Beacon of Hope



Chapter Eleven

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=ZjhkSjb41VQ ))

The next couple of weeks were torture for a multitude of reasons. Luggage needed to be purchased to move my effects from the house in Arlington Heights to my mom's in Sheboygan. A small voice inside was saying that moving back into my childhood home was some kind of failure. In that process, Lauren had stopped by when I was in Wisconsin. She left a message that the girls had found and gave to me about meeting in the future. She wouldn't call for various reasons. Týr volunteered to move onto the farm and help out. He set up his own small encampment out near the barn so as not to impose on my mother. In the midst of moving, I got a visit from someone I was not in the least bit expecting.

In the twilight of the evening after the sun had set, I was transporting luggage to my mother's. When I arrived, she was tidying up my childhood bedroom. It was a small space only about two-thirds the size of any of my daughters' bedrooms, but it had always been cozy and intimate to me. The walls were still covered in the same 1970s wallpaper my parents never replaced when Dad inherited the farm. My own personal touches were a few posters featuring Nirvana, Rage Against The Machine, Star Trek: Generations, The Matrix, and a signed Babylon 5 poster. My old bookshelf held the boxes most of my comic collection was stored in and several figurines from Star Wars, Star Trek, the X-men animated series of the time, and a Pokémon or two. The desk looked as if I'd left for college yesterday with several notebooks scattered over the surface and the oldest computer I'd seen in years. My phone had easily ten times the computing power of that dinosaur from the advent of the Digital Age. Over the old twin bed was my corkboard with several photos from those bygone days featuring my friends and I. A lot of them featured Larry, my best friend for years. One from graduation featured us with our arms over each other's shoulders and cheering at the camera. It brought a tear to my eye.

When I bent over to shuffle some things into place, my mother had mentioned the arrival of Aunt Flo. At first, I didn't know what she meant but she mentioned the red stain and it finally clicked. She helped me get cleaned up and showed me how to use some things I'm going to need from now on. I shook my head and wanted to move on from this. I was beginning to understand why Hannah and Madison had unceremoniously told me to leave them alone when this happened to them. I wanted to help, but I had no clue I was just making the experience unpleasant. Leaving the managing of the situation to Laura was probably the smartest thing I could do. My mother handled things graciously and with kindness, even if the idea of this event assaulted both our cognitive dissonance.

After a few days, my mother began to truly appreciate Týr's presence on the farm. My parents had scaled back their operation since I left the farmstead and their ages caught up with them. While working on putting together a wooden fence for the subsistence area of the farm, he regaled my mother with tales of "the people" and how they were accomplished farmers – even in the worst of conditions. He showed us some techniques to increase the yield that modern farmers like us had never seen before. That's because his methods were practically ancient. "The people" he spoke of were the Norse of Scandinavia and the methods were about a thousand years old. Time will tell as to their efficacy, but the fact he suggested we raise a few sheep and get a dog got my mother's attention.

Once I was moved in, the farm was tended to, and the household chores were done, Týr began his training regimen. Being outside the city limits and not having another neighbor for about half a mile, both he and I could really let loose with our powers and not attract much attention. At first, I expected some kind of gladiatorial pugilism. Instead, he had me sit in the upper level of the barn, close my eyes, and open my ears.

"There was one among us who had sight – Heimdallr. He was called 'haym-dahl-r', not 'high-m-doll'. He among us was only one that see what he see. He see all corners of world. You have same, but with ears," He said to me. "You must learn listening."

Thus, there I sat for hours on end. At first, it was incredibly uncomfortable because my insides were churning in on themselves thanks to Aunt Flo. As the days progressed, it became much easier to concentrate and I began to learn the true scope of this "super hearing" thing. In the beginning, there was a lot of noise: car engines, tractors, people speaking, children playing, dogs barking, bugs beating their wings, birds chirping, and so on. It was all a garbled mess and a little painful. Hours became days and days became a week. I was starting to hear more while I was doing the laundry or sweeping the kitchen floor. Slowly, I was beginning to realize that this is going to be something I was really going to need to control. I even started to smell more things. I do not recommend this. Take my word for it: a menstrual teenager mixed with animal dung and ripening crops is incredibly unpleasant.

When night fell, I would take to the skies. It was really becoming my equivalent of jogging. I'd visit the house back in Illinois, but the only one awaiting me was Madison. She would sit on the roof and make her flashlight strobe to guide me in. She laughed about me getting my first period. Beyond that, it was friendly chatter about how school was going and how the family was doing. At some point, I would love to have this kind of chat with all my girls. After about half an hour on school nights or an hour on the weekend, I would wish Madison a good night before flying off again.

One night, Týr encouraged me to discover just how high up I could fly. Accepting his challenge, I took off from the farm and traveled straight upward. Hearing them coming in advance, I was able to dodge any air traffic that might be in the area, civilian or commercial. Kicking my ascent into high gear, I watched the cloud layer sink below me ever faster. Further and further I climbed. A small part of me wondered if this feeling would be similar to someone in a spacecraft. After a while, I lost track of how far I'd gone. Somehow, I knew I could keep going. When I felt the warmth of the sun on my skin, I turned and looked at where I was. I could see the curvature of my home planet all around me. I could see the expanse of stars all around me, unfiltered. Below me was a dark mass illuminated by millions of lights that marked out population centers. The sun was barely peeking from the other side of the planet.

I was in space. I don't know if it was "outer space" or not. I'm not an astrophysicist. How am I surviving without a space suit? Am I even breathing?, my brain searched for answers while my eyes took in all the spectacle. I looked at my hands, but no ice crystals had formed. My clothes stayed mostly in place. My hair seemed to be floating like the astronauts' aboard the International Space Station. I wasn't actually breathing but something told me I didn't need to. The exhilaration of discovering you can fly is one thing. Finding out you can fly in space is another. After a few moments, I elected to go back down again. I learned quickly why everything has to reenter the atmosphere at an angle after being batted away by the ionosphere. Trying again, I'd been flung somewhere over the Atlantic and came back at an angle. Reentry is a whole ballgame I was not prepared for. The plasma effects were simultaneously dazzling and frightening. I don't doubt my invulnerability anymore.

My voice basically reached the level of sonar as I excitedly recalled my experience with Týr once I found the farm and landed. Yet again, the landing was less than graceful but I didn't break anything. It woke my mother, which I immediately apologized for. I'm still not accustomed to the capabilities of this new voice, either. I don't think I've reached pitches that high since I was nine.

That was all in the first week. The second week was a little more boring. There was still training to be done, more farm tasks to complete, and more chores to be done in the house. It was mostly the same. The only difference is that because I was predominantly back in Wisconsin, Lauren left a message to arrange for us to meet. The slip of paper included her address and a date, Wednesday. Madison passed it along to me Monday night. It was a little tough to get through the couple of days until the appointed meeting. Týr took some time to teach me how to land. It took a bit of doing, but the number of less-than-graceful landings where I hit the ground and went rolling for several meters was diminished. I was starting to look like I knew what I was doing.

On the appointed evening, I took off from the farm and flew at what I might call a leisurely pace so that it took me about a half hour to reach Lauren's apartment in Auburn Gresham. Staying above the cloud layer, I was able to avoid most of the cameras used to monitor weather and traffic conditions, learning my lesson from a previous excursion. The lower building heights of the South Side made it a little easier to avoid such things. Her building was an old brick building probably built in the 1920s with eight units inside — recently renovated but still with the old boiler-driven radiant heating. Once I'd made sure I wouldn't be seen, I lowered myself back down to terra firma in front of the building, then tapped the buzzer attached to her apartment number. She came down the stairwell to meet me in sweatpants, a sweatshirt, and her hair up in a ponytail.

She grabbed me by the hand and practically dragged me up the stairs to her apartment. Once inside, a multitude of questions came at me in rapid succession: How did I get here? Did anyone see me? What took so long? It was enough to make my head spin. Finally, once she secured the locks on her door, she turned to me and took a breath.

"Pardon the mess. I haven't really learned how to survive without my wife, yet. Back to the bachelor days, I guess." She apologized.

"Yeah, no, I'm not even sure I'd be surviving without being at my mom's, right now." Was my reply.

Her entire demeanor sank with her posture. "How is your mom doing? I'm really sorry I wasn't at your dad's funeral. It's this whole 'cutting ties' thing. I'm a little paranoid from all the things I've uncovered." She sighed. "Sorry I wasn't there for you, buddy."

Feeling the weight of the apology, I tapped her shoulder. "I know. I saw a picture of us from high school on my wall and I got pretty choked up. Mom's doing as well as can be expected, I guess. Týr has moved onto the farm and is helping us out." I let out a sigh as I plopped onto the couch. "I'm... I'm here."

She nodded. "I get it." She moved to a desk with what looked like a state-of-the-art computer atop it with things I couldn't really make out on the screen. "I've been trying to get a hold of you for a minute. I guess that talk with your folks went well. You can hide out there and keep Laura and the kids safe, at least."

Tears started forming in my eyes. "Yea... talked to my dad on his death bed, no less. Made something of a promise to him, ya know?"

"I can't even begin to imagine how hard that was for you."

"Better than expected, but I lost my dad, so it still sucks." One difficult, vibrating inhale later, I managed to speak again. "Funny thing: Mom gave me a name. After the funeral."

"And you agreed?"

"You know I did."

"Well, what was decided? I can plug it into my little program and we can get your paperwork sorted right now."

I spoke the name with a little pride, but still a heavy dose of dysphoria. "Kristen Miriam Kent. Mom suggested I be an adopted foster child after my folks died a year ago. It's the tale she's been weaving around town."

Lauren spun her chair to the computer and started typing away. "Pretty good name for a kid born in 2008. Your mom's got taste. Always has."

I smiled in reminiscence. "No, yeah. You remember her fish frys, right? Best in the community, for sure." I paused for another inhale. "She named me after my grandmother. The one that escaped the Nazis only to land in Sheboygan."

When she finished her work, Lauren spun to me with a chuckle. "How have you managed to go from FIB to Sconnie in a week? You're talking almost exactly like we did back in high school."

I smirked. "Careful or my 'dontcha know' will haunt your nightmares in a couple-two-three weeks more. Maybe even less."

She laughed. "Geez, you're making me want some brats and Spotted Cow."

"So, what did you just get done doing?"

Lauren turned to glance at the computer and then back at me. "Basically creating a paper trail for you. I've worked up an algorithm that copies your name to all the files I need. While it was running, I did what I could to create the backstory your mom's been telling everybody. It's not exactly easy fabricating a birth certificate and adoption papers. That'll probably take me a couple of days."

"You're more tech savvy than I ever gave you credit for."

She smirked like she was keeping a secret. "Little do you know..." She shoved off away from the desk and over to a bookcase. She picked up something small and obscured it from me for a moment. "You used to wear glasses, yeah?"

An eyebrow raised in her direction. "Yes... I was also a forty-five year old man, too. I don't need glasses anymore and I'm not all the rest."

"Well, I had a thought. Ya know how they're always trying to defend why Clark Kent wears his glasses in the comics?" She finally opened her hands to reveal a set of wire-framed spectacles with round lenses. "I fashioned these babies." She pointed at little metal pieces at the edge of the rim where the hinges meet the temple pieces usually reserved for rivets or embellishments. "These little things produce a digital signal that obscures your face from any A.I. facial recognition software. It's kind of like a wi-fi virus that disallows your identity from being shared by data brokers." She handed me the frame.

Gingerly accepting, I examined the frames and voiced my observations. "These things look like they're Harry Potter's glasses but twice the circumference. The wire frame is nice, I guess. I've always been partial to the plastic, though."

"Well, these are more in style with our new age demographic. I'd like to go back to my square lenses on an executive-looking frame but it'll just make me look like an old man. We're not going for that, remember? Try them on."

Opening the sides that go over my temples, I slipped them onto my head and rested them on my nose. They were comfortable, at least. "No prescription for the lenses, so they're just for show."

Lauren held up an old iPhone and showed me something on a monitor beside her. "Observe: the signal is actually scrambling your face in real time. To us, it's not so noticeable, but to A.I. you're a Picasso. They're not hypno-glasses like in the comics. Couldn't get that to work at all."

As I watched the screen, Lauren flipped a switch that apparently switched on and off some facial recognition software. Under normal camera conditions, I looked like the girl I've been seeing in the mirror for nearly a month now. With the software enabled, the results were absolutely frightening. I actually lurched backward a bit. "That's like a horror movie!"

Lauren laughed. "That's kind of the point. It'll limit the abilities of bad actors to try tracking us down. I've been tracking their actions lately. American Vanguard Solutions is working as a contractor with the Department of Homeland Security, officially. Things are about to kick off, I think. Don't post any superhero stuff on TikTok. I think they're using that predominantly. We all know Twitter is already down to cooperate with them. Instagram probably isn't far behind, since it's part of Meta."

"So, no social media. I already don't go on there, so that's not a problem."

"Social media isn't the only problem. Even still, if you start doing what I think you're gonna do, then you're definitely gonna end up in videos. They're probably gonna go viral. Be prepared for that."

"Somebody's gotta do it, Lauren. Why not me?"

"Chris – sorry, Kristen – I'm not trying to discourage you. Exactly the opposite. I think you can really make a difference. I'm only telling you to be prepared for almost instant internet fame." She pointed to a blue square of fabric on her wall. "Stand over there for me with your glasses on?"

Not sure what she was getting at, I reluctantly obliged. "What's this for?"

Once I was in place, she held up a digital camera and quickly snapped a picture. "Your ID." She turned to her computer once again, tapping in some information. "What was your height and weight, now?"

"Last I was checked, five foot ten and one hundred fifty-three pounds?"

She tapped several keys on her keyboard. "We'll put it at one-fifty-five because nobody's all that precise on their licenses." Once she was done, a machine near me came to life and printed a small plastic card.

It was immediately apparent that the card was oriented in a portrait style. This had been the standard for underage identification in this new millennium. At a quick glance, there was a big, red letter and numbers "U21" at the top, the name of the state of Wisconsin, a tiny little picture with "USA" above the state name, a black circle with a transparent star pattern, the words "Driver License - Regular", then a red line, a large black-and-white picture of me Lauren had just taken, all my vital information including a 4-18-2008 birthdate, and indicators of when I'd be "of age" for certain privileges – "Under 18 until 4-18-2026" and "Under 21 until 4-18-2029". All that information was superimposed over a watermark of the capital in Madison and a state flag waving behind it.

"It's really trippy to look at this for several reasons," I told Lauren without removing my examining glance from the card. "One, I haven't held a Wisconsin identification card in about twenty years. They've really changed. Two, I don't even recognize my own picture."

Lauren nodded solemnly. "Yea, well, you haven't tried to go in for a drink at the bar and been thrown out then harassed by construction workers halfway down the block, yet." She sighed. "Your life in suburbia or on your parents' farm is pretty insulating, right now. Enjoy it while you can, buddy."

A wild thought crossed my mind. "Odd question: have you gotten your period yet?"

Her cheeks flushed red. "I don't wanna talk about that, okay? Suffice to say that there's a lot that's changed about us other than being faster than a speeding bullet or able to leap tall buildings in a single bound."

I smirked and rolled my eyes. "So, that's a 'yes'. Could have said that without the outdated reference."

"Our brains still hold all the knowledge and experience of men in their forties, bud."

"Maybe but that reference is older than our parents. It's so old, it's new to Captain America."

"You need to catch up on some MCU movies and stuff. He's black, now."

Slipping the ID into my back pocket, I cocked my head to the side. "He's black, now? Since when?"

"Didn't you catch Infinity War and Endgame?"

"No, Lauren. I'm a forty-five year old man with a wife, three kids, and a job that's leeched my soul from my body for ten years. I've been beyond caring about much other than those three things."

"Does your mom have Disney Plus? You could probably catch the movies in your free time. You really should, too. They're really good. I'd avoid most of the shows unless you wanna put an imprint into the couch by sitting there for, like, three months."

"It's a farm, Lauren. There's other things to do. Also, I'll probably be doing my thing in a couple days. The suit's nearly ready. I'm just waiting on a phone call."

"You found someone to make a suit? Who?"

"Dr. Ingrid Voss. She's a researcher down at Northwestern. She's supposta-gonna be calling me in the next couple-two-three days to have me come in and try it on."

"You okay if I come with?"

I shrugged. "I guess. I'll probably grab my car from Arlington Heights and drive in. I can pick you up on the way in."

"Okay, we have a plan."

Two days later, that call came. Týr and I were cleaning up the barn. It seemed this particular part of the farm had been neglected for years. There was dust and old hay just about everywhere. My phone had been in the back pocket of my jeans. I answered and informed Dr. Voss that I would be in as soon as I could. With confirmation from Týr that he would finish the chore, I bolted into my room to grab a hoodie before heading off to the house in Arlington Heights. During the day, it was better for me to use my speed rather than flying because there was a far smaller chance of being seen. I may be able to fly as fast as I can run, but I didn't want even a single, blurry frame of video to be evidence of my existence without the uniform. People don't watch street cameras as much as they do SkyCams.

Back at the house I had bought with my wife and helped raise our children in, I used the key to let myself in. It being Friday, no one would be home. I locked the front door once again and headed to the garage to grab my car. Once I was on my way, I hit the button so the garage door closed behind me. I sat at the stop sign down the street from my house to send a text to Lauren, letting her know I was on my way. Much to my chagrin, it would take an hour to get to her apartment and then another hour back up to Northwestern. Knowing that I could travel so much faster outside of the vehicle felt like torture as I navigated the streets and highways of Chicagoland.

Soon enough, I was outside Lauren's apartment building. She commended me for remembering to wear my glasses and wrinkled her nose commenting that I smelt like an old barn. Rolling my eyes, I drove the car along the path of the second leg of the journey. Lauren saw fit to start messing with my satellite radio, finding a good station to really jam to. The one she found had a mix of music from the '90s, giving us both a feeling of nostalgia.

It was about lunch time when I parked the car in the lot across the street from the Technological Institute at Northwestern University. All the way to Dr. Voss' office, Lauren marveled at the building. I had done the same thing when we visited his alma mater for a football game a few years back. Both campuses were quite beautiful in their own right. Through the doors into Dr. Voss' lab, Lauren again gasped at the surroundings. All the equipment was certainly intriguing to her technologically-inclined mind. With a smile on her face, Dr. Ingrid Voss awaited us in a white silk blouse and fashionable A-line skirt with kitten heels.

She could scarcely contain her excitement as she wheeled out an apparatus similar to the ones they hang IVs off of. What was actually hanging on it was one of the most magical sights I've ever laid eyes on: my new suit. The blue popped and complimented the blue of my own eyes. The red was deep and purposeful. The yellow accents were wonderful. It was almost surreal. Lauren wasn't quite as speechless as I, but I almost wish she were.

"Holy shit," She breathed. "That is fucking spectacular!"

Dr. Voss performed a curtsy. "There's about a decade worth of material science in this baby, so I appreciate the enthusiasm." Her eyes landed on me. "I'd love to hear what the beneficiary of this marvel thinks, though."

I couldn't take my eyes off the suit. "If you don't count my wife in her wedding dress, the look of her after giving birth to our babies, or those babies themselves, this is the most beautiful thing I think I've ever seen."

Dr. Voss switched into technical mode. "Okay, let me explain this thing." She started pointing to each piece as she spoke. "The suit itself is fashioned like a gymnast or dancer unitard. If you look closely, you'll see a small hexagonal design. This has many functions. Not only does it serve as a tertiary measure against wear and tear, but it allows the suit to expand and contract as needed. You're seeing it now in its expanded shape. Pull up the zipper and..." She pulled up the zipper in the back. We all watched as the suit contracted and seemed to become the exact shape of the 3D models Dr. Voss and I had created two weeks ago. "...it forms to the intended user."

"I fashioned the whole thing from a couple generations of Bombyx mori that seemed to inherit alterations from the same pulse that affected you, Mr. Kent, and–" She continued.

"Uh... you're gonna wanna go with 'Miss Kent' from this point forward. Also, discretion is of utmost importance," Lauren interjected.

Dr. Voss looked offended. "And who are you?"

"Lauren Lang. I'm a friend. Also a victim of this... pulse thing." Lauren looked rather sheepish. "I'll shut up. Sorry."

"As I was saying..." Dr. Voss began again. "...the base is the Bombyx mori silk – the generations affected by the pulse, at least. Add a bit of graphene with a dash of nanotech and it will bring you this. All pieces are the same materials. The main body of the suit, the yellow-gold belt, the red trunks that are more like hotpants if you think for half a second, and the cape are all one piece." She ran her hand along the "S" symbol on the chest. "The emblem is part of the design; this will expand and contract with the rest of the suit." She pointed at the bottom of the apparatus. "The boots are a separate piece. The all-in-one design was for the ease of quick application and removal. Pull the zipper loose..." She again pulled the zipper in the back and the suit returned to its expanded shape. "...and the suit can be removed quickly and easily. The only inconvenience is the cape, which does not have the expand and contract functionality. You'll have to flip it back and forth." She smiled once more. "All-in-all, you have a suit able to withstand anything you can while remaining breathable and wicking moisture away from sensitive areas."

I stepped a little closer and ran my fingers along the soft, textured surface. The outside felt wonderful. In its contracted shape, I had seen that the cape reached about the middle of my calves. It felt like the right length. My eyes wandered over the blue of the main body, then over the red of the trunks, and finally marveled over the yellow-gold of the belt. My fingers ran across the raised shield on the chest and a sense of pride began to swell within me. Dr. Voss' smile grew wider, if that were even possible.

"Methinks we have a winner." She stated. Then she held up the cape a little. "Naturally, the all-yellow shield on the back of the cape has the same properties of the cape itself." Tapping my shoulder to gain my attention, she mentioned one more thing. "If you'll notice, there is a pouch in the cape. You can store whatever you wish, but I'd hazard a guess it'll simply hold your clothes as it does for the man in the comics." She shrugged. "Or you can do like Spider-Man and carry your clothes in a backpack you might lose somewhere in the city every time you go out. It's up to you."

My eyes blinked several times in rapid succession. "It's a good thing you thought of that because I may not have."

Dr. Voss' smile turned to a smirk as she pulled the suit off the hanging apparatus. "Why don't you try it on?" She flipped the cape forward. "Get down to your underwear and climb in. You'll find the process nearly like second nature."

Nervously, I obliged the request. I'd worn a gray sports bra and plain gray panties. The underwear was a far cry from the bold, colorful suit. Dr. Voss instructed me to step into the suit from the back. Once my legs were secure, I put my arms in the designated holes and flipped the cape over my head. The process wasn't the least bit difficult. When everything else was in place, I flipped my hair clear of the garment and Dr. Voss showed me where to start pulling the zipper. There was an extension string to ensure that I could execute the whole process by myself. With the zipper all the way up the back, the suit began to contract as if I were Marty McFly and the suit was his jacket. It shrank over my shape and conformed to every contour. In a couple of seconds, the process was complete and the suit was on. I expected it to be a little heavy feeling but it was like the best shirt I'd ever put on. It was like a second skin that moved with me. Without any trouble, I bent over and put the boots on.

The ensemble was in place and I stood at the eastern end of the lab. With the windows oriented in that direction, the high-noon sun bouncing off the nearby buildings backlit me as if I were on a stage. With the look complete, I put my hands on my hips and nervously looked towards Dr. Voss and Lauren.

"How do I look?"

"Like a comic book, the 1978 movie, and all the trailers for the new movie came to life." Lauren stated with eyes incredibly wide.

Dr. Voss rolled her eyes. "For clarification: you're not Superman. You're not Supergirl. Yes, the suit is an homage to those characters for the sake of visibility, but you're your own person. You're going to have to earn the recognition all on your own." She smiled again. "But you look amazing, honey. Why not take it for a test?"

I actually nibbled my lower lip as my smile grew. The world around me slowed to a crawl as I moved out of Dr. Voss' lab, ran down the hallway, jumped down the stairs, exited the front doors, and leapt into the air.