"Top of the hour, and you know what that means, Metropolis! It's time for your ever lovin' host and righter of the wrongs, the champion of the bloody oppressed, Manchester Black to help steer you away from the injustice of boredem. No turnin' back now, because you are listenin' to Elitism!"
A bit of musical accompaniment filled the slot, as the Radio DJ with purple hair and a union t-shirt downed a swig of water and turned to his right, seeing Lois Lane still standing just beyond the room, watching him through the glass with her arms folded across her chest. Black smirked at her clearly apparent expression of annoyance, presumably due to the fact that he hadn't stopped staring at her since she'd arrived to the station an hour ago. Admittedly, it could have been because of the fact that the two had shared a brief history at one time, but that was a mistake that only lasted for barely a week before Lois discovered Black's behavior as being nothing short of childish. Once he placed his headphones back on and resumed his broadcast at the microphone, she raised an eyebrow, realizing how entirely fitting his eventual profession became. There were reporters, there were disc jockeys, and then there were men like Black, who acted as nothing short of the class clown in order to make a living.
Gotta remember to kill Perry for this.
"Now, some of you lot might be wonderin' what this super secret ole' Friday topic I've been teasin' might be, since some of you probably remember that I hinted at a surprise. Well, my adorin' public, you can go ahead and wonder no more, because I got a feelin' the word super might be more appropriate than I was leadin' on. Specifically, them super types we've all been hearin' about for the last few months, because it's a bevy of capes, masks, and leotards on today's show. And no, I ain't talkin' about my last New Year's shindig, either. Today's topic is metas, and what they mean for us all. Doom and gloom? "
With her cue being given, Lois sighed under her breath and bit her lip, picking up a small file of reports that she had compiled for this morning's appearance. She had no doubt that Black himself had made arrangements to have the station call up The Daily Planet and invite her along as a special guest for this innate dribble, but that assumption didn't stop her from coming prepared. On the plus side, she figured that if Black wanted to keep his ludicrously high ratings, he was going to have to play this one straight. The topic was just too far endowed into the minds of the public for anything short of that.
Carefully composing herself to better seem civil around the raving idiot, Lois stepped into the recording room and quickly took her place at the second mic, intentionally paying more attention to the PA that was showing her how far to lean into the microphone than Black himself.
"And joinin' me to help discuss today's point is the closest thing the city has got to an expert on the subject. She's written more articles about the subject than the New York Times, and that place is practically brimmin' with supers. As columnist for The Daily Planet, please welcome my guest, Lois Lane."
Black couldn't help but grin at Lois' uncomfortable smile back, knowing fully well that she was trying not to stare daggers.
"How's it hangin', love?"
Practically behind grit teeth, Lois cleared her throat before speaking.
"As well as it could be, I guess. Thanks for having me on."
"Not at all. Besides, I ain't gotta treat everybody I've snogged like they're dirt, am I right?"
Lois sneered, but vocally played along, trying to add a bit of jovialness to her tone. He'd have to try harder than that to get her to break.
"Oh, don't be modest. I'm sure you've more than made up for it by treating all of your guests like that."
Black chuckled, evidently still as impressed as ever with Lois' quick tongue.
"Hah! You got me there. Right then, let's table the funny business and save it for afterwards. Superhumans. Bit of an eerie business to some folks, wouldn't you say?"
Placing her hands together, Lois shrugged.
"Perhaps. I mean, I'm certainly not going to lie, current public opinion of them is pretty mixed. Like you were saying earlier, New York has particularly seen a surge of activity from the superpowered and costumed vigilante crowd over the last few months. But I think that with the emergence of someone like Reed Richards, for instance, and others who've publicly acknowledged the nature of their power, there's just as much reason to be comforted by the thought of their prescence than be fearful of them."
"Right, and that's all well and good, but what about the other margin? Mutant protests are at an all time high, that bloke in Gotham City's got a bit of a fear thing goin' on for him, and let's not forget some of the recent Daily Bugle articles condemning some of these types. I've noticed your paper doesn't dwell in that business. Not lookin' for the competition, or do you lot just wanna keep an open mind?"
Lois smirked, thinking of the times that Perry had went on verbal rants about the Bugle's percentage of sales rivaling the Planet's. He and the editor of that paper, J. Jonah Jameson, had never shyed away from competing with eachother.
"Well, first, I want to just point out that not all mutant are out to commit acts of vigilance. Most of the mutant population are actually living out very low key lives, looking to blend into society rather than obliterate them."
"But there's always that danger, isn't it? That some bugger with laser eyes is gonna walk into a crowded street and start pickin' off a few civillians."
"I'd argue that there's just as much of a danger of someone without superhuman powers brandishing a firearm, in that scenerio."
"Sure, sure. But the police can at least put a stop to that one. Mutants? Not so much."
"Well, then, that's why we..."
With a wave of his hand, Black cut Lois off before she could finish, much to her annoyance.
"That's beside the point, anyway. Much as I'd like to continue talkin' about bloody muties, this is radio, and I think we all know what question is lyin' on all of our minds. Given he's a bit more local, and a bit less classifiable."
"Superman? If anything, he's the prime example of why we shouldn't nessecarily need to be afraid of metahumans."
"That right, love? Because the way I figure it..."
"It's the exact opposite."
Brushing the glass of the window off of my shoulders, I watch as three formerly armed men go rolling across the pavement infront of Metropolis First National. To my surprise, I had heard the silent alarm go off in the middle of the day, just as I was beginning to unpack from my week in Smallville. Frankly, I expected to go back into action soon, but I would've never imagined that it'd be less than an hour after making it back to the city. And on a bright and sunny afternoon like this one, no less. Who in their right mind would actually go out of their way to commit an attempted armed robbery at this hour?
The first gets up, and the other two are quick to follow, seeing me casually approach. They don't really have anything left to oppose me with, given that I crushed all of their guns into a ball of metal and tossed it into the garbage. And even when they did, they soon realized why I've been called "more powerful than a locamotive" recently, given that their bullets just ended up crushed from the impact on my skin. The leader panics, beginning to back away, while the bigger one actually puts up his fists. I can't help but smile for a moment, turning to the third.
"Maybe you can talk some sense into your friend, here. I don't want to have to repeat what I did with your weapons on him."
He simply turns to him and nods, indicating that he should go for it. I cross my arms and let my lips drift into a smirk. Well, I can't say I didn't warn them.
"Hold still, freak! This is gonna hurt!"
Predictably, he charges me and throws the first available punch that he can see, trying to strike me across the chin. My head doesn't even tilt, and he painfully retracts the fist, realizing his mistake. I place my hands to my side and give him a shrug whenever he looks back, seemingly appauled at his own action.
"Aaah! Jesus! You... you broke my hand!"
"Well, not for nothing, but you're more than welcome to try again with your other one."
I almost swear that he considers it, but I decide not to give him the option, rising into the air and flying over, grabbing him by the back of his jacket along the way.
"On second thought, though, you and your friends did just nearly hurt a building full of innocent people. So I'm feeling a bit less inclined to be that generous."
He begins to flail about as we rise a little higher into the air.
"Oh, god! Put me down! Put me down! Please, I hate heights!"
"If you insist..."
Spotting one of the running thugs, I take my current captive and raise him slightly above my head, tossing him lightly into the other. They both go tumbling and land in a heap, hitting the street hard enough not to want to get back up. A quick scan with x-ray vision confirms no internal injuries, so I'm not too concerned about them anymore. The third one, on the other hand, is still making his way to the corner of the street. I turn to him as he looks back, trying desperately to get away.
Of course, he fails to realize that I've already reappeared ahead of him in the space of seconds using a burst of superspeed. He ends up running into me head-on, colliding squarely into the insignia of my chest. I stand unaffected as he falls on his back, towering over him while giving a frown.
"You know, you shouldn't feel too bad. Other people don't think to watch where they're going when they're crossing the street, either."
He stares up at me, wide-eyed, and shakes his head in disbelief as I reach down and grab him by the front of his vest, lifting him over my head and walking him over to his other two accomplices. Dropping him down on the ground, I watch him scurry over to the other two, who raise their hands in an accepted surrender. My hearing kicks in, picking up the sounds of police sirens closing in. I'd better let them handle this from here on out. I'm starting to have too much fun.
"Whatever your story is, I'd suggest explaining it to the authorities. Or at least, a very good attorney."
By the time that I've turned around to begin my flight away, though, a rather curious sight begins to unfold. Despite hearing only a few sirens, at least a good dozen squad cars begin to slide into view, blocking off the street from one end. I turn around at the sound of screeching tires, realizing that a SWAT unit has arrived from the other. Raising an eyebrow, I'm then taken off guard yet again by the low-level whirl of helicopter blades, looking into the skies to see even more police hovering over the area.
Bit of an overkill for three unarmed gunmen. Though, by the way they pile out of their vehicles and immediately draw their weapons, aiming them at
me rather than the perpetrators, I'm guessing that's the point. My instinct is to turn the other way and simply fly off, like I have in the past, but I'm actually curious as to what they have to say. It's not like I'm in any real danger, regardless. Their weapons would have just as much effect on me as the semi-automatics that these unfortunate gentlemen were carrying.
The squad captain steps forward and holds up a megaphone to his face.
"SUPERMAN! THIS IS THE POLICE! YOU ARE UNDER ARREST! GET DOWN ON YOUR KNEES AND PLACE YOUR HANDS ABOVE YOUR HEAD!"
Under arrest? For what, exactly?
I have to admit, I've never been terribly naive about the idea of law enforcement being apprehensive towards me. And I can certainly understand mankind's fear of what my capabilities really are. But this is the first legitimate time that I've actually had the police point their guns at me in such a way, both visibly frightened and equally as determined. Deciding to calmly walk my way towards them, I hold up my hands, showing a sign of what I hope they'll take as good will.
Once I think I'm in close enough range, I decide to ask the obvious.
"I'm sorry, but what is this all about?"
Either the loud noise being generated by the helicopter drowns out what I'm saying, or the squad decides to take this as an act of insubordination. Because all at once, they click off the safeties of their weapons and level them directly on me. A move that even surprises me.
"THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING! STAND DOWN!"
Before I even get a chance to respond to that, explaining that I'm not here to hurt anyone, the Captain lowers the megaphone and gives them permission to start firing. Of course, since bullets don't do anything to me, I don't even really pay attention to that out of habit. I figure that if anything, it'll show them that trying to force me to do anything would be fruitless. Until I realize that bullets aren't what are heading at me at all.
My eyes widen, seeing blasts of energy soar through the air faster than I can even move. Then I look past, seeing what they're actually holding. Those aren't guns at all, but rather miniaturized, highly technological canons designed in a similar handheld shape.
Where did they possibly...
"ARGH!"
They all hit me at once, and I...
I
feel it.
Infact, I'm so taken by surprise that my body even doubles over, allowing me to be knocked to the ground. As I try and get up and make sense of what just happened, teams of SWAT units scramble in with trained canons aswell, equipped with laser sights that coat me entirely in a series of bright red dots.
"DON'T MOVE! DON'T YOU MOVE A MUSCLE!"
I stare up at them, stunned. Both figuratively and literally. Where on earth could they have gotten their hands weapons so advanced that they'd even be able to affect me?! The answer doesn't come, as The SWAT leader turns around and speaks into his handheld radio. I feel several of them grab me from behind at once and physically bind both arms to my back, placing something heavier than I think I've ever felt around both of my hands.
"We've got him! I repeat, we've got Superman!"
What the hell is going on?!
"No, Black, I don't think you do understand what I mean."
Lois had to stop herself from becoming indignant as she spoke.
"Superman isn't some thuggish brute that's been tearing apart half of the city at will. I've personally seen him in action at least three times, and if anything, you can target things that weren't human or metahuman to blame for that. There was the creature that attacked that science demonstration at Star Labs, then there was the green thing that everyone's been calling The Hulk. Those should be the focus of fear, not a man who put his life on the line to stop them from causing any further destruction."
Black raised an eyebrow.
"Sounds to me like you've got a bit of a bias goin' through that head of your's, love. You sure you seen what you thought you saw of this one?"
"I'd say I'm more qualified to speak about him than anyone else in this city. And I don't need to hear about the general consensus again, thank you. Hardly any of them have actually seen Superman, and most eyewitness reports are vague, at best. He's too fast for even our photographers catch a glimpse of."
Immediately, the PA from earlier rushed into the room and handed Black a piece of paper. After reading it over for a moment while the show went on standby, he looked back up at Lois with an expression that combined levels of surprise... and an arrogant joy, almost more condescending than before he even spoke. By the time that the broadcast resumed, and Lois looked curiously down at the paper in his hands, Black was already prepared with a rebuttal.
"Well, I hate to go and spoil it when you're on a roll, Lois, but it seems we're all about to see alot more of Superman than before. Because according to this report that's just come in, Metropolis' finest have just placed him in their custody."
Lois' eyes widened as she practically stood, only to be stopped by Black holding up his hand.
"And get this. The reason he's been taken in now, rather than sooner?"
If her surprise at the news of the arrest itself wasn't evident enough, it'd practically pale in comparison to the look on her face whenever Black finished his next sentence.
"They just found a few bodies in Suicide Slum an hour ago. Burned bloody alive by concentrated blasts of, oh, for the sake of argument... let's call it heat vision."
Stuck with silence, Lois looked back at the DJ, her shock quickly shifting into anger.
"Guess your golden boy's not so neat and shiny after all. Is he, love?"
