-gold accents, and he wore a brown leather belt and gloves. Some kind of design peaked through the panels of his vest, but it was hard to get a good look sitting side-by-side.

His smile appeared earnest, and the look in his eyes showed his gratitude and trust in her without the words having been spoken.

His open expression had Meryl loosening her grip on a third derringer. She had held onto it just to be safe. Just because she rescued someone didn't mean she could let her guard down so easily. It wasn't safe on the road. She worried he was an outlaw of sorts.

That'd be just her kind of luck.

Meryl was pretty good at recognizing the type, but she didn't get that kind of vibe from him. She tried to get a glimpse if he had a weapon holstered at his hip or concealed in the usual spots, but it was hard to tell with his cloak bunched up around him.

Ultimately, she gave him the benefit of the doubt and placed her derringer back on the dashboard. Specifically, she wanted it within easy reach for her but not so much for her guest.

The man watched as she placed the gun on the dash, but he didn't comment. He gave a look that seemed to indicate he was uncomfortable with the gun or her use of a firearm, but it soon passed.

"Thank you, by the way. You shouldn't have put yourself in that kind of danger, miss…?" He tilted his head in question.

"Meryl. Meryl Stryfe," she supplied. "And, well, it's all part of the job. I'll get a hell of a story outta this for the paper. The Chief's gonna love it. So I guess we can call it even, don't you say? Mister…?" she asked in return.

The man opened his mouth to reply, but then he suddenly hesitated. For a minute, he didn't respond. A thoughtful expression came over his face. He looked down seemingly at his chest and then shyly around the van's interior.

Crap, did I say something weird?

"Um. You don't have to tell me your name if you don't want to. I'm sure I can keep it anonymous if you prefer…"

Her response seemed to startle him out of his thoughts. He shook his head and waved his gloved hands to correct her assumption.

"Oh! No, it's not that. It's just you surprised me. Are you with the press or something?" he smiled, but this time he did seem somewhat wary.

Meryl nodded. "That's right. Senior field journalist for the Bernardelli News Agency. Yeah, I know it's a bit of a rag, but a girl's gotta start somewhere, right?" She returned his smile with her own grin.

"Huh, is that so?" he said, seemingly interested but as if he wasn't quite sure how to respond. It looked like he wanted to say or ask something more but didn't continue.

She hummed in affirmation. A million questions were rattling around in her head. She didn't know where to start. It felt like the guy was beginning to clam up on her, though.

"So, uh, is there something I can call you?" she prodded.

Again, he hesitated before asking, "On or off the record?" he said giving her a sharp, but at the same time gentle, look.

She tried reading the expression and figuring out what his deal was without messing up. C'mon, Stryfe, you're a good reporter! You know how to interview a source! First, get them to know you're trustworthy. Stand by your journalistic integrity. Never rat out a good source.

"Off the record," she replied casually. "We're still a ways off from December. I'm assuming that's where you'd be heading? I'd like to call you something other than 'Red Cloaked Man,'" she said with a chuckle and grin.

The man let out a sigh and shifted to get more comfortable in the passenger seat. The exhaustion from his ordeal was starting to kick in, it appeared.

"Clark. Clark Kent," he said, the name punctuated with the two quick syllables.

Something about the way he said his name made it feel like he was revealing something he'd otherwise not give away so freely. She kept wondering who this strange loner and Grand Worm wrangler truly was. Her gut told her despite having a simple-sounding name like that, there had to be something more to him.

She opened her mouth to ask another question, but when she looked over, the man's eyes were shut, his head rolling softly to the left until he slid to a lean against the window.

The guy might've been alive, but at that moment, he was otherwise dead to the world in sleep.

—L&P—

A few hours later, a small jolt woke Clark up from his nap. He had a crick in his neck from leaning awkwardly against the car door. Huh, a crick in the neck. Never had one of those before that I can remember…

As his senses returned to him, he did feel rather sore all over and still quite weary. He hadn't gotten much sleep last night. Plus, he didn't expect to take on two giant monsters in the span of one month, let alone everything else lately.

The jolt that stirred him from his rest came from his travel companion getting out of the van and shutting her door. He blinked and rubbed his eyes before taking a look around.

Outside, it was the dark of night—in the sky, he could make out three large bright orbs of light, which he quickly realized were moons. He stared, taking in the new sight. It reaffirmed that he truly was on another planet, who knows where in the universe. Another universe, if Mxy had been honest.

Clark took a slow, deep breath in and out. He agreed to help the imp. There was no use getting worked up now. Superman had been through several tough spots at this point. And he should have expected as much when he signed up for the superhero gig, right?

Instead of getting up and following Meryl out of the vehicle, Clark took a good look around. Now that he had his wits about him and the van wasn't bouncing like a frightened rabbit, he could investigate more discerningly.

The van was clearly used to travel long distances in this desert environment. There was a fine coating of dust on just about every surface where hands and bums didn't wipe it away. And sand was stuck in all the crevices along the dashboard and console.

The vehicle model was unfamiliar, but he had to guess it was fairly old—it lacked more modern features like digital displays.

Behind the van, it looked like there was some kind of trailer with a large old-fashioned satellite dish hitched on.

Meryl had left the key in the ignition, but when he played with the radio knobs, it wouldn't turn on without the car running.

As he shifted around, he noticed a small pile of newspapers and crumpled papers under his boots in the footwell. He picked up a few of the loose papers. Most had handwritten notes in a feminine scrawl—maybe notes for her news stories?

One of the papers stood out. It was heavily crinkled but had, at some point, been flattened back out. Clark turned it over and did a double take.

The bold letterpress words on the yellowed paper spelled out: WANTED — VASH THE STAMPEDE — DEAD OR ALIVE — 60,000,000,000.00$$.

The wanted poster featured a black lithographic print of a rather goofy-looking, smiling young man with messy hair, large round glasses, and a high-collared coat. The huge bounty was acutely incongruous with the friendly appearance of the wanted man.

Next, Clark grabbed a couple of reams of newspapers. He tried to glean more information about the kind of place he found himself in, dates, locations, anything essentially.

The oldest article was published on July 28, PE110. Huh, how long ago was year PE110? Clark wondered. The most recent issue he could find was dated PE112, so maybe two years ago?

He looked back at that oldest issue. The headline read "Weeping for Lost July One Week Later." The byline read, "Roberto De Niro (Posthumous), Senior Field Reporter and Meryl Stryfe, Junior Field Reporter."

With the light of the moons shining in through the window and his heightened eyesight, he could read the article without much difficulty.

Clark was just about finished reading the article with an awful mix of fascination and grief when a tapping noise made him jump in his seat—Meryl waved to him outside his window.

"Sorry!" Clark said in surprise, rolling down the window.

Meryl raised an eyebrow, "Do you always do that? What are you sorry for? I didn't mean to scare you."

The air outside was now much cooler, almost as chilly as it had been back home. At some point, Meryl had put on a white jacket over her gray shirt.

Her indigo-blue eyes caught his guilty-looking gaze as it flickered down to the stack of papers in his lap. The short woman stepped up on the running board and leaned over unabashedly, noticing the article on his lap.

She frowned deeply—a sudden sadness clouded her eyes. "Oh… Yeah, with the two-year anniversary today, it's been a pretty harsh reminder."

She closed her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, she gave him a pitying look that he didn't deserve. "Did you…Did you lose anyone that day? You must have been at the memorial earlier?"

What could Clark say to her? Of course, he hadn't lost anyone. His family and friends lived millions of lightyears away on another planet.

From the article she'd written, it was clear she had a first-hand account of the heartwrenching day. He knew at least the man she shared the byline with had been one of the victims that day, according to what she wrote.

Clark shook his head numbly, swallowing a lump in his throat. "N-no, I didn't. But anyone can mourn such a terrible tragedy. I'm so sorry. I had no idea. I can't imagine what it was like having to see such devastation with your own two eyes."

He crossed his arms tightly around his sides to prevent his clenched fists from trembling.

Clark fought to banish the images of the Superman File X projections from his mind. The inexplicable chaos and destruction capable of unchecked hands. The visions taunted him—oh, but you can imagine it, can't you?

Meryl cleared a matching lump out of her own throat. She composed herself before she spoke, not letting her voice betray her.

"We live in an unforgiving world. If there's some higher power out there, it sure doesn't give a shit about us," she said bitterly.

Clark felt numb to her words. It was a topic he thought about regularly, but like everyone, he had no definitive answers.

She hopped back down off the side of the van, opened the back door, and pulled out some supplies from the back seat.

"Forecast says it should be a cool night—no sandstorms in sight. Might as well make camp instead of sleeping in the van. You wanna help me get a fire started?" she asked, grabbing two rolled-up sleeping bags.

"Oh! Sure, I can help. I'm super good at starting up campfires. Well, that is, I mean, normal good at it," Clark replied, shaken out of his introspection with a nervous chuckle.

Merly peeked over her shoulder and shook her head at the awkwardness of Clark's rambling.

Clark gave another chuckle as he got out and took a good couple of stretches. He tossed the hat Mxy conjured for him on the passenger seat—not much need for it at night. It wasn't really his style either, but he supposed it completed his new look.

He looked around his surroundings. Still an endless desert in most directions. They had stopped at the foot of a steep mesa, something to pass for protection from the elements he gathered.

Meryl's voice caught his attention when she said, "Hey, newbie. Here." When she saw she had his eye, she tossed a canteen his way. "I was gonna offer earlier, but you passed out before I could. Sorry if it's a little stale. I stocked up, just in case. Better something than nothing, you know."

"Eh? 'Newbie'?" he echoed, tilting his head in confusion.

She chuckled a little and smirked, looking over her shoulder as she turned around. "The Chief said I gotta train a junior reporter once I return." Her voice took a softer, nostalgic tone. "It took ages before my mentor called me by my name. It was always 'newbie.' Thought I'd keep the tradition."

"Ah, I see," Clark replied. Recalling her loss of her mentor from the article, he went quiet for a moment.

"Thank you. For the water, that is." Clark replied, raising the canteen a little. He unscrewed the cap and took a couple of big gulps, finishing off the water in one go. He didn't realize how thirsty he was. The water was rather stale and lukewarm, but he wasn't one to complain.

"So… What can I help with?" he asked, watching her look for a spot to settle down.

"There are some firestarter bricks in the trailer, if you can grab those," she replied, setting down her handful of camp supplies. She began unrolling one of the sleeping bags.

"R-right. Fire. Yup. That's what you said. I am on it!" He shuffled over to the trailer.

If there was one thing Clark could do, it was start a fire.

He found a simple latched handle at the back of the trailer and opened the double doors. The trailer was full of various vehicle-related parts—an extra tire and tools. Small tanks, presumably full of water. A couple of boxes of food rations. A few different-sized metal utility boxes shoved near the back.

Wrapped in a brownish-gray tarp, Clark found the stack of the firestarter bricks. He grabbed a handful and walked over to where Meryl was setting up camp. Clark picked a safe distance from the sleeping bags and placed the pile down neatly. He moved a few into an arrangement ideal for keeping the fire going nicely through the evening.

He glanced behind him to make sure Meryl wasn't watching. She wasn't, so he turned back to the bricks and concentrated on his vision. He shot a small beam of heat-vision, lighting the bricks up with a little more of a struggle than he was expecting, however. It seemed like whatever happened earlier really did a number on his energy reserves.

The fire caught Meryl's attention. "Oh, that was quick. I was just about to grab the lighter from the van, but I guess you found it."

"Ahaha, yeah," Clark forced a chuckle.

Meryl gave him an inquisitive look, then shook her head again, walking back to the trailer. She grabbed one of the boxes he had seen a minute ago.

"I have a couple of ration packs and dried toma jerky in the trailer. It's not much, but it keeps on the road. I'm sure we could both use the meal." She placed the box down near the fire and then went to refill their canteens from the water tanks as well.

She handed Clark his refilled canteen and pulled out a ration pack and a pouch of jerky for the both of them.

Meryl took a seat, cross-legged near the fire. Clark followed suit across from her, pushing his cloak out from under him.

As they ate, Meryl kept glancing at him, looking like she wanted to ask him something. Clark also had a ton of questions but didn't know how to ask without giving away that he had no idea where he was.

He didn't plan on Mxyzptlk fleeing as soon as things went sideways. He'd have to find the imp soon before he became stranded. Plus, he still hadn't had a chance to ask Mxy what he was supposed to even do here.

Clark rubbed a hand through his hair, fighting the urge to fly away. He doubted he could muster enough energy to stay airborne with his level of exhaustion.

"Are you sure you're alright? Did you get injured trying to get away from that Grand Worm?" Meryl asked after finishing her ration pack. She took a swig from her own canteen.

"No, I mean yes. Yes, I'm alright. No, I didn't get injured, as far as I can tell. Just feeling really sore and tired still," Clark replied, getting slightly flustered. It took a lot for him to get truly injured, and he'd always healed quickly.

"That's a relief," she said with a slow exhale. "Were you traveling alone? I didn't see any caravans or any other travelers around for iles."

"Uh, no, I was, um, traveling with someone else. But we got separated earlier today. We were headed north. Or at least I think it was north? I'm not really sure. He knew where we were going better than I did."

He got up and paced a little until he remembered how tired he was when his legs began to buckle. So he plopped back down beside the fire.

"And now I have to find him. But like I said, we got separated, so I don't know where to find him?" His shoulders sagged, and he practically pouted.

Meryl tried to stifle a chuckle at his expression.

Clark continued, "So you said we're still a ways off from December? Um, what exactly did you mean by that?" He tried wording the question in a way that didn't make him sound completely lost.

From reading the article earlier, the city it referred to was called July. He used that context to guess December was also the name of a city, but he wasn't certain.

Meryl just nodded. "I'd say we got about two and a half days ride until we get to the city. There aren't a lot of towns on the way. At least populated ones, that is. So many places turned into ghost towns after their Plants were stolen two years ago."

Great, he got one question answered, but now he was confused about what she meant by plants being stolen. Like trees or something?

"Where are you from? September?" Meryl asked, glancing up at the 'S' emblem on his chest. She looked away after a moment, adding another brick to the fire.

"Uhh, no?" he said, wincing after realizing he said it more like a question than a statement. "I'm… ah…I'm from a place called Kansas. You probably haven't heard of it. It's kinda far from here." He rubbed the back of his neck as he rambled, hoping it didn't sound too farfetched.

"Kansas, huh? That's all the way out by Augusta, right?" she asked, surprising him. His mouth floundered like a fish's. He didn't know how to reply but was relieved when she continued. "You're not kidding. You are a long way from home, newbie."

Clark couldn't help but laugh. "Heh, you have no idea," he mumbled with a goofy grin.

—T&J—

The next morning, as they were packing up the van and trailer with the camping gear, Meryl caught something out of the corner of her eye over by the mesa wall. She glanced around, spotting one of those dragonfly-like Worms flying upwards to the edge of the cliff and a familiar figure looking down at her.

"You again?!" Meryl shouted. "What do you want now?"

Her yelling had Clark rushing to her side with an alarmed expression. It was like he came out of nowhere; he was so fast! He took a protective stance, slightly in front of her. He followed her gaze, catching sight of the figure as well.

"Who is that?" he asked, his voice cautious yet authoritative. "You know them?"

"They call themself 'Zazie the Beast,'" Meryl replied, distaste evident in her tone. She itched to reach for a derringer just to be safe, but she didn't have one on her.

Zazie laughed, their mask distorting the sound with an echoing quality. They leaped down, the top layer of the mask splitting open as the translucent insect wings fluttered, breaking their fall. Zazie landed gently on the back of the van, and their mask closed up again. The multiple green pupils rotated around in that creepy manner.

They sat and swung a leg over the side casually. Another short round of laughter sent shivers down Meryl's spine.

"I told you we are always watching," Zazie said, repeating their message from yesterday. Their voice an eerie mix of slightly feminine and adolescent boyishness.

"It looks like you made a new friend. The elder of this region is mighty angry with him. Our poor larvae were burned alive. How cruel. Yet again, your kind displays little goodwill to ours," they said, despite their tone of voice giving little away of their true feelings. Their head rocked back and forth, shoulder-length white hair swaying with the movement.

Zazie turned their masked face in Clark's direction. They leaned closer and then hopped off the van. The first layer of their mask again snapped open, the giant glowing green eyes and the embossed rows of sharp teeth staring the man in the face. Despite their vast height difference, Clark took a step back in surprise.

"Oh? What's this?" Zazie tilted their head back, observing the taller man. "Mmmmm, you aren't one of their kind, though? Are you?"

"I… I don't know what you mean," Clark said, standing firmly, voice deep and serious.

Zazie laughed again, the wings on their head fluttering. They raised a hand, daring to drag a finger with a red-painted nail down the front of his chest. The long, flowy sleeve of their tunic slid down their arm.

Clark froze at the sudden, unwelcome touch. The same numbing sensation he felt the day before—when he was assaulted by those swarming spores—spread from the point of contact.

He recoiled and took another few steps away from the child-sized person who was clearly not a child.

"Hey! Back off," Meryl said, inserting herself between them. She stared back, finding her defensiveness taking over. "I asked you what you wanted."

"This was unexpected but not any less interesting," Zazie said in amusement. "Whatever is he doing here? Wouldn't you like to know?" they asked, addressing Meryl.

"W-what?" Meryl replied cluelessly, tilting her head.

"I wonder whose side he'll take. Knives will be interested in this new development."

"What?! Knives is alive?" Meryl exclaimed, easily distracted from the topic of her companion hearing the name of Vash's twin brother.

"You didn't expect a being like him to perish so easily, did you?" Zazie laughed. "Oh, no. Knives is close to making his grand re-entrance." They waved their arms in sweeping gestures, the sleeves swaying loosely.

Zazie's wings fluttered wildly, pulling them up into the air with ease. "Mankind better get prepared."

They turned again to face Clark, and the multiple green pupils of their mask rolled in his direction. "We'll be keeping an extra special eye on that one."

A group of Dragonfly Worms coalesced around Zazie briefly before the cloud broke apart, the Worms flying away in different directions.

"Wait! Damnit!" Meryl cried, rushing to follow.

But Zazie had vanished, as if never there.

Meryl ran a hand through her hair, watching the Dragonfly Worms disappear into the morning sky.

She sighed and turned around to her new travel companion. "Do you know what that was about?" she asked.

Clark seemed a little pale, staring into the distance, his right hand grasping the front of his vest. Meryl wasn't sure if she heard him and repeated her question, walking up to him.

He shook himself out of his stupor when Meryl waved a hand in front of his face. "I… I have no idea. I don't even know who or what that was. Care to fill me in?"

Meryl studied the stranger, her curiosity at its peak after hearing Zazie's message.

Who are you, really? What makes the Worms so interested in you?

She sighed, walking to the van. "I'll tell you what I can. But let's get outta here."

—L&P—

"Did Zazie hurt you? It looked like you were going to be sick when they touched you," Meryl asked after a couple of minutes of driving.

Clark turned from gazing out the window. "Hmm? Oh, no, I'm not hurt… But I'm not sure if I understand what they did to me," he said, rubbing at the spot on his chest. "I felt a strange numbness—like they were draining the energy out of me.

"Something similar happened before that Sandworm attacked. It was that huge glowing wave of spore things in the sky. They swarmed around me, and it felt like they were sucking the life out of me. Is that something those things can do normally?"

Meryl shook her head, her face scrunched in thought. "Not that I've ever heard of. Strange…"

"Who exactly was that? How did they find us out in the middle of nowhere?" he asked, gazing out through the windshield—still nothing but desert.

"Like I said, they're called Zazie the Beast. I've, uh, run into them a few times now. They were a part of a story I've been following for over two years."

Clark nodded to himself, knowing what chasing a complex story was like. "What kind of title is 'the Beast' anyway?"

"Oh, you get people who think they're big deals giving themselves fanciful titles like that all the time. You know… E.G. the Mine, Monev the Gale, Livio the Double-Fang…" She spun her hand in loose circles.

"Vash the Stampede?" Clark supplied, glancing down to that wanted poster by his boots.

Meryl flicked her head at him, her eyes narrowing behind her sunglasses.

"Hmm," she merely hummed, going quiet.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, Meryl cleared her throat.

She took a deep breath, chewing her lip. "Have you heard of the Worm Hivemind theory?"

"Uh, no?" Clark answered.

"Well, studies have indicated that the Worms form large communities. Each colony communicates through an expansive network of detached electrons. They are essentially a hivemind species. Any worm can see what another worm sees. They work in tandem with a shared goal to protect their community. And each community is in turn connected to others."

"How is this Zazie person connected to all that?" he asked.

"Zazie is…Well, Zazie is essentially a physical, humanoid form the collective hivemind takes to communicate with… with us," she made a vague gesture between the two of them.

Clark digested the words, trying to wrap his head around such alien creatures. "So, does that make the Worms… Are they sapient?"

Meryl bobbed her head as if considering her phrasing. "I'm no expert, but from what I can tell, individually, they're like most other creatures. They show a degree of sentience but are not quite sapient in the way you're thinking.

"But together as a whole, I'd have to say yes, otherwise Zazie wouldn't be able to exist and interact the way they do. Anything with such existential reactions as the Worms has to be."

There was more to that titan sandworm than Clark had guessed, especially if it had communicated its anger to the Zazie character. "What about the wave of those things in the sky? Are those related to the Worms?"

Meryl shuddered and nodded. "Yeah, if you don't travel out of the city much, they're rarely spotted. They're definitely some kind of worms. Eggs or something? It's all stuff I learned from Roberto."

Clark processed for a moment, and then realization struck. "No. Oh no…" He raised a hand to his mouth, going wide-eyed. A flood of guilt washed over him.

"Hey, newbie? What's the matter?" Meryl asked, seemingly startled by his sudden change in mood.

"I-I didn't know what I was doing! I didn't know what they were. They just swarmed, and I panicked. I didn't mean to hurt them…" Clark turned and looked out the window, away from her concerned gaze.

"H-hey…Don't beat yourself up. Not a lot of people know any different. It's a dog-eat-dog world. You were just protecting yourself."

He didn't turn around but couldn't stop his shoulders from shuddering. He felt Meryl tentatively reach out and rest a hand on his shoulder.

"Not a lot of folks would bat an eye about hurting Worms if it meant their survival was on the line. You're a better man than most for caring."

Clark composed himself after a minute. He finally turned to his right. "Thank you. You're a very kind person, Meryl."

"Pft. Get to know me better; you'll be changing your tune real quick," Meryl chucked a little. Clark just shook his head with a grin, clearly not agreeing.

"But, you can see why the Worms don't like us here," she added.

"Us? Here?" Clark asked without thinking over his question.

"You know, us humans living here on No Man's Land."

"R-right, us humans…" Clark echoed softly. He again turned to look out the window.

"I know it might sound crazy, but the Worms see us as an invasive species. They know what happened on Earth—why we're here—and don't want to see us destroy their planet."

At the mention of Earth, Clark snapped his eyes back to watch Meryl.

What happened to Earth? Are the humans here originally from this universe's Earth?

"Well, you all, I mean, we all are just trying to live in peace here, right? I'm sure we can find a way to share the planet." He hoped that was the right thing to say. It was how he'd feel if this was his home.

She huffed a single laugh. "Peace, huh? We can only hope and dream." She rested her elbow on the door arm and put a cheek in her palm. She looked out of the corner of her eye.

"You know? You remind me of someone I used to know. All he wanted was for people to stop fighting, to get along, and live in peace. A hopeless idealist." She scoffed but a soft smile crept onto her face.

"There's always hope for a better tomorrow," Clark replied, his eyes bright and earnest. He kept her gaze until cleared her throat and turned her head back to look at the 'road.'

"You would have been good friends," she said, a lump in her throat making her voice come out roughly.

"O-oh. I'm sorry… Was he… Was he someone else you lost in July?" he asked gently. His shoulders sagged, and he went back to hunching in on himself.

Meryl didn't say anything, but she just nodded in response.

His eyes softened. "I would have liked to meet him. We need more hopeful idealists in the world," he said, realizing he included himself in that sentiment.

Clark felt guilty when he noticed Meryl had to cover her mouth with her hand to stifle a sob. He turned to look away. The woman clearly didn't want a stranger to see her in tears.

He wanted to tell her that it was okay, that she deserved to cry.

—T&J—