People look at me and they think that what I do comes easy.
Of course it's easy, they say,
he's Superman. He can do anything, nothing can hurt him, he's everything we wish we could be. Doing the right thing, saying the right words, coming up with perfect solutions to the world's problems, all of that comes naturally when you're the Man of Tomorrow.
That, of course, couldn't be further from the truth.
This morning I stopped a passenger train from derailing in Russia, saving about four hundred on board. Trains are always tricky; not enough force and you don't stop it in time, too much force and the cars jackknife into each other, to say nothing of how difficult it can be to pick sections of it off the rails without turning cars over in the process. No fatalities thankfully, but it was a bumpy stop, causing a few broken bones, at least one concussion, and bumps and bruises for everyone on board.
Most people will take that as a win, but the Russian government has been extremely vocal about their displeasure with the Justice League for 'imposing on national sovereignty' lately, which means I'll be expected to make an appearance before their president and show that I'm not secretly working for the CIA, and that the League isn't using disaster-relief as an excuse to perform reconaissance for an upcoming invasion. Between people like G. Godron Godfrey spreading fear in the news and the bad memories the world has of the Justice Lords, not to mention my own reckless handling of things in my early days, gaining the world's trust and keeping it is harder than ever.
That's not to say I'm complaining-- all things considered I think it's going quite well-- but it's never easy to--
"Kent! Are you still alive over there?"
Perry snaps me out of my contemplation, back to the newsroom of the Planet and the half-finished article on my laptop.
"You've got my piece on the Queensland Boardwalk re-opening?"
"....I, erm, yes sir, it's.....it's almost done, Perry."
The Boardwalk was a long-standing tourist attraction, Metropolis's answer to New York's Coney Island and Gotham's Amusement Mile. For over 80 years, people would take their families to the carnival attractions, teenagers would bring their first dates to the Ferris wheel, and swimmers and sunbathers would spend the day away at the beach. Six months ago, a "prank" from the interdimensional imp Mxyzptlk brought a monster from the vintage movie theater to life--namely the 100-foot-tall gorilla 'Titano'-- and resulted in most of the boardwalk being trampled or crushed before myself, Kara, and Krypto could subdue it.
Perry's never openly stated that he knows who I am, but I don't think it's a coincidence that so many of the "look at what a mess Superman made" stories come across my desk.
"You've got til I'm back from lunch, Kent, or it's your ass," he says, clapping me on the shoulder as he passes.
"Mister White," I say, getting up from my chair.
"My story on Schott...."
Perry stops and turns back to me, an impatient look on his face.
"...isn't front-page material, Kent. How am I supposed to sell a feel-good story about a former terrorist?"
"It's not just a feel-good story," I say,
"it's showing that people can still be brought back even after going over the edge. Winslow Schott did terrible things as part of the Toymen, yes, but if he's really turning a new page..."
Perry waves his hands dismissively.
"Get me your piece on the Boardwalk," he says.
"Then we'll talk about bad guys going good."
Perry walks away, and I can't help but feel a sting of frustration. If people could see that even someone as damaged and disturbed as Winslow Schott can turn their lives around and become a force for good, who knows? Maybe I could make a breakthrough with Rudy Jones. Or John Corben. Hell, I might even finally get through to Lex Luthor.
And maybe after that miracle, I'd part the Red Sea and turn water into wine.
There's a buzzing in my pocket, and I pull out my phone to see I've got a text from Lois.
-Perry got you on a leash? Not letting you see the news feed?
I quickly tap out a response.
-I'm up against a hard deadline. What's up?
There isn't a long wait before I get my answer.
-Take a bathroom break. I'm in DC, and there's a big flying skull over the White House.
A cold chill runs down my spine. A flying skull.....that sounds like Brainiac. If he's returned, everyone on Earth could be in danger.
-I'll be there soon, Lo, I type.
Stay safe.
Nobody seems to respond when I loudly cough and grunt as I stand up and excuse myself. Not even Lombard cracks a joke as I head in the direction of the janitor's closet instead of the restroom. I guess at this point it's all a bit of a charade, like your parents telling you your Christmas presents are from Santa, but everyone still plays along. In a way, it's the most earnest way they could accept both aspects of who and what I am, by simply not acknowledging it and going about with their day.
After all, even when it isn't easy, when you've been at the Daily Planet for long enough, this sort of thing is all in a day's work.
"Superman to all points," I say into my comm-link to the other members of the Justice League as the air cracks behind me like a rifle,
"I'm en route to a situation in Washington. We're looking at a potentially world-level threat, so keep the channels open. I'll let you know immediately if I need backup."
By the time I've finished the last sentence, I'm already in DC-- I can't go fast enough to warp time and space like Barry, but I can still cover a lot of ground in a hurry. The streets below are clogged with traffic, terrified drivers all trying to get out of the city, jamming up every intersection in the chaos and panic. As I get closer to the Capitol Hill, the blaring of car horns gives way to police sirens, and past that the black-and-white police cruisers give way to the olive drab and camouflage paint of Hum-Vees and tanks.
The sky, on the other hand, is dominated by a single, imposing object.
That's him, all right. Brainiac. An ancient, malevolent artificial intelligence from a long-dead world called Colu, it's traveled the cosmos for millions of years, seeking out inhabited worlds, collecting those worlds' knowledge, abducting entire population centers in dimensional 'bottles,' then destroying entire planets. For eons, this entity slaughtered its way across galaxies unopposed....before being brought to a halt at Earth.
The first time Brainiac appeared, it took the combined efforts of myself, Bruce, and Diana to drive him off. He adapted, altered his tactics, upgraded his technology, and when he returned I had to fly through the heart of the sun just to get enough power to crack through his outer defenses. Heaven only knows what this monster has up his sleeve this time....
.....except as I approach, nothing happens. The mile-long tendrils of modified Kryptonian liquid-geo don't whip out to ensnare me. The bristling particle projector cannons don't draw a bead and open fire. The nearly impenetrable nanite field doesn't swarm out as a translucent green honeycomb. The ship's glowing death's-head eyes just stare at me, as if transfixed.
"Brainiac," I call out to the enormous ship,
"I know you can hear me. I'm giving you fair warning: this planet and its people are under the protection of myself and the Justice League. If you don't leave peacefully, we won't hesitate to make you leave."
"Kal-El of Krypton," the AI's voice booms from inside the ship.
"I have not come with hostility in mind. I extend an open invitation to you so that we may converse, and negotiate a peace between us."
"......what?"
Brainiac is one of the most dangerous entities in the entire universe. The number of dead in his wake is beyond counting, whole civilizations lost forever. The idea of such a being wanting to make peace is.....it's incomprehensible.
And yet.....
When I was young, I used to have vivid dreams about having adventures in the future. There were boys and girls my age, who could do all the things I could do and more, and we would travel to the farthest edges of time and space and fight the forces of evil together. Years later, I learned these 'dreams' were suppressed memories, experiences I'd had with a group of time-travelers called the Legion of Super-Heroes, who had come from the distant future to help me and other members of the League in times of crisis. And one of the leaders of the Legion was a hyper-intelligent cybernetic organism...named Brainiac-5.
Could this be where that line turns a corner? Is something I say and do here, now, what turns one of the universe's most feared monsters into a force for good?
Or is this a trap? Thanks to the complexities of time travel and the amazing predictive power of the AI's advanced intellect, Brainiac knows about his successor; it's entirely possible that he's using my knowledge of the Legion and B-5 to lure me into an ambush.
Lois would probably say I'm being overly paranoid for thinking like that. Bruce would probably say I'm not being paranoid enough.
Either way, if I can resolve this without turning the nation's capital into a war zone, it's worth the risk. The rest of the League should be able to act quickly in case things go sour.
The skull-ship opens its cavernous mouth open, a landing platform extending like a cold metallic tongue. I touch down and step inside.
The inside of the ship has an architecture that is almost organic in nature, support struts like ribs and spinal columns holding up the arches of the corridors, sickly green light pulsing through diode-strings like veins as I pass. And yet it also feels sterile, clinical, as if someone had built an operating room inside of one's cardiovascular system. The previous times I had been inside the ship, I hadn't had the chance to take in the scenery; usually I wouldn't be able to get this far without being swarmed by lethal guardian drones and clouds of lethal nanites.
The pulsing green light guides me towards the center chamber, a circular, almost arena-like room lined with glowing jars-- more of Brainiac's "bottle cities" like the ones I'd liberated from him the last two times. And in the center, sitting on a techno-organic throne and plugged into the neural network of the ship itself, is one of my most powerful and terrifying enemies.
"Hello, Kal-El," he says in a flat, monotone voice.
"Now that you have arrived, I would like to begin negotiating the terms of my surrender to you."
Stryker's Island
Maximum Security Wing
Music was playing.
It echoed through the solitary confinement wing, perking the ears of hardened criminals and self-styled 'super-villains' as haunting low strings and angelic woodwinds let out a somber tune none of them could recognize.
No one was sure who had gotten a music player into their cell or how, but security was not going to wait for the confusion to become bedlam. Weapons could be next, a jailbreak, a riot. And considering the amount of extremely dangerous people on this island, that was not an option.
Less than thirty seconds passed between the beginning of the song and the heavy stomping of armored guards charging down the cell block in full riot gear, shield and batons at the ready. As they approached the end of the cell block, the music grew louder, and the guards became more hesitant.
At the end of the hall was a monster of the highest degree, a remorseless killer and manipulator who had delusions of grandeur matched only by his boundless intelligence. This was a man who had once brought nations to their knees without anyone knowing he had even the slightest hand in it, a man who bankrolled mass-murderers and engineered wars to put himself in positions of power. Even after being exposed and imprisoned, he delighted in exerting the sheer force of his intellect on others, whispering subversive thoughts to guards until they cracked and found themselves in cells like his. There were few even among the most experienced veterans who wanted to spend time around the man who had orchestrated the death of the greatest hero the world had ever known.
And now blood was beginning to seep from beneath his cell door.
Cautiously, one of the guards placed a key-card in the slot to the cell door, the others putting their batons aside and drawing pistols. The door swung open, revealing a sight at once horrifying and pitiable.
"We need help, get some help here!" The guard shouted into his radio.
"Medical attention to Maximum Security wing, NOW!"
Sprawled across the floor, a thinning bald man in an orange jumpsuit lay in a growing pool of red. The greatest criminal mastermind of all time was bleeding out on the floor.
Lex Luthor had slashed open his wrists.... and he seemed to be smiling.