Sunday, January 28, 2007

Future: Chapter 3: Symbol

January 5, 2013

The sun shone over the large playground in Wellings Park. Lex watched as his 4-year-old son, Alexander Luther, Jr., played a rousing game of tag with some new playmates that he had just made. He couldn’t help but smile.

“Little guy’s as active as ever, I see,” came a familiar feminine voice behind Lex. It was the last voice Lex expected to hear.

“Chloe,” Lex said as the blond woman sat down beside him, “what a surprise…” He held his mouth open, as if to say something else but couldn’t.

“You’re probably wondering why I’m here,” Chloe predicted. Lex gave her an affirming look. “Listen, Lex, we’re friends. I’m not saying it’s not going to be hard, and part of me thinks that it’s not going to work, but what kind of person would I be if I didn’t?”

“The kind of person that betrays their friends when the going gets tough?”

“Well, tact has never been your strong point.”

Lex smiled. “I get that from my father.” Lex watched Alex for a moment, and pointed him out to Chloe. “It’s amazing, Alex has spent four hours with his grandfather in the last week. It’s the first time he’s ever met him. Now we’ve always known Alex had a Type A personality, but look what a little time with Lionel Luthor had done to him already.”

Chloe watched as a dozen kids listened to Alex giving directions on a new game. The group then proceeded to play a version of Red Light, Green Light involving tag, with Alex as the ringleader.

Lex said ironically, “I think my father is making up for lost time, where he could use his infant brainwashing techniques.”

“Lex, if you’re so afraid of your father’s influence, why are you at LuthorCorp?”

“As strange as this may sound, it feels like home. I’m not going to lie to you and say that I didn’t enjoy the life with Lana, but I felt like I was acting out a part. I loved the part, but when I’m working at LuthorCorp, it’s like something inside of me takes over, and it feels incredible.”

Chloe commented, “I think Napoleon Bonaparte might have described The Battle of Austerlitz in a similar manner.”

“Or Alexander the Great and the Battle of Issus. Or Hitler and the Invasion of France. Or Genghis Khan and the conquering of Kiev. Or George Washington and the Battle of Trenton. Or Julius Caesar and the Gallic Wars. You can’t beat me at this game, Chloe.”

“I get it, Lex. I’m just saying…”

“I know, and I appreciate the concern. You’re a true friend.”

“And, Lex, thanks for just hiring the best writer at my place of work’s rival company to attempt to debase my greatest work and my journalistic integrity in general, instead of, you know, hiring a sniper to assassinate me.”

Chloe suddenly lunged forward, struggling for breath, and holding her the left side of her midsection as the fabric around her hand turned blood red. Taking strength from her depleting life force, she screamed out, “Clark!” She ignored the gust of wind that surrounded her. Lex, who was at her side immediately, didn’t even notice it. He pulled off his jacket and pressed it to her would, and called 911 on his cell phone with his blood-covered hand.

It was only minutes later when paramedics had Chloe on a stretcher, an oxygen mask on her face, and bandages on the now exposed gunshot wound.

Clark…” she whined in a daze.

One of the paramedics stated to Lex, “You’re obviously not Clark, Mr. Luthor.”

Lex didn’t know what to think of the fact his notoriety had already returned. “Clark Kent. Her boyfriend. He works at the Planet.”

“Is he her next of kin?”

Lex’s mind raced. “No, her father’s still alive. Gabe Sullivan. He used to work for me, but it’s been years.” He thought harder. “I know how to get in touch with Clark though, and he’ll want to know. I can promise you that.” He wrote the phone number on a business card and handed it to the paramedic.

“Mike!” cried the other paramedic. “She ain’t doin’ so good. We gotta get her to the hospital now!”

Across the street from where Lex was standing, there was suddenly a loud scream, a crash, and then a cacophony of honking cars, and Lex turned to see a small crowd gathered around something on the sidewalk.

* * *

Clark appeared on the roof of the three-story building overlooking Wellings Park with only the rustle of the wind. In the corner, a lanky man with five days worth of thick stubble was skillfully dissembling a rifle. Clark was dressed in a skintight dove-white jumpsuit that covered him from the neck down. On his chest was the prominent House of El symbol: a symmetric, scalene pentagon with a vertical figure-eight inscribed within it.

“You picked the wrong target,” Clark stated through gritted teeth. The man turned around only to have Clark take him by the shoulder, and throw him, hard, against the wall of the stair entrance. Clark didn’t need to use his x-ray vision to know that the bones in the shooter’s shoulder were shattered. The man, disoriented, tried to run, but Clark sped in front of him, picked him up, and dangled him over the edge of the building.

Through the pain, the man screamed in a heavy Eastern European accent, “You wouldn’t! You’re supposed to be a superhero!”

“Don’t test me. Just tell me who hired you.”

The man scrambled for something in his pocket with his good hand and pulled out a grey, metal sphere. Clark transferred his hand to the man’s collar and took the ball from his hand and crushing it. The exterior cracked and the ominous green light scolded Clark for his recklessness. As his skin turned sickly green and the veins of his hands pounded in protest, Clark fell forward, the sniper still in hand, off the roof of the building.

The sniper screamed, but Clark remained half-conscious as both plummeted to the ground.

The sniper landed with his back on the curb with an ominous crack. Blood pooled around his head, into the street and onto the sidewalk. Clark landed hard on his back, too, hitting the sidewalk very close to where the sniper, his head facing the wall of the building. Blood pooled around him, too, but his groans spoke of his survival. The glowing green rock rolled into the street, where it remained a few feet from Clark until a swerving car knocked it down a storm drain.

Instantly, Clark felt rejuvenation. His strength returned within a matter of moments. He stood up, and held his aching head, then pulling a piece of lead out of the back of his neck. He winced as the bones in his back realigned and recast themselves, and the cuts on his body healed as if time were moving in reverse. He looked at the pool of blood by his feet, seeing the dead sniper. He turned, seeing the gathering crowd, his face in panic. He saw some police rush over from where Chloe’s ambulance was parked.

He stooped slightly, turning his head away from the crowd. The entire back of his suit was stained with blood. He suddenly launched himself up into the air, leaving cracks in the sidewalk in a five-foot radius.

The crowd muttered, and one person in the crowd pulled out a small notebook. This brown-haired man was Marshall Heath, star reporter of the Metropolis Star.

* * *

Metropolis General Hospital

The last place Clark wanted to be at was Metropolis General Hospital. His highly developed sense of smell picked up a multitude of odors, strongest among them ethyl alcohol. Clark’s face was blank as he waited in line for the receptionist behind some guy in squeaky tennis shoes asking about his daughter, who apparently was being treated for alcohol poisoning. Clark walked up to the receptionist. “Yes, I’m here to see Chloe Sullivan. She’s being treated for a gunshot wound.”

“And, your relation to Miss Sullivan?”

Clark was momentarily speechless. A male voice told the receptionist from behind, “Don’t hassle the boy. Let ‘im in.”

Clark looked up to see the smiling face of Gabe Sullivan.

In the hallway, Clark mentioned to Gabe, “You’re smiling; must mean good news.”

“Chloe was really lucky. Now I’m a factory manager, so don’t expect me to get all this medical jargon right, but the bullet missed her lung. There was some, uh, internal bleeding in her large intestines, but that was quickly taken care of. They say she cried you name a lot during her less lucid moments.” Clark tried not to blush. “So, I figure things are still going well after… well, New Year’s?”

“Yeah. It’s, um, …” Clark struggled to find words for it.

“Don’t kill yourself, Clark. My daughter’s been enamored with you since the day we set foot in Smallville. I’d almost given up on grandkids.” Clark paled. Gabe sighed. “That didn’t quite come out like I wanted. What I mean is…” He stopped, and started over, “Chloe’s happy… in a way that she hasn’t been in a very long time. If it were anyone else, I’d threaten you not to hurt my baby girl. I ought to anyway, but I’d feel bad because it seems like you’re always blaming yourself for everything anyway. Truth is, Clark… you’re a good man.”

Clark didn’t know how to respond.

Gabe wrapped his arm around Clark’s shoulder, which wasn’t easy given Clark’s height, “You know, I like to think there’s hope for Kansas now that the man who raised you is in the State Senate.”

“Thanks. But, you know, Dad kind of misses the cows.”

The older man laughed heartily. “Yeah, I knew how much he hated to have to sell the farm when he was elected. I’m glad he kept the farmhouse though. The Christmas parties are the best.”

Clark scoffed lightly. “Mom won’t leave it. She also wouldn’t let him sell the barn until I graduated from college. Wanted me to have the loft until I got a place of my own.”

“Funny you mention your loft. It was one of Chloe’s favorite places to go. Scared me to death that she wanted to hang out in a teenage boy’s private space so much…” Clark chuckled. Gabe Sullivan stopped in front of Chloe’s room. “I’ll let you have a moment.”

Clark’s worry, which had dissipated during his chat with Gabe, now returned full force. He knew Chloe was recovering well, but seeing Chloe in a hospital bed hurt worse than kryptonite.

Chloe turned her head as Clark ambled in, smiling. “Hey, you.”

Taking a breath Clark started, “Hi. I’m, uh—”

Chloe cut him off. “Clark Kent, if the next words that come of your mouth are an apology, I will ask the nurse to get me my belongings and I will hit you hard enough with my K-ring to break your jaw.”

Clark kneeled by her bed. A pained expression came over his face as he admitted, “I killed him.”

Chloe’s eyes widened in shock. Clark, tell me you didn’t. Not because of me.”

“It was an accident. Now I was harsher than I should have been throwing him around, but…” He paused before continuing, “He had kryptonite. We both fell off the building.”

“Kryptonite? How?”

“I don’t know how he had it, or even how he knew to pull it out. He must not have know what it would do, ‘cause he pulled it out while I was dangling him off the edge of the building.”

“Wait, are you alright? Did you fall off, too?”

“Yeah, and I landed pretty hard. Probably broke a few bones and gave myself a concussion before the kryptonite fell into the sewers. I’m good now. The shooter’s another story.” Clark swallowed with difficulty.

Chloe reached her hand out and held his face. “Hey, then it wasn’t your fault.” She artificially heightened her tone, “So, it looks like I won’t be starting back at the Planet on Monday after all. I bet Perry’s beside himself. Which reminds me, have you talked to him about…?”

Clark looked away. “No…”

Clark,” she nagged.

Clark would have answered, but there was a knock from the door. There was a woman waiting outside; she was tall, five-foot-nine, with short-cropped blond hair and bright blue eyes. She walked in, “Maggie Sawyer, Metropolis PD, but of course, you two already know that.” She smirked, “I thought you’d want to know about the shooter. We matched ballistics.”

Clark flashed Chloe a look and asked Detective Sawyer, “Did you catch him?”

“Catch him? We didn’t need to. He’s dead. We found him on splattered on the sidewalk across the street from the park. It appears Metropolis’s resident superhuman vigilante threw him off a building.”

Chloe, playing along, said, “I find that hard to believe. I know him personally, and he’s not the type to just throw someone off a building. Weren’t there witnesses?” Perfect reporter question…

“Yes, but these same witnesses claim that they also the man in white fall off the building and start bleeding. Mind telling me how a man who can fly and catch bullets fell off a three story building and hurt himself? These same witnesses then claimed he got up and flew off. They showed me a dent in the sidewalk as ‘proof.’”

Clark reasoned, “Do we know who the sniper was or who hired him?”

“We identified him as Latvian mercenary killer Andrejs Kohut. Do you know anyone who might want to kill Miss Sullivan?”

“Lionel Luthor,” the two said in unison.

“He’s tried it before,” Chloe added.

“We’re investigating both Luthors as we speak. Lex is cooperating. Lionel is giving us the runaround.” The words rang hollow as if it had been said many a time.

Chloe commented, “That isn’t the least bit surprising.”

Clark timidly said, “If I may vouch for Lex. I don’t think it’s him. He just doesn’t do stuff like this.”

Chloe added, “And even though he is going back to work for LuthorCorp, it wouldn’t be some show of loyalty. He’s already hired Marshall Heath from the Star to write a rebuttal to my book.”

“We’re investigated Lex because it’s standard procedure to investigate first at the scene. Mr. Kent, for someone who has an unusual knack for remembering obscure facts, your brain seems to be a little butterfingered about police procedures.” She let out a sigh before continuing. “In recent years, you’ve gotten better at not getting yourself involved in police matters outside a journalistic duty. I don’t want you having a relapse of that good decision-making, okay?” Det. Sawyer was about to turn and leave when her brow furrowing, and she asked, “Wait, Marshall Heath?”

“Yeah…” Chloe replied.

“We had a Marshall Heath at the scene as a primary witness. He’s the one who said the man in white threw the man off the building.” Clark and Chloe exchanged bemused glances. “Listen,” Det. Sawyer said, unable to decipher the looks Clark and Chloe were sharing, “I’ve got an investigation to proceed with. I’m sure you two would like a few minutes alone. Oh, by the way,” she said, through the doorway, “I loved the article in The Inquisitor the other day.” And with that, she was gone.

After a brief silence, Chloe started to fumble with her IV tubes, and meekly asked, “Clark, you wanna move in with me?”

Clark was taken aback, “Chloe, we’ve been dating less than a week.”

“Not that kind of moving-in thing. People usually wait until there in a certain stage of their relationship before doing that.”

Clark paused for a moment to decipher her meaning, and blushed. “I’m sleeping on the couch?”

“Damn right. Listen, I know you’re gonna be hovering over me anyway—and not literally, please—you might as well be sleeping in the next room.”

“I don’t have a problem with that. It’s just the mattress on the couch isn’t the best.”

“Haven’t you heard? Lois got it replaced for me. You might as well be sleeping in my bed.” Hearing her own words, Chloe blushed, “Oh, brother, your awkwardness is rubbing off on me. Way to go, Kent.”

* * *

January 12, 2013

Clark turned off Route 400 onto Silas Road toward Smallville. Chloe sat back in the seat, listening to Clark, a smile on her face indicative of the painkillers she was on. She also had a notebook in front of her that she was scribbling on.

Chloe giggled, “So, bleach didn’t work at all?”

Clark sighed. “I don’t know if it’s the Kryptonian fabric or the Kryptonian blood, but the stains won’t come out.”

“So, that’s why you’re dragging me to Smallville with you?”

“Dragging you? You begged me to let you to come.”

“I couldn’t stand to be cooped up in my apartment any longer.”

“You moved back in yesterday.”

“Before that, I was cooped up in the hospital for a week! I was about to die of boredom.”

“I brought you in a laptop and snuck your cell into your room. You’ve been working the entire time.”

“With a Cable modem. How ancient is that?”

“We could have plugged you into the phone line. We’re talking 56K there.”

Chloe covered her ears. “Ah! I’m not listening.” Chloe turned back to her notebook. “Plus, aren’t I garnering you a lot of praise from Perry ‘cause I’m helping you out with your S.T.A.R. article?”

“Point taken.”

Chloe brushed her hair out of her face again. “So, again, why Smallville?”

“The man in white has been out of commission for seven days now. Metropolis needs a hero. And I’d like a disguise that can withstand the elements. And for that I need to get some more Kryptonian fabric. And for that, I need to go back to the Fortress of Solitude. And for that…”

“…you need the Kawatche caves.” Chloe finished as she scribbled on a sheet of paper.

“Yep. What’re you drawing?”

“How do you know I’m drawing? I could be working on an article.”

“Because you’ve never used anything but a word processor to write down anything, save grocery lists, in years.” Adopting an even more demeaning tone, he added, “And when people write, they usually move their pencils in minute motions going back and forth across the page. You’re obviously drawing large, smooth lines across the entire area of the paper.” He turned to look at what she was drawing but she held the notebook to her chest.

“No lookies, Mr. Perfect-Peripheral-Vision, and don’t you even think about squinting.”

“Yeah, especially since it’s very difficult to use my x-ray vision to see the back of something. Plus, do you really want me using my vision anywhere near where you’re holding that?”

Chloe emitted a playful scoff. “Sometimes, Clark Kent, it amazes me how moral you were raised. Are you telling me you only cop looks when you’re on the red stuff?”

“It’s funny you mention red,” Clark comments with a coy look.

* * *

Kent Farmhouse
Smallville, Kansas

Peeling off one of Martha Kent’s winter coats, Chloe joked, “I tell you, that icicle kingdom of yours has enough nooks and crannies.” Martha handled her a cup of hot chocolate. “Thanks, Mrs. Kent.”

“Chloe, please, call me Martha. You’re practically family.” Lowering her voice, she added, “’Course, before too long…”

In an equally hushed voice, Chloe replied, “Talk about counting your chickens before they hatch!”

Refining her accent, Martha replied, “Was that a farm analogy? I hardly understand those anymore.”

Chloe smirked.

Walking into the kitchen, Clark rolled his eyes. “You two do realize that my super-hearing picks up your voices instinctively?”


Martha picked up the sleek, white blanket of cloth that Clark and Chloe brought back from the Fortress of Solitude. “Now, Clark, I’d be glad to make you another costume, but I’m having doubts about if I can.” She pulled out a pair of scissors from the drawer and attempted to cut the fabric, only to have one of the blades break off. Clark caught the flying blade in his hand.

Chloe spun towards Martha on the stool she was sitting on. “May I suggest our lovely green rings?”

“Could work,” Martha considered it. She tossed her son the broken scissors, and he used his heat vision to repair the blade. Turning back to Chloe, Martha inquired, “Would you like to help, Chloe?”

“Yeah, I’m not as domestically inclined as you, but I do have a couple of ideas I want to throw at you.” She reached down and pulled her notebook from her backpack.

Clark replaced the scissors in the drawer. “So, that’s what you were doodling.”

Chloe was a writer, not an artist, but the figure on the page was at least recognizable as human. To Clark’s relief, she didn’t attempt a sketch of his face. Chloe had even zigzag-colored her figure in pen. Most of the costume was blue. “You’ve always looked good in blue,” Chloe added.

Clark looked uncomfortable at the comment despite the fact he realized she was allowed to make comments like that. “What’s on my back?”

“It’s a cape.” Chloe pointed toward the cape, penned in red, which flowed behind the body of her figure.

Clark turned his head. “That’s kind of cliché, don’t you think?”

“I think it’s symbolic.”

“It’s a lot of color. Blue… red…”

Clark, you have to admit that your old costume was a bit… minimalist. Maybe some color or design would do you good.”

Martha pointed towards the gap near the center of the chest of Chloe’s drawing. “What’s supposed to go here?”

“I haven’t decided. Clark had his House of El symbol there on the old costume. Maybe that… maybe something…” Chloe trailed off, staring across the kitchen, causing Clark and Martha to turn their heads toward where Chloe was looking: at the desk in the kitchen. Chloe hopped out of her seat and retrieved a metal sculpture: a shapely ‘S’ atop of a metal base. “Me likes…” Chloe mumbled.

“One of my shop class projects?”

“Jonathan uses it as a paperweight,” Martha added.

Chloe grabbed a ruler from the drawer, and carrying both objects in her hand, laid them on the table, and then flipped to a new page in her notebook. She started to talk while working energetically. “Know I don’t know if this was intentional…” She laid the ‘S’ sideways on the page and started to draw lines around it with the ruler. “…but, I think if we played with the lines just a tad…” She removed the metal project and finished her design. “I think this would fit fairly well in…” She held up her work, showing the ‘S’ traced inside of a pentagon which had a very similar shape to the House of El Symbol.

Clark and Martha were silent, but exchanged impressed glances.

* * *

January 17, 2013

Winter was the windy season in Metropolis. For Clark, soaring above the buildings, this meant nothing against his durable skin and powerful body heat, though now it created a crackling noise due to the scarlet red cape flowing from his shoulders. Contrasting brightly with the blue bodysuit, Chloe’s design was situated on his chest: the red ‘S’ on the white background within the outline of a red pentagon. She and Martha had also added some knee-high red boots. He knew the colors were permanent, if his old suit was any proof.

Clark arrived at the destination he was seeking: LuthorCorp headquarters. He glided gently down to the roof and easily accessed the stairway through the locked door. On the fourteenth floor, he sped through the hallways, glancing briefly at each of the security cameras which would record at the most a blur as proof of his presence. He stopped against the wall facing Lionel’s Luthor’s office, noting that the security cameras recorded the door rather than his side of the hallway. Hearing nobody inside, the raced in.

He didn’t expect to collapse to the ground mid-stride in the middle of the room. The momentum carried him to the desk, where he found himself in pain. As he reached his hand up toward the desk, feeling a burning sensation, he realized that the small gift-wrapped box on top of the table carried kryptonite.

Even without his super-hearing, he heard the voices in the hall and the door opening.

“Lex, my boy, I must say you’re doing fine work in Smallville,” Lionel Luthor stated as he strode briskly into the room. “As always, I expect better, but, son, I think you’re really starting to get your life back on track.”

Lex’s insides burned at the implications of the comment, but he was in no mood to start an argument with his father, who had dragged him to Metropolis in the middle of some very important planning time with his plant managers.

“Lex, also, I noticed that you offered a job to Gabe Sullivan. Now, while I’m always glad to have one less competent worker at any of Wayne’s subsidiaries, I’m a tad concerned with what the press will think, having the father of the author of that dreadful book of lies working for us.”

Clark fumed from behind one of the art deco cabinets that he had barely reached before the Luthors entered the elder of the two’s office. Lex quipped, “For a book of lies, LuthorCorp sure seemed to have purchased a lot of them. And,” he added with false pensiveness, “who did that memo come from warning all managers to hide any of the transgressions noted in The Underground Monopoly?”

“Lex, I will not tolerate such insubordination. Let us not forget whose fault that book was.”

Lex just smiled insincerely. “Dad, I think we should thank Chloe Sullivan for her work. LuthorCorp prides itself on such values as safety and honesty. I, for one, am relieved that the completely accidental fire at the publishing house where her book was being printed was quickly put out. It was very lucky that a random pedestrian happened to be walking by at three in the morning.” Lionel chose to ignore the sarcasm in Lex’s voice.

“As am I, Lex.” Lionel noticed the gift on his desk. “Oh, and how is Tessa working out?”

Lex kept his voice even. “Very well, I must say. The kids absolutely adore her. She seems very qualified. Overqualified, I must say.” He let the statement hang, but Lionel busied himself with the items on his desk. “She’s very attractive, Dad.”

A broad smile appeared on Lionel’s face. “I had hoped you would think so.”

“Dad, I know what you’re playing. But I was very much in love with Lana and I still am a grieving widower. I’d hold off on booking a church.”

“Lex, I don’t expect you to woo this woman just yet, but she’s a magnificent young woman. Don’t make the same mistake our friend Clark did all those years ago and obsess about that one certain woman. He’s moved on, I understand.”

Lex in his head quickly counted the years since his mother died: twenty-five. While Lionel could hardly be called celibate, he was still a bachelor.

Lionel noticed the silver box on his desk. “Aw, of course. Lex, this is for you. My VPs were so pleased with your return they had this prepared for you.” Lionel handed his son the four-inch cube wrapped in striped black and silver wrapping paper. Lex removed the top to find a silver watch, the face surrounded by a glowing, jeweled green ring. Lionel smiled and stated, “They had it specially made. That green ring is made from the meteor rock found in Smallville. It turns out that it’s naturally luminescent when a small electrical current is run through it.”

“It’s great, Dad.” Lex moved his own watch to his pocket and tried on the silver one. He looked up at his father. “Is there anything else you need? Because we’re both very busy men.”

“No, Lex, that will be all. Keep up the good work, son.” With a sincere smile, he patted his son’s shoulder.

Clark breathed a sigh of relief as Lex and the kryptonite watch left, feeling his strength return to normal. This turned out to be a bad idea, because, as always happened after he recovered from kryptonite, he had trouble controlling his powers, and his breath knocked over a statuette on the far side of the room.

“Who’s there?” Lionel called, seconds before he felt a passing rush of wind. He then looked thoughtfully at his desk, at the place where Lex’s gift used to be and then to the security cameras hidden above the door.

* * *

Clark wasn’t out of the building when he heard an alarm sound. Stooping in a dark corner, he started to scan the building using his X-ray vision. The running action of one skeleton being pursued by two others was easy to pick up. Telescoping his vision, he zoomed in on the figure. By shifting to the visual spectrum, the identity of the intruder became clear. It was Lois. And the figures behind her were guards.

Seconds later, Clark looked at the two guards slumped on the ground. Chloe had given the name “love taps” to the flicks on the neck that Clark used to incapacitate people.

“Hey, I could have taken them!” Lois cried incredulously.

“They have guns. You’re not bulletproof.”

“And you are?” Lois cursed her impetuousness as soon as the words came out of her mouth. She ignored the superhero’s proud smirk.

“Let’s get you out of here.”

It was a short ride back to the Daily Planet’s roof, being almost across the street from LuthorCorp. Clark could have easily made it in milliseconds had he not had a passenger, but he was sure Lois appreciated not being warped sped through the chilly January air.

“Well, thanks… I guess White Knight doesn’t really suit you anymore.”

“I never really like the name anyway,” Clark replied with confidence. He had taken several Drama classes at Metropolis University, and he learned to transition into a new persona when acting as the superhero.

“Anyway, I like the new look. Blue suits you.” Lois smiled flirtatiously. After their third date, the personal trainer had stopped calling.

“Thanks.” He could have sworn Lois was flirting with him.

“So, anyway, Clark and Chloe have really hit it off.”

Clark tried not to blush, “I’m happy for them.”

In reality, Clark was just caught off-guard, but all the same Lois noticed something, “You know, under that strong exterior, I think you’re kind of lonely.” She stepped closer.

Clark finally caught on to Lois’s ministrations. “Lois, I’m flattered really, but… you do realize I’m not human?” He felt a little hypocritical, but he was at a loss for ways to end the conversation.

“Well, obviously. But, you’re still a pretty attractive not-human.” Lois replied. She looked him up and down before a look of realization appeared on her face. “Oh, I get it. That could be a problem for me.” Lois coughed. “Listen, we can just forget we ever had this conversation. There’re plenty of fish in the sea. Some of them have all their fins. Catch you later… what should we call you now?”

“I’m just a man trying to help out a city.”

“You’re one super man, handsome.” She winked as Clark leapt into the air.

* * *

9:14 PM

Marshall Heath sat at his desk at the Metropolis Star. In front of him was his computer, opened to a black word processor page. To his right was a copy of The Underground Monopoly, open to the end of the first chapter. He drummed his fingers on the desk for a few seconds before he moved his hands to float about the keyboard, typing:

Writing an Underground Libel
A Response to The Underground Monopoly

~

A/N: Back in Chapter 1, I named Lex and Lana’s baby Lillian. I just read the recap of the episode and it turns out they did name her Lily. I’m developing psychic powers.

^_^ - Let me at this Marshall Heath guy. He won’t know what hit ‘im. No one messes with my LongHair!Chloe.

©2006 Godeerc VanDrey Enterprises, Inc. Created Monday, December 12, 2005. Finished Thursday, July 6, 2006.

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