Beacon of Hope



Chapter Seven

DISCLAIMER :: This fanfiction is based on Superman from DC Comics. All rights reserved. Art by CWBlaine on Deviant Art.
Author's note: Perhaps it is the start of a new collaborative universe or a standalone project for myself. I don't know, yet.

(( Chapter Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gnhXHvRoUd0 ))

The following day, I continued as if nothing had happened. The loungewear I'd slept in remained in place but I did at least brush my hair. Laura had gone to work after the girls left for school. In between reports and missives for work I did the house work. Once again, I was alone with my thoughts. Standing in the midst of the spotless living room, my eyes scanned the room and the adjoining ones taking in just how lonely my existence really was at this point. Where once there was family driving me forward there was nothing of substance.

The doorbell rang.

Head tilted and eyebrow raised, I moved to the front door and pulled it open. On the threshold stood a young woman, likely in her early twenties. She was quite a bit shorter than I. Her blonde hair fell to about her shoulders, not unlike the length of my own. Something in her hazel eyes seemed familiar, but I couldn't really place it. Her body was covered in a dark grey T-shirt, dark denim jeans, canvas sneakers, and a black leather jacket.

"Can I help you?" I asked her.

Her eyebrows furrowed at me. "Hannah? Aren't you still in school? Why are you home?"

I kept my head tilted and eyebrow raised. "I'm not Hannah. Once again, how can I help you?"

She shook her head. "Sorry. It's just... may I speak with Christopher Kent, please?"

"Who's asking?"

"I'd really rather speak to him, please."

Something about her demeanor signaled she may be up to something. I stepped to the side. "Please, come in." Nodding, she stepped inside and I closed the door behind her. "I'm going to give you one chance to explain how you know my daughter."

"Okay, first of all: who are you and where is Christopher Kent?"

"I am Christopher Kent. Now talk!"

She nearly jumped back. Her eyes widened with shock but instant understanding. "Chris! It's me, Larry Lang!"

Lawrence "Larry" Lang and I go way back. We met on the school newspaper team way back in Sheboygan. He went off to Notre Dame like a good Catholic boy and I had gone to Northwestern. We stayed connected as much as we could. We even moved to Chicago together to pursue our careers. I got the gig at the Chicago Tribune and he got the job at the Chicago Sun-Times. He was the best man at my wedding to Laura. He knew my kids. I was the best man at his wedding to Alana. They only had one child, Chloe. She was Madison's age. We'd fallen out of contact in the last few years as I was dying a slow death as a corporate communications specialist instead of what I really wanted to do.

"Larry? Really? How did you..." I stumbled over the words because of my confusion.

"...Know it was you without question? Easy: happened to me, too. That cosmic phenomenon that somehow gives people powers? Well mine include preventing you from lying to me and detecting your unique energy signature associated with the alterations from the pulse."

"You can sense when someone is lying or compel them to tell you the truth and detect the unique energy associated with that thing?"

"That's what I just said, Chris. Haven't flexed those journalism muscles in a while, have you, buddy?" She shook her head. "Look, that doesn't really matter so much. I'm here as a warning, Chris."

I motioned for the girl that was apparently one of my best friends to the living room to sit down. "What kind of warning?"

She plopped down onto the loveseat. "I've been working on a story since a couple of days after that pulse thing. My editor wanted me to dig deep. You know me: that's my bread and butter. I found some things, Chris. For starters, I know you went to the ER the night the pulse happened with no injuries. I couldn't access your medical records, so no worries there. HIPAA still works, for now."

I sat on the couch diagonal from her. "Well, that's comforting, at least."

"It won't be for long. It's no secret this president has been breaking a lot of rules. Things that should be confidential aren't staying that way, especially if your skin is brown and you speak Spanish." She took in a breath. "It goes deeper. Word is that they're going after people affected by the pulse, too. The guy that tried to burn down the American Eagle over at Woodfield a few days ago? Nowhere in the system. He should be on a prisoner list, but he disappeared yesterday."

"Where'd he go?"

"Not the faintest clue. One minute, he's in the Cook County Jail getting arraigned for property damage and attempted murder. The next, he never existed. Two other people on my short list for potentially having powers also disappeared. I came here hoping you hadn't disappeared, yet."

"No leads on where they might have been taken? DHS has been known for lack of paperwork filing leading to lost inmates in the past." Now I was invested.

"Worked that angle. Nothing in the Department of Homeland Security logs to suggest anything other than kidnapping immigrants, except..." She smirked. "A contract filed with the Congressional Budget Office last week from Orivox Enterprises."

I sat up straight. "The tech firm that started during the early days of cellular phones back in the '80s that somehow has a private army?"

"The very same. Old Man Lowen kicked the bucket a few months back. Lukas Lowen, the kind of man that lives in Peter Thiel's nightmares, is now head of the company and has been ramping up federal contracts. He was spared from the DOGE nonsense because he fed Elon Musk's ego. The company gobbled up a GEO Group competitor and has been expanding their operations." She let out a sigh. "I'm not gonna sugar coat this, Chris: everybody affected by this pulse thing is in danger. I've already created myself a new identity. I've got a new place. Alana and I weren't doing well after all this happened. It was best for us if I left. I keep in contact, but as discreetly as I can."

"You left Alana and Chloe? Just like that?"

"Not totally. Mostly just on paper. I had to get a new cellphone and I don't call her. I had to fake my own death and create a whole new identity. We may have to do the same thing for you. If I can find information on pulse-affected people, what makes you think Orivox can't?"

Panic started to rise in me. "Has all this put the families at risk?"

"Not yet, but the Orivox subsidiary, American Vanguard Solutions, is the company that has the contract. They're a paramilitary organization with even less oversight than ICE, if you can believe it. I haven't seen any reports of family members being harmed, yet, but it's really only a matter of time. If someone stands in the way of an apprehension, it could get ugly."

My body slumped back into the couch. "Geez, that's crazy."

"It's a crazy world, Chris. Up is down. Left is right. Cats and dogs are living together. It's mass hysteria."

"We can't just stand back and let this happen, can we?"

"What other choice do we have, Chris? This is the US government and a powerful corporation we're talking about. We're a long way from FDR and into Mustache Man from Germany territory. With facial recognition, they're gonna get us pegged from a mile away unless we scrub their records and become officially dead."

I let out a deep sigh. "Let me think for a minute."

Closing my eyes, I slowed my breathing in an effort to let my rational mind take over. There would never be a scenario where I would allow Laura or the girls to be harmed because someone was trying to get to me. The thought of leaving them to this nonsense didn't sit well, either. This ICE nonsense hadn't been sitting well with me for a long time, either. If there's a private contractor out there doing the same thing to equally as innocent people who just happened to develop powers because of the stellar pulse event, that was inherently wrong on its face. Two thoughts bubbled to the surface of my conscious mind: my talk with Madison and a quote. I leveled my eyes on my friend.

"Larry..." I began.

"It's Lauren, now. We should get used to using new names for each other."

I shook my head. "Lauren... whatever..." I let out a quick sigh. "Bad men need nothing more to compass their ends, than that good men should look on and do nothing," I quoted. "John Stuart Mill." I looked right into the depths of Lauren's hazel eyes. "We can't let this continue."

She chuckled. "Oh, yea? Getting all noble, huh? How is anyone going to be able to accomplish that without being identified in our modern digital age?"

"It might sound crazy, but... there's something Madison said to me. What if we lean into the superhero thing? I mean, we've got the powers, right? Get a suit and just do it. We'd probably have to find someone that's at the forefront of advanced materials research that can be trusted, though."

"You're joking, right?"

My head firmly shook. "I am not. I'm quite serious. The world's gone crazy. Embrace the crazy."

"Chris, these people have guns. I'm not bulletproof."

I smirked at her. "I am."

Lauren's eyes grew to the size of dinner plates. "The mall thing. Was that you? What kind of stuff are you working with, buddy?"

I softly nodded. "Yes. I stopped the guy at Woodfield Mall. I'm basically Superman."

She stood and started pacing. "Oh, this is big. I mean, really big."

"It's not that big, Lar – I mean, Lauren." I rolled my eyes. "It's gonna take me a minute to get the name right. Sorry."

"Okay, well, we'll have to do this methodically. First, we need to get you and your family safe. I'll work on that. Maybe you could work on finding that materials researcher in the meantime. You just have to keep your head down until I get things figured out."

I scoffed. "I barely leave the house as it is. I only go out at night and fly off somewhere."

She stopped. "How are we casually having a conversation that involves a comment about a human being flying without the use of an airplane?"

I shrugged. "It's a new world, isn't it?" In the next instant, I was reminded of something. "You said you can detect this energy – whatever it is – right?"

She raised an eyebrow. "Yeah..."

Standing up, I moved through the house to the back porch. "This might blow your mind." Once out on the deck, I called out, "TYR!"

For a few moments, we were both quiet. There was a sound of rushing wind, then the redheaded Icelandic man was standing on the back deck with us after having dropped out of the sky. Lauren squealed.

"What need?" He asked me.

I didn't look at him. "Lauren Lang, meet Tyr Hymisson. Would you mind confirming something for me? Do your thing?"

She looked him over and the shock left her face, turning to curiosity. "Interesting... it's not like us, but similar. Older, too. Why?"

"Turns out, the Gods do exist, just not the way we thought."

After Lauren got over her astonishment, we started to relay everything to Týr. He was well aware of the immigration injustice going on in the United States. As Lauren gave him the background on the situation at hand, he grew angrier with each detail. As we evolved into the superhero idea, he was less than enthusiastic.

"These injustices cannot stand." He stated firmly. "Heroes do not hide their faces. It is cowardly."

"It's a different time from when you were relevant, big guy." Lauren informs him. "Showing your face is a bad thing. We're talking about arrests happening and potentially families being harmed by this."

I let out a quick breath. "He's got a point, though. If we cover our faces, we give off a sense of being unaccountable. Look at all that talk about ICE agents, right now."

"Okay, blue eyes." Lauren shrugged. "If you're gonna go full face on this, you do you. I'm gonna have something obscuring me from the digital eyes, okay?"

"Fine by me." I stated. "We just have to figure out something plausible for me. What kind of backstory do we tell with this new identity thing?"

"You let me worry about it, Chris. I'll work it out with you when the time comes. About what age did they say you were physically?"

I grumbled. "Seventeen."

Lauren physically recoiled. "Ouch. You may or may not want to talk to your parents. Now I gotta work on a cover for a minor."

Another sigh escaped my lips. "Right, I'll look into the scientist we need."

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Lauren vowed to remain in touch over the next few days. Týr may not have been very pleased with the idea of superheroes in theory. However, after an explanation to him about their origins and purpose in our modern world, he was more amiable to the idea than previously. When I told him they were similar to ancient tales of heroes and monsters, he mentioned something called 'The Sagas'. I'd never heard of such a thing; thus, I had some homework to do in an effort to understand this strange man I was becoming better acquainted with.

Once parting with him and promising that we'd do some training that evening, I went straight to a computer. It was clear in about five seconds that a Google search isn't what it used to be. It would be necessary to flex muscles that I'd not used in a few years. Investigative journalism is not for the faint of heart. It's full of twists, turns, dead ends, and more questions than you started with. Thankfully, I wasn't trying to find some link to corruption in a local political race. I was just trying to find the best-known and preferably local advanced materials researcher. To no one's surprise but my own, Chicago is something of an epicenter for this particular field of study.

After two hours of reading through research journals, I ran across a not-well-known researcher that had worked on fabric polymers for NASA's new spacesuit concepts. Interestingly enough, she did use some of the most cutting-edge synthetic polymers but was also trying to find the best natural polymer that other researchers had overlooked in their pursuit of contracts with chemical companies. At least, that's what she said in her biography on a website that made me slap my palm against my face. She worked out of my alma mater: Northwestern University. I should have known the school was at the forefront of advanced materials engineering. In my defense, I graduated about twenty years ago. Her office was listed in the Technological Institute, which I knew was just off Sheridan Rd.

Fifty-two minutes later, I made the left into the SGT Lot at the northern end of the Technological Institute building. Passing by some of the buildings along Sheridan showed me that there had been quite a few changes to the campus since I was last here. Nostalgia filled me the moment I climbed out of the car and set foot on campus grounds. Laura and I had met in the Deering Library and participated in events all over these grounds when we were in college here. Taking a somber breath, I continued toward the building and entered through the northern doors. The corridors were fairly quiet as I glanced at the directory. The office of Dr. Ingrid Voss was listed as being on the second floor somewhere in the middle of the building, based on the numbers. Navigating the corridors was a little confusing as I had never really been in this building when I went here.

Eventually, I found myself at the doors to a laboratory with "Ingrid Voss, D.Sc." written on the placard next to the door. Stepping through the wooden double doors, I seemed to enter an entirely different world. Beyond the seemingly archaic wooden doors revealed an almost gleaming white space in an ultramodern style. The room was filled with the hum of a wide array of equipment I couldn't even begin to categorize. Electron microscopes with glowing interfaces, some type of fiber spinning devices, and very high-tech tensile testers meant for measuring the strength of experimental materials. The sleek walls held what could only be meticulously organized samples of materials I couldn't begin to name paired with swatches of fabric.

At the far end of the room, I heard the squeak of an office chair. In the next moment, a woman that instantly reminded me of Jessica Chastain with her bob-style ginger locks parted on the side, bright blue eyes, and white plastic-framed glasses came from a room to the left and began walking toward me. Her outfit didn't strike me as something a scientist would typically wear. Her silk halter-style blouse, high-waisted A-line skirt, tailored suit jacket, and kitten pumps seemed out of place.

"Young lady, this office is not on the campus tour." She scolded me. "This is a limited-access space. What are you doing here?"

"I'm not on a tour." I responded, trying to be respectful. "I'm looking for Dr. Ingrid Voss."

She stopped only a couple of feet in front of me. Her shorter stature wasn't as imposing as she may have wanted it to be. "You've found her. What can I do for you?"

I suddenly lost a little nerve. "How do I put this... ?"

She folded her arms. "You can simply begin."

My eyes met her gaze once more. "Your paper, Multifunctional Hybrid Biomaterials: Integration of Bombyx mori Silk, Lab-Grown Crystalline Matrices, and Sustainably Synthesized Graphene for Next-Generation Sustainable Textiles, was really some ground-breaking work. I was genuinely impressed by a next-gen materials researcher looking for more sustainable options while trying to develop NASA's next extravehicular mobility unit."

Her expression changed from stern to stunned. "A kid your age read my work? And understood it?"

I shook my head and chuckled. "I'm older than I look."

"How much older? That is some pretty advanced biochemistry, not an article in the Babylon Bee."

"I'm one of the victims or beneficiaries of that stellar wave, pulse, whatever from a couple of weeks ago. There's a forty-five year old father of three in here." I pointed at myself.

She nodded slowly. "Say I believe you. You still haven't stated why you've come to my lab."

The nerves returned and I tried to swallow them. "Well..." I let out a sigh. "It's a little embarrassing and maybe a little stupid, but... I was hoping to talk to you about what materials might be needed for an outfit that can endure the same things I can."

She raised an eyebrow at me. "And what sort of things would that be?"

To my trained journalist eyes, she seemed skeptical. I did the only thing I could think of: lifted myself off the ground high enough to tap my head on the ceiling. Said ceiling was approximately seven and a half feet from the floor. Her eyes lit up as I started to hover.

"I trust you've read a comic book or seen a movie, Dr. Voss? Heard of Superman?"

"The most iconic hero in all of comics? Who hasn't?"

I lowered myself back down onto my feet. "I need something that would work with him. It needs to endure that kind of punishment."

"Are you... are you asking me if I can help you make a 'supersuit'?" Her smile grew.

"In the most round-about and awkward way possible? Yes, probably." My eyes closed momentarily and I let out a sigh. "A credible source is working on a piece for the Chicago Sun-Times that will reveal American Vanguard Solutions, a subsidiary of Orivox Enterprises, is starting to round up people – innocent people – that were affected by that cosmic phenomenon and putting them in holding facilities not unlike 'Alligator Alcatraz'... or worse. I can't let that happen, but I also can't put my family at risk of retaliation."

She folded her arms again and looked me up and down. "Is it purely a selfish reason or more like an altruistic endeavor?"

Looking into the eyes of judgement, I took a deep breath. "I've been numb to the world for too many years. I grew apathetic. I knew things happening in this country and the world were just not right. I've felt powerless to affect any real change. This event happened and my entire world has been flipped on its head. After some soul searching, I can't sit idly by and let things happen anymore. I have the ability to be the change I want to see in this world. At the same time, I can't put my wife and three daughters at risk of retaliation from nefarious sources. I mean to misbehave. I mean to do the right thing. My family shouldn't be a victim of people that might disagree with me."

"You want to be a hero?" She asked with an indecipherable tone.

"No. Just someone that does what's right because it's the right thing to do."

She smiled. "Let me show you something."

She spun around and headed back toward the room she'd emerged from. My feet shuffled along behind her. We rounded the corner and entered the door, my eyes beheld a brightly-lit, eastward-facing office space. The colors on the walls were much more pronounced and inviting, staunchly contrasting the sterile environment of the lab. In one corner was a desk with a computer littered with little tomato-looking pin cushions. In another corner was a drafting table where several designs were sketched and taped to the surface. Another table held a sewing machine and a few bolts of brightly-colored fabric. The walls were covered in photos of models on various runways from fashion magazines as high up as I imagine Dr. Voss could reach. The two spaces were a whiplash-inducing juxtaposition.

"I minored in fashion design," Dr. Voss admitted. "It's not much more than a hobby, now." She turned to me. "You say you can do everything Superman can do?"

I nodded. "Pretty much. Did you see the viral video from Woodfield Mall?"

"I did."

"That was me."

She gave me a long nod in recognition. "It makes sense, now." She started to tap her lip. "So, you need something that can withstand whatever atmospheric forces you encounter, Mach conditions, friction from your speed, and just as nearly invulnerable as you are?"

I nodded firmly. "That's it in a nutshell."

"Come back in a day or so. We'll get a full laser scan of your body. You'll never find a more accurate way to determine every measurement imaginable."

"So, this means... ?"

"I'm making your suit."