Beacon of Hope



Chapter Fourteen

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=_gmkLJCbr58 ))

Waking up to the sensation of a cold, somewhat damp dog's nose against random spots on my face may be something I don't ever get used to. Mom had acquiesced to the idea of "Buddy" sleeping in the house, so long as he was in my room. I groaned, not wanting to get out of bed just yet. When the dog started whining, I knew I'd better get my butt out of bed or there would be a mess to clean up. At least he was starting to actually ask to be let out.

When I threw the covers off and began to clammer out of the safety of my cocoon, he yipped and danced around. I was barely conscious. Slowly, I trudged out of my room and "Buddy" zipped right past me toward the back door. One of my powers might be incredible speed, but not this early in the morning. A few moments after "Buddy", I reached the back sliding door and opened it. He yipped a 'thank you' and bolted into the grass. His head was down and he started sniffing for a good spot he hadn't covered as of yet.

The smell of brewing coffee brought me closer to consciousness. Turning around, my mother smirked from the kitchen at me. She'd always been an early riser. It comes with the territory when your primary profession is farming. I, however, hadn't been on the farmer routine since I went off to college.

"Coffee's brewed and hot. Ya want some, er no?" Mom asked.

"No, yeah, please." I answered before turning from the sliding door that was still open a crack for the dog to come back in.

"You're lookin' like one of Medusa's daughters and that dog's takin' to farm life quicker than you." She commented as she prepared me a mug.

"It's been more than twenty years, Mom. Some slack, maybe?"

She rolled her eyes at me, handing me a mug. We both walked out the back door to watch over the dog, gingerly carrying our mugs. "Buddy" was still sniffing at the ground with his tail wagging enthusiastically. Týr strode over from the area of the barn, nodding at the both of us. For a moment, we all watched the dog find a favored spot to poop.

"That dog needs a name, lest you wanna be callin' him 'Buddy' for the rest of your days," Mom broke the silence. "Don't know why you're keepin' him, anyway. He's all scrawny and don't know much, ya know. Farm dog outta know manners. Otherwise, they're scaring your chickens and peeing on the living room carpet."

"He needs time to train up, Mom. He's doing pretty good, so far." I defended the dog.

"They not know unless we teach." Týr added. "He survive. That alone speaks."

Mom rolled her eyes. "Thanks to that boy and my kid, yeah. I don't wanna be the one lookin' after him, is all I'm sayin'."

"Between me and Týr, you've got nothing to worry about, Mom." I kept my eyes on the dog until he scrunched up his body to relieve himself. At that point, I turned to look at my mom to give him some semblance of privacy. "You're right, though. He does need a name. 'Buddy' has only been temporary."

The ginger bearded man nodded firmly. "Names carry weight. They shape thing and things around. Give name, give orðstírr."

I raised an eyebrow at him. "There's one of those words no one but you knows, Týr. Would you mind sharing?"

"What word? 'Orðstírr'? It mean 'word glory'. The people and guðir, Gods, give many things name. Mjolnir, Gungnir, Gleipnir, Lævateinn... all named things in Sagas. Give name, bring glory–good or bad not matter."

Both my mother and I nodded, having grown accustomed to Týr's unique manner of speech. I spoke first. "That makes sense. What sort of name would you suggest?"

He thought for a moment before listing a few. "Álvi, Aska, Logi, Fannar, Brynjar, Bjorn, Hrafn... all good names. They mean: elf, ash, fire, drift of snow, warrior in armor, bear, and raven."

I took a long sip of my coffee, not entirely sure I could accurately pronounce any of the names. "Not bad. Mom?"

"Should be somethin' simple you can yell, like: Skip, Scout, Spot, Rusty, Shep, Patch, Lucky. Makes it easier, donchaknow." She shrugged. "If ya wanna get fancy, you can do Chance, Sparky, or Koda."

Týr's ears seemingly perked up. "Kota? You mean say this?"

My eyes darted between them. "Okay, there has to be some meaning behind this name if the five-thousand year old guy with the metal hand knows the word."

"I always heard it as an Indian name. Means 'friend' to the Sioux."

"The people say it like 'seeking hole'. Some say dog fill hole in life. Maybe dog seeking hole with you, Kristín?"

My mother thoughtfully considered the situation before speaking. "Put 'em together and ya gots 'friend seeking a hole'."

My eyes widened quickly. "Ufda, that does not sound nearly as wholesome as you two thought it might." I took a long sip of coffee. "Ignoring that part, I like the name at least." I looked in the dog's direction and decided to test it out. "Hey, Koda, come 'ere once!"

To my surprise, "Buddy" actually responded and started bounding toward me with his mouth open as if he were smiling. Reaching me, he turned to the side and leaned hard against me as I gave him some scritches.

"You see," Týr began. "He has name. Has purpose. Has goal. He is full. This is need for dog."

"Dogs are tools," My mother claimed as she sipped the last of her coffee.

"Not truth." Týr shook his head. "Dogs are companion. Dogs are friend. Dogs are partner."

"Raised a lot of dogs, have you?" My mother clapped back.

Týr nodded and looked a little solemn. "The people and us had many dogs. Dogs part of life." He cast his eyes out toward the horizon. "I raise wolf once. Good friend." He glanced down at his metal hand and flexed it a couple of times. "I betray friend. Never again."

This was not the first time I'd heard Týr say something that related to the stories that had become mythology scribed by Snorri Sturluson and later adapted into popular culture. He always hinted that there were discrepancies in the tales. However, it never really seemed like the right time to address some of the stories. One day, I may hear the truth from the source. That day was not at hand.

"Speakin' on names," My mother turned to look at me. "You thought of one for you when you're in your cape?"

Letting out a sigh, part of me wanted to avoid this particular topic right now. "Not really. I've got one strong one staring me in the face, but I'm not sure, yet."

"Might wanna figure it out soon, kid. The news people are fightin' over what to call you when they're talkin' about all the things you're doin'."

"Name have weight. Name give purpose." Týr nodded in agreement with my mother.

"I know, I know... all the good ones are taken. I have to find the right one." I turned back toward the house for two reasons: I needed more coffee and I was not wanting to continue this conversation.

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

In the background of everything else going on, I had been introduced to the phenomenon of social media through the tutelage of Hannah and Madison. I can remember when MySpace was the go-to and also when it was overshadowed then eliminated by Facebook. Twitter used to be a part of my daily life at the Chicago Tribune. MySpace is gone. Facebook has turned into a dumpster fire. The site isn't even called "Twitter" anymore. The new has replaced the old. Instagram, TikTok, and BlueSky are the sites to be on, apparently. Thankfully, my daughters are good teachers. I have accounts, but I never post anything. Lauren had heavily cautioned against such things, stating that if you don't add fuel to the fire it doesn't burn. What I generally used it for is keeping up to date on current affairs.

Times were bleak. There's no sugar coating the truth. People try, but ultimately the foul stench they're trying to cover with potpourri rears its ugly head. There's almost nowhere on Earth that wasn't involved in a war. I didn't count the Israel-Palestine conflict as a war and never have. The times of COVID might have been over in most countries, but old enemies like Malaria and Tuberculosis raged in parts of the world that capitalism deemed unworthy of saving because profits were more important than people. Online, discourse was nothing more than shouting matches with the "caps lock" button constantly pressed. In the United States, this had made the populace more divided than at any time since the Civil War in the 19th Century. People were confused, broke, hungry, and scared of any shadow their chosen propaganda mill told them to be afraid of.

Last year, that resulted in the election of a legally-defined rapist and 34-time felon to the office of President of the United States for the second time. His time as the forty-fifth President was bad enough. I believed my piece for the Tribune that rightfully declared him a charlatan and aspiring dictator led to my release from the paper. My editor didn't like the fact I wanted to publish something he considered more an Op-Ed than biting journalism. We exchanged words I don't remember and HR told me I'd been let go later that day. The four years after he was elected were chaotic enough, then January 6th happened and I knew my assessment of the man had been vindicated. Part of me couldn't believe that Americans would put a man like that back in the Oval Office, but they did. I don't know what to think about it anymore. The one thing I do know is that he needs to be stopped.

Through social media, I learned of this group called "Indivisible" that grew organically online and decided to bring a little civil disobedience to the picture. They're all about the numbers game. The aim is peaceful protest in numbers that cannot be ignored. The man with the bad spray tan had decided to have a military parade disguised as the 250th anniversary of the US Army celebration on his own birthday. Thus, everywhere other than Washington D.C. was going to have a march where the people proclaimed in one voice that the United States will not tolerate an aspiring monarch or autocrat. "No Kings Day" they called it. Not very inventive, but a simple message.

Hannah, Madison, and I banded together and vowed to attend. With the organizers' plan to hold a rally in Daley Plaza before a march, we decided it best to try to arrive early. The plan was to march through The Loop and I imagined traffic would be terrible. Thus, my daughters and I learned public transit and how to get into the heart of Chicago. The first leg was commuter rail, so we had to leave relatively early in the morning. It meant I could fly in from Sheboygan and we could all walk together from there. Forty-five minutes of navigating suburban sprawl later, we made it to the train station and rode the UP-NW into downtown. A couple of buses and a much shorter walk later, we arrived in Daley Plaza around 10:30 am. We had to entertain ourselves for about two hours while the plaza filled up with people before the speeches began on the small stage the organizers had placed.

It felt as if a part of my heart swelled when Hannah was finally speaking with me again. She told me that her grandfather's death affected her far more than her father's metaphorical one. I was still here, she said, but in a different capacity than before. I wasn't six-foot-four, didn't have wrinkles on my face, didn't have short hair with hints of gray that reminded her of Doctor Strange from the movies, didn't have the hairy arms that used to hold her close when she cried, didn't have the stubble that tickled her cheeks when she hugged me, and I didn't wear that classic Old Spice aftershave anymore. What I did have, she said, was the kindness, compassion, understanding, and gentle encouragement behind my eyes whenever I looked at her and the comforting tone in my voice whenever I spoke. I still had that same look of pride that wished her well as she left the house with her date for Prom. She had realized the essence of her father was in me, even if the box art had changed. That was reason enough for me.

There were a few speeches to get through once the event truly kicked off. Most consisted of messages of unity in the face of tyranny. There were a couple of milk toast speeches from national politicians, which was nothing new. Those, understandably, got no reaction while the calls for solidarity received spirited responses. Once they were finished, the enormous, standing-room-only crowd began to make its way out of the plaza to begin the march. From Dearborn, we followed the iconic "L", the elevated "subway" tracks that circle downtown and give "The Loop" its name. The crowd made a point to make a detour and walk by Trump Tower before heading back into The Loop. There were so many angry voices that just wanted to do something and "stick it to the man". Most people came with their own hand-crafted, thought-out protest signs. I had to give the guy in his fifties a high-five because his sign just said "No, We Were Not Paid".

Towards the end of the march that lasted no less than three hours, something felt out of place. There had been some unease all day, but this felt different. Hannah, Madison, and I were somewhere in the middle of the gigantic column of human bodies that formed the protest march. We took a seat and grabbed some water when we finished marching. I could hear some police sirens, but that didn't seem to be out of the ordinary. The march unironically ended at LaSalle Street right near the ICE building. The thing looked occupied. There were trucks that looked like black armored personnel carriers from the military. There were police all around urging people to disperse once they were done marching.

"Something feel off to you?" I asked the girls.

"A little." Hannah nodded. "I kind of expected the cops, but who do the military trucks belong to?"

Glancing at the trucks in question, my eyes landed on the inverted triangle, hidden "V" wings, and colored purple and green logo. It was so distinctive that it could only belong to one organization. "That's American Vanguard Solutions. Lauren warned about these guys."

Madison pointed down the street to the east. "Looks like they've got some kind of impromptu roadblock set up down there like it's a checkpoint or something. What are they looking for?"

I frowned. "People like me that don't have friends who can forge them some identification. Lauren told me her sources said they were going to start rounding up people with powers soon. They've got a contract with the Department of Homeland Security. I guess they figured a march against tyranny with thousands of people in attendance was the perfect opportunity."

"They can't do that to citizens without due process, though, right?" Hannah wondered.

"Have you seen this administration giving any deference to precedent or the Constitution lately?" My eyes started scanning the surroundings.

"What are you doing?" Hannah asked.

I narrowed my eyes with purpose when they landed on the sheltered stairs that served as the entrance to the subway station. "I'm gonna slip into something a little more comfortable." Turning back to Hannah and Madison for only a moment, I whispered. "Get somewhere safe."

They both nodded as I turned to run at regular human speed toward the subway station. Once inside and navigating the stairs, I learned a hard fact: there are no restrooms in this station. On the other hand, I was practically the only person down here. Taking in a breath when the coast was clear, I moved very carefully and quickly to get the clothes and glasses I was wearing off while also getting the suit on. In my mind, I knew I was using my super speed, but there wasn't anything in the world to compare it to. As designed, the suit was a little loose until I pulled up the zipper in the back, then it conformed to my body shape. I flipped the cape over to my back and stuffed the civilian attire into the backpack before carefully closing it.

Finally ready, I ran up the stairs and out into the wider world. The slow motion perspective proved that I was indeed moving at super speed. I lay the backpack in the path of Hannah and Madison as they moved a safe distance away, hoping they'd see it. Afterward, I continued running away from the scene and darted down a few random streets. At a safe distance away, I leapt into the air and flew at super speed. A sonic boom clapped behind me as I doubled back and flew toward the scene of the incident scene at W Ida B. Wells Drive and S Dearborn Street. In mid-air, I came to a sudden stop and hovered about ten meters above the street. My glare narrowed down on the AVS agents while my cape flapped in the wind and the colors of the suit glistened in the sunlight. My daughters might have called this "aura farming" but I wouldn't understand that meaning for a while, yet.

This was my most public appearance since I obtained the suit and began my "career". Hearing the sonic boom, thousands of faces turned to face me–including the police and AVS agents. Most people stared in awe. Chicago PD seemed confused. The purple- and green-clad agents, however, reacted immediately. There were about fifteen of them and they all leveled some form of weapon at me. Like ICE, their faces were covered. One, whom I assume was the commanding officer of the operation, had the wherewithal to pick up a microphone and speak into a PA system.

"Metahuman! Surrender yourself and you will not be harmed!" The commander shouted.

I actually laughed. "As if you could." I shook my head. "You don't need the loudspeaker. I can hear you just fine."

"Metahuman, you have to the count of five to surrender yourself and submit to the authority of the Department of Homeland Security or we will be forced to use whatever force necessary to take you into custody!"

Turning, I zipped over to where he was standing and stopped just before him, still hovering. "I told you that you did not need to utilize such a device. I can hear you perfectly fine." Interestingly enough, he appeared to be afraid. It was readily apparent they hadn't come up against anyone like me before. "You are violating the Fourth Amendment. I suggest you get back into your vehicles and leave this city. You will not be terrorizing its citizens any longer."

"Who the fuck do you think you are?!"

"I like to think of myself as a friend... but not to organizations like yours. I will not tolerate fascism in this city or anywhere else."

Someone's finger got itchy and slipped. I felt two tiny impacts against me and the sound of electricity came to my ears. Glancing at the offending object, my eyes landed on two small metal barbs linked with a thin wire to a taser ejection system that had no doubt struck me and fallen impotently to the ground at my feet. Holding that yellow less-than-lethal device was another AVS agent nearby.

Flashing that man a look of condescension, I scoffed. "Really, my guy? You can't hurt me. Even bullets bounce off." I turned back to the commander. "I suggest you gather your subordinates, get into your vehicles, and leave the city. You'll be violating no one's rights today." I hovered backward a couple of meters to give them a little space. "I'm not here to hurt you. I'm here to ask you to reconsider your actions and place of employment."

I heard one of them mumble 'fuck this bitch' under his breath and move to pull out something. Turning toward the sound, I came face-to-face with some kind of net flying at me. The buzz of electrical diodes reached my ears. The net impacted then wrapped itself around me. It wasn't remotely painful nor did it affect my hovering at all. It was annoying, if anything. I tore through it as if it were single-ply toilet paper. They were really trying to escalate the situation?

I had to think quickly. If this continued, they were going to put a lot of people at risk. If they went to lethal force and used firearms, the bullets won't affect me at all but the ricochets could hit someone innocent. That is something I couldn't allow to happen. My next action had to be in a language they would understand. It was impulsive, but hopefully fruitful.

Still hovering, I zipped over to the APC near the four or five agents they had for the checkpoint. Halfway there, I started yelling my frustration and preparing my arm. Right next to the vehicle, I stopped and brought my arm down like it was the hammer for that one carnival game where you hit as hard as you can to ring the bell. My arm impacted the hood and kept going through the engine block and everything as if it were wet cardboard. It was still running but that stopped rather quickly. I had cut the front end of the vehicle in half. The red filter started to close over my eyes, but it stopped before fully engaging. I let my eyes glow the red-orange color of my heat vision beam.

I will not elaborate, but I was rather certain I had just scared the crap out of the AVS agents in the immediate vicinity. None of them had seen anything like what I'd just done and I would hope they were reconsidering their employment status.

"GET! OUT! OF! THIS! CITY!" I practically screamed at them, my eyes glowing red to drive the point home.

For a moment, no one said anything or even moved. They all just looked at each other for the signal from the one with some kind of supervisory authority. Then, they all just ran as a group. They ran toward the APCs parked around the area, piled in, started the diesel engines, and made haste to leave the area. As the last one filed into the convoy and left the area, I softly landed on the ground and my eyes stopped glowing. The crowd that had formed erupted into applause and cheers. It might have been a moment to nod and wave, but I heard flames erupt in the APC's front end and thumping against metal coming from the back end.

Spinning around, I saw the flames in what used to be the engine compartment. It was not the brightest idea I've ever had to do that much damage to an engine that was still running. Taking a breath, I blew onto the engine where the flames were originating. The fog of cold air coming from me was enough to put out the fire and coat the obliterated engine in frost. When confident the fire was extinguished, I rushed around the back to the specially-designed compartment. I tried the handle, but it was locked. So, I just gripped the door itself and tore it off. A young European-looking man and a young Hispanic woman turned to look at me with terrified eyes.

"Are you guys okay?" I asked them.

"You're not with them, are you?" The young man asked.

The young woman rolled her eyes at him. "Does she look like she's with them?" She turned to me. "What happened up front? We got knocked around for a second."

I felt a bit sheepish. "Sorry about that. Had to make a point, so I put my arm through the front end. The AVS goons took off after that."

The young woman started climbing out first. "You punched it?"

I shrugged. "Not exactly."

The young man followed. "They took our IDs and wouldn't give them back."

"If I can help it, that won't happen again. There's some Chicago police officers nearby. Maybe they can help you sort things out?"

The crowd of thousands started cheering once they saw the two captives were freed.

The young woman had moved up to the front of the vehicle. "¡Ay, dios mio!" She exclaimed, pointing at the front end of the APC. "You did this? You got some serious powers, chica."

I shrugged. "I keep hearing that."

At that moment, six men approached us. They were clad in camouflaged tactical gear and really did look like soldiers. They were also pointing guns at us, so that helped drive that point home. They started barking orders at us too quickly to really understand what was being said. I threw my hands outward and stepped in front of the two people I'd just rescued from the back of the AVS vehicle. From the direction of the ICE building, a black man clad in similar clothing ran up and started yelling.

"The hell are you doing?! Lower your weapons! Stand down!" He barked as he approached. Noticing a rank insignia, he addressed one of them. "Who's your supervisor, Corporal?!"

"Sergeant Turner," the man answered but didn't lower his weapon.

The first man grabbed the back of the tactical vest and pulled the Corporal back, forcing him to make eye contact. "Well, I'm a lieutenant. Lt. Henderson, SWAT. What unit are you with?"

The corporal stammered for a moment. "First District, Lieutenant. We were called in to respond to a dangerous vigilante in a cape."

Lt. Henderson pointed at me. "You were called in to respond to her? I'm responding to accusations of kidnapping and she freed the detained. As far as I'm concerned, she's with us. Put your goddamn weapons down!"

Their eyes all moved from the Lieutenant, to me, back to the Lt., back to me, and finally to the ground as they lowered their weapons. Exercising caution, I kept my hands out in a protective stance in regards to the two people behind me. My eyes watched the men in front of us but the lieutenant wasn't being ignored.

"Now, you're dismissed!" Lt. Henderson ordered. To my relief, the group moved away from us, albeit reluctantly. "Sorry about that." He finally said to me. "I heard dispatch call in that unit and I had to intervene. They're not even supposed to be deployed at a peaceful protest, but ICE is on our ass ever since all the nonsense started in L.A."

"The fault of that lies solely with Immigration and Customs Enforcement." I remarked. "If they weren't callously kidnapping good people off the streets and in their places of work, we wouldn't have this problem." Turning my head slightly, I motioned to the people behind me. "Are these people free to go, officer?"

"You're not wrong about ICE, young lady." Lt. Henderson nodded. He took one glance at the two behind me. "You two are free to go. No one's going to bother you any more today."

Turning to the young man and woman, I nodded. I was choosing to trust the word of the officer. They both said their "thank you" and moved on to places unknown to me. My posture relaxed and I looked around. The officer extended his hand to me.

"I'm Lt. Elias Henderson, by the way. I'm with SWAT, but it's an all-hands-on-deck kind of day, I guess." He stated cordially.

I accepted the handshake. "Pleasure to meet you, Lieutenant."

"You got a name or do I just call you 'Wrecking Ball'? You came in here like friggin' Miley Cyrus, kid."

I chuckled at the reference. "Please don't call me that." I let out a sigh. "I don't have a 'codename', yet. Still working that out. I am not giving you a government name, either. Sorry. Too much at stake."

He nodded slowly. "I can respect that." He let out a sigh. "Look, kid, I've seen the news. You're doing some good work out there. You look like you raided a Spirit Halloween, but you do some good." He reached into one of the many pockets in his uniform and pulled out a small three-by-five card. "Call me... if you could use a hand or you figure out your codename and wanna let me know."

Gingerly, I accepted the business card and nodded to him. "I'll do that, Lieutenant. We'll be in touch."

I jumped upward and willed myself into flying once I was a few meters above the ground. When I was reasonably certain the sonic boom wouldn't damage any eardrums, I blasted into high gear. Lt. Henderson appeared to be someone trustworthy, so I was willing to entertain contact with him going forward.