Lois & Clark Forums Forums Fan Fiction Lois & Clark Fanfic steelknights 4/9

She was running a quick hand down his arms and legs, checking for broken bones,
when she heard something from the hall. She heard him say something right before he
came back in. As he shoved the desk out of the way, a tiny voice came from nowhere.
"We have him trapped. Fourteen and up."

"Get them out."

"What?"

"Get your men out. He's setting the timed charges off, knocking out support
walls."

"But what abo--"

"Get them out!" A hoarse bark of impatience quieted the other end and startled
Lois. He ignored her, flicking out the blades again and cutting through the tethers. He
only paused once, to look at the container strapped to the chest, then slit through the
last of the cable. Clark's arms fell limply, and something about that movement sent a
chill through Lois.

"Do you know about this?" A black hand came down on the box. Lois shook her
head.

"I don't know, I've never seen it before."

The black hands searched briefly around the strap, and then two sharp rips close
to Clark's chest snapped it loose. He held it in his hands a moment, actually pausing to
think, and his eyes slid over Clark. Then he abruptly stood and moved off, holding the
metal box in his hands. There was a piece of duct tape on the box, on the side that had
been next to the chest, and he pulled it off. He applied pressure to that side of the box,
and it slid open with a grating sound. After a moment, he looked back over by Clark,
and Lois swore there was something bordering on astonishment in what she could see of
his face.

"What is it?" Her voice was small in the room.

She could almost see the wheels turning. He started, looking at her, and words
passed before his eyes, ones she could all but see herself. He looked at the box again,
over at Clark, and back, and a sharp breath escaped, like someone had kicked him in the
stomach.

Then he suddenly jammed the lid closed again, at the same time half vaulting
over the desk. He wrenched the door open again and left the room, and after a few
moments Lois heard a window being smashed in a room farther down the hall. She
heard his footsteps return at a run.

"How is he?" Suddenly there was emotion, urgency in the man's voice, where
before there'd been stone. The file cabinet that had originally blocked the door was in
his way, and in apparent frustration, he picked it up, throwing it over the desk. It
crashed against the wall of the room.

The shock of the collision after relative silence shook Lois, and suddenly her eyes
were on Clark again. That he still hadn't stirred was frightening, and not quite believing
she was considering this worst case scenario, her hand slid to his neck, feeling for a pulse.
"None!" she blurted.

"What?"

"There's no pulse! No--"

The man dropped abruptly next to Clark and ripped off a black glove, jamming
his hand against Clark's neck. Lois felt her mind wrench, and things started to go black,
almost like the tunnel vision she'd had before. Dead dead dead dead dead

Something hard and dark cut her vision in two vertically. Dazed, she
concentrated on bringing it into focus. It was a straight arm on Clark's chest.

"You know mouth to mouth?" The question floated through her mind, and it was
several seconds before she realized someone was asking her a question. Mouth to
mouth . . .?

Her vision faded back in. She saw Clark lying on the floor, and she actually
wondered for a puzzling moment what he was doing there. Then the question cut
through her brain again, like a mental replay, or maybe it had been asked again. A
heavy fire shot through her limbs as the situation came back to her. No pulse. Clark.
The black arm.

"Oh, my god--"

It was like her body needed a jump start, and she kicked herself for hazing out.
She jumped up closer to Clark's head. A moment's hesitation This is not what I had in mind! A kiss between them, and now she was raping the thought and trying to save his
life with it.

The floor shifted again, and this time there was no mistake. She had no mental
space to wonder about the implication of distant sounding explosions and shifting floors,
though. Praying a silent apology, she covered his mouth with hers.

A movement caught her eye. The black man had only one fist on Clark's chest for
a moment as he apparently activated the tiny link somewhere on his wrist. "Gordon."

After only a second, there was a response. "Here. What's the hold up? This building's sha--"

"Are your people out?"

"I pulled them. What's up?"

The black man paused for several heartbeats, then answered, "Keep an eye on
the sewers and the dam. They're possible escape routes. Out." He put his other hand,
gloveless, back on Clark's chest. "Pinch the nose shut."

"What?"

"Pinch it shut. Your breath is coming right back out. Tilt the head back. Every
fourth beat, breathe."

Annoyed by his 'you don't know CPR' tone, she nonetheless did as he said. They
worked in silence for another minute. Then, "Dammit!"

Startled at the harsh tone, she looked up to see him shift around to straddle
Clark, up on his knees. To her shock, his right fist came down on Clark's chest once,
twice, three times.

"No! What are you--" She tried to grab for his hand, but he pulled her roughly
away. "What are you doing?" she yelled, ready to break. He smashed his fist down
twice more, then laid his bare open palm down as if feeling for something, and started.

"Got it!"

"What?" she gasped as he put a hand to the neck.

"Pulse!" She heard fire in his voice.

"What?" Just then she felt a response beneath her mouth, a faint cough. "Clark!"
He stirred slightly, his breath coming more surely as his eyes barely slit open. "You're
gonna be all right--"

Once more the floor shifted, and Lois' joy gave way to the more familiar panic as
she heard a deep, slow cracking. A black hand closed over her and Clark's. "You need to
get out of here."

She pulled her eyes to the black man crouched over them. "Give him a minute to
recover!"

"We don't have a minute."

"But what about Cl--"

"I'll take care of him. Hurry." He was up and over by the window in the room,
knocking the rest of the glass out. The other black glove was back on.

"What are you doing?" Then Lois remembered the claw marks by the windows
the others had seen. "You think I'm going out the window?" He was running a hand
across the window sill. Not finding it to his satisfaction, he looked up overhead. Again
reaching around beneath the cloak, he pulled out something that looked for all the
world--

No. It was a gun. "So that's what you did with them."

He glanced at her again, then aimed the gun straight up. But it wasn't a gun--as
he pulled the trigger, something shot up through the ceiling panels, knocking them aside
like paper, and there was a metallic clank . There was cable attached to it. He brushed
something close to his eyes and she saw greenish lenses flick into place over his eyes as
he looked up into the darkness of the enclosed ceiling. Then the lenses disappeared with
a faint click, and he stepped closer to the open window, beckoning her over.

"What about Clark?" she insisted, standing. Clark was breathing, but he seemed
unusually sluggish, and she had a bad feeling. It wouldn't be the first time Luthor had
used poison. "And what's wrong with stairs? Or did you drop everyone?"

"Come here." The more calm his voice sounded, the more it sounded like he was
losing patience with her. She never knew how she did it, but she stepped over Clark and
took the black hand. He was straddling the window opening, and pulled her up so she
was balanced on one of his legs and the ledge.

"Hang onto this," he said, wrapping her hands around the gun-like trigger.
"When you get down, push in this stud on the bottom and let go--it'll come back up.
Then get in the car. It'll protect you."

"What car?" She looked down fifteen stories and saw a deserted street, and then
the concrete wall that boarded the river. They weren't three blocks away from the head
of a dam, gushing out through huge slits in the base of a building. "And protect me from
what?" Her voice started to shake as she saw the distance to the ground.

"Just hang on."

"Answer me one question, then," she said, shifting closer to the ledge. "Who are you?"

He actually paused, then, the hazel eyes seeming to look right through hers and
into her brain. Then he said, "That's the third time you've asked me that."

"It's the third time I haven't gotten an answer."

"Point taken."

She stared at him a moment longer, frustrated that he kept his own council so
firmly. "Well, my name's Lois Lane, and don't think I won't find you out." She shifted
her balance over the ledge, tightened her grip on the trigger thing, and put her life in his
hands.

She couldn't stop a short scream, and if possible, her grip tightened. She dropped
like a stone at first, but as she got closer in the dizzying ride to the ground the descent
slowed, and she felt friction, a clicking in the thing she held. The slow spin of river-front
and building stopped, and she felt the ground under her bare feet. Clinging to the
trigger, she caught her breath and felt her pounding heartbeat, hardly able to believe
she was out of that building. For several moments she caught her breath and steadied
her mind. Then at the same time she became aware that she was clutching something,
she heard a short whistle from far above her.

Instinctively she looked up, and the instructions flooded her mind as she saw the
black man at the window far overhead. She fumbled the trigger, turning it over to find a
small knob. Fingers slipping from damp, nervous hands, she managed to push it in. It
was suddenly flicked out of her hands.

At the same time she became aware of a soft, high-pitched whine and a smooth,
low roar. Out of the corner of her eye she saw something low and black appear from the
side of the building. It turned out onto the street in front of her and came her way.

Terrified, she leapt away, closer to the building as it came at her with something
she could only describe as a killer homing instinct. It stopped precisely next to her on
the street, the engine cutting. A reinforced, dark-tinted panel slid forward.

Gape-jawed, she stayed up against the building. If Satan drove a car, this was
that car. The only things that made her think of it as a car, though, were that it was on
the street and appeared to have four wheels. She couldn't even say it had a body--strips
of black paneling slid over the form, curving into an ellipse here, racing the length of it
there. The tires were set outside the main chassis like on an Indy car, and canted in
slightly. Centered behind the open hatch at the rear of the car was a stabilizing fin
flaring out, looking like nothing so much as the wing of an enormous bat. Probably it was
needed to eliminate drift in the extreme aerodynamic chassis. The whole thing looked
dangerous, twisted, and savagely direct, the type that could garner record speeding
tickets just parked at a curb, like it was now. It didn't surprise her in the least that
there were no license plates, at least on the front. A cautious tip toe at a distance to see
the rear of the . . .machine . . .turned up one more abnormality--something that bore an
alarming resemblance to some kind of rocket vent. The flame was weak just now, small
orange tongues trickling aimlessly out from the circular vent. An errant breeze floated
some of the heat back to her, and she shuddered.

Get in the car, huh? she thought in sarcastic disbelief. Who did this creep think
he was? He was obviously a freelancer nothing about him or this car was standard
issue. He didn't answer a single damn question and he acted like he had every right to
barge in and break up a situation the police here were handling. Luthor had been told he
had twelve hours, and it was roughly the time when the local police were supposed to
make a move. Was this guy an undercover cop? Was he part of a Gotham task force?
Why the mask? The infuriating anonymity and his underground style and methods
almost seemed to suggest a kind of a . . .a kind of demonized Superman.

She caught her breath, standing stock still with eyes locked on the car but not
really seeing it. Was that it? Was that what this was?

She heard movement above her and looked up instinctively. The object of her
confusion was just easing through the window with Clark. He appeared to be at least
partially awake, one hand gripping the black man's armored shoulder securely and the
other on the cable. Just as they began the descent, though, another dangerous shudder
ran through the building with a muffled explosion. A sharp, extended crack as though
from thunder cut the air, and Lois saw a crack in the side of the building. It connected
the corner of a window to an existing crack and the brickwork tipped forward
threateningly. Debris and bricks rained down, as if in warning.

That was all she needed. Dreading every step, she ran to the black machine,
hesitating only long enough to decide how best to climb in as it was a vertical entry. She
stepped on what looked like a runner board, another toe through one of the body struts
and clambered in as best she could. Dropping into the seat, she pulled back abruptly on
sight of the interior. It looked like what a Stealth cockpit would be. The dark,
complicated jungle of controls held her attention for only a moment, though--Clark and
the black man were halfway down the building, the latter half-falling, half-rappelling.
They were down to the sidewalk before she noticed she could see two black hands,
neither of them on the trigger. He must have hooked it onto something else, to the body
harness she had suspected earlier.

Lois twisted around to see as Clark was brought around to the driver's side of the
car. His face looked drawn and very pale, and he could only barely walk with support
from the black man. Wordlessly she helped as Clark was eased into the driver's bucket.
Lois leaned in, hands reaching protectively for his face. "Clark, what did he do?"

Clark shifted slowly, shaking his head, still not settled in the car. "Mmmm, I
don't know--" he began faintly, but broke off as the black man reached in the car, hitting
several controls in rapid succession.

"What are you gonna do now?" Lois slipped in, then kicked herself for wasting
her breath. But the man actually answered.

"Going back in for Luthor."

"You think he's still in there?"

"The stairs are blocked, and the only way out is a high window," he answered
quickly, withdrawing from the car. "If the building goes, the car will protect you. Don't
touch anything--just let it run." He braced a hand on the car and vaulted over the hood,
breaking into a run back towards the building.

Suddenly Lois pulled herself up and half out of the car. "Wait! Superman is still
in there!"

He stopped abruptly and turned back, and for a moment she almost thought she
had caught him by surprise, from the little expression she could see of his face around
the mask. "Not anymore, he's not."

"But Luthor had kryptonite with--"

"Already dealt with."

"Is he alright?" she called after him. He either didn't hear or didn't choose to
answer, leaping several feet up the side of the building and catching the trigger. He
didn't go all the way up, stopping about two-thirds of the way and plunging through a
window in a shower of glass. Even before the glass settled, there was a sharp flick of the
cable, and a wave traveled up to the top window. The line went slack a moment, the
hook end tumbling free out the window, then it was suddenly snatched through the
lower window as abruptly as if it had been fired again.

She was turning back to Clark again when the car came to life. The forward
shield, what could be called a combination windshield and door, glided back towards
them by some invisible command and dropped slightly, locking into place. There was a
soft buzzing sound, and Lois craned her neck just in time to see a dark grey shielding
appear as if from nowhere along the front length of the car. The sections blossomed
sequentially over the car almost too rapidly for the eye to follow, the soft drone
continuing for a few seconds even after she couldn't see anything moving. It even slid
over the windshield, but strangely enough, it didn't quite block the view. It seemed as
though the night had gotten darker, like a thick grey fog had moved in.

"Lois-- "

"Clark, how do you feel? What did he do to you? What happened?" Her words
flooded out so quick she could barely get her lips out of the way.

He actually smiled faintly, a hand on the bridge of his nose. "Those are my
questions," he said softly, then winced, squeezing his eyes shut.

"What is it?" she asked, leaning in more closely, trying to get a better look at his
face. The only light was a soft red blush from a handful of lit controls in the car.

"Headache. One bad headache."

"What did Luthor do to you? Was it poison?"

"It--I . . .I don't know. I was knocked out somehow," he said uncertainly, voice
still quiet. "Headache, and I feel like I'm going to . . ."

"Gonna throw up?" Lois asked absently, then flinched, wishing she could take
back the clumsy words.

"Well . . ." He paused, then seemed to switch gears. "How about you tell me what
happened? How long was I out?"

"Um . . .I don't know. It's been about a day. Twenty-four hours--"

"Wait a minute, wait a minute." He suddenly seemed to gain back some strength
and alertness, his voice coming more strongly and clearly. "Back up. Did you say
Luthor?" He stared at her, alarm bells ringing behind his eyes. She nodded. "Run me
through the basics."

"Apparently Luthor knew we were here, and he . . .well, kidnapped me. Some of
his people did. I was held in a bu--that building," she amended, pointing a finger at the
shielded window. "He wanted money, I think three hundred million." Clark grimaced
and closed his eyes. "He almost had it when the black man showed up. Clark, I don't
know who this guy is, but I--"

"This is his car?" Clark wondered, half to her and half to himself. He was missing
some of his memory, but it was slowly starting to bleed back in, helped by Lois'
summary. Only a handful of the controls before him were lit, but he was able to rapidly
assimilate the basics of what he was sitting inside, just from seeing the display. He
realized this car, if it could be called a car, was loaded, a potential lethal weapon on a
large scale. There was enough equipment to successfully launch and wage a small scale
war, if used with skill. There was radar and tracking, circuits to jam or enhance radio
signals, a police scanner, a flame thrower, at least two small thermite bombs, a harpoon
with cable he estimated to have a six ton weight limit, an unknown number of scaled-
down anti-tank rockets . . . the list went on. Not to mention a braking system the likes
of which he'd never seen before, and an estimated top speed of something over two
hundred miles an hour. And it could get there in fifteen seconds. It was work for Clark
to suppress a shudder. Paradoxically, next to those things there was also medical
equipment and supplies--a defibrillator, bags of saline, medical nitroglycerin, and
intubation equipment, among other things.

"Clark, this guy's a loose cannon," Lois was saying urgently. "The police had
some kind of force set up to come in, and he broke that right up. I think he's some kind
of freelance--" She paused, trying to come up with the right word.

"He came in there to get us?"

"Apparently."

"No others? Just us?"

"Well, there were some other people in there, but I don't know for sure what
happened to them. He had something to do with their--" once again she paused, looking
for the right word, "--disappearance, though. Luthor's men said there were claw--"

She was interrupted by a dark rumbling. At first she thought it was the car, and
her gaze darted around, trying to get a fix on it. But it grew much louder, to a deafening
roar.

"Lois!" Clark lunged over and yanked her head down as the building started to
tumble inward. As the first brick slab hit the car and shattered, Lois let out a breathy
scream. The car started to rock as more and more fell, then an ear shattering crack
shook it violently. The lethal, merciless cascade continued for an unreal length of time,
each second stretched out terrifyingly long as the building tore itself apart around them.
The car shook as concrete, steel, and brick continued to pile, but the movement as well
as the sound gradually began to decrease. Finally, after what felt like a full minute of
hell's fury, the car was still and they heard nothing.

Every single muscle drawn to the breaking point, Lois couldn't move from her
curled-up crouch, afraid to find her body wouldn't respond. She felt a firm pressure on
her head--was it the edge of a concrete slab? But it shifted and moved more fluidly--it
was Clark's hand. He moved slowly, easing back, and Lois felt a protective cover
disappear. Only then did any muscle in her body relax just enough to move.

"Oh, my God . . ."

"Are you alright?"

"I--I think so . . ."

She looked up slowly, finding herself in control of her body again, but only barely.
Shaking, not able to make a sound, she moved her head slowly, seeing concrete and
twisted steel beams all around, pressed up against the car like they were part of it.

"The thing held," Clark said softly, a hand pressed up against the windshield. "It
held."

"Yeah, and we're buried." Lois hardly recognized her own voice. "We're bur--"

The interior of the car lit with a soft, multi-colored blush of controls, and a throat-
clearing growl rose. A section of red lit controls brightened, a tiny LED display at the top
of the section flashing the word AUTOPILOT. Lois straightened, her heart jumping
painfully. "What . . .?"

Clark stared in frustrated confusion. Was this thing going to try to drive out of
this grave? It'd have to blast its way out--

A red control started to flash: AT-ROCKET. The LED display next to it flicked
rapidly: ARM, then after a barely audible hum and click, TARGET. A circular scope at
about knee level flicked to life, showing a tangled line image, and red hairlines shifted
and settled over the image. The LED darkened for a moment, then lit with the word
LAUNCH.

There was a venomous hissing sound and the car shook slightly, concrete grating
painfully along the length. A dull explosion shifted and disturbed the forward view, and
suddenly the roar just behind them rose to a scream. A throttle by Clark's right leg had
slid back as if pulled by a phantom hand, and the car actually pushed forward several
feet. The red display quickly ran through the same sequence, loading and targeting.

Lois curled into a crouch again, afraid that any painful thrust forward would
finally push something through the windshield. At one point a steel beam was aimed
directly at her through the forward shield, and she yelped and curled up tighter, feeling
hands dart over her protectively. But the next rocket launch and push forward merely
resulted in an eardrum-breaking scrape up the windshield and over her, pushed out of
the way. The fifth rocket exploded with unbelievable violence, and Lois jerked up to see
concrete and brickwork raining off the car.

And the faint sheen of the Gotham night skyline beyond.

She gasped as the car shifted into a smooth forward roll. Clark pulled back
slightly, the minimalist steering wheel turning to the right and the car growling up a side
street. Another right turn and it steered to the left of a crumbling, deserted parking lot.
The engine cut to a quiet hum, and then stilled. The dash dimmed, and the main LED
display flicked from AUTOPILOT to SHIELDS DISABLE. A fuzzy humming sound and the
gray shielding telescoped back as strangely as it had appeared. Finally, the windshield
clicked up and glided forward. For a moment, all Clark could do was stare at Lois in
confusion. She was staring back and shaking her head, face frozen. "I don't believe it,"
she murmured, utterly bewildered.

About fifty meters away on their right was the mountain, what was left of the
building they'd just come out of. An indeterminate pile of concrete, sheet rock, steel, and
brick rose up at least a hundred feet, the air over it still hazy with concrete dust.
Reflecting off the faint cloud were the red, white, blue and yellow lights of police and
emergency vehicles, coming in and gathering near the other end of the pile. Two SWAT
teams were there. Two policemen were coming over to the black car at a run, followed
by an older, heavy-set man with a holstered .38 over street clothes. Some SWAT people
had broken off and were trotting over.

The lead police slowed to a walk as they got near, trading quick glances. Clark
looked around hurriedly at the car's interior, then pulled himself up and out of the car,
stepping back from it like it was a live and dangerous animal that he nonetheless wanted
a good look at. Lois pulled herself out shakily, almost stumbling as her feet touched the
rough tar of the old street.

Clark watched the two Gotham policemen carefully. They looked almost as
uneasy as he felt, and they both had eyes for the ground as they approached, as if afraid
to look at him.

"Uh . . .sir, we've got--"

Clark held up his hands. "Look, I don't know what most of this is about--I've
been unconscious for most of it. Lois knows more than I do--"

Their gazes snapped up to him as the older man joined them. "These the last two
hostages?" He had a firm voice and a sharp gaze, with close-cropped graying hair and a
lined face.

"Um . . .yeah, I guess so," Lois answered uneasily, still backing slowly away from
the car. The older man reached around on his belt and pulled out a walkie-talkie.

"Marge, we've got a couple more for you over here, both on their feet. Any sign
of him yet?"

"Not on this end. We'll send a unit over. Johnson wants them for questioning. And, sir, channel six is here."

"Tell 'em to take a flyin' leap," the man drawled wearily.

"Yes, sir," came the answer with firm pleasure.

The two policemen were backing off, and the older man waved permission.
"Espie, you and Vitale go pull off the sewer block. Nothing's getting through there
anymore."

"Yes, sir." The two police turned and skipped into a run, crossing the open tar of
the lot.

The whole time, the older man only had eyes for the ruin of concrete and steel
sprawling out. From the look on his face, he seemed to be scanning for something. The
SWAT team members had come over, one on a walkie-talkie. He ended the contact,
approaching the older man. "The wreck's up against the bay walls. No one on the south
end saw any movement."

The man turned his stare on the SWAT member. "Not a peep? There anything
in the bay?"

"No. The walls held and my people saw nothing go over the edge."

The man wrenched out his walkie-talkie again. "Gordon to Conner. Bill, what's
the sewer situation like?" There was an edge of desperation in his voice, and the SWAT
members were talking quietly, glancing uneasily from the older man to the mountain of
rubble and back.

"Bill here. We . . . we've been up and down the length. Got two more scum from the building, one's got a broken leg. Vitale and Es are here. Jim, there's nothing in these sewers but for the two here. Am I hearing Batman's unaccounted for?"

"Not if I can help it, he's not," the older man groaned, cutting the connection.
"You boys pull out the viper pits and start sweeping the lot," he ordered, desperation
now clear in his voice and face. The SWAT members turned and headed back to the
gathering of vehicles at a dead run. He replaced the walkie-talkie on his belt and pulled
a cell phone out of his pocket, hitting an autodial. "Gordon to Head. McCormack, you
there?"

There was a second of silence, then an out of breath voice came on. "Gotcha. We're in on it."

"Mick, get your canine units in here on the double."

"Ready to rock. Out."

Eyes still glued to the wreck, he closed the cell phone and dropped it in his pocket,
a hand rubbing his jaw nervously. Slowly he squatted down, one hand absently on the
car's front edge for balance as he stared at the pile. He ducked his head a moment,
muttering to himself. "Christ, what've I done . . ." Then he seemed to remember the
presence of two other people.

"What did you see? Did he get out?" he asked quickly, looking up at Lois. He
pushed himself upright and walked around the front of the car, not sparing it a glance,
like he either hadn't seen it or was used to the sight of it.

Feeling pinned on the hard stare, Lois backed up. "Um . . .are you talking about
the guy in black?"

"Yes, I'm talking about the guy in black," the man answered, condescension
mixing with the fear in his voice. "Do you have reason to believe he's still in there?" He
swung an arm toward the wreck.

Lois glanced back at it, and then found she couldn't look away. She shivered.

"Look, I'm not asking for a blow by blow," the man said, trying to calm his voice.
"Just give me a bottom line." Clark could see it took effort for him to cool down his
intensity. Two or three people in royal blue had broken away from the ambulances and
were coming at a steady trot, the promised medical unit for the last two hostages.

"He cut me loose, we found Clark, he put us in the car, and then he went back in
for Luthor." Lois' voice was soft, almost a monotone. The man stared at her, then
slowly pulled his gaze to Clark.

"That's when the building went down."

Clark heard his own voice, but hadn't realized he had spoken. His mind raced
furiously, trying to absorb it all and reach a conclusion. Hopefully even a course of
action. Out? Oh, yes, he'd been out. And the reason chilled him. His memory of Luthor
was starting to come back in more clearly. Clark hadn't counted on Luthor's presence
even when he'd discovered that it wasn't merely traffic that had delayed Lois the
previous night. Luthor had keenly noticed Clark's reaction when they first encountered
each other, and on a hunch, Luthor had gone for the small object in his pocket. Clark
could almost hear a click in his head. Luthor had watched his reaction carefully, and as
realization dawned, it was like someone had dumped a bucket of paint over Luthor's
bare head. The knowledge had flooded through his whole body.

Strangely, Luthor had taken care of it all by himself. Clark now found himself in
the odd position of wishing to thank Luthor for even letting him keep his glasses;
apparently he hadn't seen their place in Clark's life situation. And so no one else knew.
No one else knew why a small metal box had been strapped to Clark's chest--they had
only been given strict orders not to disturb it. Clark knew, because at that point he still
had his hearing. The rest had been lost very slowly, starting with all of his supernatural
abilities. They had clicked off immediately, and then the numbness had followed washes
of a sharp, stinging sensation that moved slowly but relentlessly through his body. It
went up his arms and into his chest, spreading to his head and down his body to his legs.
Sense of touch had been the first to go, and then sight and finally hearing. His mind had
gone sluggish, then was capable of only observing as his body had ceased all function
until only heart and lungs were left. These, too, had slowed, leaving only a faint mental
presence in the body he had once owned. It was incapable of responding or initiating
any conscious thought--ike a tiny body curled up in a massive, dark, empty room,
staring sightlessly ahead, not responding to any outside stimulus. That tiny spark was
guttering and smoking when there'd been a noiseless explosion of light in slow motion.
The white flame had expanded, melting the walls like ice. A disorienting journey had
followed, confusing painful pathways shining with searing white light. Somewhere
through there a bass drum had faltered into a steady beat, and he'd recognized the
sound of his own heartbeat.

What had started the healing White Flame?

Black Fire.

Clark opened his eyes and found himself looking at the thing that had blasted him
and Lois to safety. Something on it arrested his attention. On the wheels, where there
would normally be hubcaps, was a dark gray covering. If the wheels were covered by
the rest of the shielding, it would probably originate from there. And on the shielding
was an emblem, the relief of grey-on-grey making it almost invisible. Clark stepped
back to get a better look at it.

Phylum: Chordata.

Class: Mammalia.

Order: Chiroptera. Bats.

"Clark?" Lois had stepped in front of him, and his eyes took a moment to focus on
her. "Are you alright?"

He opened his mouth to respond, wondering what to say. Then he simply said,
"I'll be back."