A howl echoed through Kandor, Krypto’s triumphant cry sending a shiver down Lara’s spine. She struggled to keep up with Zod as he weaved them through the narrow corridors between the towering spires of Krypton’s capital. Spotlights illuminated the shadows where the pair had passed through as the Council’s forces searched for the rebels.

“Dru,” Lara pleaded, “Can we hold a moment? I need a minute to catch my breath,”

With a nod, Zod quickly secured the area before clearing a seat for Lara.

“Of course,” Zod replied, helping the woman to a seated position before he knelt down beside her, his keen eyes scanning the sky, watching the Council Guard’s War Kites circle overhead.

“Lar, I’ve been wondering,” He said, slowly collecting his thoughts, “This rebellion, overthrowing the council, it has me thinking and it’s brought up a lot of feelings, things I thought buried. Memories of my youth and I have to ask,” Zod queried, “How much does Jor-El know?”

“About?” Lara winced as another contraction raced through her.

“About us, about our past, Lara, you know as well as I do that Jor never loved you the way I did.”

“Dru, this is really not the time,” Lara replied dismissively, “Yes, I didn’t immediately love Jor-El, but the Council saw something I didn’t at the time. The relationship you and I had was born of youthful rebellion, the Council saw a more prudent match in Jor and I.”

“Yet we find ourselves again in a time of rebellion, against the pillars of our society. I would have thought now would be the time to let your heart decide the man you want to spend the rest of your days with.”

“He is Kal-El’s father, I will not deprive my son of that.” Lara replied, “I am loyal to Jor-El, Dru, it would be best if you forgot again what we once shared.”

“Then you do still feel it too,” Zod countered, “I would raise Kal as my own flesh and blood.”

“It is my hope, you can look past this and do so no matter our relationship,” Lara replied, breathing through her teeth. “Jor is many things, but he is not everything that you are. When the time comes, Kal will need both of you to be the future of Krytp-” She suddenly cried out, prompting Zod to scoop Lara up into his arms, holding her tightly to his chest.

“Let us go, before your son arrives.”

“Before all of this,” Lara replied, cradled into Zod’s chest, “Jor and I were to steal away to Vathlo Island, where we would be able to peacefully bring Kal into the world.”

“That sounds lovely,” Zod replied, “Up ahead is the port, the argosy will be there, you’ll be safe with my soldiers, my right hand, Faora, will look after you.”

“Where will you be? You can’t leave me, Dru,”

“I’m afraid I have to Lar,” Zod replied, gently placing her down on the prepared bed inside the ship. He nodded to Faora to assume guard over Lara before retrieving a new weapon and turning to the door.

“I’m going to save that boy’s father.”

“The Kryptonians have been allowed to persist for far too long. They have failed as a species; they are an arrogant, self-serving race.”

The green-skinned alien argued, “It is time to catalogue their civilization and bring about an end to their evolutionary nightmare.” He continued, pacing behind the pedestal used to address the One who was beyond this plane of existence.

“Even after their star was corrupted and turned red, they have found a way to flourish and become even more aggressive than they already were. Armies have fallen to them, planets have been put under their rule and enslaved.” He continued to argue.

“Even now their hubris has brought them to resurrect ancient horrors and tamper with their own genetic code. Their lust for war and wanton destruction has unravelled the society they built. Krypton is a galaxy-ending threat; if they are not stopped, if they are not soon reaped, they will continue to spread their seed across not only Andromeda, but the next and the one after.” His voice continued to grow in volume, echoing through the chambers.

“Chitauri Prime, Czarnia, Daxam, Dheronia, Hala,” The Coluan listed off, “These are just the latest worlds to be infected by the disease that is Krypton.” He stated, “I have come here today to plead to the Luminiaries, unleash the Collective from within the Black and purge the galaxy of Krypton. It is ripe for reaping to the benefit of the entire galaxy.”

“The Luminaries hear the pleas of Yod-Colu and have considered the evidence.” A celestial voice replied, echoed through the hearing chamber. “Krypton will receive no trial. From this point forward, all Kryptonians will be seen as a threat to be eliminated. The B.R.A.I.N. InterActive Collective will be summoned from the Black to collect and catalogue the capital city for study.” The eminent voice ordered.

“Krypton and its spawn will be destroyed. Those who escape the wrath of the Collective will be hunted down by their former enemies and soon the galaxy will forget its persecutors.”

“Thank you, Luminaries,” The Coluan bowed, “I have brought some tokens of my gratitude.”

“Tokens do not interest the Luminaries.” The voice replied before suddenly a tentacle-like construct rose from the floor and impaled itself on the forehead of the Coluan.

“You shall continue to serve us,” The voice ordered as the tentacle retracted leaving a pattern of three circles arranged in a triangle on the Coluan's forehead. The green-skinned alien fell to his knees as the injected techno-organic virus attacked and transformed his body.

"Please-" He pleaded weakly.

“Resistance is futile.” The Luminaries chorus responded again, “Rejoice in this day for you have been ascended,” They continued.

“Now rise B.R.A.I.N.I.A.C. and bring forth the harvest.”

“Easy, buddy,”

The deputies had taken the safety off their weapons at this point, fingers ready to squeeze the trigger at a moment’s notice as the sheriff continued to address the man in the alien leotard.

“I don’t know where you’re from, but here in America, we don’t kneel, so why don’t you just save me an enormous mountain of paperwork and come in quietly.”

“Your primitive weapons are no threat to a son of Krypton,” Kal-El retorted, “This ‘paperwork’ should be the least of your concerns.”


“Thank you, Keelex,” Kal replied, as the deputies looked at the sheriff and then back at each other, confused as to whom the alien was speaking.

“Krypto, find Lobo,” Kal ordered as the wolf perked up and suddenly launched himself into the air, flying away to the awe and horror of the gathered officers. Floating to the ground, Kal-El took a step forward before extending a pair of wrists towards Sheriff Adams.

“Officer, I am surrendering to you under my own accord, I suggest you accept it.” He stated plainly while looking down at the much shorter woman. Nancy blinked in disbelief before attempting to place the handcuffs on his wrists. She cursed under her breath upon realizing they were too small for a man of the alien’s stature and musculature.

“Bring me the zip ties,” She ordered, fastening them around the alien’s wrists, full well knowing in the back of her head she may as well just tied him with tissue.

“I don’t know what your game is, but I don’t want any funny business.”

“I am hardly in a gaming mood,” Kal-El replied, lowering himself into the back of the cruiser, his head tight to the roof of the vehicle.

“Now that I’ve indulged you, take me to your leader.”

The crowds cheered as another blow was struck between the combatants in the arena below. Giant holographic projections hovered above their heads, providing close up views of the fight in all its glory detail. The front row of the fight pit had been dubbed the ‘splatter zone’ and those fortunate enough to be sprayed with the blood of the combatants were considered to be the highest honoured guests.

“I’ve been scanning our new pal here, and he stores energy like a battery,” Rocket stated, leaning over to Marchew as the pair hid disguised among the crowd. “Only problem is, he’s only been depleting energy. I’m not seeing him store anything new.”

“Where does the energy come from?” Marchew asked, “Is he lacking rest, food?”

“Nah, that ain’t it,” Rocket replied with a shake of his head. “Kid’s practically radioactive, nuclear if I had to narrow it down. Think he absorbs from large sources of similar energy,”

“So stars,” Marchew extrapolated, “And Warworld being an artificial planet, doesn’t have an atmosphere, he’s not recharging in here then.”

“Looks like we’ve sent the kid to his death,” Rocket groaned, rubbing his ears while thinking. His eyes were drawn to the fight down below, Clark was still holding his own but both Rocket and Rodg’y could tell that the zeal and enthusiasm was gone. Warworld was beginning to take his toll.

From the other side of the arena, Rocket spied Mongul the Elder sitting in his balcony, enjoying the fights while his children eagerly waited for a champion to rise to their level. Who Rocket didn’t recognize was the crimson haired woman adorned in a cape and clothing that’d make a Tamarean blush.

“Who’s the moll with the Monguls?”

“That’s no moll,” Rodg’y stifled a laugh, knowing it futile to scold Rocket for his crass tongue, “That’s Almerac royalty, no doubt the Queen looking for a strong mate to bring forth an heir.”

“She sure has eyes for our boy,” Rocket grinned, “‘Course that’ll change if we don’t find a way to get him powered up again. Won’t be anything left to mate with if he’s a stain on the floor.”

“Do you have any ideas, or do you just like reminding me that we sent a young man to his death.”

“Nah, I got some idea,” Rocket said looking towards the artificial lights that illuminated all of Warworld.

“But your fur’s going to stand on end before we’re done.”

Sirens echoed through the main street as the Sheriff’s vehicle made its way towards the office. Nervous deputies held their hands cautiously over their holsters as Sheriff Adams brought Kal-El out of the back of her cruiser and escorted him into the building.

To her surprise, waiting on the other side of the door was Martha Kent and Chloe Sullivan.

“Clark! Clark!” Martha cried, rushing forward and pushing through the deputies to approach the man in custody. Behind her Chloe tried to reason with the deputies as Martha looked up in the same blue eyes she had cared for over the past two and a half decades.

“Clark, you’ve come home, I’m just so happy-” The words froze in her throat as the eyes looking back at her didn’t recognize the woman he called mom.

“My name is Kal-El,” He responded, his eyes showing some sympathy as he looked down at the pair of women. “I apologize if I resemble this ‘Clark’, but I’m afraid I am not him.”

Martha’s heart was in her throat, it slowly sank at the younger man’s words. He sounded like Clark, he even smelled like Clark, but she knew by the way he was looking at her, that this was not the Clark she had raised.

“Mrs. Kent, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to step back.” Sheriff Adams requested, “If this man is indeed Clark, there’s going to be some paperwork to fill out, but as I doubt Clark ever flew from the sky, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“I-” Martha protested before Chloe quickly guided her away, “I know that’s Clark,”

“Was Clark,” Chloe replied in a hushed tone, “But whoever he is now, he doesn’t remember and as long as he’s in custody, I’m not sure what we can do.”

“There has to be something we can do,” Martha argued, “Something that can jog his memory, make him remember who he is.”

“Whatever that is, we can’t do it as long as he’s in custody.” Chloe responded, her eyes scanning the Sheriff’s office for some way of creating a long enough distraction to get Clark away. She jumped at the sudden touch of Martha’s hand laying over her own. Looking up, she was greeted by Martha sadly shaking her head.

“Don’t risk it, Chloe, we can’t make more of a spectacle than I already have. We have to walk away for now.”

“But, he’s back, he’s finally back, we can’t just-”

Martha simply nodded her head before gently pulling Chloe to follow her.

“Knowing he’s alive has to be enough for the moment.” Martha muttered softly as the pair passed the officers. Exiting the building, Chloe watched as a lean man in a long billowing coat walked towards the door. On the shoulder of his coat was an unfamiliar emblem in the shape of a sword.

Entering the building, the man looked at the commotion unfolding, eavesdropping on the Sheriff’s conversation with her deputies.

“I won’t risk any of you sitting in there with this alien, so it’s going to be me in the room with him.”

“‘Fraid that’s not possible, Sheriff,” The man in the long coat stood in the doorway of the Sheriff’s department, “Agent Black, any and all interrogation of the sentient weapon will be done exclusively by me from this point forward, S.W.O.R.D. thanks you for your service thus far, Sheriff, but this is out of your jurisdiction, mate.”

“My jurisdiction? I’ve never heard of you, what gives your limey ass the right to barge in here like you own the place?”

“Sentient Worlds Observation and Response Division,” He said, flashing a badge that displayed the acronym ‘S.W.O.R.D.’, “Basically, if it falls from the sky, it’s my jurisdiction. So frankly it doesn’t matter if my arse is limey or lemony.”

“I’ve barely begun filing the report. Let alone picking up a phone and calling the feds,” Nancy argued, “How’d you get here so quickly?”

“That’s confidential. Real need to know basis, and unfortunately for you, small Midwest town sheriffs don’t rank on the scale.”

“On whose authority-”

Black held up a hand.

“We’ve already been over that, mate,” He pointed to the badge again, “But if you want to get Director Robert Gonzalez on the ol’horn, be my guess. In the meantime I’m going to be interviewing this strapping example of a beef fed sentient weapon.” Black flashed a grin, “‘Scuse us.” He added, escorting Kal-El into the interrogation room before motioning for the Kryptonian to sit.

Taking the seat on the opposite side of the table, Black pulled a tablet out within his jacket, placing it on the table before projecting several images for both his own reference and the alien across from him.

“Look, Mr-”

“Kal-El, son of Krypton,”

“Kal, can I call you Kal? Nevermind I’m just going to do it, mate.” Agent Black smiled, “You’re making a lot of people real jumpy, blokes who fly aren’t exactly well received, especially dressed in, well-” He gestured towards Kal-El’s Kryptonian garb.

“Black,”

“You’re also wearing black.”

“A keen observation.” Black replied, “Look, mate, I can’t have aliens just crash landing on Earth and threatening the local law enforcement. It’s a bad look.” He stated, pointing to an image that was now displaying the moment that Kal had used his heat vision to disarm the Sheriff.

“And this, how’d you do that? Telekinesis, pryokinesis?” He asked, the man across the table remaining completely stoic. “And then there’s this,” Black said, pointing to an image of the red crystalline ship as it entered the atmosphere.

“Where’d the ship go, mate?”

“There’s no ship.” Kal replied, “That’s an extension of my suit using radiated sunstone to create a crystalline shell.”

“Your suit?” Black asked, pointing to the black leotard that Kal-El was currently wearing. “The same suit you’re still wearing. They didn’t bloody confiscate a weapon from you?” He massaged his temples.

“Keelex is not a weapon.” Kal replied flatly.

“Sure looks like it can be used as a weapon.”

“I have no need for weapons.” The alien stated, leaning forward. For the first time in his career, Agent Black felt as though he might be in over his head. Wrangling a few stray Kroloteans was nothing compared to the human looking alien sitting across from him.

“Alright, no need for hostility,” Black tried to play off his nervousness, “What about him?” He asked, pointing to a picture of Lobo taken moments earlier above Metropolis.

“Is he a mate of yours?”

Kal-El, by my readings, you’ve recovered 82% of your radiation stores, you’re ready for combat.

“No.” Kal answered, snapping the restraints from his wrists as he stood. “He is a rapid dog that needs to be put down..”

“Hold a moment, mate, you’re not going anywhere.” Black argued, scrambling to his feet. “I’m warning you-”

A dull thud echoed through the room as Kal-El raised a hand and simply flicked the man across from him. Agent Black flew backwards, colliding with the door before slumping to the ground. Outside the deputies quickly rallied, drawing weapons and breaking down the door only to find the interrogation room empty save for the agent’s unconscious body.

And a new skylight.

Lana absently scrolled through several wedding idea boards on her phone, watching the door for Ryan’s return while a lump formed in her throat. The first crack had been when Clark didn’t return home after a year abroad, something inside Ryan splintered when Clark was presumed dead. While legally dead, the Kents had all been in denial about it, refusing to host any sort of ceremony or even place a marker.

But then, Jonathan died and it broke Ryan in ways that Lana hadn’t been prepared for.

He refused help, refused to talk to anyone and instead buried himself in his work, disappearing at all hours of the night. When he wasn’t working, he was a shell of a man, his eyes empty, void of any thought while his hand was rarely without a drink.

Lana had tried several times to cheer Ryan up. Trips back to Smallville to visit his mother and the farm. But that too soured when Martha was no longer able to keep the farm and the bank took it. He returned to Metropolis even more of a shell, like everything he knew was slipping away. When he’d come home, there was a moment when the old Ryan would surface. He’d take Lana by the hand, and ask her about her day.

But then the accusations came.

Ryan would sit there and berate her about how she was the unhappy one and how her heart was wandering. Lana had never strayed, she knew it was Ryan projecting. More than once she had shown up to his work bearing his favourite meal only to discover he wasn’t there.

Then he started coming home smelling of perfume, his clothes plagued with hairs that didn’t belong to Lana. The colour may have been right, but Lana knew it wasn’t hers, the length, the texture, it was all different.

Was she not enough? Did she do something wrong?

Lana’s parents had both been tragically killed during the meteor shower. She never had a chance to know them, they were stripped away while she was only a few months old. She had nearly ended up in foster care had her aunt not stepped in at the last minute. But even that didn’t last as her Aunt eventually moved away for the West Coast. The kindness of Chloe and her father saved Lana from moving, but all her life she had struggled to find a family. She had learned to adapt to survive, and clung tightly to those who afforded her comfort and care.

The Kents had always treated Lana like the daughter they never had. Perhaps it wasn’t the idea of losing Ryan that prevented her from leaving, but rather the idea of losing the first true set of parents she ever had.

A droplet of water landed on the coffee table in front of Lana. It was joined by another and then another before Lana suddenly lost her composure, sobbing into her hands.

She hadn’t felt so alone in years.

Her cry echoed through the silent apartment, cut short only by the ringing of her cellphone as Lana slowly composed herself, wiping her eyes and face before looking at the caller I.D. A soft smile spread across her face as she picked up the phone.

“Chloe, you have impeccable timing.”

“Lana, I’m sorry to ask this,” Chloe replied from the otherside, “But I’m trying to get ahold of Ryan, is he around?”

Lana’s brow furrowed.

“No, he’s out right now. Why?”

“He hung up on me, uh,” She hesitated from the other side of the line, “Y’know what, maybe it wasn’t that important. Are you okay?”

“How much time do you have?”

Lana could hear Chloe smile through the phone.

“At the moment, more than I thought I would.” She replied, “I take it I should get comfy?”

“If you don’t mind,” Lana replied, grabbing another tissue.

“Chloe, I think I made a mistake.”

The droning sound of the klaxon stirred Rocket from his state of unconsciousness. His vision blurred as he tried to stand, the metallic smell of his own blood drowning his olfactory sense and leaving him nearly nose blind to the fire several feet away from him.

Every bone in his body felt like it had been fractured. He remembered their first encounter with Lobo, and how lucky he had been to survive it. Their saving grace this time being that Clark wasn’t onboard. They had been a casualty, just a preventative measure to ensure they couldn’t interfere.

Judging by the state of the ship, Lobo had succeeded.

Cracked screens flashed through numerous red warnings as the nearby planet continued to draw T.I.T.S. into its gravitational pull.

“Shields offline, weapons offline, thrusters offline. Life support is failing, structural stability is down to twelve percent, does anyone have anything positive they want to say right now?”

“I am Groot.”

“I love you too, buddy,” Rocket snapped at Groot, “But I was more hoping for some hidden talent or ingenious engineering before we’re swallowed by the swirling storm that looks like a Bolovaxian’s scruthole.”

“Rocky!” Lylla’s voice suddenly echoed from the main cockpit, “Captain’s hurt pretty bad.”

“Cap’n!” Rocket cried, a groan whistling through his teeth as every muscle in his body protested against movement.

“Groot, where’s Max?”

“IamGroot.” Came the saddened reply.

“He threw her out the airlock?” Rocket exclaimed, his eyes moving to the nearest porthole, as he stared in horror out into the Black. “Damn, I know she’s a tough lady, but still, that’s not frakkin’ good.”

“Rocky!”

Lylla’s cry was accompanied by a chorus of beeping, the groaning of metal echoing through the ship’s corridors. The ship had entered the nearby Jupiter’s gravitation pull and it was quickly becoming apparent they were going to crash.

“C’mon, c’mon,” Rocket muttered, urging his cybernetics to respond as he pulled himself towards the cockpit.

“We’re going to crash if you don’t do something,” Lylla urged.

“Only if we don’t frakkin’ burn up first,” The Raccoon-like alien muttered while pulling a panel open. Pressing the nearby intercom, Rocket shouted into it.

“I need to reroute power from the core to all impulse thrusters, J’ak, you still kicking?”

“I wish I wasn’t,” Came a groggy reply, “Tigorr and I are both down here, though he took the brunt of the beating.”

“We’re still in a bit of a frakked up situation. Can you cycle the coils, and open all manifolds?”

“Aye,” J’ak replied, “I think I can manage that.”

The navigation console suddenly illuminated in a shade that wasn’t red. Lylla scrambled to the controls before selecting the impulse thrusters and throwing the lever to max. The ship shuttered and protested, slowly trying to reverse course.

“We don’t have enough power!”

“I’m given’ her all she’s got!”

A loud thud on the hull rocked the whole ship. Suddenly it began to move out of the Jupiter’s orbit and slowly drift back into space. Pulling himself to his feet, Rocket looked to the viewscreen, coming up empty before going analog.

“Max!”

Rocket exclaimed looking out the porthole to see the warrior queen helping push the ship free of Jupiter’s pull.

“I thought you were dead,”

“Fear not, my little friend, it takes more than the black of space to kill a Queen of Almerac.”

“Frakkin’ right.” Rocket celebrated, going to the airlock to allow Maxima back inside the ship. She entered, leaning slightly on the door frame before speaking.

“Now, let us go find my Clark.”

Lex swung his fist, connecting with the alien through Hope. On the streets below the Luthorcorp towers, Hope moved as Lex instructed, his experts continuously analyzing the alien’s fighting pattern while Lex adapted to it.

The alien smiled as Hope began to dodge more and more of his blows, anticipating his weapons and clearing her reinforcements. With some breathing room, Lex activated Hope’s repair protocols, the nanites quickly repairing any fractures while sealing her synthetic skin to hide the cybernetics within.

Keeping up the ranged attacks, Hope fired blast after blast from her palm. The energy was enough to stagger the alien bounty hunter, but any lasting impact was immeasurable. He simply seemed to shrug off each blow, relishing the fight the longer it went on.

“Oh, I see you for what you are little puppet,” The alien taunted, “The Main Man is coming to rip your innards out and then I’m coming for your master.”

Warning lights lit up in Lex’s headsup display as the space bike suddenly flaked Hope. Paladins moved to intervene, only for the bike to unleash a pulse attack that crippled the suits the Paladins wore. A burning pain seared into Lex’s head as Hope was caught in the energy attacks, his neural interface threatening to overload as it began to overheat from the stress.

It was a moment of hesitation that gave the alien the only window he needed. All too quickly he was on top of Hope again, delivering a blow that immediately put one leg offline. Hope screamed in agony as Lex fought to remain in control. Retreat protocols were quickly cancelled by his team, as Lobo wrapped a hand around the android’s neck.

“You’re next, humie.” The alien taunted, staring into Hope’s eyes so that Lex knew the bounty hunter meant him.

But Lex Luthor did not surrender.

Hope pulled back another desperate punch. From his remote command center, Lex swung with all his might, feeling the haptic feedback of Hope’s fist connecting. He winced as the overwhelming feedback caused his arm to ache. But the hit had finally counted, even if Hope’s arm had completely shattered.

Lex watched smugly as Lobo was sent flying.

“Sir, that wasn’t you,”

The citizens of Metropolis watched as the fight continued to unfold, once again disappointed that their elected protector was losing while the one they had come to depend on was nowhere in sight. No doubt driven out of town by Lionel Luthor and his pitchforks and torches.

Sunny skies shone down over the blood bath below, and emergency services did what they could to keep people from the carnage while extracting the Paladins who were still alive. The alien’s threats became more and more real with each second, and as Hope’s leg was shattered, there was a sudden push to evacuate Metropolis.

But then thunder echoed over the city.

Only lightning didn’t follow. The clear skies echoed the thunderous boom of something breaking the sound barrier again. Hope rallied one last time, pulling a fist back to hit Lobo with all her might, but this time she wasn’t alone.

Through the streets of Metropolis, a blur of black raced through the once familiar routes, now forgotten to the Kryptonian. He charged towards Lobo, stretching a fist out before connecting and carrying the Czarnian away from Hope, away from the downtown and into the sky.

Lex watched from his command center as a blur of black raced past the screen. Lobo was hit again, and then again, as something moving faster than the human eye struck him repeatedly.

The Blur had returned to Metropolis.

“You were looking for me?” Kal-El asked, suspending Lobo by the throat miles above the city outskirts.

“Kryptonian, you’re looking better than I left you,” garbled Lobo with a laugh. Heavy boots curled up, connecting with Kal’s chest.

“It won’t last long.” Lobo boasted, breaking free before whistling as the space hog caught its rider. The engine roared, as Lobo drifted the bike through the air, pointing it back towards the city as he gunned it towards Metropolis.

Kal-El flew upwards, arcing backwards before plummeting straight down as his feet connected with the space hog and sent it into a nose-dive. Launching off the forward forks, his hand wrapped around Lobo’s lapels, dragging the Czarnian from the bike as it careened out of control.

His eyes began to glow red as the pair flew higher and higher, breaking the atmosphere while Lobo fought against the Kryptonian’s grip.

“Are you going to kill me, Lover Boy? Like I killed your keezy fem?”

Kal-El replied only with the most chilling smile that Lobo had ever seen as the other alien suddenly kicked Lobo out into the black, sending him head over heels in the weightlessness of space.

Reaching for his belt, Kal-El suddenly produced a crystalline crest and held it in his palm outstretched towards Lobo.

Kal-El, are you sure this is wise? That crystal holds but a single use.

“Death would be too sweet a release.” Kal-El replied to Lobo, ignoring Keelex’s warning, “Isolation would be punishment.”

“BASTICHE!” Lobo screamed, trying to propel himself away. But it was to no avail as the crystal released a mirror-like pulse. It enveloped the Czarnian, ripping him from the current dimension before he was compressed into the prism. It began to spin rapidly, disappearing into the distance before crossing the threshold between planes.

“The Phantom Zone will hold you.”

“I will not fight you, your highness.”

Clark dodged another blow from the large sword wielded by the Queen of Almerac as she advanced upon him. A construct of pure psychic energy, the blade wasn’t like anything Clark had ever encountered before. Leaping over the reclined divan, she shed her fur cloak, revealing her mail-like garb beneath that left nothing to the bashful farmboy’s imagination as he tried to keep distance between them.

“I don’t recall giving you a choice,” The redheaded warrior retorted, cutting Clark’s nearest route of escape off, the psychic sword cleaving a large laceration into the floor. He pivoted at the last second, his cheeks flush as he clumsily dodged each subsequent blow, averting his eyes out of respect for the woman’s dignity.

“You will not leave these quarters without giving me the fight I deserve.”

“I have no desire to fight you,” Clark protested, catching the Queen’s arm by the elbow. Her strength was formidable, but it was her other abilities that made her more of a threat.

“Who knew such strength also possessed such meekness, truly you are a rare specimen.” The woman practically purred. Normally, she would have been repulsed by the reluctance to fight, but she had seen the Terran man tear through some of Mongul’s best, and even Mongul the Third had proven incapable of stopping this ‘Clark’s rise through the ranks of Warworld’s blood thirstiest.

“I don’t even know who you are,” Clark retorted, catching the woman’s weapon between his hands. The psychic construct pulsed in his palms, penetrating his defences. Clark winced as it began to cut into him, before snapping the construct in half, the weapon shattering like glass.

A smile crossed the woman’s red lips.

“I am Queen Maxima of House Red, Sonja of Almerac, Protector of the Throne of Hyrkania, Radiant Mistress of the Hyborian Systems, She-Devil of the Winter Constellations and with you by my side, the Mother of Conquerers.”

Clark froze at her words.

“Perhaps I was too forward,” Maxima teased, approaching Clark before tracing his chest with her finger. Circling around behind him, she touched his shoulders, rubbing his neck and inhaling his scent.

“Should you best me, I am yours to lay with and my heirs would be strengthened for it. It is tradition on my world for the Sonja; the Queen, to seek a mate stronger than her to strengthen the entire bloodline. From what I have seen, you are the strongest man in the galaxy.” Maxima smiled, “And as the Queen of Almerac, I require the strongest mate.”

“Look, I’m flattered your highness, but I need to politely decl-”

“Defend yourself!” Maxima cried, re-engaging Clark as a pair of psychic daggers appeared in her hands. She spun through the air, the constructs swirling around her telekinetically before unleashing a barrage. Dashing across his temporary quarters, Clark quickly fired his heat vision, deflecting several of the weapons before moving out of the way of the rest.

Every strike Maxima made, Clark moved to deflect or avoid. He had no interest in harming the woman. Redirecting another blow, Clark spun Maxima around, before releasing her across the room as though they were involved in some deadly tango.

But the longer they danced around the room, the heavier the air filled with the Almeracian Queen’s pheromones. Clark could feel himself become flushed, his blood racing, his heart pounding. He was barely restraining his heat vision at this point, the overwhelming flow of hormones putting every part of him on edge and at attention.

She moved in closer to him, Clark wrapping his arms around Maxima to restrain her. Their faces moved closer, her lips brushing against his before suddenly she bit down on his lower lip. A mixed sensation of pain and pleasure flooded Clark’s body as he fought against the urge to simply give into his baser feelings. Maxima pulled back, releasing another of the pink energy blades. It flew true, slicing against Clark’s shoulder and through his robe.

She spun around in a half circle, another blade released from her palm. Like the first, it too found its target as Clark found himself shirtless. Maxima rushed towards him, flying into the air as her legs wrapped around his bare torso. Clark could feel her legs squeezing as she moved to topple him but he stood firm. Her nails dragged down his back as she pushed harder and harder against him until finally, Clark had enough.

Pushing an arm in between himself and the warrior Queen, Clark brushed Maxima off with little effort, sending the woman into the air. With a burst of super speed, he intercepted her before she could recover and sent her directly into the hard, metal floors of Warworld.

“Stay down, your highness.”

“You-” Maxima panted, beads of sweat dotting her brow as her bosom heaved to regain her breath, “You have bested me. I am yours, claim your prize.” She moaned, spreading her legs as Clark released the woman and moved back, picking up Maxima’s discarded cloak and tossing it over her.

“I’m sorry, your highness, but I’m not going to do that.”

“No,” Maxima protested, propping herself up onto her elbows. “No man resists a Queen of Almerac.”

“Guess, I’m just not like most men.” Clark replied weakly with a small smile. “If you wouldn’t mind,” He motioned to the door. “I’m pretty exhausted.”

“But I-” Maxima looked from the door to Clark again, confusion crossing her face. “You have to, you won.”

“I’m sorry, but that’s just not how we do it where I’m from.” Clark stretched out a hand to help Maxima to her feet. “In fact, it’s considered downright criminal.”

Maxima said nothing. She had never felt shame or rejection before and wasn’t fond of either experience. Instead, she found herself experiencing a new kind of longing as she looked at Clark again.

“And how do you find a mate on your world?”

“Generally,” Clark started, taking a seat on his bed. “A guy asks a girl out for dinner and a movie, y’know a chance to get to know each other and find common ground.”

“Fascinating, so they don’t fight until the male bests the female?”

“Ideally,” Clark replied with a smile, “We call it dating and if that goes well, they get married.”

“And how do we start dating?”

“One of us would have to ask the other out.” Clark answered slightly amused by the turn in events.

“It does not have to be the woman or the man? Both can equally ask this?”

“I like to think so, traditionally it was the man, but I think Earth has come a long way on this.”

“Clark of Earth,” Maxima stated, “Would you share a meal with me?”

Clark faltered for a second. His heart panged for home, for the familiarity of the world he knew, the customs he was raised with. His trip to space hadn’t turned out at all how he thought it would, and he had already been gone far too long.

But perhaps this was his life now.

He looked up at Maxima, his blue eyes smiling as he spoke.

“It’s a date.”

Manchester Black had a splitting headache.

He had awoken in Smallville General Hospital, the last thing he remembered was the alien standing over him before a finger had touched his forehead. After that, darkness and a dull thumping in the front lobe of his skull.

With a groan, Agent Black sat up in his bed.

Too fast.

He groaned inwardly as the room began to spin, tucking his head between his knees for a brief second until it stopped. What sort of power did the alien hold that a single touch was enough to render a grown man unconscious?

“Sir,” A voice at the door interrupted Manchester’s wallowing as he raised his head, squinting as the light from the hallway seared into his eyes.

“Sir, are you alright?”

“Couple o’Aspirin and a Carling if you got it, luv,”

“I’ll ask the doctor about something for the pain,” The nurse replied with a weak smile, “You’re on your own for the drink I’m afraid.” Ducking out the doorway, Black heard voices in the hallway as the nurse stopped to talk with another woman.

“Sheriff? He’s awake now if you still have questions.”

“Ah, good, I was beginning to think Billy Idol was in there, going to sleep a whole fortnight.” A familiar voice rang out before her figure appeared in the doorway of the small hospital room.

“Ah, Agent, you’re awake.” Sheriff Nancy smiled, “Crumbled you like a dried leaf, didn’t he?”

“Try not to take so much joy in my pain, bird.”

“T’would seem the big lad flew off to Metropolis,” The Sheriff nodded towards the television set in the corner of the room. Her lips smacking together as she obnoxiously chewed on a piece of gum like an old heifer with its cud.

“Big black and red blur came in outta nowhere then took off with the other alien. Made real short work of the biker from hell. Damn thing near looked like Ozzy had a baby with Jason Momoa, and don’t get me wrong, I love me some Momoa. Khal Drogo and me, whew, let’s just say I got my money’s worth outta HBO.”

“Sheriff,” Black rubbed his temples furiously, while opening and closing his eyes, “Mate, I am begging you to stop.”

“Anyways, I guess you’ll be leaving Smallville.” The Sheriff smiled, “Big shot and all that, little town ain’t of any interest now that we don’t have an alien here.”

“Sorry, luv, but I’m afraid that my orders-” Black was suddenly interrupted as his watch began to beep.

“Director?” Black asked, activating his earpiece.

“I need you in Metropolis for clean up. Damage Control is already moving in, and we can’t have them interfering with our scene. I need to know everything we can about the two aliens. Make yourself available for transmission and let me know when we can transmit you from Smallville to Metropolis.”

“Will do, Sir.” Black nodded, ending the call before his eyes were drawn back to the television as it replayed the scene from earlier again. A small smirk formed on his face as he watched the scene unfold before the alien known as the Blur intervened, taking the other alien to who knows where.

The people, no doubt, were expecting the so-called ‘Heroes of New York’ to unite again to save the day. But as far as S.W.O.R.D. was concerned, the group was scattered. A new player, however, was certainly liable to generate chatter. Especially one moving faster than the human eye. There had only been rumours of one other such being in the American Midwest, but unfortunately, they fell outside of S.W.O.R.D.'s jurisdiction.

It struck the agent as odd that the alien, despite his human appearance, would care enough to control the field of battle and remove Lobo from the scene. Odder still, neither had been seen since their removal from Metropolis’ Planet Square. Though it had only been a couple of hours, Black had no way of predicting where the alien would appear next or what he would want.

“Y’know, his first words were ‘I am Kal-El of Krypton’.” The Sheriff broke the silence, seemingly reading Black’s mind.

Ironic.

“He said something about by the orders of a General Zod we were to kneel before him,” Nancy added, turning to look at Black, “I may not like you fed, but I know you’re doing what you can to keep us from ‘kneeling’ so if you need anything else-”

“Won’t be necessary, Sheriff,” Black smiled, “I’m needed in Metropolis.”

“Well, lookit me over here just blabbering like a cicada in June.” The Sheriff smiled, “Pleasure having you here, Agent, don’t let it hit ya where the good Lord split ya.”

Black wryly nodded his adieu, grabbing his coat off a nearby hanger before walking out of the hospital. Tapping his watch as he moved into the middle of the parking lot. He stopped, waiting for transmission before suddenly vanishing in a blinding flash of cerulean.

Transmission was always disorientating. He felt his stomach lurch as he arrived in Metropolis. Taking a moment to regain his bearings, Black surveyed the scene, immediately noticing the black SUVs belonging to Damage Control. To his surprise, Agent Coulson was nowhere to be seen; instead, another familiar face was leading the charge. Standing in the middle of Planet Square, arguing with Luthorcorp officials was Agent Sitwell.

“Jasper, mate, you can’t be here.” Black started, stepping over the yellow tape as he confronted the other agent. “They both fell from the sky, that’s got S.W.O.R.D. written all over it.”

“It would have, if Luthor’s secret police hadn’t gotten involved. The minute his registered super and hit squad rode in on their high horses, this became Damage Control’s issue.”

“That’s fine, you can have Luthor. I don’t want to deal with that smug bastard anyway.”

“I’ll flip you for it,”

“Nah, mate,” Black smiled, “This one’s on the house, I just want to know where the aliens went.”

“Can’t say I know for certain, but our guys are detecting residual P.L.O.T. energy in the region.”

“Are you saying the alien’s an anachronism?”

“At least one of them, else we have a third party in play here.” Sitwell replied, “‘Course you do realize if he’s an anachronism-”

“It’s an inter-departmental issue and the highest priority.” Black deadpanned, “Yeah mate, love that for us.” He replied, tapping his watch quickly before scanning the area. Sure enough, just as Sitwell had said, there were Phased Levels of Oscillating Temporal Energy present in the immediate area, though they were waning quickly. With another quick tap on his watch, Black opened a channel to S.W.O.R.D.

“Brother Eye, can you track this P.L.O.T. signature?”

“Analyzing. One moment, please.” The robotic voice replied before elevator music began to play over Black’s earpiece. He was suddenly reminded of his splitting headache.

“One match. Location: United States of America, Kansas, Smallville.” Brother Eye replied. “Do you wish to transmit?”

“I’m starting to feel like a bloody boomerang.”

“Agent, do you wish to transmit?”

“Get it over with.”

“I require an affirmative answer.”

“Yes! You damn bastard of a machine.”

“Transmission initiated.” And within seconds, Manchester Black found himself back where he had just come from.

“What no welcoming party?” Black muttered to himself.

“Shut the front door! Agent Black?”

Damnit.

Yet again, Manchester Black had a splitting headache.

“Lex!”

The doors to the command center flew open, as Lionel Luthor barged in, his own security detail flanking behind him, before moving to secure the room as the elder Luthor charged towards his firstborn.

“What the hell just happened out there?” Lionel roared, “You’ve made us look like fools and nearly exposed Hope for what she really is.” He continued, pointing towards the nearby screen showing full diagnostics alongside Hope’s schematics.

“If the media, no-” He paused, waggling a pointed finger in front of Lex’s face, “-If the people of this great city become wise to the fact their appointed hero was built in a lab, we will lose their trust and then their faith.” He spun around on the several thousand dollar leather shoes on his feet, motioning for his assistant.

“As we own the Planet now, order Grant to block any story that spins Hope in a negative light, anything that says it should have been another hero facing off against the alien. Lets own the return of the Blur instead, we’ll say he’s a Luthorcorp asset, registered with the city.”

“No one knows-”

“Exactly,” Lionel practically purred, “Find me someone who can be this ‘Blur’, he’s already claimed Metropolis under his protection once, look at how quickly he re-appeared to confront that alien. That way if any other super comes calling, perhaps we can gamble the Blur will return again.”

“Dad, I think you’re mistaking correlation for causation,”

“Nonsense, Lex, I’m simply fixing a bad situation once again created by your carelessness.” Lionel retorted, “I don’t tolerate carelessness, I’ve already disposed of the reporter who ran the piece about the boy in New York.”

“Might I remind you that Project Hope was under your orders, had you listened to me, we would have pushed ahead instead with Galatea.” Lex retorted, removing the neural link from his head. He winced as the flesh beneath the band was still tender, a large lock of his crimson mane falling to the ground as he pulled the device from his head.

“You find a suitable donor for Galatea, and we can discuss it again, as of now, we don’t have access to any samples that could yield the desired outcome.”

“What about the Blur?” Lex retorted as Lionel looked back at him with an amused expression.

“Son, did you see the Blur? You do understand how he was given his moniker, we can’t even be sure he’s human, let alone that we have a genetic sample. If we knew the full extent of what we’re trying to replicate, then perhaps, but until such a time we’re left with the eclectic collection that assembled in New York. None of which are Galatea material.” Lionel argued before glancing at Lex’s fallen hair and the sparking neural transmitter.

“Clean yourself up, son,” Lionel ordered, his tone leaving no further room for argument, “You have a story to sell.” He added, turning to leave.

“Get Hope inside for repairs and load up a new body for a press conference, we need the city to believe in Hope after all.”

“Yes,” Lex deadpanned, “We wouldn’t want them to lose Hope.”

“That’s the spirit, Lex” Lionel waved from the door, “Knock them dead, son, I’d say, but I’m needed in New York.”

Ryan laid spread across the bed, his chest glistening in sweat, rapidly rising and falling as he scrambled to check his breath. From the nearby en suite, the sound of the shower running echoed into the room as he laid there, completely satisfied.

Or so he thought.

A hurricane of emotions suddenly started bubbling up beneath the surface. This wasn’t his bed, it wasn’t Lana’s bed. He was a disgusting pig of a man, he sat up, wiping at himself. Suddenly burdened with a filth he couldn’t wash off. What was he doing?

He was supposed to be getting married.

“Oh, Ryan!” a singsong voice called from the bathroom. “I’ve got a spot I just can’t seem to reach…” The invitation fell on deaf ears as Ryan continued to gather up his things. Outside sirens echoed in the streets, black SUVs surrounding.

The muted television across the room was playing the news from the day’s events. ‘The Blur returns to Metropolis’ scrolling across the bottom of the screen brought Ryan’s attention back to his phone. He suddenly remembered the call from Chloe, her words before he hung up on her. Was she right?

Was Clark actually back?

“Ryan, there’s a blister pack in my side table drawer if you need a little blue friend. The water feels great, but I’ve got something else that will feel even better.” Tess called again.

Was Clark actually back?

The question raced through his mind a second time. His attention completely fixed on the television screen as he watched the footage repeat showing the alien attacker in the middle of Planet Square one second and then gone the next. Even going frame by frame there wasn’t a clear picture of the blur that had saved Hope at the last second.

Was Clark actually back?

His hand hovered over the phone. He could call Chloe back, no doubt Clark had gone home first. But he would have found the farm empty, seized by the bank. Abandoned and dying, just like Clark had left his father to do. Anger suddenly chewed at the back of Ryan’s mind, his hand squeezing the device within it.

Clark could have saved Dad. Clark could have gotten Dad to the hospital on time. Clark had no right to abandon Dad, no right to abandon all of them. He was only supposed to be gone a year, if he had been back, then Dad would still be with them.

No, Clark wasn’t actually back.

Just someone who looked like the man Ryan was told to treat as a brother.

Reaching into Tess’ side table, Ryan felt around until his fingers felt paper and plastic. Popping the blue pill into his mouth, he swallowed it dry before walking to the bathroom.

A hot shower was just what he needed.

“Why is our sponsor so obsessed with this thing anyways?”

The strange axe sat in its crate. It gave off a strange energy, almost as though it had been corrupted and possessed by forces from beyond. Kyle Abbot could have sworn he heard whispers coming from the weapon. Voices from an ancient time, chanting followed by the horns of war. Were he to linger too long, he was drawn to it and almost found himself touching the foreign object despite numerous warnings not to.

“Abbot!” Boss Moxie yelled, “Enough about the axe, Edge was very clear no one was to touch it.”

“I don’t really see what the big deal would be,” Abbot turned his head towards the speaker, resisting the urge to roll his eyes at none other than Jack Lucas. A relatively new member of Intergang, Jack hadn’t exactly gotten on board with the program yet and was still trying to cut his teeth.

“Lucas, knock it off before I knock you off,” Whisper called out, from the other side of the room.

“Yeesh, scary,” Lucas responded mockingly, standing up as he walked over to the weapon. “You going to shoot me?”

“Not another step, Jackie,” Whisper’s weapon suddenly hummed to life, out of the corner of her eye, she looked towards Moxie for approval. The subtle exchange between the two women confirmed she had permission to take the shot.

“C’mon, you’d really kill a guy over-” The hum and scream of the alien weapon echoed throughout the cavernous hideout. Jack fell to the ground, the weapon burning away at his flesh as he cried out in agony.

“So that’s what that one does.” Whisper remarked, smiling as laughter erupted from the other Intergang members. Gritting his teeth, Jack managed to raise his head, locking eyes with the woman who shot him, reaching out and taking a hold of the weapon while his body continued to disintegrate beneath him.

A flash erupted from the crate, as a horrific wail echoed through the room, the smell of burning flesh filling the nostrils of those nearby before the light cleared, revealing something new in Jack’s place.

A towering figure draped clad in spiked armour, a skull-like mask atop his face while inside was the corrupt shell of what was left of Jackie Lucas.

"Uxas demands the head of the Kryptonian.” The armoured figure bellowed.

“And Járnbjörn demands blood.”

“And here you are, hun, anything else I can get for you?”

The man looked up at the waitress and smiled while shaking his head.

“No, I am afraid that this cup of organically sourced, ethically traded black coffee is all the sustenance I will be requiring at this time of you.” He paused, his eyes darting to her name tag.

“Sarah O’Connor of 344 Clinton Street, Apartment 3D, City of Metropolis, State of Delaware, a part of the United States of America.” The man rhymed off innocently.

“Ooookay then,” She politely smiled before making a hasty retreat from the cafe table. The man continued to smile, looking around New Troy’s Planet Square, surveying the looming towers that were Luthorcorp, the Daily Planet and the nearby luxury apartments and hotels that made up the bulk of the city’s iconic skyline.

The spinning golden globe of the newspaper’s building was the standout of the Big Apricot’s skyline, visible from anywhere in the city and outshining even Luthorcorp’s twin towers. His eyes were directed to a pair arguing just beyond the doors to the Daily Planet. Glancing at a watch, the man smiled before speaking to himself.

“Right on time,” His thumb fidgeted with a gold signet ring on his hand, his eyes wandering away from the woman and older man as he scanned the sky for what was about to happen next. Counting under his breath, as the man reached one, a sonic boom rocked the sky above Metropolis.

Standing from his chair, the man reached out a hand without looking, taking a hold of the waitress, and pulling her out of the way as a shower of glass and debris fell where she had stood a moment ago.

“Come with me if you want to live,” The man announced, motioning for those sitting outside to follow.

“How, what?” The waitress protested. But the man was already in motion, easily picking the woman up and carrying her inside the cafe and out of the scene unfolding outside as Luthor’s Paladins continued to engage the alien bounty hunter.

“Stay inside, and keep everyone away from the leftmost front window. It will be shattered in exactly five minutes, thirty-eight seconds and counting.”

“Who are you?”

“A friend of Superman’s.” The man replied, leaving the waitress even more confused than before as he walked back out the cafe’s door.

Turning exactly eighty-three degrees to the right, he made a beeline for where the woman he had been watching from earlier was hiding. Chaos and havoc continued to unfold all around the lone figure while he remained the very picture of calm. Side-stepping falling debris and weapons fire like a minor inconvenience as one would while avoiding puddles along a walking path.
From where she sheltered herself, out of the corner of her eye, Lois Lane saw the man coming towards. Taking her eyes off the spectacle unfolding in front of her, she began to move backward at the rapidly approaching man. The assertion at which he was moving gave her every indication he was looking for a fight.

And she was going to give it to him.

“Now where’s Jimmy to get a photo of this,” Lois muttered to herself, rotating her body before lifting a leg and striking with all her might. Her torso muscles delivered the high kick just like her father had taught her to.

Except, the man caught it.

Taking a hold of her leg, the man caught the blow like it was nothing before suddenly pulling Lois towards himself. As he did, a loud crash echoed from behind where she had just been. Turning her head, Lois saw the remnant of a car now occupying the spot she had been previously.

“You are safe now, Lois Lane.”

“Get your hands off of me.” Lois snapped, the man releasing her leg, as she spun back around on two feet. “Are you nuts! What the hell are you doing?”

“Rescuing you, Lois Lane. Had I not, you would have been critically injured.”

“I don’t understand, what are you talking about?”

“I have viewed this exact moment five thousand three hundred and twenty seven times.” The man replied, before he placed his hands on Lois's shoulders, “If you could just step to the left.”

The stranger prompted, the pair stepping aside mere seconds before another piece of debris landed beside them.

“But it is imperative I contact you today before events proceed further than they already have.”

“You mean with Dog the Bounty Hunter up there?” Lois asked as the stranger shook his head.

“No, I mean with you and the man you love.”

“You’re barking up the wrong tree, Lois Lane is as single as a pringle and ready to mingle.” Lois scoffed before the man suddenly moved her again.

“How the hell are you doing that?”

“Time travel is predictable,” The stranger said, “It is when you create splintering timelines and multiverse occurrences that it becomes erratic and impossible.”

“Seriously, time travel? I’m talking to a lunatic. Is that spelled with one ‘o’ or two?”

“Yes, I am from the future. The year 3001 to be precise.” The strange man replied, “And it is spelled with a ‘u’.”

“You’re pulling my leg,” Lois smirked, before the man moved her once again. “Can we not talk somewhere else?”

“You are perfectly safe with me, and it really is spelled with a ‘u’,” the stranger replied.

“Ugh” Lois shrieked in frustration, “So the year 3001, really? Why does someone from the year 3001 know who I am?”

“I can’t give away too much about your present, let alone your future, Lois Lane. But you should know, you are a legend of tomorrow.” The stranger explained, “You have an important role to play, he needs you. He doesn't know it yet, but he will. And then he will need others like him. He already saw what happened at Almerac and he can't let his burden of responsibility blind him. Together, he, and the Iron Man, will change the world.”

“The Iron Man?” Lois asked in disbelief, “The old Stark Industries silly little mascot?”

“I fear if I say anymore I may alter the flow of time. The Legion has worked very hard to maintain this stable time loop.”

“What if I don’t want this future?” Lois argued, suddenly being picked up and moved again. “Stop that!”

“The alternative is far worse. It would end with the destruction of life as you understand it. You will not have an easy journey, but his heart will remember you even if it currently doesn’t belong to you.”

“Y’know, I’m actually kind of married to my-”

“Work, yes I know.” The stranger interrupted, catching a falling Paladin and placing them aside while he continued to talk. “Take this to Martha Kent in Smallville, you’re aware of Martha Kent are you not?”

Lois awkwardly held out her hands as the man handed her a black crystal-like object.

“Yes, my cousin has been close with the Kents for years, but Smallville is over a twenty hour drive away-” Lois blinked as a flash of light surrounded her before suddenly finding herself alone. Gone were the familiar buildings of New Troy, in their place instead were towering stalks of cream corn. The smell of the city was replaced by the lingering smell of manure for nearby farms. The hustle of Metropolis completely vanished, no alien overhead fighting with a superhero instead a flock of birds heading south for the winter.

Lois looked down at the mud on her heels and the obsidian coloured crystal before looking up at the sky again.

“What the actual f-”

The crisp autumn air mixed with the fire burning in the heath. A fresh log was set upon the stove before the screen was pulled back across, directing the smoke towards the chimney and away from the interior of the quaint cabin. In front of the fireplace, the man rubbed his hands together, warming them on the new flames as they licked away at the fresh wood. He straightened the cuffs on his flannel shirt, rolling them back to his elbows before running a hand along the once finely trimmed goatee, now drowning in thick, unkempt stubble.

Atop the stove sat a kettle, its contents beginning to boil as a whistle filled the small cabin. Humming as he walked across the creaking timber floors, Antonio Stark smiled at the birds singing outside the cabin window, removing the whistling kettle from the stove and allowing it to cool slightly before pouring the near-boiling water over the freshly hand-ground grinds.

Something was soothing about watching the coffee slowly seep through the filter and into the basin of the glass hourglass. A sudden pang of pain radiated from his chest, prompting Tony to grab hold of the solid oak table with one hand, while the other hovered over his chest. The subtle vibrations and tingle of the electromagnetic field of his arc reactor tickled his hand while Tony braced his chest.

“I’ve done everything I can, but given my current resources, there are still pieces of shrapnel embedded in your heart. If not removed, they will continue to travel further and eventually-”

“Kill me, yeah, I got it, Doc.”

The memory of Yinsen brought a bittersweet smile to Tony’s face. Were it not for the intervention of the good doctor, Tony would have died in the same cave that the Ten Rings buried him in. Instead, he was alive, mostly alive, today, while Yinsen’s good deed came at the sacrifice of his own life.

The arc reactor in Tony’s chest was his own answer to keeping himself alive. Its primary purpose was to generate an electromagnetic field that kept the shrapnel from advancing any further. However, the original model had the unintended side effect of both merging the shrapnel with his body and making his heart nearly dependent on the device.

Without it, he would die.

Grabbing the fresh cup of coffee, Tony took a seat out on the porch, watching the wind blow the colour-changing leaves while the record player continued to play Paranoid. Taking a sip, he savoured the hot, bitter liquid as it filled his mouth. His left hand was absently playing with a gold ring that he had slipped off.

Tony didn’t consider himself the sentimental type, but for some reason, he hadn’t brought himself to stop wearing the ring yet. It had been two years since the divorce was finalized, but his hand felt empty without it, even if he hadn’t heard from her since the papers were signed.

And he likely never would.

The world was peaceful off the grid, Tony revelled in the self-imposed exile, enjoying the solitude afforded to him deep into the woods of Oregon. Just over the nearby ridge, the ocean could be seen, and most nights the distant waves crashing against the shores lulled Tony into a deep state of slumber.

But slumber brought nightmares.

“What’s the matter, Tony? Oh, I’m sorry, you saw me as a father, didn’t you? Sorry, son, I was only ever in it for the money, and that suit of yours, that’s the cash cow I’ve been waiting on you to bring home.”

Stane’s betrayal still stung, even after all this time. Tony saw him die almost every time he closed his eyes. A heavy sigh escaped from his lips as he leaned back on the porch chair. The glow of the Autumn sun was warming his skin in the crisp air before suddenly it was cut off.

“Honey, you’re blocking my sun.”

“Any more of that inside?” The man asked, as Stark motioned with his head.

“You can check, I’m not used to guests out here,” He responded, opening his eyes as Colonel James Rhodes entered the cabin.

“Tony, you don’t even have a second mug.”

“Told you, I don’t get guests out here.”

“Not even Pepper?”

“Pepper doesn’t need me,” Tony scoffed, “She’s busy running the company, she’s got Happy, she’s good.”

“You do know that Luthorcorp is muscling in on Stark Industries, especially after AmerTek bought up what was left of your arms division,” Rhodes replied, exiting the cabin empty-handed.

“No booze in there either, proud of you, Tony,” James smiled, slapping Tony on the shoulder, who recoiled at his physical contact. “Though now I owe Happy fifty bucks, you couldn’t at least have built a still to make moonshine?”

“I came out here to get away from my demons, not drown them.”

“Figured they knew how to swim by now,” Rhodes smirked.

“One would imagine,” Tony replied dryly, sipping his coffee again. Rhodes leaned over, taking a whiff of it as Tony raised an eyebrow again. “It’s not Irish.”

“You can’t blame a man for not wanting to lose a bet, Tony.”

“I can when it’s at my detriment!” Stark replied, “Now, what brings you out here, Honey?”

“The Mandarin has resurfaced.”
“The Mandarin has resurfaced.”
_{“The Mandarin has resurfaced.”}

Rhodes’ next words were swallowed by the repeating echoes of the cold and damp cave that haunted Tony’s nightmares. Shooting pains raced through Tony’s chest as he anxiously tore away at the bandages covering the crude electromagnet embedded in his chest, attached to a car battery. His legs barely worked, crumpling beneath him due to atrophy as he scrambled upright.

The explosion played over and over in his mind. His name, his father’s name, was the last thing he saw before the blast sent him flying. Blood ran from a cut in his forehead, blinding his right eye as he tried to crawl away. Two sets of firm hands took him by the arms, dragging him from a pool of his own blood into the back of some sort of vehicle.

A bag over his head, leaving him in the dark.

A helmet over his head brought him out of it.

Flames erupted from his wrist while his other arm used the pneumatic enhancements to ragdoll members of the terrorist cell out of his way. The blinding sun reflected off the sand as Tony made his escape. Tears streaking the grease and blood that clung to his unwashed face, Yinsen’s screams still echoed in his ears.


Rhodes’s hands were on Tony’s shoulders, causing him to jump as he snapped back to the present.

“Tony, where’d you go? You alright, man?”

“I’m fine, Honey,”

“You have got to stop calling me that,” Rhodes replied, leaning back with a sigh of relief. “Anyways, as I was saying, you’re our best lead on the Mandarin. You’re the only man who has ever met him and survived.”

“You will build me a weapon, Mr. Stark. One that will change the tide in the coming war.”

“Nope, can’t help you, Rhodey. Thanks for visiting, but I barely remember what he looks like.” Tony protested; the Mandarin’s face seared into his mind’s eye. Those glowing golden eyes smiled while Tony was tortured into compliance. The taste of vinegar, sweat and blood filled Tony’s mouth, prompting him to spit out his coffee.

“Tony, come on, you can’t hide out here forever.”

“It’s not hiding, Honey, it’s sabbath,” Tony replied, leaning back as he produced a pair of sunglasses from his pocket.

“Shame, I was also hoping to get your consult on a project, but I can probably get someone else,” Rhodes said, standing while straightening his uniform. “I’m sure Lex would be available, or maybe Stagg. Though I think General Lane is hoping to bring in Pym.”

Tony slapped his ring down under his palm, turning his head to look at Rhodes before lowering his sunglasses.

“You’re a bastard, you know that.” Standing, Tony rubbed his stubble again before replying.
“I need to shave first.”

“Antonio Stark in the flesh,”

A hand grasped Tony’s, causing him to recoil as he withdrew his right hand from the other man’s before hastily brushing it against the exterior of his jacket, his other hand frantically searching his pockets for any form of sanitizer.

His search was in futility; the sudden realization that sanitizer was an alcohol product reminded Tony that Rhodey had confiscated it from him. Although Tony had been sober for over a year, Rhodes had gone out of his way to remove every temptation from Oregon to New York while the pair travelled together.

“Damn his thoroughness,” Tony muttered under his breath. James had abandoned Tony to go and meet with his own superiors, leaving the former head of Stark Industries alone in a sea of sharks hungry to feed. Beyond the man in front of him, Tony quickly noticed Simon Stagg and Hank Pym both were in attendance.

The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, his eyes shooting daggers at Pym, particularly towards the gold ring adorning his left hand. The search for the hand sanitizer was forgotten quickly, Tony’s hands balled into fists, clenching and unclenching over and over.

“I beg your pardon?” The voice interrupted Tony’s glaring, tearing his eyes away from the other man across the room as Tony gritted his teeth before forcing a smile, turning back to the man who had initially approached him.

“Lionel Luthor, you look… well.” Tony's wry tone left no room for his greeting to be mistaken as cordial.

“Have you managed to capitalize on any Middle Eastern farmers lately?”

“Come now, Antonio,” Lionel replied, patting Tony on the back, causing him to wince again as Lionel smiled, feigning obliviousness to Tony’s discomfort. “We both know that the Middle East is hardly profitable for agriculture. There’s hardly any fields left due to the effectiveness of Stark Industries’ weapons.”

Lionel knew how to twist a knife. Tony tried to keep his face neutral, his tone calm. It was conversations like this that made him reluctant to venture outside of his cabin. He was forever cast in a darkness from his father’s shadow. Despite the advances across the entire Western coast towards a net-zero carbon footprint, thanks to the new arc reactors, Stark Industries would always be remembered instead for the likes of the ‘Jericho’ missile and the ‘Goliath’.

He had spent the last five years trying to make amends for his family’s history. The mistakes of the past had led to his divorce, his torture at the hands of the Ten Rings, it had almost cost him his company and not to mention his downward spiral into alcoholism and other forms of self-abuse.

Stark had separated himself from the world to rebuild, to become a better man. He had become sober, rebuilt the company with new products, and put people like Pepper into positions where they were far more effective than he could ever be.

But he still didn’t feel whole. Lionel, within five seconds, had managed to strip him for parts. Reduced him back to the very thing he was fighting so hard to distance himself from, just another heartless Tin Man like his father.

Tony Stark; some assembly required.

“I don’t make weapons; Stark Industries is the face of clean energy.” Stark retorted, his tone taking a steely edge.

“If that’s what helps you sleep at night, Antonio,” The other billionaire replied dismissively, “But the fact of the matter is that Stark is synonymous with destruction,” Lionel smirked, reiterating the very thing Tony had come to hate about himself.

“Your father was the Da Vinci of Destruction after all, and there was that ‘Iron Man’ incident some years ago. Didn’t the late Obediah have the patent on a new mobile weapon suit?”

Tony knew Lionel was baiting him. The Luthor patriarch was fishing for something.

“I don’t know what to tell you, Lionel, dear old Dad and Obi cooked up some awfully wicked ideas, but I’m pushing ahead with my own legacy. The DaVinci is dead, and I buried him with his weapons. Stark Industries is building a new legacy.”

“Tsk, tsk, Tony, be careful not to bite the hand that feeds,” Lionel chided, leaning forward to whisper in Stark’s ear. “I know it was you who designed the first suit; Infinity Incorporated has made some surprising headway at refining your designs. Dare I say, even improving upon them.”

“I appreciate you trying to goad my ego,” Tony deflected, pulling away from Lionel’s grasp. He was going to need a hot shower when this conversation was over. “But I haven’t the foggiest what you’re talking about. ‘Sentinel-One’ is cute, though. I like your little toy soldiers playing dress up in Metropolis.”

“Ah, so you did manage to stay current even in your little shack.”

“Intimately, Lionel,” Tony managed to smile genuinely for the first time, “I saw your ‘Paladins’ get wiped across the floor by the first real threat they faced. Don’t tell me you only trained them to go after the teenage superheroes?”

Stark made no effort to stifle his laughter.

“I think the only thing better is that your fraudulent superhero was equally outmatched.” He taunted, finding his own knife to drive as Lionel’s eyebrows furrowed. “How is your registration going in light of the ‘Heroes of New York’. Business with Frost Industries must be a little-” Tony paused.

“What’s the word I’m looking for? It’s right there on the tip of my tongue, oh right, frosty, Your relationship with Frost Industries must be a little frosty if you’re on opposing sides of registration.”

“Antonio, it’s always a pleasure to engage in a battle of wits with you,” Lionel patted Tony on the back again. At this point, Tony’s fingernails had drawn blood from the palms of his hands. “I especially appreciate you fighting unarmed.” He smiled again, following Tony’s eyes as they darted every few seconds back towards Pym.

“I do hope you’ll perhaps consider stopping by Infinity Inc. some time,” Lionel added, “I’d hate to see your true talents wasted by getting in bed with the wrong party.” A dark chuckle followed Lionel’s words as he adjusted Tony’s collar, taking pleasure in the other man tensing up.

“When you speak to Pym, give Janet my love.”

Bastard.

Lionel’s words were like a slap to the face followed by a knee to the groin. Tony loosened his tie, patting his brow with a kerchief quickly before finding a secluded corner to regain his breath. Five minutes back into the real world, and he had already had to square off against Lionel Luthor. Facing Pym, let alone Janet, was not next on his list.

How did he let Rhodey talk him into this?

The only thing that could have made this worse is if the consult had been in Gotham. But at least then Tony would have been murdered and not left with an anxiety attack.

He felt sick to his stomach and, for the first time in a year, desperately wanted a drink.

Several drinks.

He hadn’t recognized his own designs in the Paladin armour initially. Was he losing his grip? It was so clear now. Of course, it wasn’t truly his design; it was Stane’s from reverse engineering the Mark I into the Iron Monger. The Paladin armour was a bit more streamlined, more riot gear than war machine. It didn’t change the fact that Stark was still responsible for new weapons making their way into the world.

If they had been used successfully by Lionel, who knows how many vigilantes’ blood would be on Stark’s hands. His chest tightened, breath shortened. Falling to one knee, Tony placed his hand on the wall. The hallway was spinning. He needed air, he needed water.

Where was Rhodey? Where was the closest bar?

“Tony?” A woman’s voice cut through the narrowing tunnel that was closing in around Stark’s vision.

“You don’t look like you’re doing so well there, Boss Man,” She added, her hand reaching for his shoulder. Tony felt her touch as she moved to brace him. Then her scent hit his nose, notes of honey and honeysuckle took him back in time.

Satin sheets, silky legs wrapped around his torso, laughter echoing in his ears. The hissing of a bottle of champagne that was freshly popped. A room covered in rose petals, a plate of chocolate-covered strawberries. A veil hung from the canopy of the four-post bed frame while a wedding dress lay discarded on the floor. The room was dotted with pieces of a tuxedo scattered about from being aggressively removed.

“Jan?” Tony asked, looking up at the woman who smiled back at him, nodding enthusiastically.

Damnit, Janet.

Tony cursed inwardly, feeling his heart palpitate before suddenly his eyes rolled upwards into his skull. He gasped for air, collapsing on the floor in front of the horrified woman.

“Tony!”

Tony Stark; a lot of assembly required.

“Oh, Tony, what happened to you?”


Janet’s words were the first thing Tony heard as he opened his eyes.

The room around him looked very different from the hallway he remembered being in. Faded music drifted in and out of the room, Cobain’s vocals reaching Tony’s ears as he slowly blinked. This room was much more spartan, even sterile, in comparison to the previous hall. No matter where he looked, all Tony saw were white walls in every direction through the pale gray curtain wrapped around his bed.

Jan’s hand lay on his chest, tracing the very arc reactor that was keeping him alive while looking caringly over the various scars the shrapnel had left across his torso. Tony, to his surprise, found himself welcoming Jan’s touch, almost longing for it.

He could practically feel the breeze coming in off the Pacific. The smell of salt and sand in the air while Jan lay beside him, enjoying the view of the Maui beach house. She had been a model then; there wasn’t a fashion magazine cover she hadn’t graced.

So, of course, Tony had to have her.


A whirlwind romance, front page of every tabloid. A highly publicized wedding with an even more public divorce. Stane pulled the best lawyers he knew to ensure Tony didn’t lose a dime. In hindsight, Stane was protecting his own interests more than Tony’s. Jan couldn’t bear to come home each day to find her husband drowning in the bottom of another bottle, and Tony wasn’t prepared to give Jan a chance to spread her wings.

So she left.

And Tony sank deeper into the drink, becoming more and more like his father. At least, until the intervention of Ten Rings. Surviving the Mandarin’s ordeal was the system restart that Tony had needed; it reframed the world. For the first time, he had finally been able to see Stane for who he was. For the fool that Tony himself had been.

Just how much he lost when he lost Jan.

“The last few years have not been kind to you, have they?”

“I take it you don’t read the news much?” Tony replied dryly. His mouth felt like he had swallowed a bucket of sand.

“Drink,” Jan instructed, reading Tony’s expression as easily as she did fifteen years ago. “Your sarcasm seems to be intact.”

Tony’s eyebrows raised, opening his mouth to respond before a soft finger shushed his lips.

“I know, ‘it’s not the only thing intact’,” She teased, anticipating his response while mimicking his voice. “Tony, I’m trying to be real with you right now. I know the headlines, I know the gossip columns, but you know as well as I do that I’ve been in enough of them to know just how little truth there is.”

“No,” Tony replied, “The last few years have not been kind, but they were what I needed.” He said, finally sitting up. “I’m trying to be better, someone whose legacy isn’t wrought with death. Someone you could finally be proud of. Y’know a good man, like-” Tony suddenly realized how grateful he was to be in a hospital. Finishing this sentence might actually kill him.

“H-” He started, the name catching in his throat, he coughed slightly before managing to choke out, “Pym.”

“Hank’s not without his demons, Tony,” Jan replied softly before a crestfallen expression passed over her face momentarily. “He’s far from perfect, but he cares, in his own way.”


“Jan,” Tony started, “If he’s done something-”

“Tony, no,” Jan replied, “This is my relationship, I’m a big girl who can fend for herself. I’m the CEO of Van Dyne Designs, not a nineteen-year-old model wooed by a billionaire.”

Janet always did know how to make her words sting.

“Forgot I said anything, Jan, you’re right, it’s not my place.”

“Tony, I-” Jan placed her hand on Tony’s chest again, “I’m sorry, I just don’t want you feeling like I expect you to be some sort of knight in shining armour.”

“No, no, Pym is great, I got it. Won’t happen again.”

“Tony, c’mon,” Jan pleaded, “It’s not like that.” She rubbed at her collarbone, her hand subconsciously wrapping around her neck before she moved it back to Tony.

“It’s more business than-” Her words were suddenly interrupted as a man appeared at the door.

“Ah, there you are. Janet, I assume you’ve taken enough of Mr. Stark’s time?” It took control of muscle in Tony’s face not to glare at Hank Pym as the man summoned Janet to respond to his beck and call.

Tony might have messed up once before, but he knew Jan deserved to be treated like a queen. Not some drone that was ordered around. Wincing, Tony swung his legs over the edge of the bed, feeling his body starting to respond again. The room spun slightly as a mild case of vertigo set in.

“Still talking to ants, Pym?” Tony smirked.

“Last I checked, that’s never killed anyone,” Pym replied, “Can you say the same for your line of work?”

“Boys,” Jan warned, earning herself a look from Pym. Tony had seen that look before; it was the same look his father had given Tony’s mother whenever she stepped out of whatever imaginary line he had for her.

“Next time you faint, Stark,” Pym replied, “Try to do it around someone else’s girlfriend.”

“I’ll do my best,” Tony smiled. Turning his head towards Jan, he watched her walk out of his life yet again, smiling sadly as he softly spoke again.

“Jan.”

The ‘City that Never Sleeps’ certainly lived up to its name.

Between the cold wind and the hustle and bustle of busy sidewalks, Stark was constantly reminded he was far from the palm tree-lined streets and warm sun of home. He had no desire to rent a car from a local club and attempt to drive it in the gridlocked streets of New York. Horns echoed from every direction as the man continued to walk down the sidewalk, dodging out of the way of every person he came across lest one of them accidentally graze against him.

The nurse had been reluctant to discharge Tony from the hospital; more than a few doctors wanted a closer look at the arc reactor in his chest. Drop the word proprietary a couple of times and mention lawyers, though, and it was amazing how quickly Stark managed to talk his way into a discharge.

It was hard to believe a mere month ago, ‘fire trolls’ had overrun these streets while a ragtag team of self-elected avengers pushed back against them. Public opinion was certainly split on them, though, and while you had very vocal detractors like Gordon G. Godfrey and Lionel Luthor, you had more and more who silently accepted these superpowered individuals as heroes.

A vibration on his wrist alerted Tony to an incoming call. He blinked twice, the contact over his eye activating his cellphone as the subdermal implant in his ear relayed Rhodey’s voice to him.

“Where are you?”

“Hi, Honey, I was worried about you too, so glad you called,” Tony answered with mock sincerity, his tone practically dripping with sarcasm behind the glib cheeriness.

“Seriously, Tony, I brought you here to consult on the Mandarin resurfacing, not to go sightseeing.”

Tony stopped a street vendor, poking around the various t-shirts and other items he had for sale.

“What size are you?”

“What?” Rhoades asked, his tone exasperated.

“What’s your shirt size?” Tony asked, picking up a shirt that depicted one of the superpowered heroes from the fire troll attack. “You strike me as a Marvel Boy kind of guy.”

“Who?”

“Y’know red tights, blue cape. Big ol’thunder bolt on his chest, it’s almost patriotic.”

“Isn’t that Thor?”

“Pretty sure it’s Marvel Boy,” Tony replied, holding the shirt up and mouthing the question at the vendor. The vendor shook his head with a smile before replying.

“Nah, my man, that’s like totally Thor, brah.”

“Never mind, Honey,” Tony put the shirt down with a disgusted expression, “They don’t have anything in your size.”

“You’re in an awfully good mood,” Rhodes accused, his tone suspicious. “What’d you do to Jan?”

“I’m appalled. Antonio Howard Stark always respects the boundaries of a relationship.”

“Uh-huh, what was it that happened between you and Miss March in ‘19?”

“Her name was Miss March,” Tony argued, “How was I supposed to know she was married?”

“Maya Hansen.”

“She was only engaged,”

“Isn’t Jan just dating Pym?” Rhodes retorted.

“They’re common law, that trumps engaged,” Tony replied playfully as he continued down the street. “Do you like blueberries?”

“What?”

“Blueberries,” Tony repeated, stopping at a vendor as he picked up a fresh quart of the fruit. Popping one into his mouth, his mouth, he bit down on it, savory the flavour. “Y’know, nature’s gusher.”

“Wasn’t that your nickname for-”

“Right, Roxie Gilbert!” Tony answered, finishing Rhodes’ sentence. “Her brother had a mean right hook.” His jaw ached just thinking of it as he rubbed his chin.

“Look, finish your snack and get back here, we’re going to start the debrief in thirty.”

“See you soon, Honey,” Tony replied before touching his ear to end the call.

“Yo, my man,” The t-shirt vendor from moments ago called, waving to catch Tony’s attention. “I’ve got something like totally vintage that might interest you.”

Curiosity piqued, Tony reversed his path and went back as the man pulled out a red ‘Stark Industries’ logo shirt. There in the middle of the shirt was a gold behemoth of a man clad in armour, wielding Stark weapons, notably a pair of large handguns.

“Like, dude, it’s Iron Man. ‘And he's here to do some business, with the big iron on his hip.’”

“How many of those do you have?” Stark asked as the man pulled out a cardboard box. Pulling out his wallet, Stark grabbed several crisp bills before passing them to the vendor.

“Keep the change,” Tony instructed, placing his blueberries atop of the box before picking up the collection of t-shirts and walking off.

Tonight, he was having a bonfire.

The door to the hall flew open as Tony Stark barged in, arms laden with a box of t-shirts, blueberries spilling everywhere as the dishevelled man entered the room. A hush fell over the room as Tony entered. He placed the box on the floor before scooping up the blueberries and making his way into the main chamber.

Rhodes was doing his best not to show embarrassment as Tony walked into the room while several other ranking officers watched the eccentric billionaire as he opted for a seat in the middle of the arc-shaped table.

“Sam, Tad, you’re both looking well.” Stark broke the silence, addressing General Lane and General Ross first.

“If this man is no longer supplying the United States military with weapons to root out these insurgents, might I ask why he’s privy to this conversation?” General Lane began, “Don’t get me wrong, AmerTek makes a hell of a weapon, but I miss the weight of a Stark in my hand.”

“With all due respect, General,” Rhodes interjected, “I asked Mr. Stark to sit in as a civilian consultant. After all, he’s the only known person who has met the Mandarin and lived.”

“Allegedly.” General Ross retorted.

“That’s exactly what I was going to say,” Stark exclaimed, “How’s your daughter?”

“Stark, I’m warning you,” Thaddues Ross rumbled, turning his full attention to Tony. “You so much as say her name, I’ll put you back in a cave myself. But next time, no one will find you.”

“General Ross, perhaps we should refrain from antagonizing Mr. Stark further.”

“Sam, how are your daughters?”

“Far away from you,” Lane replied, “Colonel, he’s your man if he continues to act out of line.”

“Yessir,” James replied with a small salute before looking at Tony. “What the hell?” He mouthed at Tony, who shrugged a response before tossing a blueberry into the air and catching it with a loud and exaggerated bite. It had already been a long day, and his patience for this briefing had worn thin.

Plus, he had t-shirts to burn.

“Approximately one week after the attack on New York, the Ten Rings became active again, particularly interested in residual energy signatures that had appeared over the Eastern hemisphere. We believe that the terrorist cell led by the man known only as ‘The Mandarin’ has identified a new weapon source. Given what we know about him, which admittedly is limited, we know the Mandarin and by extension, Ten Rings seek objects of power, such objects which have been showing up at an alarming rate given the influx of extranormal individuals.” General Ross began.

“Let the record show in attendance today is Antonio H. Stark.” Stated General Lane before turning his view on Stark.

“Mr. Stark, we’d like to know more about your time captured by the Mandarin. It’s our understanding he was having you build him something.” Lane asked as Tony exhaled heavily.

He could already feel the darkness around the edge of his vision again threatening to drive him right back into a tunnel. His feet suddenly ached, the feeling of the rod against them reverberating through his tibia and into his femurs. The smell of his own flesh burning under hydrochloric acid as it was poured on his back.

The torturers knew exactly the amount of dilution to use to get the results they wanted. But they also knew how to use it effectively. Tony had watched a man forced into a tub of it alive, drowning as his lungs were burned from the inside out.

“He wanted me to build a weapon to end all weapons.” Tony finally answered.

“A weapon you only had to fire once.”

His hand came up to his chin, rubbing against the stubble before he brushed against his large mustache. Running the same hand through his loose, slicked back curls, Tony took a deep breath before continuing to speak.

“The Mandarin doesn’t care about destruction; he cares about control.” Tony stated, “He’s not looking to blow the world up; he’s looking for a way to rule it. He’s a megalomaniac, not a nihilist. He wanted an instrument of fear, something that would make entire governments take a knee before him.”

“And you built him this weapon?”

“No,” Tony replied, “I built a means of escape.”

“You mean the mobile weapon suit?”

“The suit was not a weapon; it was a means of defense and escape,” Tony argued.

“Obedeiah Stane managed to weaponize it, did he not?”

“What does that have to do with the Mandarin?” Tony countered, “Am I not here to talk about the Mandarin?”

“It’s pertinent to our interests.”

“The suit is gone. I suggest you move on as well.” Tony replied to Ross. “If Ten Rings is mobilizing, then you need to-”

Tony was cut off as Lane slammed a fist down on a desk. The screen behind him changed to a live broadcast showing tanks moving through the streets of a foreign city. Gunmen walking on each side of the vehicle, the familiar logo of the Ten Rings had been hastily sprayed onto the tank’s armour.

His face crinkled in disgust as he watched the live footage. Children separated from their mothers, fathers executed on the spot.

The Mandarin already had a weapon that he had to fire once.

Fear.

“This is coming to us live from Bialya, Ten Rings has made actions of war but we have no way to intervene.”

“Sorry, Tony, I thought if you saw this, if you could see a way that weapons could help…” Rhodes said as Tony stood up from the table, kicking his chair away.

“That you could guilt me into backsliding on everything?” He shook his head, “No, I’m done here, we’re-” He motioned at Rhodey, “done here.”

“Stark, you can’t hide in the forest forever!” Ross roared as Tony slammed the door open.

“I need a damn drink.”

Storming out of the chamber, he nearly knocked Hank Pym over. His anger flared more at the sight of Pym, grabbing the other man by the collar before socking him across the jaw.

Pym hit the floor with a thud as Tony stood over him.

“I thought you gave up on violence, Stark,” Hank smirked, wiping blood away from his split lip.

“Go to hell,” Tony replied, storming out of the hall while Rhodes helped Pym back to his feet.

“On behalf of-”

“Save your breath, I don’t need an apology from Stark or his lackey. I’m here to do my presentation.”

“Ah, Mr. Pym, come inside,” Ross stated, shaking Hank’s hand before Sam followed suit.

“We’re very excited to hear about ‘Yellowjacket’.”

“They’re so desperate to regain Rao’s favour, they’ll strip the planet bare just to seek out a yellow star.”

The man grumbled angrily, watching from the train’s windows while the enas-traeno hovered above the magnetic rail, guiding it to the city of Kandor. Behind the suspended beam lay barren fields that had once been the abundant plains of Wanan. In years past, the plains were home to bountiful crops produced by the Labour Guild; Mayzea, Tritikem and Oryza for all of Krypton were grown in the vastness of Wanan.

Or at least, they had been before the Council’s new directive.

Crops had been forgotten in search of precious minerals. Minerals for building ships, the harvesting of which left the fields usable for anything else. Waban was ruined, its fields upturned and stripped, leaving it void of nutrition. Pollinators in the area had moved on in search of food elsewhere, leaving the entirety of Kandor surrounded by only the carcass of a once-thriving agricultural sector.

Krypton was a small planet located in the furthest reaches of the Andromeda Galaxy, orbiting the star known as Rao in the system of the same name. Under the guidance and practices of the Religious Guild, the people of Krypton worshipped the star as the incarnation of their chief deity, from whom the star had been named. An isolationist people, the Kryptonians had primarily kept to themselves, their advancement halted and tossed back into the Dark Ages when Rao went from a Yellow Star to a Red Giant nearly a millennium ago.

Once a proud race of explorers and warriors, without the gifts of Rao, they had fumbled about in the dark for centuries, rebuilding their societies and devolving from a planet of free men and free women to a caste system where artificially grown children are placed into one of the five major Guilds alongside their parents.

In the last decade, Krypton had re-established contact with its neighbouring planets, Daxam and Dheronian. Both of whom, at one point in history, lived under the oppressive regime of Ancient Krypton. Both of whom had since lashed out against the planet and launched interplanetary armaments against the planet, adding fuel to the Council’s fire and accelerating their fleet of warships.

Argo City had an entire quarter decimated by the attack. Radiation leaked through the surviving city, forcing those remaining to evacuate to safety elsewhere. The train into Kandor was overflowing with survivors, while others were on their way to appeal to the council, much like the man and his wife.

“Jor,” The woman beside the man suddenly interrupted, “You’re grinding your teeth again.”

Jor-El smiled. If there was anyone who could pull him back from being a hundred stadia away, it was his Lara. He turned his face away from the window, closing his eyes to the burning fields before focusing on the gleaming red tower in the distance.

Not just any red tower, but the Red Tower, constructed of the purest sunstone and the heart of Xan City, the planet’s capital or Kryptonopolis, as it was commonly referred. It was where his and Lara’s home lay, but today they had business in Kandor. While it wasn’t a long journey, the distance between Kandor and Xan was nearly a stage and a half, or about two hundred stadia.

The traeno slowed as it approached the platform. The hiss of the air brakes deployed echoed around the cabin as the dull thud of the flaps expanding could be heard through the roof. The smell of Kandor’s numerous food vendors washed over Jor-El and Lara the minute they set foot onto the platform. Music echoed down the streets as people tried to spread joy instead of fear while the looming threat of war hung over the heads of every Kryptonian.

What was alluring aromas of delicious dromos kreas roasting on spits over open flame crystals for Jor-El was having the opposite effect on Lara as wave after wave of nausea washed over her, threatening to up heave the contents of her stomach.

“We’ll move quickly to the higher level, my love,” Jor-El smiled, taking his wife’s hand and guiding her to a nearby lift, but not without taking one last look at the sizzling kreas, the nearest made of his favourite rondorian cut. The smell of the caramelized fat rendering on the grill sent the smoky smell of the tallow-roasted treat towards his nose.

He resolved to ensure he picked up a snack for the way home.

Compared to the sprawling city of Xan, Kandor felt very vertical, with layer upon layer emphasizing the city’s caste system. While Xan might have been the planet’s official capital, Kandor was the fastest-growing city on the globe and rapidly outpaced Kryptonopolis in population.

Once they had arrived at the Military Guild Levels, it didn’t take long for Jor-El and Lara to locate the barracks they were looking for. Pausing outside the gilded metal door, Jor-El pressed the ringer, waiting a few seconds before footsteps laden with heavy boots could be heard on the other side.

“Jor! Lara!” General Dru-Zod exclaimed happily at seeing the pair outside the door before pausing in confusion, as he glanced down at Lara and the bump protruding from her stomach. “My, you have been eating well.*

“Dru, I do hope your tact in battle more than compensates for your lack in decorum.” Lara retorted with a chiding smile, “I am with child.”

“Ah, your names came up next on the Council’s list, then? Odd, I’ve never known the stress of being a parent to make any other woman fat-”

“No, Dru,” Jor-El interjected, “Lara is pregnant, with our son.”

“How can this be? I thought that was impossible. Childbirth is barbaric, is it not? What about the caste system?”

*Jor,” Lara replied, tears of joy welling in the corners of her eyes, “Jor found a way to cure the genophage. A fossilized Kryptonian down deep within the mines, its essence perfectly preserved, our son will not be like us; he’ll be like our ancestors.”

“He will be the first Kryptonian since the Crusades to be born of a woman and not a vessel. All of our hopes and dreams ride on him.”

“And what name have you come up with for this blessed miracle?” Zod asked.

“His name will be Kal, it means-” Lara began to answer before Zod finished her sentence.

“Rao with Us.”

“Banana bread at work? Hell yeah, dude.”

Jimmy Olsen’s voice echoed over the Daily Planet bullpen as he paraded over to his cubicle, plate laden with a thick slice of the aforementioned banana bread. A dollop of butter had been carefully spread edge to edge before being just warmed enough to soak into the pastry prior to consuming.

The young stringer excitedly settled back into his chair, taking a selfie with the delicious-looking snack while narrating his caption aloud to himself.

“Hell yeah, dude.”

From across the bullpen, Lois watched Jimmy’s antics with a roll of her eyes. He took a large bite of the banana bread before washing it down with a swig of an energy drink that had been on his desk since yesterday.

The only reason it made it to today was that he had demolished the rest of the four-pack yesterday. It was a miracle the young man’s heart didn’t burst out of his chest.

“Considering your coffee is at least eighty percent sugar, I’m not sure you’ve got a leg to stand on, Miss Lane.” A warm voice filled the air, sending a shiver down Lois’ spine as she ran her tongue against her teeth, sticking it into her cheek before turning around and looking up into the man’s piercing blue eyes.

They twinkled back at her, smiling with naivety and hope that wasn’t often found in Metropolis. Even with a slight hunch to his posture, Clark Kent, the Daily Planet’s newest stringer, still stood a head taller than Lois.

“Smallville, I know you made that banana bread.” Lois retorted, “How? No one around her uses real butter. And I know the smell of real butter.”

“That’s very observant of you, Miss Lane.”

“We’ve been over this; it’s Lois.”

“And I don’t bake.” Clark smiled innocently as Lois let out an exasperated noise.

“At the very least, you brought it from home.” She accused Clark again.

“Lois, it’s Wednesday.”

“Yeah, so?”

“You’re suggesting that after I left work last night at six, that I took a train, or a car, all the way home to Kansas, to pick up banana bread, just for Jimmy?”

“Well, it sounds ridiculous when you put it like that.” Lois muttered, “But I didn’t hear you say ‘no’!” She snapped, pointing a pencil covered in teeth marks towards Clark.

“No, Lois, no, I did not drive to Smallville last night to get banana bread for Jimmy.”

Clark felt his phone vibrate suddenly, flipping it over to see a message from his younger sister.

| Mom wants to know if Jimmy liked the banana bread.

Clark smiled at Jessi’s message, carefully typing a response as Jimmy passed between himself and Lois with a second plate.

| He didn’t like it. He loved it.

Clark replied, hitting send.

“I’m going to bust you, Smallville, and when I do, there will be hell to pay,” Lois warned, leaning over the desk. She paused, his cologne wafting towards her as she suddenly found herself contemplating how good Clark Kent smelled.

“Hell,” Lois stuttered, “Hell to pay!” She called again before turning her sights to the nearest television. Breaking news flashed across the screen as a fire had engulfed a bank in midtown. She turned around, opening her mouth to call for Jimmy and Clark, only to realize she had been too slow.

Clark was already gone.

A gentle sound of contentment came from the slumbering white wolfdog. He lay on the wraparound porch of the Kent farm, not a care in the world, while his legs dangled in the air upwards and his tongue hung out of the side of his mouth, lazily rising and falling with his soft snores.

Creaking hinges announced the opening of the storm door that led into the Kent homestead. No sooner had it opened than it was followed by the clatter of the same door closing, as it was released from the teenage girl’s hand. She paused, brushing loose strands of strawberry blonde hair behind her ear before looking over at the lazy canine, an amused smile crossing her face at Krypto’s relaxed state.

Reaching down, she pushed her fingers through his thick, shaggy coat, brushing aside the mane-like fur that hung from his neck and chest before scratching along his ribcage, eliciting happy tail wags from the alien canine.

She allowed herself to fall into a seated position beside the animal, her eyes starting into the distance, looking beyond the fence line and towards the horizon. Jessica Kent was completely lost in thought as her hand absently continued to scratch Krypto’s stomach, completely ignorant of her father working on the tractor no more than several paces away from the house.

“Something bothering you, sweetheart?” Jonathan Kent called, looking up from his work as he noticed Jessica sitting on the porch steps doing her best impression of her eldest brother’s thousand-yard stare. Jonathan softly chuckled to himself. He had seen Clark with that look more times than he could count, probably more times than there were kernels of corn stored up in the silo.

“Just something that happened today at school,” came a soft reply.

“One of the boys in the senior grade got upset, and it turned out he was Kryptonite-infected.” Jessie began to explain, “And now, the Torch wants me to interview him and the people he hurt.”

A heavy sigh escaped the young girl’s lips as she sat against the tractor’s wheel.

“Do you think Clark gets scared?”

Jonathan paused for a moment, setting his tools down and taking off his work gloves before holding them in one hand. He followed Jessie’s gaze, looking out over the field before allowing his eyes to trace the path of the sun shining down above the farm. His solemn expression gradually softened into a small grin.

“Looking at your brother and his abilities, it’s easy to think he doesn’t ever feel fear, isn’t it?” Jonathan replied, before putting the gloves down on the porch as he crouched down to Jessica’s level.

“But, while his gifts and his biology might be from another world, your brother is just as human as you or I.” He continued, placing a calloused hand on his daughter’s shoulder.

“He loves and suffers heartbreak; he does, in fact, get scared. Clark has to wake up every morning, and despite not always knowing what to do, he chooses to put one foot in front of the other and try to make the best decisions he can.” Jonathan smiled, taking a quick breath.

“Your brother’s not perfect, he’s made mistakes and missteps, but that’s part of being human, and I like to think that’s Clark’s greatest strength, especially in a world so rapidly changing.” Turning to his daughter, Jonathan spoke again.

“So to answer your question, Jessie, yes, I think Clark gets scared. Probably more often than you or I.”

“So how does Clark get over his fear?”

Jonathan smiled, ruffling Jessie’s hair before taking a seat beside his daughter, wrapping an arm around her and giving her a soft squeeze.

“I can’t speak for Clark, but for myself, I don’t get over the fear. But I don’t let it control me either. Like anything, if we let it control us, it can be a bad thing. It doesn’t have to be that way, though. You can let your fear inform you and use it to help make a decision.” Jonathan explained, before turning to look down at Jessie.

“Now what is your fear telling you?”

“That this boy could really hurt someone, and if I wrote the wrong thing in the torch or if someone else was quoted as saying the wrong thing, he might come back for revenge,” Jessie replied.

“Ryan used to tell me about all the Kryptonite-infected people that Clark used to fight. Aren’t they dangerous?”

Jonathan gave Jessica a small shrug as he rubbed his head.

“Couldn’t people say the same thing about either of your brothers? Clark has his abilities, but Ryan also has his. Both of them have the potential to abuse their abilities, but they choose to use them to help people. Did this senior student intentionally set out to hurt anyone?”

The question hung between the pair for a couple of minutes before Jessie broke the silence.

“I don’t know, I guess no one asked.”

“If I learned anything about being a reporter from your brother and his friends, that seems like one of the first questions I’d ask. From there, just follow your gut and stick to the truth, kiddo.”

“I’m still scared.”

“And you still have every right to be, but you get to choose the next steps you take. Not your fear.”

Jonathan smiled as Jessica turned to him, throwing her arms around her dad’s tanned canvas coat before squeezing him in a gratitude-laden hug.

“I’m proud of you, I’m sure Clark is too.” Her Dad smiled at her, as Jessie nodded appreciatively.

“Thanks, I hope he comes home again for more banana bread.”

“Oh, I’m sure he will,” Jonathan laughed, “If there’s anything Clark enjoys, it’s making people happy, and it sounds like banana bread is certainly a highlight for this ‘Jimmy’.”

“Must be awful living in the big city, ‘specially if the bar for a good day is banana bread.”

“Why do you think I rescued your mother from it?” Jonathan asked.

“Rescued me from what?”

“Life in the big city of course,” Jonathan repeated, turning to greet Martha with a quick peck on the cheek. “How was work today?”

“Oh, you know the usual.” Martha replied, “Your son is on TV again, apparently a ‘fire woman’ is trying to rob a bank in Metropolis.”

“Clark’s on TV?” Jessie exclaimed, “C’mon, Krypto! Your daddy’s on the TV.”

“My sister was never that big of a fan of me,” Martha muttered to Jonathan. Her husband only laughed in response.

“Maybe you should try wearing on tights on TV.”

“You’re the only one who’d want to see that, old boy,” Martha replied with a playful tap on Jonathan’s cheek.

“Now let’s go see what kind of trouble found our son today.”

“The suit uses refined sunstone, a refined silicate that, under the correct conditions, is nigh unbreakable and self-replicating, capable of mass expansion. Note the exotic crimson hue.” The older Kryptonian explained as he showed Jor-El around the prototype affixed to the mannequin in the middle of his workshop.

Like his younger brother, Zor-El was a member of the Science Guild, one specializing in engineering, an Alchemist, who was working on an exclusive contract with the Military Guild. With their aggressive campaign of expansion, the Council had granted Zor-El unlimited resources in an effort to create a suit that could bombard latent Kryptonian cells to jumpstart their photonucleic metabolism that had been essentially eradicated centuries earlier by the Dheronian’s genophage.

In addition to turning Rao into a red star, the genophage had left Kryptonians sterile, unable to reproduce under normal conditions. A cunning people, however, the Kryptonians learned how to sustain their society through the Caste System. A proposal initially opposed by the Oracles of Rao and his heralds’ Seers, this was overturned when the forefathers of the Science Guild, who were backed by the Strategos and Polemarchs of Krypton’s military. This led the way to the birth of the Kryptonian Council and the Guilds.

The council took it upon themselves to oversee and control relationships among its people, pairing high-potential partners with one another before DNA would be harvested and grown in a birthing pod. When a couple was selected to receive a child, it was understood that this child would be joining one of the parents’ guilds. Though more often than not, the Council paired together individuals who belonged to the same Guild, if only out of convenience. A millennium later, it was nigh unheard of for a Labour Guild member to be paired with a ‘higher’ Caste member.

Each Caste was born with inherent abilities bio-engineered into their DNA through artificial radiation bombardment using high-energy particles. Though immensely weaker than the Kryptonian society that flourished under the yellow light of Rao, their abilities still brought them an edge against the neighbouring Dheronians and Daxamites. The Kryptonian Council was made up of a representative from the Science, Religious, Military and Artist Guilds, with each Guild representative allowed to speak on behalf of the Labour Guild. The Council Chair was the final member of the representatives and held the most power on the Council.

But the Council had grown vain and arrogant. Unlike his brother, Jor-El was a Philosopher who specialized in the biology and nature of Krypton. He had been an outspoken opponent of the Council’s space race, and in return, they had threatened him with expulsion from the Science Guild numerous times for speaking out against their treatment of Krypton and its resources.

“When energized to ignition, it creates a ‘hard light' construct. Hence, when the sunstone is ignited, the gauntlets project a blade capable of slicing through even refined Krytanium. The ignited sunstone has a delightful golden hue that really brings out the blue of the suit.” Zor-El continued, his voice breaking Jor-El out of his thoughts.

“The blue is a bit much, isn't it?” Jor-El interjected, giving his head a shake. He should be happy for his brother, but the fact of the matter was no matter how much the Council wanted to ignore the information, there was nothing a simple suit could do to overcome the genophage. The genes required to reach the potential of an ancient Kryptonian had been wiped out of the DNA and spread across the five guilds. A member of the Military Guild wasn’t about to immediately gain the Religious Guild’s ability to fly upon donning the suit.

Even if it supercharged their cells.

“I was worried you’d say that. Press the belt buckle.” Zor-El commanded as Jor-El obliged his older brother. The surface of the suit rippled from red and blue to the black of space, gold replaced by glistening silver. The crimson chest plate vanished as the active silicate rearranged into plates on the shoulders and arms, while the living circuitry revealed itself.

“More pedestrian and practical. But it certainly loses its flair.” Zor-El lamented, “The trade-off is the loss of much of the suit’s countermeasures in exchange for rapid metabolization of radiation to recharge and recover the host. The host isn’t at harm in this way, but the suit could be irreparably damaged, and it’s not entirely suited for prolonged combat.”

“It’s certainly an impressive design, I’m just not sure it’s actually compatible with our current biology.”

“It’s not,” Zor-El replied with a smile, “Consider it a gift.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Zor-El simply smiled at his brother’s terrible attempt at lying.

“You pretend as if Alura and Lara don’t talk. Do I strike you as so terrible a husband that my wife and I no longer converse in ideal gossip?” Zor-El retorted, “I know all about your attempts at saving our race, and I wanted to help. Besides, really, you go around bringing long-dead species back to life, and people are going to talk.” He scolded.

“Really, brother, pets and now pregnancy? How dreadfully primitive of you,”

“Zor, you could have turned me over to the Council the moment you found out what I was doing. Anyone else would. Have me stripped of my rank and sent to Bokos or Mithen to serve out the rest of my days.” Jor-El replied solemnly.

“We may not always see eye-to-eye, brother, but you are my brother and the Uncle of my Kara. If you are doing something that ensures her future, then I am in your debt.”

“I appreciate the rare display of sentiment.”

“I would appreciate you not getting used to it.” Zor-El replied with a small sneer. “Now about my design-”

“The chest is lacking; it needs something,” Jor-El interjected, thoughtfully rubbing his beard. He raised a hand, outlining a shape before speaking. “How about the House sigil? The mark of El?”

“How woefully vain. I love it.”

Special.

That’s what the men had called Claire. They had said she was special. Showed her parents all sorts of pamphlets, pamphlets showing the potential Lisa had in life, the future her gifts could unlock for her. A school in upstate New York that would teach her to control her abilities, master them and live a fulfilling life.

And the Seltons believed them.

All of their questions and concerns went out the window the moment a cheque was placed in front of them. Neither of Claire’s parents had seen so many zeroes before in their lives. It was an easy decision in that moment to ship their only daughter off for a life beyond Suicide Slums. A private education that paid them instead of the other way around? It was the dream of every family on the wrong side of the tracks in Metropolis.

Of course, it was a smokescreen.

No sooner than the cheque was in her parents’ hands than was the match lit that changed Claire’s life forever. All of her possessions were loaded into the back of an unmarked white van. And while it looked nothing like the cars in the pamphlets the Seltons had been shown, in that moment neither they nor Claire thought to question a thing. The moment her parents became a speck in the rearview mirror, then did the men in suits revealed their true colours. Roughly pulled from the vehicle before being dragged across the cracked asphalt while fighting every inch of the way. Despite her protests, Claire couldn’t break free as she was hauled against her will inside the decrepit facility. Every shade of white imaginable decorated the walls on all sides of the seemingly endless corridor, while the sterile smell of bleach and ammonium overwhelmed her nostrils.

When she couldn’t focus her powers, Claire tried to bite at one of the orderlies as they strapped her down to a gurney. Lashing out against the restraints as she released one blood-curdling scream after another. The staff around her continued on their day, completely unbothered and unflinching to her protests.

“Marsha?”

“My name is Claire.”

“No, that was your name. Your name now is Marsha, Marsha Rosenberg. Claire Selton died in a car crash on her way to the Xavier School for Gifted Youngsters.”

“No, my name is Claire Selton.”

“Your name is Marsha, now move along.” Claire felt the sting of the cattle prod so many times over the first couple of weeks. The jolt of electricity arcing through her body, stopping her muscles and ending all protest in her body. Eventually, she learned to love it, to crave the pain. It motivated her; she would let this place turn her into a weapon, she would let them turn her into Marsha.

Then Marsha would burn it all down.

It didn’t take long for Claire to become Marsha. It became easier with each day between the tests, the needles, and the abuse. Marsha Rosenberg was forced to be everything that Claire Selton was not. Marsha had to be desired, and being desired came with rewards. Rewards that Claire could never have seen, rewards that Claire could never have endured.

Where Claire had been afraid to use her abilities, Marsha was encouraged to unleash the full extent of her powers to become something so much more than a scared little girl. When her abilities seemed to be tapped out, Marsha was visited by a green cocktail that amplified her latent X-Gene. She began to burn hotter, capable of turning more and more of her body into fire until finally she became Volcana.

And through Volcana, Claire had her revenge.

His name was Kurt. The source of her torment, the man who had taken an interest in her. Special Agent Conan Kurt visited Marsha every day. Marsha protected Claire, protected Claire’s innocence so that she didn’t have to feel the things Marsha did, see the things that Marsha did.

Kurt was the first to meet Volcana fully. The smell of his flesh as it burned caused Volcana to empty the contents of her stomach. Tears streamed down her face as the man who had caused her so much pain was finally gone. Various alarms echoed in her ears. She moved through the smoke, torching the building that had inflicted so much pain upon her.

She had come so far. She had survived so much. Life had dealt her a poor hand, and she was sick of being told how to live. Did Superman honestly think she wanted to be robbing a bank in broad daylight?

Of course, she didn’t, but she didn’t have a choice.

“Burn, burn, burn!” Volcana cried through gout after gout of fire towards Metropolis’ resident Boy Scout. Her futile efforts continued until the Man of Steel suddenly inhaled, draining the room of oxygen. Volcana initially grasped for her throat, choking on the vacuum before realizing in horror that her flames had been extinguished.

“You can’t-” She croaked, reaching towards Superman.

“Don’t send me-” Volcana managed to force out before her eyelids closed, a black veil washing over her. Her unconscious body crumpled, caught by Superman, who easily carried the woman outside. With the metahuman downed and the fire extinguished, the red crystalline barriers suddenly collapsed, returning to a fine dust before reforming around Superman's body in a malleable form reminiscent of a cape.

“She’s unconscious for now, officers, but she’s still dangerous.” He instructed, gently handing the woman over before another voice suddenly challenged the custody of the Metropolis Police Department.

“The D.E.O. will take custody of the metahuman from this point.”

“My apologies, Mrs. Luthor,” The commanding officer replied, “But the MPD has-”

“Agent,” Lexa interjected, speaking over the officer.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s Agent, Senior Special Agent Luthor.” Lexa stated, flashing a badge that read ‘A.R.G.U.S.’, “I believe that trumps your jurisdiction.”

“What’ll happen to her?” Superman asked, landing beside the officer.

“She’ll get the help she needs,” Lexa replied dismissively. “I have contacts at Belle Reve that will take care of her.” She stated, before raising her chin as if to challenge the larger man.

“Unless you have any objections? Or should I remind you that you’re a guest not only in the country but on this planet, and any direct intervention with law enforcement will be met with escalated hostility.”

“I just want to make sure she’s well taken care of. I get the feeling she was acting more out of desperation than ill intent.”

“Superman, there’s a reason you’re not an authority here. Those of us who actually work in law enforcement use something called evidence. It’s more objective than your circumstantial ‘feelings’.”

“Apologies, Special Agent,” Superman replied, “Could I follow up with her once she’s situated at Belle Reve?”

“It’d be better if you didn’t.” Lexa snapped, turning around as she made a motion with her hand to wrap it up.

“She’s a piece of work,” The officer beside Superman suddenly said, “You saved how many lives together? Where does she get off?”

“Agent Luthor is just doing her job,” Superman replied. Without another word, he took flight, soaring back above the skyline of Metropolis. Superman’s work may have been done, but it was time for Clark Kent to make contact with an old friend.

“How’s my favourite sister doing?”

Alexandra Luthor rolled her eyes at the voice on the other side of the phone, a playful smile forming on her lips before she shifted her body away from the transport driver.

“I’m your only sister, Carol.”

“Doesn’t mean you’re not my favourite.” Carol teased, eliciting a slight upturn at the corner of Lexa’s mouth.

“What’s the trick to marrying rich, Sis?”

Lexa scoffed at the question.

“You say that like I’m sitting around a mansion drinking Domaine de la Romanée-Conti all day while lying lazily by the pool.”

“I don’t know why you’re not.” Came the reply of disbelief through the phone.

“The same reason you’re off risking your life flying whatever death trap S.W.O.R.D. has you strapped in.”

“Oooh, daddy issues.”

“Carol!”

“You know it as much as I do, Dad was navy brass, and if your name wasn’t Stephen or Joe Jr., he didn’t have time for you. Why else do you think I joined the Air Force and you signed up with S.W.O.R.D.? Hell, I bet you even push ol’Richie Rich around.”

“I do not push my husband around; I challenge him to be a better man.”

“Spoken exactly like Joseph Danvers Sr.” Carol retorted, her playful laugh stung against Lexa’s cheek. Her baby sister had always been the more rebellious of the four of them. Joey was the rule follower, their parents' firstborn, then came Alexandra, who was expected to act every bit the lady her mother was. Stephen was the third born and the apple of his father’s eye, while Carol was the baby.

She used to be a sweet baby, too, before she became the strong-willed brat on the other end of the line. Little baby ‘Cara’, cute as a button, as destructive as a big red one.

“Is there a reason for this phone call?” Lexa replied unamused.

“Do I need a reason to call my big sis? Maybe I just missed you, bitch.”
Suddenly, the vehicle dropped, lurching forward one more time before the sound of spinning tires and splattering liquid asphalt echoed from around the cab.

“Carol, I’ll call you back.” Lexa snapped, clicking the phone off before turning to the agent driving.

“I thought you put the power dampeners on her.”

“I did, this ain’t her.”

“Then who-”

Lexa was cut off as flames erupted across the windshield. The temperature of the cabin began to rise rapidly, and the vehicle was unable to free itself from the tar-like trap in which it was lodged. Reaching for the door, Lexa’s hand recoiled almost immediately, the handle nearly leaving a second-degree burn on the palm of her hand. She spun around, raising her heels towards the door and landing a strike before the other agent pulled her away.

“Are you crazy? You’ll create a vacuum.”

“I’d rather risk that than die broiled.” Lexa retorted, shaking her coworker off before preparing another strike. Her head was pounding, eyes growing heavier with each second. She felt her legs lash out weakly. Trying once, twice, thrice before finding herself struggling to breathe, gasping for breath before her eyelids closed.

And darkness took over.

High above the clouds over Metropolis, Clark soared free from the prying eyes of the media, otherwise known as his coworkers. While the woman had acted aggressively, Clark knew it was out of desperation, not malice. He had seen that behaviour before on his own travels. It was like she had been an animal backed into a corner with no way out but to fight.

But attacking a bank during the middle of the day was a risky move, even for someone desperate. Clark wished he had done more to help her, but with the volatile nature of the fire, the lives of those around the bank came first. He did what he had done to minimize damage across the board.

But by doing so, had he further endangered a desperate woman?

It wasn’t that Clark was looking to have Superman run afoul of the Department of Extranormal Operations, let alone A.R.G.U.S. But there were better ways to help metahumans and mutants. People and organizations that actually cared about their well-being.

If Clark hadn’t been so quick to turn the woman over to the police, he could have found her a place that would have put a roof over her head or a meal in front of her. He thought back to their encounter, recalling the room and the woman.

She had been engulfed in the flames, but through the flames, his keen eyes still could make out details. Bruises on the skin, a needle mark at the base of her neck. Her clothing had been torn and tattered, something Clark had initially dismissed as a choice, but in hindsight, perhaps she had escaped from somewhere.

They hadn’t fought in the main vault. No, Clark had discovered the woman in the safe deposit boxes. She had a box in her hand before the fight had started. He focused the image in his mind, attempting to extrapolate the details.

Safe deposit boxes didn’t have names assigned to them. They were numbered. Even if Clark could make out the number, it would take further investigation still to figure out who that box belonged to.

And that was assuming it wasn’t a random box.

9842

That was the number.

“Clark?”

A voice at the door of his apartment called, following a series of three quick knuckle knocks. Clark had barely realized he had made it back to his apartment. His eyes shot wide as he looked around, realizing he had fumbled his way in through the fire escape. Deactivating the suit, he scrambled to his closet for a change of clothes.

“Hey, if you’re in there, handsome, I just wanted to say thanks for the banana bread,” The voice continued before Clark hastily finished dressing and opened the door.

Standing in the hallway of the decrepit apartment building was his neighbour from across the hall. The flickering light of the dying fluorescent bulbs highlighted every shade of red in her hastily tied-up bun, from auburn to copper to strawberry blonde. Even in the dead of winter, she was still wearing a cropped sweater and low-rise jeans that showed off both a toned abdomen and the matching pair of stars tattooed atop either hip.

“Oh, hey, Kansas,” The redheaded woman said with a smirk, “I didn’t mean to interrupt, and you didn’t have to get dressed on account of me.” She added with a playful wink.

“Lisa, sorry, I was just about to head out.”

“With your tie uneven and your shirt half buttoned?” Lisa smirked, “C’mon, beefcake, where is she?” The redhead teased, standing up on her tiptoes, trying to look over the taller man’s shoulder.

“Or he,” Lisa added, playfully, “I don’t judge.”

Moving her hands to Clark’s collar, Lisa quickly straightened it out before beginning to fix the buttons on his shirt and adjusting his tie.

“I can-”

“Shush, Kansas, I got this. A feminine touch goes a long way.” Her hands paused on his abdomen. A smile crossed her freshly glossed lips.

“You really ought to wear something more fitted. These feel like abs of steel.”

“I uh, don’t, uh” Clark stammered, gently pulling her hands away, “Thank you?”

“No, thank you,” Lisa replied, her eyes quickly darting down and back up again as she playfully saluted Clark, “At ease, soldier.”

She batted her eyelashes, ocean blue eyes with just a hint of green outlined in a smoky shadow, looking up towards Clark while she continued to speak.

“Anyways, yeah, just wanted to thank you for the banana bread, it made a great pick me up in the middle of the night. I don’t think I would have made it through last night’s shift without it.” She smirked, a finger tracing Clark’s chest again.

“You should visit me at work sometime, I think you’d really enjoy it.”

“I appreciate the offer, Lisa, but y’know, the news, it just doesn’t write itself,” Clark replied, looking at his watch again. “Speaking of which, I’ve, uh, got to go.”

“You can play coy all you want, Clark Kent, but I know you’re dying to have dinner with a ravishing redhead.” Lisa stated, “Look, there’s a showing of one of my favourite movies at the old filmhouse down in Layfatte this Friday, I was thinking you could be my arm candy?”

“I, uh-”

“Great, pick me up at seven and feel free to wear something with deep pockets.” Lisa winked, “It’ll be worth it.”

Clark nodded, inwardly shaking his head before pulling out his cellphone.

“Hello?” The voice on the other end answered.

“Lex, it’s Clark. Could I drop by?”

“Of course, it’s been too long. I always have time for a friend.”

Clark walked along the side of Main Street, the only road, leaving Smallville towards Miller’s Field, hands shoved into his pockets, an old MP3 player clutched in his right hand, while headphones that had definitely seen better days sat under his hood on top of his thick head of hair.


The steady thump of the backbeat kept Clark nodding along with the music. A smile crossed his face as his empty hand withdrew from the pocket of his denim jacket, running a thumb over his lips where Lana Lang had kissed him not even half an hour earlier.

Finding himself suddenly swept up in the music, Clark began to dance as he continued along the roughly paved road. Jumping into the air, he felt lighter tonight, clicking his heels together before gently landing on solid ground again. If he didn’t know any better, Clark would have sworn he could fly.

Stopping along the Loeb Bridge, Clark leaned against the railing, watching the Elbow River lazily flow beneath, reflecting the light of the stars above. Stars that shone almost as brightly as Lana’s eyes. He could still see her coy smile just before she kissed him. The taste of her cherry lip gloss and the smell of her cupcake-scented perfume sent his head spinning again.


The next track on his MP3 player rang out, echoing Clark’s own thoughts as a dumb smile was plastered across his face. Turning the volume up, he stretched his arms out, spinning around while dancing, only to suddenly find himself staring into a pair of headlights.

Frozen in that moment, Clark couldn’t think as the car was suddenly on top of him. The screeching of tires and twisting of metal drowned out the music. Headphones were ripped from his ears as the full weight of the American-made sedan collided with his chest. Metal and concrete broke against Clark’s back, the ground going out from under him, before suddenly the night air was replaced by the freezing waters of the Elbow River.

Pulled along by the current, Clark narrowly missed having the black Towncar land on top of him while he frantically checked himself for any sign of injury. Surfacing, he gasped for air but, beyond shock, couldn’t find any injury on himself.

“What the h-” Clark muttered to himself before his eyes darted back to the ruined bridge and the glowing taillights beneath the surface.

The driver!

Stripping off the heavy denim jacket, Clark dove back beneath the surface. His mind was racing as he tried to figure out why he was still alive. His parents had always been protective, but Clark had been sickly when he was younger. In his adolescence, that had gone away, and he was the picture of health.

Taking hold of the windshield, Clark pried it from the car with ease. Pulling the unconscious man from the front seat before noticing another passenger in the car. Pushing himself, he delivered the driver to shore before plunging back in.

His lungs should have been burning by now. But Clark barely felt winded. He chalked it up to adrenaline before the roof of the car in his hands suddenly peeled back like the top of a can of beans. Clark barely had time to register what he had done before he pulled the man from the wreckage.

Dressed in a suit finer than anything Clark had seen in Smallville. The man had a magnificent mane of hair that spilled over his shoulders. Pulling him ashore, Clark felt the hands of another begin to help as the first man had regained consciousness.

“Sir!” He yelled, “Mr. Luthor, Sir!” He yelled again before pushing Clark aside and beginning to try to resuscitate the man who must have been his boss. Flashes of red and blue refracted from the bridge above as the Sheriff’s department made its way on the scene.

A cough brought Clark’s attention back to the man he had pulled from the water. The older man spat out a mouthful of water before the driver helped him to sit up.

“Is-” Clark started, his eyes wide as the situation all began to sink in. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Young man,” The driver replied, “He is, thanks to you.” He said with a relieved smile.

“Not every day a teenager saves one of the most powerful men in the world.”

A tug on the driver’s sleeve directed his attention back to his employer as the man croaked a request.

“I’d like to shake the hand of the one who saved me.”

Clark stood, his legs feeling unsteady beneath him.

“Clark, Sir, Clark Kent.” Clark offered a hand as he spoke.

“Young man, I owe you a great debt of gratitude.” The man replied, taking Clark’s outstretched hand. He gave it a firm squeeze before placing his other hand over top of Clark’s.

“My name is Lionel, Lionel Luthor.”

“Clark!”

Lex called out jovially as Clark entered the den of the younger Luthor’s home. He embraced Clark with a quick hug before holding up a glass.

“Can I offer you a drink? I don’t think I’ve seen you since the wedding, and I must admit that night was a blur.”

“A fifty-year-old Scotch will do that,” Clark replied with a smirk of his own.

“Ah, yes, well, if a man intends to only get married once, he should make it a night to remember.” The bald man replied with a genuine grin.

“I’m pretty sure you spent more on that bottle of Scotch than I’ll make in a year at the Planet.” Clark retorted dryly.

It was Lex’s turn to smirk.

“You didn’t exactly pick a lucrative career. My father would have happily helped you gain admission to any school of your choice. But as I recall, you turned him down.” Lex replied, holding up the class again as Clark politely declined.

“Sorry, I’m on the clock,” He answered, shaking his head.

“Ah, so this social call is actually a work call,” Lex stated coolly.

“I like to think of a social call within work hours,” Clark retorted, “Did you see the news regarding the metahuman attack at the bank in Midtown?”

“Hard to keep track of during the record crime wave Metropolis is currently experiencing, but I believe I did,” Lex said dismissively, pouring himself another drink.

“Luthorcorp has contacts with facilities that could help these people, don’t they?”

“Clark, you are aware my wife was the responding agent on that scene today.” Lex countered, “Well, I’m sure your intentions are good, but I don’t have much of a desire to live in a house divided by overstepping my wife’s jurisdiction.” Lex rubbed the top of his head, stopping at the base of his skull before massaging his neck.

“Lex, these people don’t deserve to be locked up, they need someone to help them find a place in this world where they can use their abilities for good.”

“Like Superman?” The other man countered.

Clark paused for a second.

“No-”

“See, Clark, that’s the problem. The media has turned Superman into some kind of an idol to be worshiped, and for what? For breaking the law. Last I checked, vigilantism was still illegal in America. But no one stops Superman, so why wouldn’t every other meta or mutant think they couldn’t take advantage of their powers too?” Lex argued, his voice firm, leaving little room for argument.

But Clark wasn’t about to back down.

“Lex, I don’t think that’s a fair comparison. They’re not looking to be treated differently. Most metas are an average everyman. Just someone looking for a place to belong. The majority of whom would sooner give up their abilities if it meant a normal life.”

“And what would you have Luthorcorp do?”

“This,” Clark replied, handing Lex a folder from within the satchel slung over his shoulder.

“I found this through the Planet’s archives. ‘Project Everyone’, a Luthorcorp incentive program that would give a purpose to metahumans, a fulfilling life where they could use their abilities to make a difference in exchange for a stable life.”

Lex took the folder, slowly flipping through the documents inside. His face looked as though he had seen a ghost.

“This was one of my mother’s ideas,” Lex explained. His tone softened.

“I know,” Clark replied with a small smile.

“That’s a low blow, Clark.”

“I know,” Clark repeated with a wider smile. “But it’s something to think about. I did some further digging, and I think you might be able to broker a deal with Frost-”

“Mr. Luthor!”

The two men turned to where the third had entered the den.

“It’s your wife, Sir, she’s just been admitted to Metropolis General.”

The sound of the billiard balls breaking echoed through the large den as the seventeen year old entered to see a young man with a clean shaven head playing pool alongside a beautiful woman. The security escort waved him through the glass paned doors as Clark was taken aback by both the size of the Luthor Mansion and its sheer elegance. Hand carved wood adorned much of the wall paneling and trim. A massive mantel drew his attention across the room while book cases upon book cases framed the far wall, broken up by exquisite stained glass windows.

Clark suddenly found himself feeling very out of place and underdressed as he hastily wiped his hands on his jeans, tugging at his flannel shirt to straighten it before he took an uncertain step forward.

“Mr. Luthor, I’m-”

“Please,” The young man looked up, flashing a cocky smile at Clark. “Mr. Luthor is my father,” He interrupted, winking towards the nearby woman.

“You must be Clark Kent,” He continued, “Lex,” Lex offered, extending a hand.

“I hear I have you to thank for saving my father.”

“I just did what anyone would do,” Clark replied with a shrug, “That’s actually why I’m here, about the truck-” He added, stopping as Lex rolled his eyes.

“Let me guess, you wanted one in a different colour? Or maybe a higher trim package.”

“No, no!” Clark protested, holding out the keys to Lex. “Nothing like that at all, I’m afraid I just can’t accept it.”

Lex blinked twice as Clark extended the keys to the free vehicle in front of him.

“Oh, I get it, you’re young. You probably wanted a sportscar. Sorry, Bo, I’ll be sure to let my father know to send a Charger out to the Kent farm.” Lex stated dryly, snatching the keys from Clark’s outstretched hand.

“Lex, I don’t think you understand.”

“No, Clark, I do understand. You’re yet another local hick who got lucky and is using that luck to shake down my father. If I’m being honest, you’re lucky my father isn’t pursuing charges against you.”

“Lex, I’m sorry I gave you the wrong impression, but it’s not the truck.” Clark replied, “It’s the idea of a gift. I don’t need a gift for doing the right thing. I didn’t pull your father from the river in hopes of being rewarded. I did it because if I were in his place, I’d want someone to save me.”

“I’m sorry,” Lex did a double take at the younger man, “Are you telling me, you did the right thing with no ulterior motive? You saved one of the most powerful men in the world and you have no interest in being repaid.”

Clark had to fight to control himself from laughing.

“Yes, Lex.” He nodded, “I’m not looking for fame or glory.”

“Clark, I don’t think you have any idea how rare that is.” Lex replied before extending a hand towards Clark. “I apologize for the hostility. Generally when someone shows up after receiving a gift from a Luthor it’s a shakedown.”

“I’m just here to see you get your Dad gets his money back,” Clark said as he shook Lex’s hand.

“My father hardly needs it, but I’m sure he’ll appreciate the gesture.” Lex stated, returning to the pool table before taking his shot. The ball sunk into the corner pocket as Lex moved to line up his next shot.

“There is one thing that interests me though,” Lex continued. “How does someone get struck by a car at sixty miles per hour, plunge off a bridge and remain conscious enough to pull two men out of a sinking car?”

Clark shrugged, flashing a disarming smile.

“Just lucky I guess.”

“Lucky?” Lex smiled, nodding towards his female companion. “Victoria, pass Clark your cue, I want to see how Mr. Kent’s luck holds up on the pool table.” He looked from Victoria back towards Clark.

“You have played before haven’t you?”

“I can’t say I have,” Clark replied, accepting the pool cue from Victoria with an appreciative nod.

“Victoria can help you line up your first shot. You hit the eight ball into either solids or stripes, call the pocket you intend to sink it in. You sink your shot, you go again.”

“There’s a bit more to it, but that’s the jist of it, luv.” Victoria smiled before placing her hands on Clark’s shoulders.

“You really ought to wear something more fitted. Quite a bit of muscle under there, Mr. Kent.”

Clark felt his cheeks flush.

“One hand here,” Victoria instructed, moving Clark’s hand down the cue, “And the other here,” She guided.

“Keep it level, pull back and a quick tap.”

“So, Clark,” Lex smiled. “What’s your call?”

Clark eyed the table up, quickly taking stock of where each ball was located. A quick mental count and a calculation easily sized up the best shot.

“Number Nine, corner pocket,” Clark called before striking the eight ball. It missed the stripe ball, hitting a solid that ricocheted several others. True to his call though, the nine ball sunk in the corner pocket.

“Fifteen, side pocket.” Clark stated as fifteen too landed in a pocket.

“Twelve, far pocket.” He continued as a third ball sank. Victoria squealed with excitement as Lex stared at the table.

“Are you hustling me?”

“Honestly,” Clark replied, “I’ve never played.”

Lex let out a chuckle before passing the rack to Victoria.

“Darling, if you wouldn’t mind racking a new game, this just got interesting.” Lex stated.

“Clark, I think this is the beginning of a very interesting friendship.”

“And the record-breaking crime wave continues across the Metropolis as a young mutant woman was apprehended after attempting to rob-”

“Breaking News, although initially apprehended, the young mutant appears to now be at large. Sources are now saying she has an accomplic-”

“Lane! Olsen! Why the hell aren’t we the ‘sources’?” Perry White’s voice boomed from the balcony overlooking the bullpen. “And where the hell is Kent? I don’t like getting my news from the news.”

“Kent’s off chasing his own leads,” Lois barked back, “Shame he has the instincts and self preservation of a quokka.” She muttered under his breath before spinning towards Jimmy.

“I guess that leaves you and me, you got a new memory card in that thing?” She asked, gesturing towards his camera with her chin.

“Same one from this morning, should be plenty of room.”

“Get your head out of your ass, Jimmy.” Lois snapped, “You’re not some cub reporter, you know how many pictures we’re going to need of a car literally melted into the road.” She added.

“Little firebugs may as well have stood for a photo op. Bet we could even find a trail.”

“Damn, Lane, you certainly filled out,” A male voice called from the top of the stairs as Lois froze, before looking out of the bullpen towards the familiar face.

“Corben.” She smiled weakly. He looked different with his hair grown out, but the smirk was the same, accented by the scar from where she had split his lip.

“Sergeant John Corben, you got old.” Lois continued, calling towards the older man.

“Honourably discharged John Corben,” he replied, turning to the side and awkwardly stepping down the stairs. Lois was only just now noticing the limp in his walk and the cane he was leaning on.

“Figured, I’d drop in on the most beautiful Pulitzer Winner and pay her a visit.”

“Helen Branswell is here?” Lois asked, her tone dismissive while she mockingly looked around only for Perry to poke his head out of his office again.

“Great Caesar’s Ghost, Lane, you’re still here?” White roared, “Get a move on!”

“Sorry, John, this will have to wait.” Lois said apologetically, tapping the man on the shoulder.

“Our usual booth at the Ace O'Clubs, say eight tonight?”

“I’ll be there,”

“See you then, John-Boy,” Lois winked, giving the former soldier a quick peck on the cheek before rushing out of the bullpen.

“Move it, Olsen!”

“What happened to my sister, Lex?”

“Cara!” The surprise was evident in Lex’s voice, “I didn’t know you were in town.” He continued, embracing his sister-in-law as she approached. She reluctantly returned the gesture, her body tense and impatient while Lex found the words to answer Cara properly.

“She’s severely dehydrated, severe to moderate burns across her entire body.” Lex’s voice wavered, a raised hand against the glass of the observation window. “Initial analysis says it’s a metahuman attack, but I’m not as convinced. Scans of the area only show residuals of the woman they had in custody. Her partner-” He paused, “I’m led to believe she has a human partner, perhaps augmented. Equally dangerous none the less.”

Lex paused, turning towards Carol.

“How did you get here so quickly?”

“I was on the phone with Lexa when it happened,” Carol answered, moving beside Lex as her brow furrowed. Her eyes intently staring at her sister hooked up to wires and fluids as the doctors worked to help Lexa regain consciousness.

“I convinced an airman to fly me out the moment I was disconnected.”

“Lexa knew the risks when she joined the D.E.O.-”

“How can you be so cold?” Carol interjected, turning towards Lex as she the petite powerhouse jabbed a finger into his chest. The blonde woman looked up into Lex’s seemingly emotionless eyes.

“That’s your wife lying there fighting for her life. My sister and you’re here spouting theories about what happened to her instead of finding a way to help her.”

“I already have the best specialists in Metropolis here, Cara. I assure you, under my watch you will not lose your sister.” Lex replied, a firm hand gently removing Carol’s accusatory finger.

“Nor will I be losing my wife. Lexa’s life is in the best possible hands money could buy. There’s no one more suited to saving her.”

“Good,” Carol replied, “I knew I always liked you,”

“You didn’t,” Lex chided, “But that’s kind of you to say.” He replied with a smile. “You’re welcome to stay at the penthouse tonight, Cara.”

“Thanks, bro,” Carol responded before playfully slugging Lex in the arm. “But I’ve got other business to attend to.”

“Cara-”

“I don’t want to hear it, Lex.” Carol snapped, “If that was your sister-”

“I’d let the proper authorities handle it.”

“Just like Club Zero?”

Lex faltered.

“How do you?”

“I checked up on you before you married Lexa.” Carol replied, “You’ve got your own fair share of skeletons in your closet.”

“Then I suggest you learn from my mistakes and not rush headstrong into repeating them.” Lex replied firmly, grabbing Carol’s arm before she quickly shook him off.

“Leave it alone, Lex. You’re my brother-in-law, but you sure as hell ain’t family.” Cara growled.

Lex held up his hands, watching as Cara stormed out of the hospital. Pulling his cellphone out of his pocket, he dialed quickly before holding it up to his ear.

“Hey, you’re on scene right? Look, Clark, I have a favour to ask.”