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~Omigod, Omigod, there are demons filling the sky and we only have one
hero on the island and he's overwhelmed because he's alone. If I didn't
miss the Kid already, I surely would now...now that we need him. But the
media turned against him and he left. I guess I can't blame him. He's
probably somewhere now fighting with Young Justice, protecting the
innocent. He may be an arrogant ball of teenage ego, but he does have a
good heart.~
"This is Tana Moon, reporting from Hawaii, as the islanders prepare for
the worst. According to all sources from such reliable places as STAR
Labs, LexCorp, WayneTech and the Cadmus Institute -- Hell has frozen over.
That resulting condition has precipitated a flood of demons as they seek
warmer climes. We've received reports from all over the world, but here
in Hawaii, the demons have sought to restore the warmth they're used to
by reactivating several of the state's dormant volcanoes!
"Silver Sword is working alone, tirelessly, to prevent this disaster. Stay
tuned with us for the latest!"
Off-camera, Tana glimpsed her cameraman frantically making the cutesy
Hawaiian "Hang loose" gesture. She wondered if he meant it as
encouragement, or just a reminder to her ... or himself.
*****
~Salt. He was turned into a pillar of salt. Dear God, he's no better
than anyone else in this situation! If a demon cuts him, he'll bleed.
If it drives a spike of brimstone through his heart ... he'll DIE.
Please, God, if you're listening, watch over my Clark. I can't lose him
again. I know I owe you more than I can ever repay for giving him back to
me before -- so many times. But ... but please. Look out for him.~
Lois Lane typed frantically, racing the stinging tingle of tears behind
her lashes. She was a reporter. She'd report the news. It was what she
did. It was what Clark would expect of her. It was what Metropolis needed
-- someone who could keep a cool head and keep the information flowing at
speed. She only wished she could get closer. But she knew it'd only
distract Superman. Despite his best intentions, his heart often got the
better of him -- and she did not need to be in the thick of things while
he had so many other things on his mind.
*****
~Geez, these pictures are gonna win me a freakin' Pulitzer!~
Jimmy Olsen repeated that thought to himself over and over -- he let his
instincts take over otherwise, snapping photographs of the demons
besieging Metropolis. If he let himself *think,* he'd have to consider
that one of his best friends had been turned into a pillar of salt (and
then back again). He'd have to realize that he was nothing but a
flesh-and-blood mortal man -- not Elastic Lad, not Turtle Boy -- just
Jimmy Olsen, photographer, w ho could get his heart torn out just as
easily as anyone else.
But he was a photojournalist, and he was dedicated to his job. He loved
it and he would not back off. He'd stood around for Doomsday and had
been one of the people who'd photographed the wreckage of Coast City.
~This too shall pass!~
And then, just like that, he had *two* thoughts to keep him going through
the lightning flash of his camera shutter. He wouldn't let himself think
about how glad he'd be to run out of film so he could get the hell out of
here, and lock himself in his darkroom.
*****
~Arkham must be having a field day, as if the aftermath of the earthquake
wasn't bad enough. Demons literally regurgitating from the bowels of
hell, and I'm sure the Joker's trying to find somewhere to roast
marshmallows.~
~...tra LA la la...tra LA la la! tra LA, la LA la, la LA la LA! ...~
~Eck. I *hate* the Skater's Waltz. Elevator music.~
~Yeah, well, I hate purple prose. You write for a *magazine*, Jack, not
Penny Dreadful Quarterly.~
Jack Ryder looked down at his typewriter and realized that his thoughts
had strayed again...and worse, the Creeper was sitting shotgun in his
psyche again, offering colour commentary.
~Well, who asked you anyway?~
~If I have to sit up here and listen to you compose this crap, I am going
to go insane! Oh, wait -- I'm already insane. Heh. Heh heh. Ha.
Hahahaha!~
~You think you can do better, laughing boy?~ Jack realized that
challenging the chaotic side of his psyche was probably ill-conceived in
more ways than one, but he couldn't stop himself. ~C'mon, then. Bring it
on.~
~I thought you'd NEVER ask.~
Jack slapped the subdermal switch on his inner arm and with a flash of
energy and chemicals --the reporter was replaced by the laughing,
yellow-skinned personification of mania -- the Creeper.
"Where DID I put those hockey skates?!" demanded the Creeper as he
bounded toward Jack's closet. "Let the OTHER reporters cover all the
MUNDANE crap here on earth, hmm? Hell's frozen over! On the spot
coverage ! Live from the Infernal Ice Capades! WHOOOOO, NELLY!"
Jack was appalled. Appalled at the suggestion.
Even more appalled he hadn't thought of it himself.
--end