Metropolis General Hospital

Joseph Martin sat up in the bed in his room, a bandage tied around his head. In his hands he held a worn-out paperback book. The cover had seen better days, with the spine cracked and the pages yellowed from age. He’d read this particular book more times than he could remember, but it still thrilled him every time he opened it up.

A knock came at the door and a second later it opened. The familiar face of Luke Wilcox, Martin’s physician, gave the patient a smile. Martin raised an eyebrow at the presence of the second man, however, who had a badge clipped to his suit jacket that read VISITOR.

“Good morning, Joe. How are you feeling today?” asked Wilcox.

“About as best as can be expected.” Martin folded down the corner of the page he’d been reading and set the book on the nightstand beside the bed. “Who’s this?”

“Dr. Albert Michaels of STAR Labs,” said the new arrival, a man with very short brown hair and a pair of glasses. He approached the bed and held out his hand. Martin glanced at it for a second, then shook it.

“STAR Labs? Why do you want to see me?”

“Before we talk about Dr. Michaels, there’s something else we need to discuss.” Wilcox sat on the edge of the bed.

Michaels noticed the paperback on the nightstand. He picked it up and stared at the cover. The illustration featured a man dressed in a yellow costume with green gloves, boots, and a cape. A white skull was emblazoned on his chest and beneath the yellow mask that covered his eyes, the man’s head was a skull. It was surrounded by an aura of energy arcing out and engulfing the body of another man dressed in a blue bodysuit with a red cape. The stylized font read THE CURSE OF THE ATOMIC SKULL.

“It’s one of my favorites,” said Martin, noticing Michaels’ interest. “First book I bought with my allowance when I was a kid. There was a whole series of Atomic Skull stories printed in the pulps back in the thirties.”

“Hmph.” Michaels set the book back down on the nightstand, obviously not intrigued by the cover.

“I know it’s probably not the most stimulating read for most people, but it’s got sentimental value for me,” said Martin. “Plus with my illness, reading is pretty much the only thing I can focus on. Watching TV or staring at a computer screen just hurts too much.”

“That’s what I’d like to talk to you about,” said Wilcox.

“What?” asked Martin, turning his attention to Wilcox.

The doctor sighed. “I’m afraid I’ve got some bad news, Joe. Unfortunately, we’ve exhausted all our efforts. There’s no real way to contain the disease.”

Martin looked away from his doctor and stared down at his hands resting on the white sheets. “So what? How much time do I have?”

“It’s hard to say,” said Wilcox. “You could live for another few years or you could go tomorrow. This disease is very rare and it’s very difficult to make any sort of accurate estimate. But it will take you eventually. And as it progresses, your seizures, your concentration difficulties, well . . .”

“They’re going to get worse,” said Martin.

“That’s why Dr. Wilcox contacted me,” said Michaels. “I’ve been doing a lot of work through STAR Labs on nervous system disorders and I think I may have a way to save you.”

“What do you mean? He just said there’s nothing that can be done,” said Martin, gesturing towards Wilcox.

“Nothing through conventional medicine. I need to be very clear about something, Mr. Martin. This procedure is highly experimental and could come with some great risks attached,” said Michaels.

“I don’t get it. What’s the procedure?”

“It involves the implantation of a radium-powered device in your skull,” said Michaels. “We’ve had some success in primate testing with similar kinds of disorders. So far, it’s managed to keep the disease in check and even prevent the seizures.”

“So it’s a cure, then?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” said Wilcox. “Joe, this procedure is very dangerous. There’s no telling for sure if it will work long-term, or if it will work at all. There’s a chance that it could actually backfire and accelerate your disease or lead to other complications.”

“He’s right. We’d be taking a massive risk just attempting it,” said Michaels.

“But if I do nothing, then this thing will definitely kill me, won’t it?” asked Martin.

Wilcox sighed and gave a nod. “I’m afraid so.”

“Then there’s really no choice at all, is there?” Martin looked up at Michaels. “When can we start?”

CURSE OF THE ATOMIC SKULL

Part 1

By Dino Pollard

STAR Labs

When Martin regained consciousness, he laid in a bed in STAR Labs, staring up at a fluorescent light. His body felt numb and there was a strange headache he felt. When he tried to pull himself up to a sitting position, he immediately felt dizzy.

“Take it easy, Mr. Martin.” The voice belonged to Dr. Michaels, who stood by the side of the bed and helped steady Martin.

“How long . . . how long have I been out?” he asked.

“Twelve hours,” said Michaels. “But I have good news. The operation was a success. We’ve been monitoring your brain activity very closely and the device seems to be working as expected. How do you feel?”

“I feel . . .” Martin reached a hand up to his bandaged head. “Hot.”

“Hot? Does it feel like a fever?” Michaels placed the back of his hand against Martin’s forehead. He instantly pulled it away with a quick yelp. “My god, youare hot.”

Michaels immediately checked the machine monitoring Martin’s brain activity. There was an irregularity popping up.

“What is it?” asked Martin.

Michaels took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. He put them back on and checked the readings again to make sure he was seeing things accurately. And unfortunately, it looked like he was. “I’m not sure, I’ve never seen anything like—”

“ARGH!” Martin gripped his head with both hands, bending forward and gritting his teeth in pain.

“What is it? Seizure?”

“N-no, feels like . . . my head . . . it’s on fire!”

Martin’s body convulsed and Michaels tried to hold him down. “I need some help in here!” he shouted out the open door. A few orderlies came in to try and help Michaels hold Martin down. But Martin thrashed against them and struck one of the orderlies, sending him flying across the room.

“Get away!” he shouted.

Martin thrashed in the bed, one by one tossing the orderlies from his presence as if they were weightless. Michaels backed away from the bed, stunned at the change that was occurring. Martin’s head was encased in a strange purple aura Martin tore the bandage from his head and Michaels watched in horror as Martin’s skin became translucent, until the only thing that could be seen was his skull and glowing eyes. Martin climbed out of bed and Michaels slowly approached him.

“Joe, please get back in bed so I can run some tests and figure out just what is happening!”

“Joe? Who’s Joe?” asked Martin. He held out his hand, pointing it at the wall and a burst of energy exploded from his palm, blowing a hole in the side of the building and leading out. “You tell Dr. Electron that he’ll never restrain me!”

A handsome man with short, blond hair stared into the camera, a scowl on his face. On TV screens everywhere, they saw an image in a window beside the man’s head, of a yellow pentagram with a red outline and a red shape inside that resembled the letter S.

“Superman,” said the host. “Who is this, the first of these new metahumans? And who gave him and his compatriots the authority to form this so-called Justice League to watch over us? Which includes among their number a known eco-terrorist?

“Ladies and gentlemen, these metahumans pose a great threat to mankind. To law and order. Calling themselves the Justice League is a perversion of the word justice. They are no better than the petty criminals they go after.

“We cannot tolerate these anarchists who flaunt the rule of law and order in society. They take matters into their own hands. And who is this Superman anyway? Why has he refused to give any background on himself? How are we to trust a man with the power of a god, a man who won’t even tell us the slightest bit of information about himself?”

The host sighed. “Stay vigilant, America. Stay strong. This is Ben Lockwood, signing off.”

The Daily Planet

“Just what the hell am I payin’ you for, Lombard?” shouted Perry White, the editor-in-chief of the Daily Planet.

The red-headed sports reporter nearly fell out of his chair when he heard the booming voice of his boss. He turned and offered a meek smile. “C’mon Chief, it’s just a TV show. Lockwood makes a lotta sense. Who did appoint these metahumans anyway? Where the hell do they come from?”

“We report news here, Lombard! You wanna watch that tabloid trash, you do it at home. Don’t waste our bandwidth on it.” Perry grumbled as he walked away from the desk. Lombard sighed and closed the browser he’d been streaming Lockwood’s program on and stood from his desk, stretching.

Lombard walked from his desk over to the break room, nearly bumping into the newest addition to the paper’s staff. “Jesus, Kent! Watch where you’re going, huh?”

“Sorry, Steve.” Clark Kent shuffled back from the break room’s entrance. Lombard shook his head and walked in with Clark following behind. Lombard took a mug from the drying rack and poured some coffee in it.

“Perry’s in one of his moods again,” said Lombard.

“I dunno about that, he seems like a pretty swell guy to me,” said Clark.

Lombard arched an eyebrow. “Swell, huh? Ya got a lot to learn, hayseed.”

“I just need to get some coffee to go.”

A smile appeared beneath Lombard’s mustache as a thought occurred to him. “Here, lemme get it for you.”

“Oh really? Thanks, that’d be great.”

Lombard took a styrofoam cup and filled it with coffee. He took a plastic lid and placed it on top of the cup, making sure not to affix it tightly. Lombard passed the cup to the new reporter. “There ya go, buddy.”

“That’s really nice of you, thanks Steve.” Clark raised the cup to his mouth but when he tipped it back, the lid fell off and the coffee spilled down the front of his blue suit, staining his perfectly-white shirt brown. Clark held out his hands and walked over to the sink, placing the cup on the side and running the water. But over the sound of the faucet, Clark could hear Lombard’s obnoxious laugh echoing.

“Not sure what it’s like in Smallville, but here in the big city, we drink our coffee, Kent. We don’t wear it on our shirt!”

Clark gave a meek smile. “Guess I’m just clumsy.”

“Hey, maybe you’re one’a them metahumans! You could join the Justice League as Klutzman!”

Clark took some paper towels and ran them under the water, trying his best to clean the coffee from his shirt. He glanced up, lowering his glasses down the bridge of his nose and his soft blue eyes turned to a bright shade of crimson as he fixed his gaze on Lombard’s coffee mug.

“Thanks, Steve. I’ll keep that in mind,” said Clark, tossing the paper towels in the trash and pushing his glasses back to the top of his nose. As he exited the break room, he heard Lombard scream.

“Ahh, sonnuva bitch!” Lombard followed out of the break room, holding his tongue out his mouth.

“Careful, the coffee’s pretty hot,” said Clark, his back still to Lombard and a smile on his face. He walked towards the exit to the newsroom, where photographer Jimmy Olsen stood, playing a game on his smartphone. “Ready to go, Jimmy?”

“You know it, CK.” Jimmy exited the game and pocketed the phone in his jeans.

“Hold it right there, Smallville!”

Clark sighed and exchanged a glance with Jimmy who shrugged. “His master’s voice.”

“Shut up,” said Clark. “Something wrong, Lois? Jimmy and I are just about to go do a follow-up on my story about the Ace of Clubs.”

“Yeah, I’m going with you,” said Lois, walking past them and pushing the doors to the newsroom open. “We’ve got some things to talk about.”

“What things?” asked Clark as he and Jimmy quickened their pace to catch up to her. The trio got in the elevator and Lois hit the button for the ground floor. She crossed her arms and stared at Clark.

“How about the fact that you’re best friends with Lex freaking Luthor?” asked Lois.

“I wouldn’t go that far, Lois. Lex lived in Smallville for a while and he and I spent some time together,” said Clark. “That’s pretty much the extent of it.”

Lois looked at Jimmy while jerking her thumb in Clark’s direction. “You believe this guy, Olsen? He’s got the ear of the richest, most-reclusive man in Metropolis, and he acts like it’s no big deal.”

Clark shrugged. “It’s really not . . .”

“What about that thing with the Toyman?” asked Lois. “You saw Superman, didn’t you? What happened? How’d he even know to find you? Did he say anything?”

“Not really, he just kind of . . . swooped in,” said Clark. Lex Luthor and Clark were both kidnapped by a deranged man named Winslow Schott, who referred to himself as the Toyman. What no one knew was that Clark managed to escape and then changed to his alter-ego of Superman, rescued Lex, and defeated the Toyman. “You read my story on it, right?”

“Yeah, yeah. Front page story and all, very riveting stuff that was pretty light on the details,” said Lois. “You had a face-to-face with both Superman andLuthor and you didn’t ask any questions?”

Clark shrugged. “Was I supposed to?”

The elevator reached the ground floor and Lois marched out into the lobby. “How you can call yourself a reporter with a straight face is a mystery I’ll never solve.”

Jimmy and Clark stepped out next and Jimmy whispered to him. “Lois may be a bit blunt, but she does have a point. You couldn’t think of anything to ask Superman? If I was that close to him, don’t think I could stop asking questions.”

“I was concentrating more on the fact that my life was in danger, Jimmy,” said Clark.

Clark and Jimmy followed Lois out onto the streets of Metropolis. She held out her hand, trying to hail a taxi, but they all drove by. “Oh come on! Can never get a damn cab in this town . . .”

“Zelda?”

The three turned to the sound of the new voice. From the alley, a man emerged with what appeared to be a skull with purple flames surrounding it. A crowd quickly gathered around them and Lois gasped, fixated on his face.

“Zelda, my love!” said Martin, holding out his arms towards Lois. “I’ve found you!”

“Umm . . .” Lois exchanged confused glances with her co-workers. “Look . . . whatever you are. . . my name’s Lois Lane, not Zelda.”

Martin cocked his head to the side. “Zelda? How can you not recognize me? Listen to my voice, it’s me!”

Sirens rang out as a few squad cars skidded to a stop in front of the Daily Planet. Cops stepped out of the vehicles, drawing their guns and pointing them at Martin. Dr. Michaels emerged from one of the cars as well, looking on in fear.

“Get down on the ground!” ordered one of the officers.

Martin held out his hands and purple energy that matched the aura around his head lit up his hands. “Run, Zelda! The Rocketmen have found me!”

“Rocketmen?” asked Lois.

Martin hurled an energy blast at one of the squad cars, erupting it into the air. Screams echoed in the street and the cops and bystanders ran for cover while Lois remained frozen in place. Jimmy reacted instantly though, taking hold of the camera hanging around his neck and snapped some quick shots.

“Jim, Clark, we have to get—” Lois turned in mid-sentence, expecting to see Clark standing beside her. But he was nowhere to be found. “Kent?” She huffed. “What a coward!”

Martin fired a blast at another car, but before it could hit, a red and blue blur rushed into the path of the attack. Superman stood firm, absorbing the blunt of the blast and staring at the metahuman.

“Dr. Electron!” screamed Martin. “You thought you could get away with this, but you’ve only managed to create your greatest foe! Now face the might of the Atomic Skull!”

To be continued…