Hi,

Great part. drool He finally know who he is.

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He glanced to the folder she had clenched in her white-knuckled hands. S. She had found the S's, he thought dully. Smallville, 1966. The folder, which she had held high next to her head like the spoils of war, drifted slowly to her side as her arm slackened, and she continued to stare. The contents, unchecked, fell from the folder and cascaded to the floor like an unruly deck of cards. Notes and observations of his life dribbled out around her feet. Photos. Everything. But he couldn't look away from Lois. And Lois was acting like she was a bird stuck in the glare of a cobra. It was as if either of them was incapable of blinking.

Oh God, he thought. She knows. She *really* knows.
eek Lets hope she is not that furious with him.

eek Lois had to find a way to turn Trask against of Thompson.

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And that was when a white hot lance of agony, agony like he had never felt before, split him through the temples, bones, muscles, and nervous clusters he had never known existed, and sent him careening to the ground in a paroxysm of spasms. He didn't even feel himself hit the floor, only realizing, belated, that he was horizontal. A thunder fall of footsteps descended on him like a flock of gnats, but the pounding of his heart and blood in his ears seemed to overcome the intrusion, sending him into a dull state of curious, but pained lethargy. He couldn't think. Couldn't move. Everything was hurting. Things were a slow mash of blurred sensations. There was mumbling, faint, and distant, as though he were trying to hear through gobs of cotton, but by then, the throbbing waves of torment had eased into a dull buzz, and darkness wrapped around him like a cloak.
eek Kryptonite!

More ASAP, please.

MAF hyper


Maria D. Ferdez.
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Don't like Luthor, unfinished, untitled and crossover story, and people that promises and don't deliver. I'm getting choosy with age.
MAF