Clark waited outside of Winslow High. The rain had dried up through the day, and by this point in the afternoon little remained but the puddles. Clark tried to stay in the shade cast by the Shuster family van. The bright sunlight seemed to make it easier to see long distances and to hear the hundreds of thousands of voices that blended together in his mind. The sun may make it easier, but it also made it far more difficult to control. It took most of his focus to remain in the moment, and to force his abilities to stay within a reasonable range. Chava should be out in a few minutes, according to what Tevye had told him. Clark did not want to be late and had parked early. His morning investigation had turned up little, with his only lead on Victor's identity having been the false pretense from Oni Lee. It remained too difficult for him to pick out a singular voice amongst the city, and besides, he did not have a strong enough memory of Victor's voice to do so in the first place. He remembered the face, and little more. His eyes squeezed shut, though Clark knew that he could see through his own eyelids if he tried. Deep breaths to steady himself. The low rumble of an older car brought Clark out from his thoughts. He cracked open a single eye, worried that his ears had picked up a vehicle from a while off. With a tight sigh of relief, Clark saw that the car was indeed right next to him, pulled up behind his bumper. No doubt another parent there to pick up their child. A lazy glance at the driver caught his curiosity, they were a bit young to be the parent of someone in high school, closer to Clark's age than anything else. An older brother perhaps? Clark's eyes flitted towards the driver once more. His blonde hair, his ice-blue eyes, the angry clench of his jaw. Victor. Clark's grip on his folded arms tightened. An Empire cape at a high school. A recruiting attempt? A quick scan with his x-ray vision confirmed that the vehicle did contain Victor's costume inside, in the trunk. Black breastplate, mask, and a red shirt. The blonde man opened the door and leaned against the classic muscle car. He wore the pants and boots that would complete his costume. His outfit already half-on, but with a civilian shirt as his top. The possibility for a quick change remained, but somehow Victor did not feel the need to show up in costume immediately. The chance remained for this to be a peaceful encounter. Victor caught Clark's gaze, the blonde man's face still screwed in an angry clench. Clark forced himself to remain calm. Forced his heart to stop it's rapid beats and slow to a reasonable pace. He had been caught staring. He needed some excuse, some reason that would not anger the Neo-Nazi that stood before him. Clark's eyes darted to the glove compartment of the orange muscle car, and scanned the insurance. Year, make, model. Under the name of someone named 'Justin Coltrane'. Victor's real name? "Nice car you've got there," Clark said. "1969 Dodge Charger, right?" Some of the anger left Victor's face, the Empire cape relaxing a bit. "Yeah, you got it. V-8, all the bells and whistles." "Fix it up yourself? It's hard to find classics like that," Clark guessed. He hadn't seen many vehicles that looked similar in his time in Brockton, but he also did not know much about cars. "Nah, got some help from a friend who's a bit of a gearhead. Still got a few things left to change up with it." Victor laughed. "Kinda want to make it screen-accurate, y'know? Not that the people around here would like it, but fuck 'em." "Screen-accurate?" "Dukes of Hazzard. You.. you've really never seen it?" "Grew up in New England my whole life, a bit sheltered as a kid. Would you recommend it?" Victor nodded approvingly. "Good to meet another local guy. Too many of those Japs out in this town. And to answer your question, of course! It's got all the stuff a good show needs - hot girls, fast cars, and some good ol' boys. People can complain about the flag on the General Lee all they want, but they don't understand it's just our heritage, y'know?" Despite the knowledge that Victor enthusiastically served a Neo-Nazi organization, Clark still felt a bit surprised by the ease with which the man dropped a slur. He forced himself to ignore it, as much as he hated it. He had to gather more information, and who would know when he'd have a chance like this again. As for his other comments, Clark felt that he could start to piece together what sort of flag Victor wanted on his car. He forced his disgust deep inside, and reached out a hand to the other man. He could not waste this opportunity. "Clark Kent." For a long moment, Clark worried he had made a mistake, or some stupid faux-pas. Victor stared at the proffered hand for a moment, before he shook. "Andrew Christiansen." He paused, his gaze now on Tevye's van. And the Shuster Bakery sign painted on the side. His eyes narrowed, his hand quickly withdrawn. "Your van?" "My boss's van," Clark said. Internally, he cursed. "I just work for him, I'm Irish-American myself." A complete lie. With his amnesia, Clark supposed it could be true, but Tevye remained the closest thing he had to family. It galled him to go against him like this. Victor relaxed, but only a bit. "Ah. You like your job?" This man could kill me and Chava three dozen different ways without blinking. He had to handle this situation cleanly. Victor terrified him. "It's okay. He's pretty cheap, but work is work." Clark faked a lazy shrug. Victor nodded. "They all are. Damn cheapskates. You think that they'd be more generous, those fucking bankers, but- ah, it just pisses me off. People like you and I, we've got to stick together." Clark did not respond for fear of an incorrect response. The man was clearly volatile and ready to commit violence at the simple mention of a Jewish family. He had to get his information from him before Chava came out. "You here to pick up your sister, or something?" Any possible additional names or connections would help his investigation. Clark needed any information he could get. "Nah, my wife's cousin. She's a good kid, even if her parents weren't. Knows right from wrong, white from black, and all that." A wife? Victor - Andrew, Clark corrected himself - looked scarcely a few years older than Clark himself. Not that Clark knew his exact age, but he guessed it as close to 20. "You're a family man, then?" "Not yet, she wants to wait a bit before kids. Not too long though. We've been practicing" Andrew chuckled at his own joke. "She's a good one though. Great cook, great homemaker, great little wife. I complain sometimes, but I still love her. Which is why I'm here, picking up her little cousin. The wife was worried about all the ABB at this school. I keep telling her, Tammi's a strong kid, but hey, some time out of my day is worth if for my wife's peace of mind." Victor paused and turned towards Clark. "You got a little miss tucked away somewhere?" A faint thought tugged at his memories. A girl with auburn hair. A savior. A friend. A first kiss. Try as he could, Clark could not remember any more. His face fell. "I… had one. A long time ago." To his surprise, Clark felt Andrew's hand on his shoulder. "Say no more. I understand. Before Olivia, I-" He cut himself off. "I don't mean to dump my problems on you. Just know that you're not alone out there. Look, there's a few of us guys that meet up on Sunday evenings. Work on cars, talk politics, watch football, just shoot the shit. If you're looking to hang out with some people that aren't some hook-nosed moneygrubbers, just give me a call, alright? Like I said before, folks like us have to stick together. Who knows, I might be able to snag you a job that doesn't involve working for some old Shylock fucker." With that, Victor leaned back and waved to the crowd that came out of the highschool. A girl with long, straight blonde hair rolled her eyes and waved back, with a curious look at Clark. The look turned to a sneer when she saw the name on the van. It remained until Victor whispered to her - Clark could hear him explaining with a slur-filled sentence that Clark only worked for a Jewish family, rather than being one himself. The girl's gaze softened slightly, but the sneer stayed a bit longer. The orange Dodge rumbled as Andrew pulled away. With the Nazi gone, Clark felt that he could breath a little easier. He stood against the Shuster van as he waited for Chava. That single conversation had given him more information than he could have wished for. Names, more knowledge about Victor's civilian identity, and even a soft pitch to join the Empire. Still, the disgust at the other man filled Clark. Every time he had found himself starting to forget Victor's politics, the cape had shoved them back into the conversation. He shook his head, and tried to clear his thoughts. Despite the minor sensory overload, the sun did feel nice against his skin. Healing, almost. * Clark paced back and forth in the Shuster freezer. He wore a thick sweater in addition to his usual trench coat. The condensation within did not help his notes, but the bakery's walk-in freezer remained the only place with enough wall room to put up a cork board, as the apartment remained too small. Plus, the relative privacy helped. Clark paused in his pacing to look back at the board. Notes were pinned to various places. Names, locations, capes. A few red strings away from a conspiracy theorists' magnum opus. Clark would have preferred to do this online, but the Shusters only had one computer, and the ancient machine was mostly used for the business. Something about the superhero forums he had heard about called to him, another forgotten memory, but Clark shoved it to the side. Small memories like that didn't matter. The board laid out the information he held at the moment. The Cape Victor, real name Andrew Christensen, married to a Olive Christensen. Olive had a cousin named Tammi. The car's insurance belonged to a Justin Coltrane. Perhaps the friend who had helped fix it up? He had placed the name to the side. This Justin could be another Nazi, or just an innocent mechanic. Though a mechanic that worked with someone as openly racist as Andrew would more than likely hold some of those views himself. The convenience and sheer coincidence of meeting the cape he was after felt too lucky to be real. There had to be a better reason for Victor to be at Winslow High. He had his costume in the truck after all. He had been prepared for a fight. Or expected one. Or planned one later that day. If Victor had gone out in costume after their meeting, it had not caught the attention of the cops, as the police scanner Clark tuned his ears to had yet to mention the skilled cape. Perhaps the PRT maintained some sort of presence at Winslow that Victor was afraid of? Clark threw away that concept almost as quickly as he had come up with it. No, that would be stupid. He had seen the state of that high school himself, and heard a few stories from Chava. There was no world in which a professional hero organization allowed that sort of environment if they had some asset embedded there. Perhaps Victor had not been simply racist when he mentioned his wife's worry about the ABB at the school. Clark considered an attempt to get in touch with Oni Lee to gather more information on that front, then discarded that line of reason as well. It did not matter if the ABB had a strong presence at Winslow or not, Victor had fully believed that they did. His heartbeat had remained calm and steady when he spoke of it, so he hadn't been making up some falsehood of a reason. With a prominent cape within the Empire now in PRT custody, the Empire must be worried about it's assets. Victor's story would have had some element of the truth, with the full truth hidden within. He had likely been sent as a bodyguard. Why else would he have his cape costume hidden in his car. Who would he guard? The girl he picked up, of course, but what was her importance? The daughter of Kaiser, perhaps? Clark slapped his head as a realization hit him. The Empire had a young cape with them. Her hair was hidden by her costume, but the Empire did like it's members to look as Aryan as possible. The girl could be Rune, with Victor sent to make sure that she had back-up if the PRT tried to arrest another Empire cape out of costume. He still did not discard the theory that she could be a relative or protegee of Kaiser, however. He doubted he had met two capes that day. Clark shook his head, and moved on from that line of thought. Victor was the focus. He closed his eyes, and reached out with his hearing. Sirens wailed. A car salesman enthusiastically tried to sell a sad Toyota. Armsmaster battled with some mechanical monster while Uber and Leet watched. Life in Brockton Bay went on, as Clark focused as much as he could. Sweat broke out across his forehead. He grit his teeth. A voice. A singular voice. He could remember it from the conversation today, the trouble just remained in picking it out of the millions he could hear around him. With a gasp, Clark gave up. He could not manage to isolate it. Whether that meant Victor was not speaking at the moment, or that his control over his hearing remained that weak, he could not tell, though he thought the latter was the more likely cause. The freezer door opened. Tzipporah entered, a bowl of matzo soup in hand. Steam rose from the soup, accentuated by the freezer's air. Tzipporah shivered as she approached, despite her thick clothing. Her black hair remained in braids, though she had pinned them up beneath her headscarf. Her brown eyes locked on his. She handed him the soup, along with a rag to hold the hot bowl and a spoon. "I don't know how you do this. I'd have frozen solid in minutes." "It's the sweater. Thanks for knitting it, you did a wonderful job." She snorted. "It was an old project from before you arrived. I just finished it up." They remained in relative silence for a few moments while Clark ate the soup. The only sound the scrape of the spoon against ceramic and the low buzz of the freezer's power system. "Was Chava alright this afternoon?" Clark shrugged. "Barely spoke when I picked her up, but I think she's just tired. Got a big test next week, focused on studying." "Ah. English?" "Geometry." Tziporrah nodded, and the silence resumed for a few moments. She shivered again, but this time Clark set down his soup, and passed her his coat. She gave a weak smile in thanks. He had not known her long, but Clark still knew that the woman did not like to speak until she felt ready. So, he waited. "I wanted to apologize for this morning," Tzipporah said, at long last. "Dad has gotten so excited about what you're doing, and I just… I worry, Clark. Someone in this family has to." "No apology needed. If anyone's sorry, it's me. When I started this," Clark paused, and took a deep breath. "When I started this, I just wanted to be a hero. Do the right thing. I did not think about how it would impact your family. What could happen. I've messed up, Tzipporah. I'm sorry." She gave him a slight smack on the back of his head. "Your skull is like a rock. I did not say that I was against your mission. I want all of those Nazis fucks to be in prison, or die painful deaths. But…" Clark smiled. "Be careful. I remember." Tzipporrah let out a raw laugh. Clark liked the way she laughed - she kept none of it hidden, but let out a guffaw any comedian would be proud to receive. "Be careful. An understatement in this city." Her deep voice took on a joking tone. "Oh, sure, be careful as a Jewish person in a city that's won the 'Most Nazis' award for the past ten years. I never thought of that." "That can't be a real award." "You'd be surprised, Clark. You'd be surprised. Look, I hope you enjoy the soup. I'll be closing up shop in an hour or two, and Tevye will only stay about half an hour after that. I know you haven't slept much today, so I expect you to get at least a little sleep tonight." She raised up a hand to forstall his protests. "I know you prefer the nighttime with your situation, but you need to sleep, Clark. At least rest, instead of prowling the streets." Defeated, Clark just gave a smile and a thumbs up. He had felt more alert than he would have assumed while in the sun, even if it still felt too bright. He needed to keep to the night to train his senses, they only felt worse in the day. But Tzipporah was not one to argue with, and so when he turned back to his board, he knew he'd be on the apartment's couch that night instead of out in the midnight rain.