This story has been kicking around in my mind for a while, and has been something I've wanted to explore for some time. While it is labelled as a Superman/Worm crossover, do not expect this to just be a story about one-sided stomps. I've always been fascinated by Superman's more esoteric powers, and all the abilities that aren't usually placed under the 'Flying Brick' label. This is a story about a Clark Kent without his memories of his powers, and while you can expect the rest of his powers to slowly appear throughout the story, don't expect him to be fist-fighting Alexandria at the start.
This story is also about a particular Clark Kent, but perhaps not the one you're thinking of. I think I've left enough clues for an observant reader to figure out which Clark Kent is in this story, but expect more references to his past soon.
Finally, the first part of this story is likely to be mostly a detective story, with noir leanings. More stereotypical superhero shenanigans will take place later on, but the first part will be more focused on Clark's mystery of who he is, and his interactions with the ABB and E88.
With that all said, I hope you enjoy the story!
Clark preferred the night. Daylight beat too brightly on him. It made the noise and the sights too strong. He rarely spent time under the sun if he could avoid it. He could still hear the screams, the begging, the cries of a world ending at night, but it was easier to shut them out. To focus in on the immediate present. He wondered sometimes if this was some sort of divine punishment or test. Was he Job, tested to see if he could keep who he was? Or was he Adam, condemned from some old sin?
He trudged on through the moonlit muddy streets, a lazy drizzle of autumn rain upon his back. The old coat kept out most of the wetness, though even it's valiant efforts failed at the seams, a few drops breaking through. Tevye had given it to him, and though the older man's frame was smaller than Clark's, it still fit him well enough. Besides, a free coat was a free coat. He could hear Tevye now, chair creaking as he leaned back, knife scraping over scrap wood as he whittled. Tevye liked to wake up a bit earlier than he needed as a baker, and carve in his limited free time. Clark lifted his head and glanced in the direction of Tevye's apartment, six blocks away. With a moment's focus, he could see the pale wooden knight still in Tevye's hand. The chess set still had a few quite a few more pieces for Tevye to whittle, but the old man promised a game soon enough.
Clark let his eyes unfocus, bringing his gaze back before him, staring through glasses now dripping with rain. He turned back to the sidewalk, and continued on his way. It had taken a full month before he could train his eyes to see only what he wished, rather than everything everywhere all at once. His hearing had only taken a week, but Clark wondered if that was just because it demanded more attention. Tevye and his daughters had been more than kind enough to Clark for that time, and continued to do nothing but help. Sometimes, he wondered how he could pay that generosity back - which brought him back to his current mission.
He continued onwards and finally reached his destination. The Vietnamese cafe had clearly seen better days, it's neon 'CAFE" sign missing its vowels, the letters burnt out. Twenty-four hour service was advertised, but it seemed that no one besides himself was planning on taking advantage. The tired young woman behind the counter stood as the only occupant. She barely looked up as he entered, ringing the small bell above door, and gestured lazily to one of the many empty tables. Clark sat. He pulled the morning newspaper from under his coat. Despite some minor rain damage, it remained legible.
Pharma Boss Outed as Nazi Cape! read the front page. Underneath, the article detailed the PRT capture of one James Fliescher, better known as the cape Krieg. It had worked. It had taken a full month of investigation and evidence gathering to collect proof. Proof of what Clark had seen one rainy night when Krieg had passed him by, and had happened to use his X-ray vision to see past the mask. It was sheer luck that Krieg had a somewhat public-facing persona, and that Clark had been able to remember the face when buying medicine for Tevye. A super-villain, putting his face on a poster in the pharmacy he owned. The audacity of it all had shocked Clark. But it had worked. Anonymous papers submitted to the PRT with detailed proofs had brought this on. He had almost gone to the Brockton Bay Press with some half-baked plan of becoming a journalist. He had liked the idea of it, but the realization his name would be tied to the report and the possibility of Empire reprisal had killed that concept.
That, and his noted lack of writing ability.
Which was why he now sat in this cafe. He had attended the arrest of Krieg, and watched the other Empire capes try to prevent it. The chaotic fight had made it hard to focus, with the sounds of battle so close and so loud for his super-hearing. But he had managed to glimpse Victor's true face, and had found a second target. Now all he needed was proof to tie Victor's cape identity to his personal one, as no true justice system could rely on his words alone. Besides, he did not wish his abilities to be known. That knowledge would bring nothing but danger upon him and Tevye's family. He took a sip of the coffee the woman had given him, allowing it's warmth to spread through his fingers. The Vietnamese coffee tasted different than what Tzipporah bought for Tevye and Clark, but Clark enjoyed the different taste. His boot tapped softly against the floor in anticipation. His source promised information that could help with the proof-gathering part of the investigation. Clark allowed his hearing to listen close for footsteps as he read through the article, not wanting to be too surprised by his mystery guest. He heard the server go out the back, and the click of a lighter. He focused on his nose, and attempted to shut down his sense of smell to a more reasonable level. The scent of tobacco still wormed its way into his nostrils - his super-smell still wasn't quite fully under his control.
The creak of wood close by caused him to lower the paper, confused that he had somehow not heard whoever this was enter the building. As Clark set the paper down, he realized why. Across from him sat a dark figure in a demonic mask. It wore a black bodysuit covered with various grenades, knives, and other bladed instruments. While those in other parts of the Bay may have the luxury of ignoring gang politics, Brockton's Jewish community dwelt entirely in Azn Bad Boy territory. Compared to the Nazis, it was by far the lesser of two evils - and a promise of protection. The PRT and New Wave tried their best, but with Empire presence in the police, the law's protection could be flimsy. Clark had never met the man before him, but he knew him all the same. The ABB thugs that collected protection money from Tevye's bakery whispered his name like a curse or like a prayer, depending on how scared they were.
Oni Lee.
Enforcer for the Azn Bad Boyz.
Clark froze in place, heart beating fast. He took slow, deep breaths, and made no sudden moves. He did not speak for fear of saying the wrong thing. He did not move. He just sat, tried not to panic, and waited to see what this cape before him would say. Beneath the crimson demon mask lay an emotionless, scarred face. One that scared Clark more than the mask itself
"Mr. Kent." Oni Lee's tone did not imply a question, just a statement. "Apartment 214, three roommates, Tevye Shuster, Tzipporah Shuster, and Chava Shuster."
Clark nodded in response, mind racing. Why was Oni Lee here? If it had been some Empire cape, it would have made some sense. The detailed list of his personal life obviously carried an implicit threat. Clark knew he had some muscle, but x-ray vision and enhanced hearing could hardly help him defeat a trained assassin, let alone whatever thugs the ABB could or would send after Tevye and his daughters.
Oni Lee reached out his hand, and tapped the paper. "You made this happen."
Clark responded with a small nod.
"You found Krieg's identity."
He nodded again.
"You are looking for more."
Clark felt no need to nod any more. He had agreed to meet with a mysterious informant on that basis. Oni Lee obviously knew that he was looking for more information on Victor. Whatever the ABB cape's plan was, Clark could nothing but sit and listen.
"You will find out Empire Eighty-Eight identities." Oni Lee jabbed at the article headline with a finger. "The next identity you discover will be written on a note, delivered to this cafe. The owner will give you details."
Ah, Clark thought. He felt stupid for not realizing it earlier. Of course the ABB would want to know the personal lives and identities of it's rivals. Why couldn't he have realized it sooner? Stupid, stupid, stupid.
"You will wait for permission to give identities to the Brockton Bay Press. It may not be given." Oni Lee's whole speech was delivered in a monotone voice. No emotion in his threats, no sorrow, no eagerness. Even with his enhanced hearing, Clark could here no personal investment in this venture. He filed that information away for later, bobbing his head once more in agreement.
"Good. If you deliver Victor's identity, Shuster Bakery will not have to pay protection. Lung will protects important assets in exchange for their cooperation. Understood?"
"Y-yes." Clark stammered out his answer. His heart had not stopped beating quickly, and the trickle running down the back of his neck was definitely sweat, not rain.
The figure before him disappeared in a cloud of white ash, and Clark sighed. He leaned forward, and tried to stop his hands from shaking. He knew that this scheme would bring on the eyes of powerful people, he had just hoped that he was prepared for it. From the way his hands trembled, to the panicked, heavy breaths he sucked down, Clark knew that he still had a long way to go.
Hours later, back at the apartment, Clark still couldn't stop his hands from shaking. He fumbled the keys out of his hands twice while trying to open the door. He could hear short, small discussions in Japanese in a formerly empty apartment three doors down. As the complex had previously had almost exclusively Jewish residents, he assumed the conversation meant that the ABB had sent thugs to protect him, and to encourage his cooperation. He did not let on that he had noticed, but it made sense in the end. A minor investment from the ABB in the moment, that had the chance to pay out greatly for their future.
At long last, he opened the door and headed inside. Tevye waved him to the breakfast table, where Chava and Tzipporah already waited.
"Sit down, sit down! Oh, the rain must have soaked you through the bone. Come, you're in early. Or late. I don't know." Tevye smiled broadly as he gestured for Clark to sit, while Chava just rolled her eyes and Tzipporah picked at her cereal.
Clark placed his soaked coat around the back of his chair, and sat. Tevye resumed his meal, while Chava glanced through her homework. Tzipporah pointedly ignored him, though Clark offered her a nervous smile. She did not meet his gaze, continuing to pick at her bowl. The meal continued in silence after that, though Tevye did make several attempts to start up a conversation. Clark still felt too nervous to talk much, Chava was very sixteen and upset at her father for some reason Clark could not grasp, and Tzipporah seemed to be in some strange mood. Clark searched his mind for something he may have done to upset her, and came back blank. He knew that did not mean that he had not done something however. He just hoped Tzipporah would forgive him, or he could fix it in some simple way. The clang of spoons against bowls felt deafening, but he preferred it to a conversation he knew he could not hold.
Without conversation, it did not take long before the simple breakfast was finished. Tevye shot Clark a curious look, no doubt wanting to know how the night had gone. Clark gave a tired smile in response. He had no clue what he would say.
While Tevye retreated to prepare for the day and Chava went to do her homework until she could catch the bus, Tzipporah began to clear the table. Clark rushed to help her, and brought the dishes to the sink. She washed, and he dried. He could tell from the tenseness around her lips, the way her forehead knit together, the tightness of her black braids - something had angered her. While his abilities could give him suggestions on the mood of a person, they could not tell him why they felt the way they did. He opened his mouth to ask, then closed it when Tzipporah spoke first.
"I saw two of those thugs enter the building when I woke up." She whispered. Tzipporah had a deeper voice than most women Clark had knew, though his amnesia meant that he couldn't remember many. He kept silent, allowing the tall woman to speak. "Two of them. Moved in just a few doors down. Woke me up with their chatter in the hallway. One had a gun in his pocket, the other probably had one too."
"I know," Clark sighed. "I overheard them talking when I came in."
"You know?" Tzipporah paused with her washing, gripping the bowl until her knuckles turned white. "Of course. Of course you know. Clark, I tolerated it when my dad allowed a total stranger to live with us. I tolerated it because my father is far too caring a man, and you clearly had been assaulted and had no where else to go. I tolerated you not paying rent, and only helping out at the bakery on occasion because you were recovering."
She set down the bowl, and turned to face him. Her voice remained a harsh, strained whisper. "I will not tolerate you bringing threats down upon us. I appreciate what you've done with those Nazi bastards, but if you've gotten the ABB to go against us-"
"They're here to protect us, Tzipporah." Clark whispered back. "They're here to make sure the Empire doesn't hurt us."
Tzipporah let out a long, exasperated sigh, and turned back to the dishes. "I suppose that should make me feel better, but it doesn't. I know my father wants you to help fight the good fight against the Empire, but I just want my family to be safe."
She looked on the verge of tears, but quickly wiped them away. "Did you at least get some cash to help with this month's rent?"
Clark allowed himself a small smile. "Better than that. The ABB told me that if I got Victor's identity, the bakery wouldn't have to pay protection any more."
"That's good, at least." Tzipporah spoke in a flat voice. "Just… just be careful, alright? Remember that this war against the Empire can have real effects on us. I want my sister to not be harassed by Nazis at school. I want our family's bakery to survive. I just want to live, Clark. Be careful."
With that, Tzipporah grabbed a headscarf and an apron and left. Clark glanced out the window. The sky remained dark. Close to 3:00 A.M. by his guess. The bakery would start up soon, and Clark would have to call it a night sooner than he would have liked. The experience with Oni Lee had shaken him, and he couldn't forget Tzipporah's words. He headed for the bathroom. It took a few moments for Tevye to finish up, the old baker lighting up when he saw Clark waiting.
"So, a successful night?" An excited twinkle danced in his eyes.
"Somewhat. Made some progress, at least," Clark lied. "I should be able to find Victor's identity soon."
"Good! Oh, what a mensch you are, Clark!" Tevye smiled, and patted his shoulder. "Oh, but I do have a favor to ask of you."
Clark raised a brow.
"Could you go to pick up Chava this afternoon? You can borrow the delivery truck, we won't be using it around that time. I'm just worried, you see, that with one of their capes captured, those fascist kids might get a few ideas, and you've got such a big, young frame, well, it'd just set my mind at ease if I knew she wasn't alone on the way home."
"Of course, Tevye. It's no problem."
Tevye smiled and walked away, his salt and pepper(but mostly salt) hair slicked back from his quick shower. Clark let himself into the cramped bathroom, closing the door. He began to disrobe, tossing his rain-soaked clothes into a pile. He paused after he tossed his shirt, his bare chest exposed to the mirror.
A reddened, angry scar covered his chest. A strange, shield-like symbol. Carved cruelly into his skin. The vague shape of an 'S' at it's center. He had awoken with the scar, barely conscious, bruised, and in the polluted waters of the bay. Tevye had found him and pulled him free, almost naming him 'Moses' until Clark remembered his name - one of only two memories he had. His name, and a few flashes of some dark, horrific creature taunting him. A nightmare, no doubt. Clark leaned against the bathroom counter, tracing the scar on his chest. He would find whoever did this to him. He would help Tevye and his family, and repay them for the kindness they had bestowed upon him. And he would be a hero. Somehow, deep inside, he knew that he should be a hero. A singular, core motive that overrode any other self-motivation.
He sighed, and splashed water on his face. Throughout the city, he could hear sirens, a few gunshots, and more than a few robberies. A hate crime or two. His abilities could be gifts, but to Clark, they felt more like a curse. He could hear all the destruction and horror of the world, and see it as well. But he was just a man, and could only do so much to help.
All the same, he had to help. There was no other choice.
Clark entered the shower and began to wash the grime of the night's activities away. The sun would break over the horizon in an hour or two, and he still needed to do some research to see if he could find more information on Victor. This city barely rested. He shouldn't either.
