Jimmy Olsen looked nervous as he stared out the window of the taxi as it passed over the Hobsneck Bridge. He turned to his co-worker, sitting beside him in the backseat. “You sure we should be here? This place isn’t nicknamed ‘Suicide Slum’ for nothing.”

“I thought you wanted a break from the Occupy LexTower story?” asked Clark Kent.

“Yeah, but you didn’t strike me as the type to investigate slumlords,” said Jimmy. “I mean, no offense, but you’re not exactly intimidating. I thought we were gonna be doing fluff pieces or something.”

Clark couldn’t help but smile at that revelation. Over the past few weeks, the “disguise” his mother helped him come up with had been working. He kept his head down for the most part, didn’t speak up much, and that seemed to benefit him. Clark Kent had become the type of guy people didn’t pay much attention to.

“I’ve been in touch with one of the tenants down there. He runs a bar called the Ace of Clubs, said the landlord keeps ignoring problems with the place.”

The driver slowed down, pulling the cab up to the curb. He shifted into park and craned his neck to look through the clear divider. “That’ll be twelve bucks.”

Clark slipped a ten and a five into the slot. The driver nodded his thanks. “Hey Four-Eyes, watch yer back out there, ‘kay?”

“Tell me about it…” muttered Jimmy as he climbed out of the seat first. He looked down at his camera and began to regret bringing it. Clark straightened his red tie and led the way. His suit was a dark blue and it was by no means expensive, but it did make him stand out somewhat among the deteriorated buildings of Hob’s Bay.

“Why don’t you just walk around with a sign that says ‘MUG ME,’ CK?”

“I didn’t realize you were so jumpy,” said Clark. “I thought you grew up in Metropolis?”

“I grew up in Bakerline.”

Clark just shrugged. “Bakerline?”

“Sorry, forgot you’re not from around here. Bakerline is the suburbs.”

“Ah, well come on.” Clark took out his phone and double-checked the map on it for the bar’s location. “It’s just down this street.”

“Put that thing away, will ya?”

“My god, Jimmy, you’d think we were in the middle of Gotham.” Clark did as Jimmy requested, though, sliding the phone into the inside pocket of his jacket. A short walk later, they passed a window-front with ACE OF CLUBS printed on the glass and an image of the playing card of the same name. Jimmy looked at the sign on the front door.

“Looks like they’re not open until six, guess we’ll come back later,” he said. “Speaking of, I’ve actually got a date tonight, so…”

Clark rapped his knuckles on the glass of the door. After a few moments, he saw movement inside. A light came on from a back room and a gruff-looking man approached the door. He had receding hairline and looked as if he hadn’t shaved in a few days. His face held a mean-looking grimace as he approached the door.

“Whatever yer sellin’, I ain’t buyin’!” he barked through the glass.

“Hey CK, let’s not piss him off, alright?” said Jimmy in a hushed voice.

Clark ignored his partner. “Mr. Bibbowski?”

“Who wants t’ know?”

“My name is Clark Kent, I work for the Daily Planet. We spoke the other day on the phone.”

The large man opened the door, staring down at Clark. Then his grimace shifted to a broad smile, making him almost unrecognizable from the ogreish appearance he had just seconds earlier. He forcefully grabbed Clark’s hand and gave it a vigorous shake.

“Well why didn’t ya say so in the first place? C’mon in, Mr. Kent!” He gave Jimmy a once over and laughed. “An’ better bring yer little friend in, too! Poor kid looks like he’s liable t’ piss himself.”

Jimmy’s cheeks reddened as he followed Clark inside. Bibbowski grabbed two stools off the counter and flipped the over, setting them down for his visitors. Clark and Jimmy slid onto the red cushions and their host went behind the bar. He bent down below the counter, opening a refrigerator and fishing out three bottles. He popped the caps off with his thumb and set one in front of Clark and Jimmy, then did the same for the third and started to sip it.

“So, you boys big shot reporters, eh?” he asked.

“Actually, I just started,” said Clark. “Jimmy here’s a photographer.”

“Take pictures, eh? Ya wanna shot of this ugly mug?”

“Ah, well I wouldn’t say ugly…”

“Actually, Mr. Bibbowski—”

Bibbowski laughed. “Ya kill me, Kent! Mr. Bibbowski’s my pop, rest his soul. Folks just call me Bibbo.”

“Okay, Bibbo,” said Clark. “I brought Jimmy along because I thought it’d be good to have some pictures of the things your landlord has been neglecting to fix.”

“Slumlord’s more like it,” muttered Bibbo. “Pipes ain’t up t’ code an’ the damn furnace ain’t worked right in a dog’s age. Also got a bunch of leaks. But that bastard Griggs don’t seem t’ care.”

“Griggs? As in Casey Griggs?” asked Jimmy.

“Oh, so ya know the scumbag, too.”

“Yeah, you might say that.” Jimmy glanced down at his watch. “Hey, maybe we should take those shots and then get back to the Planet. I remember Perry said he might need me for an assignment.”

“He did?” asked Clark. Jimmy nodded. “Okay, would you mind showing Jimmy some of the problem areas?”

“Yeah, sure thing. C’mon kiddo, I can tell y’ all ‘bout the time I lasted in the ring against Ted ‘Wildcat’ Grant!”

After the pictures had been taken, Clark and Jimmy bid their goodbyes to Bibbo and hailed a cab back to the Daily Planet. Once inside, Jimmy looked through the pictures and sighed. “I feel for the poor guy. I mean, he lied through his teeth about fighting Wildcat Grant, he disappeared sometime during World War II. But other than that, Bibbo seems like a nice guy. Too bad there’s nothing that can be done to help him.”

“You don’t think my story will do any good?” asked Clark.

Jimmy looked at Clark as if he were an idiot. “Dude, you do know who Casey Griggs is, right?”

Clark shook his head. Jimmy offered an explanation. “He’s a flipper. He buys up foreclosures, rents them out to the poor, then sells them for a profit to developers. Word has it he’s got ties with Intergang.”

“Intergang?”

“Man Clark, you gotta learn who’s who in this city if you plan on reporting in it,” said Jimmy. “Intergang is like Metropolis’ version of the Falcone family.”

“I thought Metropolis was the shining city of the future,” said Clark.

“Only on the outside.”

The cab driver listened intently to everything they said.

TAKING FLIGHT

Part III

By Dino Pollard

STAR Labs

Seated in an office alone, Lois Lane had her phone out, playing a game of Scrabble as she waited for her interview subject. She frowned at the results the game was giving her. “Con-science? You’ve got to be kidding me, stupid game must be broken…”

The door opened and a bearded man in a lab coat entered. His eyes were magnified by the goggles he wore on his face. “Ms. Lane, apologies for keeping you waiting. I’m Emil Hamilton.”

Lois stood and shook his hand. “Thanks for meeting me, Professor.”

“My pleasure, please.” He gestured for her to sit again and walked around the desk to sit across from her. “Now, how can I help you?”

“Umm…” Lois looked down, trying to ignore the fact that the scientist apparently had forgotten he was still wearing the safety goggles. “I wanted to ask you about this Superman.”

“Ahh yes, quite the hot topic these days,” said Hamilton.

“Yeah, he’s certainly made a splash,” said Lois. “So tell me, how’s he do it?”

“Do it?”

“Yeah, I mean he moves fast enough to be like a blur. He’s strong enough to stop a train with his bare hands. He can fly and then there’s this.”

Lois flipped through the photos on her phone and found the one she was looking for. She passed it to Hamilton, still unaware of his goggles. Hamilton studied the picture as he rubbed his beard. “I was quite surprised when I saw this happen myself. My first thought was perhaps psychokinesis, but then I realized that the symbol had been burned into the ground. Some sort of temperature manipulation, a heat ray I guess you could say.”

“Wait, you said you saw it?” asked Lois.

“Oh yes,” said Hamilton as he passed her the phone. “I was there.”

Lois still found herself staring at the green-tinted goggles. “I’m sorry, Professor, but it’s driving me nuts. Do you have to wear those goggles?”

“Hmm?” Hamilton’s fingers went to his eyes and he realized what he was wearing. “Oh my! Pardon me.” He took the goggles off and set them down on the desk. He adjusted his glasses. “I thought it was odd that everything looked a little green.”

“Anyway, what were you doing at LexTower when Superman appeared?”

“As fate would have it, I was actually discussing Superman with Mr. Luthor.”

“Lex Luthor?” asked Lois.

“Oh yes, yes. He seemed quite intrigued,” said Hamilton. “You see, Mr. Luthor is something of a scientist himself. No degrees, mind you, more of an enthusiast. Nonetheless, he’s very brilliant. I’d say he could give more than a few people around here a run for their money.”

Lois made sure to write this down on her notepad. “Do you know why Luthor would be interested in Superman?”

“Perhaps the same reason you are, Ms. Lane. The same reason everyone is—there’s never been anyone like him in all recorded history.”

“Do you have any theories?” asked Lois.

“Unfortunately no,” said Hamilton. “A man who can defy the laws of physics, who possesses such great power…it’s unprecedented. As I told Mr. Luthor, the only way I could be sure of who or what Superman is would be to examine his DNA.”

“There’s one other thing I wanted to ask you about,” said Lois. “It’s been a few weeks since the incident at LexTower and in that time, there have been reports of other strange phenomena all over the world. Other reports coming in every day of mysterious beings with incredible power. Do you think they have anything to do with Superman?”

Emil considered this for a few moments. “I honestly couldn’t say. It’s a possibility. All we know for certain is that the world has changed, and only time will tell if it’s for the better or worse.”

Lex Luthor stood in front of his fireplace, watching as the flames consumed the logs inside. He sipped his drink, waiting patiently for his guest to arrive. He remained dressed in his suit from the day’s work, his mind concentrating on the events at his company from a few weeks earlier.

Superman.

A being possessed of awe-inspiring power. Who could burn pavement by staring at it. Who could lift planes with his own two hands. Who could fly through the air at superhuman speeds. Someone like that, with all that power, would need to be controlled. Someone…no, something with that much power was too dangerous to be left unchecked.

He heard footsteps and smiled. Two pairs, one heavy and one light. His assistant, Mercy Graves, opened the doors to the living room. She walked in followed by a large man with short, dark hair and a mustache, dressed in an Italian suit and smoking a cigar.

“Mr. Mannheim, thank you for accepting my invitation,” said Luthor, slowly turning to his guest. “It only took you a few weeks.”

Bruno Mannheim sat on an antique couch, propping his legs up on the coffee table. “You want me t’ risk my operations by settin’ guys up against a man who can derail a train? Yeah, you bet I’m gonna hold off on acceptin’ that.”

“So what changed your mind?”

“I got somethin’ I need from you,” said Mannheim. “There’s a new Planet reporter sniffin’ around Suicide Slum. Been talkin’ to Bibbowski about Griggs.”

“And?”

“Tony Gallo is lookin’ to open up a casino here in Metropolis. Hob’s Bay will be a good location an’ we can make a nice bit of profit off it,” said Mannheim. “But if this reporter brings attention to the project, Gallo might get cold feet.”

“Gambling has yet to be legalized in Metropolis,” said Luthor.

Mannheim smiled. “Who d’ya think guaranteed Mayor Edge his election win?”

“Very well, so take out the reporter. I fail to see what this has to do with me.”

“Cause it seems you boys come from the same place. Figure you could talk some sense into him.”

“Excuse me?” asked Luthor.

“Guy’s from a small town in Kansas. Same place you spent some time.”

“What’s his name?”

“Clark Kent.”

Luthor paused and then nodded slowly. “Very well. I will speak with him and in return, I want your men to draw this Superman out of hiding.”

“Fine by me.” Mannheim rose. “I’ll be in touch with the details.”

Mercy was about to follow Mannheim, but he held up his hand. “Don’t bother, darlin’. I can show myself out.”

She nodded and closed the doors behind Mannheim, then turned to her employer. “Getting involved with Intergang like that? Smart move, boss?”

“Contact Mr. Kent, set up a meeting,” said Luthor.

“Face to face?” asked Mercy. “Isn’t that risky?”

“Don’t contact him through the Planet. Find his personal information. He won’t think it odd.”

“How do you know that?” asked Mercy.

“Goodnight, Mercy.”

That was a signal to not push the issue further. So Mercy just nodded. “Goodnight, sir.”

Traffic came to an unprecedented stop in the heart of Midtown. The police set up barricades all along the road, cordoning off access to the Commerce Bank of Metropolis. At the front of the barricade, focusing on the glass doors of the bank, stood a plain-clothes officer in a trench coat. He had short, brown hair with silver around his ears and he watched the doors intently. A string of hostages were lined against the glass, forming a human shield for the thieves inside.

“Inspector Henderson?”

Bill Henderson turned, raising a questioning eyebrow at the odd couple who approached. They were quite the mismatched pair—a lovely young woman with closely-cropped blond hair and a large, middle aged man with a round face.

“You’re the specialists?” he asked.

“Special Crimes Unit, here t’ take care of the threats you boys can’t handle,” said the man as he flashed his badge.

“Excuse me?” asked Henderson.

“You’ll have to excuse my partner, we don’t call him ‘Terrible’ Turpin for nothing,” said the woman, holding out her own badge. “I’m Inspector Maggie Sawyer. We hear you’ve got quite the situation.”

“Bunch of masked guys, armed with some pretty hi-tech weaponry,” said Henderson.

“Snipers in place?” asked Turpin.

“Yup, but take a look at those windows,” said Henderson. “We’re not getting a shot in there without going through someone.”

“Have you made contact with the perps?” asked Sawyer.

Henderson shook his head. “Orders were to wait for you, Inspector.”

Sawyer nodded. “Good. Let’s see if we can—”

There was a sudden whoosh of air and then the ground shook slightly, as if it were hit with a small tremor. A figure crouched before the barricade and stood, dressed from neck to toe in a blue bodysuit. He had a red cape and the suit also featured red and gold trim at his waist, with a stylized symbol resembling an S emblazoned on his chest.

“Excuse me, this is a police situation!” said Sawyer.

“Keep your people back, I’ll handle this,” said Superman.

“The hell you will!” barked Turpin. “Think we’re gonna leave the fate of a buncha hostages to some freak in a cape?”

Superman faced the officers. He smiled warmly at them. “Look, I’m really just here to help.”

“Yeah, well go find a cat inna tree, nutjob,” said Turpin. “Leave the important stuff to the professionals.”

Superman stared at the people pressed up against the windows. As he concentrated on them, his vision began to peer through the people. Behind them, he could see two of the criminals, clad in ski masks and holding military-grade automatic rifles. He turned his head and followed to the vault, finding three more men. He turned his gaze to the ceiling and, upon seeing a skylight, smiled.

“Perfect.”

“What? What are you talking about?” asked Sawyer.

“Just be ready to help those people.” Superman pounced, soaring high above the bank. He arched and fell downward, crashing through the glass skylight. The two criminals watching the hostages started up in shock. Superman landed in front of them, brushing tiny pieces of glass from his shoulders. The crooks raised their rifles and Superman just shook his head.

“Not really a good idea.” His blue eyes turned bright red, and one of the men dropped his gun as the suddenly-hot metal scalded his hands.

“What the hell?” He shook his hands vigorously, trying to cool them down. His partner watched in amazement and when he turned back, Superman was gone.

“Where’d he go?” he asked.

Superman stood behind the men and gripped them both by the necks. He hefted them into the air and slammed them together, knocking both out cold. The hostages turned to see what was happening and Superman motioned for them to walk out the front doors.

He calmly strolled towards the vault and the three men loading up the cash into large duffle bags. Their rifles were held at their sides by straps slung over their torsos. Superman crossed his arms and cleared his throat to draw their attention. “Excuse me, but I’m pretty sure this bank has a daily withdrawal limit.”

“It’s him!” shouted one of them. His rifle was in his hands within moments and he opened fire. His compatriots did the same, the guns echoing in the vault, the smoke and sparks from the barrels obscuring their vision within seconds. One by one, each of the rifles clicked when the magazines were depleted, until the only sound left was that of the spent shells striking the floor.

The three criminals smiled at first, confident in the result of their assault. But their grins shifted quickly to gaping maws as the smoke cleared and they saw their target stood in the same place, arms still crossed, a grin still on his face.

“Thanks, that itch has been bugging me all morning.”

“Jesus, Mary an’ Joseph…” muttered one of the three.

Superman took a deep breath and blew. The air that came forth was similar to what one might experience in a hurricane, powerful enough to slam all three men against the wall of the vault. He stacked the three from the vault with the two in the lobby and calmly exited the bank. Half-expecting applause, what he found instead were frightened stares of horror.

“Inspectors, I believe you’ll find your suspects inside.” With a simple nod, Superman flew off into the clouds.

“Dan…” muttered Sawyer, “…am I going crazy?”

“If you are, then they gotta lock us both up,” said Turpin.

LexTower

Luthor reviewed the footage from the bank heist Mannheim had arranged. As he did, he scribbled on a pad each of the abilities he watched Superman display. So far, he had marked superhuman speed, strength, even super breath. Also heat vision, flight, and, apparently, invulnerability.

He went back in the video and played it again. Noticing something strange, he hit the pause button. It was a view of the Man of Steel’s face. Not the best shot, but there was something about it. Lex Luthor could have sworn he had seen that man’s face somewhere before…

NEXT: Terror of the Toyman