Beacon of Hope



Chapter One

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=yQOBUrRaPU0 ))

A soft, subtle “ding-dong” tone sounded throughout the cabin and my eyes instinctively looked slightly upward to be greeted by the illumination of the “Fasten Seatbelts” sign. It’s a good thing I relieved myself about twenty minutes ago. Following the command, I draped the belt over my lap and connected it just like the flight attendants showed us at the start of the flight. It fit well over my thin physique draped by dark blue slacks and a white button-up shirt. It was time for final approach.

Glancing out the window on my left, the wing of this particular aircraft was somewhere behind my seat but below was the grand expanse of Chicagoland. Home. It would be a lovely joke if I could say that I could see my house from here, but I seem to be on the wrong side of the plane for this approach. The weather is clear and winds seem to be blowing our direction as we’re coming in from Lake Michigan. I could probably see our old house in Oak Park if I squinted hard enough.

I have to make this conference trip every quarter or so. Sometimes, you have to schmooze the media and other firms when you’re the corporate communications specialist for a company so mid-level in the tech industry that nobody’s really heard of it. Most days, I loathe this job. On days where I actually get to rub elbows with some of my old colleagues that still work in the news media, it’s a better day. I only took this job because the Tribune went belly up and I got laid off back in 2015, right after my wife surprised me with her third pregnancy. I had to do something to keep the family afloat and we needed a bigger house for the kids. I did the right thing for my family, but the wrong thing for me. I just have to suck it up and deal with it because there’s no way I’m uprooting the lives of my wife and kids to New York, D.C., or L.A. just for my own ambitions.

Life wasn’t always this monotonous and filled with existential dread. At one time, I was a starry-eyed kid from Sheboygan, Wisconsin, watching Dan Rather and Peter Jennings carry on the legacy of Walter Cronkite. Part of me wished I’d been alive to see a Cronkite broadcast and I technically was but infants never remember things. When I learned the things Bob Woodward and Carl Bernstein had done, I knew I wanted to be a journalist. After graduating high school, I went straight into college for journalism. During my senior year, I met the love of my life, Laura. We dated for a while as I got my career off the ground and she got through the rest of school then her residency. I’m a news man, she’s a healer; a registered nurse. The wedding was nice. Our first child was a bit of a surprise, but nothing we couldn’t handle.

Everything was coming along great. We planned to buy a house as our second child was coming into our lives. That three-bedroom in Oak Park was quite cozy. Then, simultaneously good news and bad news: Laura got pregnant again and I lost my job at the Chicago Tribune. I gave my all for twelve years to that newspaper and got a “thanks for all the fish” moment from the finance bros from New York as they knee-capped an institution that had been in operation for one hundred and sixty-eight years at the time. We needed a larger house and I needed a job so we could do it. So, I took this vampire of a corporate job for the sake of my family. It’s been sucking the life out of me for ten years, but it means Laura and the girls have a cozy, safe home and a decent standard of living.

The plane touched down and then taxied to the terminal while I wore my disappointed scowl. I don’t ever show this side to my kids. Laura knows I’m unhappy, but newspaper journalism is all but dead, anymore. She understands my convictions. I was taught that a man puts himself to the side and provides for his family. Is it healthy? I doubt it but I’ve never spoken with a therapist, so what do I know?

At the terminal, it’s the same old story: once the flight attendants announce that we’ve docked and are able to leave the plane, everybody stands up at once. I’ve done this enough times that I simply stay seated until there’s enough of a gap to accommodate me. It takes a few minutes, but once I see an opening I reach for my carry-on in the overhead bin and casually make my way off the plane. Some people get a little impatient with the process and start shouting or pushing at this stage. I’m not them. I merely blend into the crowd and don’t impose on anyone. I even move far to the side of the gangway to let the impatient ones pass by without objection.

Inside the terminal, there are reunions all around me. Whether it’s a return from vacation, college, or even military service, there’s always somebody waiting for one of the passengers on the flight. Nothing for me, though. It’s a routine business trip. Nothing to get all worked up about. Laura is probably still at the hospital working a shift and the girls would be getting home from school in about an hour. I simply drape my suit jacket over my forearm, adjust my glasses, and pull out my phone. Call me old fashioned, but I’d rather call a cab than hail an Uber on an app. Within moments, I’m on with a dispatcher who reserves me one of the drivers already parked outside the terminal and tells me the number on the cab I should look for. I thank her cordially, stick my phone back in my pocket, and make my way out of the terminal.

When my head comes back up, something on one of the television screens catches my eye. It’s tuned to one of the 24-hour news stations with the volume disabled and closed captions enabled. The bottom third chiron reads “Scientists Debate Mystery Stellar Energy Wave Headed For Earth”. There are two scientists sitting around a table with the behind-the-desk personality. My curiosity gets the better of me and I read the captions on the screen.

[Dr. Marquez: “This is unprecedented. We’ve never detected an energy signal like this before. We don’t currently know its origin or how it will affect us here on Earth.”]

The second scientist scoffs. [Dr. Pierce: “Oh, please, Isobel! There’s no need to frighten the public! We became scientists to study the unknown. We shouldn’t be afraid of it.”]

The first scientist pinches her nose bridge. [Dr. Marquez: “Alan, we need to be serious, here. People have the right to know the truth. We’ve been tracking this thing for several days and it will hit in mere minutes. We have to prepare for any contingency.]

The host finally steps in. [Host: “Are you saying this thing could wipe us out?”]

[Dr. Marquez: “We don’t know. It’s traveling too fast for intensive study. I would advise the people at home to at least hug their children.”]

The screen went black. Everything went black: all the televisions, all the lights, and even my eyes. I felt myself crumple to the ground and there were a couple screams that echoed as I lost consciousness.

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

It must have been only moments later that I regained consciousness. I found myself on the floor looking up at the ceiling tiles. My body felt rather heavy and my vision was blurred at first. My fall had apparently been cushioned by my carry-on luggage, at least for my upper body. Rolling over ever so slightly, I found my glasses and slipped them on. Now, my vision wasn’t blurry and I scanned the surroundings. Lights were on. Televisions were on. The only difference seemed to be a general unease the people around me seemed to wear on their faces. A lot of those faces were fixed on the television screens. My only concern was rolling over and getting out of this airport.

Upon standing, I pulled out my phone and checked the time. A few minutes had gone by since I’d seen the time on the screen during the broadcast. The cabbie would no doubt be waiting for me and I needed to get home to my family. Getting on the move was proving a little difficult. Everything felt strange. My body didn’t want to work correctly as if I’d suffered a stroke or something. On the way out to the exit, I called my wife.

It only took one ring for the other end to activate and my wife’s somewhat frantic voice to answer, “Chris?! Honey, tell me you’re okay!”

I lightly chuckled in response. “I’m fine, Laura. I’m a little sluggish, probably because I fell over a minute ago.”

“Fell over? Sluggish? What are you talking about?”

“I think there was an EMP blast or something. All the televisions and lights went off, then I fell over. I landed on my luggage, though, so I’m generally okay.”

“Chris, that wasn’t an EMP. It was that energy thing they’ve been talking about most of this week. Are you tasting metal? Dizzy? Nauseous?”

I mentally take stock of my condition as she asks her questions. “No, honey. None of that. No stroke for me.”

“How’s your heart rate?”

“I don’t feel anything out of the ordinary there, honey. I’m just… sluggish. My body feels heavy. I’m going to catch a cab and head home. One of us needs to check on the girls. You may be stuck at the hospital for a little while. I’ve got this.” I finally reached the exit doors and scanned the surroundings for the area where the cabs were congregating.

“Be careful, Chris. I’ll look you over when I get home.”

I smiled at her as if she was right in front of me. “Wouldn’t expect anything less, Laura. See you at home. I love you.”

“Love you, too, Chris.”

Spotting the yellow cabs, my eyes started to scan the numbers on them for the one the dispatcher gave me moments ago as I tapped to hang up the phone and slip it into my pocket. It takes more than a few moments to find the actual cab I was looking for. It’s the standard Toyota Prius painted roughly the same yellow as a school bus with the trademark black-checkered stripe down the side. A guy in his mid-30s stood beside it. He was a bit shorter than me; most people are since I grew to 6’2” in high school. His polo shirt and jeans combo did little to hide all the body hair on his arms and chest. He looked up at me.

“Kent? Christopher Kent?” The cabbie asked.

I smiled at him. “Yes, that’s me. Thanks for waiting like this. I know you’re a busy man and I’d hate for you to miss a fare that got you more than my ride.”

The man shrugged. “It’s fine, my friend. Where to, today?”

“Home. Arlington Heights.”

He smiles and nods as he moves to help with my bag. “Oh, nice spot, Mr. Kent. Got lucky with that one, I’d think.”

I slowly nodded as I climbed into the back seat. “You might say that. We bought before the pandemic when prices were a little better. It still wasn’t cheap, but our three girls were not going to be happy sharing a room in a three bedroom.”

He climbed into the driver’s seat and started the meter. “I’ve got two of my own. Some say you can have them in the same room, but I’d rather avoid World War III inside my own house.”

I laughed. “I know exactly what you mean.”

“Being a girl dad is not for the faint of heart.”

My smile grew wider on my face. “No, it is not. Wouldn’t trade it for anything, though.”

“Me either.”

With that, we drove onward toward my address. We chatted a bit more about our kids. His girls were younger than mine, but that didn’t matter. He was smack dab in the fun stage when they try to do your hair and makeup. My youngest, Olivia, is in that stage. Just last week, she did my makeup to mixed reviews from the others. She’s only nine, so I imagine she’ll get better at it. His oldest is eight. They probably go to the same school.

I do take a few moments to give him a little advice. In a few short years, his girls will get to a point where they may seem like they hate him for a couple of years. Hannah, my oldest, did for a while. Madison, the middle child, did for a shorter amount of time. Laura always assured me they’d come around eventually, which they did. The rapid hormone fluctuations and the reality of menstruation can do a number on girls. Laura informed me that female puberty is just all around painful, which I relayed to my cabbie. After relaying a few anecdotal examples, we pulled up to the curb in front of the house Laura and I bought in 2017.

“...and above all, be there for them when they ask you to.” I reassured him with a tap on the shoulder.

He blinked rapidly for a moment. “Well, thanks, Mr. Kent. I knew I was in for it, but I didn’t know how bad. It’s good to know there’s a light at the end of that tunnel.”

“There always is, my friend.” I nodded to him as I took my carry-on out of the trunk. Grabbing out my phone, paying for the ride with a little extra tip was simply a tap away. “You have yourself a good day, now. Drive safe!”

The guy waved as he drove away and I turned toward my home. Like almost everything else in American Suburbia, it really wasn’t very special. Two above-ground floors with a finished basement down below. It had fake shutters and a brick facade. The two car garage held both mine and my wife’s car when we were both home. I kept the lawn looking nice enough without having any semblance of a green thumb. It was just a typical house built around the time I was born and looked like it was the star of some family sitcom back in the day. The outside didn’t matter to me as much as what was inside.

Slowly, I made my way to the front door and then through it. Alas, no one was home. Calling out would do no good. School would be in session for maybe the next hour and shifts are long at the hospital. Letting out a sigh, I trudged over to the living room and set myself on the couch. The cushion felt lovely beneath my body. My eyes shut fairly quickly.

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

“DADDY!” Olivia’s shrill glee startled me awake.

My body rose to a seated position much faster than I would have liked. I turned to see a bouncing blur of blonde hair and orange sundress. She’d discarded her backpack near the door. The force she used to tackle me with a hug knocked a little wind out of me. Naturally, I reciprocated the hug.

“Well, hello, to you, too, sweetheart,” I chuckled.

Hannah and Madison nodded at me from the foyer in typical teenager fashion. “Hey, Dad,” they greeted in unison before heading to their rooms upstairs. I can’t blame them, much.

Hannah, our eldest at 18, had hair like mine: a deep chocolate brown with the slightest hint of a curl to it. Watching her grow into her 5’8” frame was truly a privilege. She’s always had a fierce independence, like her mother, and a love of sports even if she didn’t play on any teams at school. Madison, our middle child at 15, was blessed with auburn locks and a 5’6” frame. She was our creative type that dabbled in dance, theater, and played her electric guitar as often as she could get away with. Olivia, our youngest at 9, inexplicably has blonde locks with a bit more curl to them than even mine. Right now, her personality is changing by the day. I’m lucky if I can convince her to watch Bluey with me from time to time.

Olivia looked at me with those pretty green eyes her mother gave her. “Did you bring me anything, Daddy?”

With a small smile, I chuckle, “Not this time, Princess. It’s one of the places I’ve already been a few times and all the stuffies were pretty boring.”

Her entire body slumped in disappointment. “Dang it.”

“That’s what I said! I was really disappointed. I’m sorry, kiddo.”

She tried to grip me in a tighter hug. “It’s okay, Daddy. You tried.”

A tear forms in my eyes as I wrap my comparatively huge arms around her. “Of course I did, sweetheart. Anything for my girls.” We linger on the hug for a few moments. These are the moments I’ve always treasured. They’re gone so soon. She released the hug and I went back into parenting mode. “Okay, sweetie, why don’t you get your backpack upstairs and do your homework.”

She slumps again. “Homework?” she whines. “Do I have to?”

“Yes, ma’am, you do. C’mon. Chop-chop.”

I watched her move back toward the foyer in reluctant, dramatic fashion. It’s a skill preteens the world over have probably mastered. If nothing is said, then they’ll do as asked but they are certainly trying to get you to reconsider your request. There have been times in the past that I have faltered but after two other children who have tried this tactic I was on my A-game. Not feeling well was also helping.

As the girls settled in after school, I stayed on the couch. Remote in hand, I wanted to see what the world was saying about the current state of affairs. After being laid off, I lost all access to any of the apps or group chats people used in the business. Thus, I’d have to rely on them to find out what’s been going on. The challenge, anymore, was finding the truth. A lot of broadcast news sources just go for “dibs” and forget to actually do much journalism. My media literacy had always been fairly spot on, so I knew which channels to trust and which ones to not even glimpse at.

Settling on a channel that was usually quite truthful, I found myself in the midst of the broadcast about the events of the day. It would seem the “Stellar Energy Wave” from earlier at the airport is everywhere right now. There seems to be quite a bit of sensationalization about it. Getting to the truth of the matter took a few minutes. After sifting through the cross-talk, I was able to glean that some kind of energy wave or pulse had struck the Earth today. It knocked out a lot of electronic devices and lights. There had been more than a few car accidents as a result, but thankfully no plane crashes. Air traffic control had been set back about ninety seconds, which had caused massive delays for air travel all around the world. It’s speculated that supply chains have been affected, but no one knew by how much just yet. Worse, nobody had any idea what kind of energy passed through our little blue marble or what kind of long term effects will be felt.

All of it was giving me quite a headache. I sunk further into the couch and closed my eyes. Before long, I actually fell asleep. The sound of the newscast faded as I did so. No dreams came to me while my body lay there on the couch. No passage of time was perceived at all.

The next thing I felt was something impacting my face. My eyes struggled to open at first, but then another slap hit my face and they shot open. The first thing I saw was the worried face of my wife, Laura. Just behind her stood all three of our daughters with the same worried face. Confusion overtook me.

“Jesus, Christopher!” came the worried shrill from Laura. “I’m so glad you’re awake! I’ve been slapping you for five minutes!”

My voice emerged hoarse. “What? What’s going on?”

All three of my daughters breathed in relief. Meanwhile, my wife began taking my vitals like the seasoned nurse she is. “How are you feeling, honey?”

A sharp pain erupted in my head while a ring in my ears crescendoed like Madison had hit the highest note on her guitar and turned up the amp. “GAH! My head! My ears!” As my arms moved to cover my ears in a vain attempt to stop the ringing, the material of my shirt barely managed to slide over my sweat-drenched skin.

“Something is wrong, Chris. Very wrong! We may need to get you to the hospital! Your heart rate is up, you’ve got cold sweats, and your skin does not look right!” Laura frantically informed me.

After clamping shut with the sharp head pain and ringing ears, my eyes opened again, but something was very off. All I could see was some bluish tint to the world, the outlines of objects and the four people in the room, but the thing that got me the most was the fact I could actually see their skeletons. “WHAT THE HELL?!” As Laura moved closer, all I could see was a vague outline of her body and her skeleton, mostly her skull, move closer to my face. I shrieked.

I could clearly hear Madison whisper to Hannah as if she were whispering in my own ear. “When has dad ever used a swear word before?”

Then, Hannah seemed to be whispering in my other ear. “Never. This is freaky.”

When Laura spoke, it sounded like she was in a stadium at the microphone with thousands of speakers projecting her voice. “Tell me what’s going on, Christopher!”

I tried my hardest to move away from her… and found myself on the far side of the room in the blink of an eye. Turning back to my family, it was still the same blue world and skeletons. I couldn’t see the expressions on their faces. “All I see are skeletons…”

A pain erupted in my core that forced me onto hands and knees. All of my muscles spasmed at once and I felt a sense of vertigo. My entire body felt like it was radiating heat it shouldn’t be capable of. I closed my eyes and clenched my teeth. My hands and knees felt like they were moving along the floor for a moment. Simultaneously, my clothes felt like they were getting bigger by the second. As my muscles vibrated my body with their spasms, it seemed to jiggle like Jell-O. I even felt my throat constrict ever so slightly. Inexplicably, my shoes completely slipped off my feet. I could hear the gasps and stunned grunts from my family as they looked on. Something tickled my cheeks and the back of my neck as I breathed through whatever was happening.

After a few moments, the world became a lot more quiet and there were no more strange sensations. Breathing heavily, I opened my eyes. Mercifully, the world was back to normal. My hands looked very strange and the sleeve of my shirt was very loose. I struggled to stand, but finally managed to do so. My clothes, which had fit quite well moments ago, felt like they had grown several sizes. When I turned to look at my family, all their eyes were wide as dinner plates. There was awe, fright, and worry written into their expressions.

“What?” The voice coming out of me was not my own. It had said what I wanted to, my vocal chords vibrated, my lungs released air, and I could feel vibrations on my lips. However, gone was the gruff baritone. It was replaced by the light lilt of a teenage girl. My strange hands shot up to clasp over my mouth in disbelief.

“If I had not just watched it happen, there’s no way you could convince me THAT is my father.” Hannah stated plainly.

“Deadass.” Madison responded breathlessly.

Laura cautiously stood up. “Christopher?”

The voice of a teenage girl came out of me once again. “It’s me, honey. What happened?”

Tears began to stream down Olivia’s face. “Daddy?”

My heart broke. “I’m right here, Princess.” My attention turned back to my wife. “Laura, what happened to me?”

She looked me directly in the eyes. “We’re going to the hospital.”

Beacon of Hope



Chapter Two

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=j_MlBCb9-m8 ))

The trip to the hospital was unsettlingly quiet and filled with tension. Laura insisted we take her vehicle and I was relegated to the passenger seat. The girls were in the back. A few times I glanced toward Olivia and she wouldn’t even look at me. A pit had formed in my stomach and a frog lodged itself in my throat. Many thoughts ran through my mind, none of them much intelligible. Sparks of emotion, really. Nobody said a word as my wife’s SUV weaved through the street grid toward her place of employment.

One thing I really noticed before we climbed into the car was that, beyond my clothes being uncomfortably loose, I wasn’t much taller than Laura or Hannah. At six-foot-two, I should be much taller than either my wife, who stands five-foot-nine, or my eldest daughter, who stands five-foot-eight. Walking to the car, it seemed I was roughly the same height as my wife and just a little taller than Hannah. There were other oddities such as: how my body felt, how it moved, and sensations in places there shouldn’t be any or where there should be. About a mile from the hospital, curiosity got the better of me and I flipped the sun visor down. Opening the lid on the vanity mirror, I caught my first glimpse at myself.

Wavy, dark chocolate hair draped from my head to just below my shoulders. There were no wrinkles on my face whatsoever. Overall, my skin seemed to have lightened a few shades and gained a youthful sheen. My eyes seemed to be a striking and vibrant shade of blue, which was close to how I remember them in my youth. My nose seemed smaller and my lips a little more plump. Examining myself, I tilted the mirror downward a bit more. My neck was as smooth as my wife’s or my daughters’. Looking a little further down, the mirror showed me two prominent fleshy mounds on my chest that could only be referred to as one thing. Startled, I closed the lid on the vanity mirror and flipped the sun visor back up.

“Honey, I have breasts…” I announced through quick breaths.

“Noticed that at the house, Chris.” Laura stated, keeping her eyes on the road.

“...and I look like a child.” I added.

“You look like me, Dad… except you… except like a girl.” Hannah stumbled through confirming.

Laura didn’t respond. She pulled into the parking lot of the hospital and prepared to leave the vehicle. “Enough stating the obvious, everyone. Let’s go.”

I could plainly tell that she was confused and frightened. We all filtered out of the car and toward the emergency department without another word. Olivia opted to hold Hannah’s hand rather than mine like she typically might. Deciding not to focus on it, I scanned our surroundings and found several ambulances near the entrance. It was perfectly clear this might be the case when I was watching the news at the house.

The headache came back. The crescendo was much faster than before. My hands flew to my head and I fell to my knees. In the next moment, a red filter applied itself to my vision as if it were a slow shutter until it closed in the middle. Panicked, I looked all around me. The moment my eyes fell on one of the concrete pillars outside the building, my eyeballs felt hot as if I had a fever. I watched as it seemed to be impacted by something. Adversely, my headache disappeared as I watched a localized blast impact the pillar like a large-calibur bullet. I quickly closed my eyes and held them shut, deducing that I must be causing the damage.

As I struggled to keep my eyes closed, Madison exclaimed, “Fucking LASER EYES?! What the shit, Dad?!”

“Madison! Watch your language!” My wife and I chorused in scolding her.

“Looked more like a red-orange phaser to me,” Hannah quipped.

The heat finally left my eyes and I opened them cautiously. With the world looking the same as it always does, I lowered my hands and turned to the others. “Let’s get inside and find out what’s going on.”

No one objected.

Through the doors, our first stop was the security station. The rent-a-cop behind the desk checked everyone in but me and gave them little identification stickers. Further in, we reached the registration desk. The person behind a computer looked up at us and saw me as the only one without a visitor sticker.

“What seems to be the issue, folks?” She asked.

I spoke up. “Something really strange happened to me and I need to get checked out.”

“Gonna have to give me more than that, sweetie. What happened?”

“Well…” I began.

Laura stepped forward. “Until about ten minutes ago, this person was my husband, Christopher Kent.”

Some of the nurses behind the counter looked over at us and one recognized my wife. “Laura? Didn’t you get off shift about half an hour ago?”

Laura nodded. “I did. Can we just get checked in so somebody can take a look at Chris and figure out what happened?”

The nurse pointed at me. “THAT is your husband? The teenager that’s a dead ringer for one of your kids?”

I got a little angry at this point and raised my voice. “Can we just can it and get me checked in, please?! This is weird enough without the scrutiny, thanks!” I took a quick breath to calm down. As I exhaled quickly, frost formed on the plexiglass dividing the waiting area from the staff area, a protective measure from the pandemic. “Christopher Kent. Date of birth: April 18, 1980.”

I could hear my daughters gasping in the background. Madison leaned over and whispered to Hannah thinking I couldn’t hear. “You thinking what I’m thinking?” She waited for a non-verbal response I couldn’t see. Once she got it, she responded, “It’s giving Superman.”

Rolling my eyes, I simply extended my arm awaiting the inevitable hospital bracelet. Laura finished relaying our address, my phone number, confirming herself as the emergency contact, and confirming our insurance information. Typical hospital things. Finally, I felt the bracelet being wrapped around then fastened to my arm. We turned and did our best to find a spot to sit together. It wasn’t easy with the number of patients around. It had been a weird day, so more than the usual amount of weird things happened that sent people to the hospital emergency room waiting area.

We sat there for HOURS while we waited. It was clear I wasn’t actually hurt, so I was definitely not a priority. That suited me just fine because it was definitely my feeling that the people actually hurting should be seen first. Comparatively, I’m just having a weird day. Hannah and Madison messed around on their phones. Laura had brought a tablet for Olivia. After a while, I stood up and started pacing.

The girls were all born over at Rush Oak Park Hospital about twenty miles from here. We don’t go to hospitals much. I was accustomed to the surroundings at ROPH. I was not as familiar with the interior of Northwest Community, where we had gone and Laura works. The difference in my surroundings was what was affecting me. Generally, everything is a little further away than it was at that time. The tops of doors seemed a little higher. The chairs seemed a little taller. It wasn’t just the comparative heights between myself and my family. It was such a slight difference. The only comparative concept is an “uncanny valley” in art or film: where a face looks almost human but our brains know it isn’t, subconsciously, so it looks weird to our conscious minds. That’s what I was feeling about the world around me: the uncanny valley.

At one point, I stopped to stare at a television screen while the news was on. It was one of the stations I know to be a little more loose with the truth, but I was looking for those kernels of truth. It was all still much the same. Nobody knows what exactly happened. Scientists are baffled. There have been some casualties and fatalities linked to car crashes all across the United States. No plane crashes but massive delays. The airlines have been delayed four to six hours, they speculate. The thing that caught my eye was isolated reports of people with certain… abilities. In the exact words of the commentator: powers like people in comic books or comic book movies. Could that be what’s happening to me?

I’ve read several comics in my day and seen a few movies on the big screen about superheroes. In 2025, who hasn’t? They’re fantasy, though. Some are science fiction, but that’s basically the same genre in a round about way. They’re not real. Like the gods, monsters, heroes, and villains from antiquity we study in literature classes, it’s all myth with a deeper meaning. They teach lessons as well as entertain people. The things they can do are larger than life. They were never meant for the real world.

On a whim, I returned to sitting with my family. Each of them looked bored, except for Laura who seemed to have the weight of the world behind her eyes. Olivia was slumped against her refusing to make eye contact with me. Letting out a sigh, I turned to the teenagers.

“What did you mean by ‘It’s giving Superman’, Madison?” I asked cordially. The pitch of my voice was still confounding me.

She leaned forward from behind her sister to look at me as we were all sitting in a line with Laura and Olivia opposite us. “You heard that?” She asked, an eyebrow raised.

I closed my eyes and took in a breath. “Yes, Madison, I heard you.”

She shook her head and rolled her eyes. “There’s another one.”

“Another one what?”

Hannah scoffed. “Madi, don’t.”

Madison sneered at her sister. “He’s gonna figure it out eventually.” She then turned to me. “Okay, so… remember back at home when you said all you could see was skeletons? Did you mean that literally?”

That creepy image came back to my mind and my eyes widened in response. “Unfortunately, yes. There was this blue filter over my eyes. There were all kinds of outlines of the things in our house. I could see the electronic structure of the TV. When I looked at all of you, all I could see was the outlines of your bodies… and your skeletons.”

“So, x-ray vision.” Madison concluded. “Also, when you moved from the couch to the bay window, none of us saw you move. It was REALLY fast. Then, you shot these beams out of your eyes that took out a chunk of that pillar outside. When we got here, you frosted over the plastic spit barrier at the check-in desk. Just after that, you heard me whisper to Hannah.”

My brow furrowed at her. “What are you saying?”

“Your power set, Dad.” She counted on her fingers as she listed things off. “X-ray vision, super hearing, super speed, heat vision, and frost breath. If we find out you’re super strong, basically invulnerable, and you can fly, you’re basically Superman.”

Hannah joined in. “Normally, I’d call my sister an unhinged, cringe-worthy nerd but she’s got a point. Some weird stuff is going on today. Especially with you, Dad.”

Letting out a sigh, I allowed my head to fall while closing my eyes. “No kidding.” Taking a large breath, I continued. “The reason I asked is because I was watching the news on the TV over there. The desk anchor was reporting about some people actually having powers, like in the comic books or in the movies. Unsubstantiated, of course.”

“What’s ‘unsubstantiated’?” Hannah asked.

“In the news business, it means they’ve heard some rumors but haven’t been able to collect enough sources to report it as fact.” I rolled my eyes. “In the rush to be first to report on something, they’re forgetting to tell the irrefutable truth.”

Laura finally joined the conversation by rolling her eyes and responding, “The old ‘some people are saying’ that some stations get away with.”

I nodded in her direction. “Exactly. Perversion of the news, if you ask me.”

She managed a smile in my direction. “My husband: the news man with integrity.”

“Darn tootin’ I am.”

My teenage daughters slapped their faces with their palms. Hannah spoke for both of them. “Geezus, Dad. You can be so corny, sometimes.”

Olivia finally spoke, looking up at Laura. “Mom, why does Daddy look like Hannah?” Her eyes then finally landed on me.

“We don’t know, yet, honey. That’s what the doctors are going to figure out.”

As if on cue, one of the nurses approached us. “Hello. Are you folks the Kents?”

Laura turns to her. “We are… ?”

“Which one of you is Christopher?”

I held up my arm with the hospital band on it. “That would be me.” I may have to get used to the double-take she gave me at that moment.

The nurse led me to the triage room and set about taking my vitals. Laura and the girls waited just outside the room. She first put me on a scale with a ruler on it, getting my height and weight: five feet and ten inches tall, weighing in at one hundred and fifty three pounds. Last I checked, I was six feet and two inches tall while weighing about one hundred and eighty six pounds. In a matter of moments back in my living room at the house, I’d lost four inches of height and thirty-three pounds. That doesn’t take into account an apparent change of sex and return to youth. The other vitals such as blood pressure, heart rate, oxygen saturation, temperature, and breaths per minute were all within normal parameters.

After a heated discussion about not being seemingly sick or injured at all, I was finally escorted to an exam room with my family in tow. Once again, we had to wait a while for anyone to even come into the room to attend me. When they finally did, they were rather dismissive but cooperative. Nearly an hour passed before the doctor even came into the room. In his green scrubs, he looked utterly exhausted and a little confused when he walked in. He did that double-take in my direction.

“Am I in the wrong room? The chart is showing that there’s a forty-five year old man in here.” The doctor asked.

“You’re in the right room, doctor.” I sighed as I spoke. “I’m Christopher Kent.”

He blinked several times. “Wow… okay… I mean… you’re the third one this shift.”

“Third one what?”

“Mysterious, almost instantaneous sex change or age regression… or both.” The doctor announced before taking a strong breath. “Okay, we’ll get a full blood panel, some CTs, and a full MRI. I don’t know if we’ll be able to get any answers about how or why this happened. You’ll probably be here for a while. Are you okay with that?”

I turned to my wife. “Laura?”

She firmly nodded. “We need to know, Chris.”

My gaze turned back to the doctor. “Let’s do it, Doc.”

He simply nodded and got to work. I turned again toward my wife and kids. She looked worried still and they all looked tired and bored. My conscience would not allow me to inconvenience them for many more hours. A minute or two after the doctor left, a phlebotomist came into the room armed with needles and vials. She began to prepare my skin for the needle poke.

“Honey, maybe you should take the kids home. They look really bored and tired. I don’t want to feel like I’m forcing them to stay here or anything.” I stated toward Laura.

None of them responded at first and all of them looked at the arm the phlebotomist was trying to get a needle into. I turned to look and she’d already broken or bent three needles. She was trying one last time to put a needle in my arm. It wouldn’t penetrate. Instead, the needle bent under the force. The phlebotomist looked at me with surprised eyes.

“I can’t get a needle in. Your skin isn’t even indenting when I try.” She stated plainly.

Madison raspberried her lips. “Invulnerable.”

“Madison, don’t jump to conclusions.” I scolded her before turning back to the phlebotomist. “Has this ever happened before?”

She shook her head. “No. I’ve never bent or broken a needle against someone’s skin. This is too weird. I’m gonna talk to the doctor.”

“You tried your best. Thank you.” I softened my tone toward her, understanding the plight.

She shuffled her cart away with the bent and broken needles. I felt really bad for her. As soon as she left the room, Laura turned to me.

“Okay, Chris. I’m going to take the girls home. They have school in the morning.” She sighed. “I’ll get them settled in and come back.”

I nodded slowly. “Sounds like the best idea, honey.”

No one hugged me or gave me a kiss when they left. There’s never been a time in my life where a parting from my kids or my wife didn’t involve some sort of hug. Laura and I don’t part without a kiss good-bye. My heart sank as I watched them leave. Part of me longed for that connection but the other part understood that this entire situation must be just as weird for them as it was for me.

The next few hours crawled along like anyone that’s been in the hospital and subjected to such a vast battery of tests would experience. The staff had me strip out of my sweaty clothes and into a hospital gown. There was a moment that I marveled at how completely my body had changed. I’d seen very few naked women before Laura and I got together. This body seemed fairly standard fare. I didn’t dwell on the moment too long before slipping on the hospital gown and subjecting myself to whatever tests they deemed necessary. CT scans, x-rays, MRIs, a pelvic exam, and urinalysis were all conducted. I had empathy for my wife at the gynecologist before, but now I knew exactly what that was like. Laura came back after the CT scans and held my hand through the pelvic exam like I’ve done for her numerous times. They at least let us order some food since we were there so long.

After a couple hours more, the doctor finally came in to speak with Laura and I. It was a different doctor than we’d seen hours before. This one was a thirty-something woman that actually wore a lab coat over her scrubs. She came in with a clipboard that contained the chart information that had been gathered through the night.

“Okay, Mr. and Mrs. Kent. I’ve got good news and bad news, depending on your perspective,” She announced.

“Doctor, I’m a journalist. There’s no such thing as good news or bad news. There’s only objective truth. Please, proceed.” I stated.

“Well, that’s good at least.” She responded. “So, there’s nothing wrong with you, medically. No broken bones. No internal bleeding. We didn’t detect any pathogens in your urinalysis. We, apparently, can’t take any blood samples, so that’s not saying much.” She held the clipboard to her chest and took a quick breath. “As you no doubt already discovered from the pelvic exam, you are definitively female, Mr. Kent. MRI confirmed the presence of a female reproductive system with no trace of any male systems. Based on corroboration between the CTs, x-rays, and MRI, you seem to have anatomically become a young woman approximately seventeen years old. I have no explanation for you, other than that.”

“How is that possible? One minute, I’m a forty-five year old father of three and the next minute I’m my own daughter’s younger sister? It’s madness!” I exclaimed.

“I agree, Mr. Kent. If I knew how this happened, I’d be getting a letter from the Nobel Committee. Complete change of sex is something less complex organisms do every day, but not creatures as complex as humans. There’s no scientific precedent for age regression.”

Laura actually took my hand in comfort. “What are we supposed to do?”

The doctor shrugged. “I have no idea, Mrs. Kent. The only thing I do know is that we’re going to discharge you. There’s absolutely no medical reason to keep you. I suggest you go home and… I don’t know… adapt?”

Both Laura and I slumped. “Thank you, Doctor,” I sighed and moved to get off the gurney.

While getting myself dressed, Laura and I didn’t say a word. Neither of us were really prepared to face this new reality and “adapt”. Something quite profound had happened and a lot of things had changed. Worst was: there were no answers. Questions swirled around in my mind about what this meant for me, for Laura, and for my children. Yet again, there were no answers.

Laura accepted the discharge paperwork on my behalf and we shuffled out of the hospital. All I had on was the button-up shirt, boxers, slacks, and socks I’d worn home from the airport. They were stained with dried sweat and it smelt horrific. None of it really mattered. The chill of the forty-five degree weather didn’t even register. My feet walking on the hard surface of the sidewalk and parking lot on the way to the car didn’t even register in my mind. It was as if my entire body was as numb as my mind. I settled into the passenger seat of my wife’s SUV, buckled in, and just stared out the window watching the suburban landscape pass by. Neither Laura nor I said a word to each other on the way home.

Once home, I followed Laura into the house. It was fairly quiet. It seemed like the girls were all in bed sleeping. We ascended the stairs to our bedroom. Laura excused herself to the bathroom and closed the door, which was a new behavior to me. I stripped out of the sweaty clothes, deposited them into the hamper, and found a t-shirt and sweatpants combination. My usual choice of underwear was proven unnecessary, so I didn’t wear any.

Laura and I climbed into bed and turned off the lights without exchanging a single word.

Beacon of Hope



Chapter Three

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=iOTcr9wKC-o ))

Waking up the next morning, every fiber of my being wished the prior evening and night was all one long dream. Maybe I fell asleep on the plane? Once I opened my eyes and shifted, reality set in. Laura was nowhere to be found. There was a thrown aside comforter and an indentation in the bed where she slept. The call of nature forced me out of bed and toward the bathroom. The act of relieving myself confirmed yesterday was no dream. The corroborating second source was the mirror.

Much like the vanity on the back of the sun visor in the car last night, I got a good look at myself. The wavy, dark chocolate brown hair was in disarray from a restless sleep. My brilliant blue eyes stared back at me, albeit with dark circles under them. My nose was basically the same, albeit smaller. My jaw had lost all pretense of masculine angular profile and become more rounded, even streamlined. My chin was more of a point than before. My lips seemed a little more plump, but basically the same. The wrinkles on my face were completely gone. There was almost a bioluminescent sheen to my skin. The overall shape of my head was smaller. At least my ears didn’t change much. My neck was smooth and thinner than it had ever been. Two mounds tented my t-shirt but I couldn’t see much of anything else with how loose the shirt and sweatpants were. I was glad for that.

Hannah was right, though. The girl in the mirror did look like her, but only in age range and familial resemblance. Thus, like her but me but female. There is no self-respecting editor that would ever allow a sentence like that to reach a page.

Turning from the mirror, I ventured back into the bedroom Laura and I shared to make the bed. Once it was tidy, I ventured further into the house. All the family bedrooms were upstairs. Laura and I had our own ensuite bathroom. The girls shared a bathroom in the hallway. They each had their own room. Descending the stairs brought on sensations I was not ready to face right now. At the bottom of the stairs, the living room where my own personal nightmare began was to the left. I rounded the corner and followed the hallway to the kitchen near the back. There was a good cup of joe calling my name.

Even as I went through the motions of pouring cold coffee into a mug, popping in the microwave, and waiting a couple minutes, there was the feeling of isolation. The five bedroom and three bathroom house felt like an enormous cavern. All that space for one person. Laura had probably gone to work. The girls had already gone off to school. I glanced at the digital clock on the coffee pot. Eleven twenty-two in the morning. I hadn’t slept in like this since my raucous college days. At the microwave beep, I grabbed my now hot cup of coffee, added some sugary liquid creamer, stirred it, and padded my bare feet on the laminate wood flooring we’d had installed to replace carpet a few years back.

The only activity that came to my mind was to watch the news. I’d missed a lot overnight, so it was time to catch up. Entering the same living room where everything happened last night gave me momentary pause, but I slowly overcame it. Finding the remote in the same place I left it last night, I tapped the power button. In much less than a second, the TV was on and still tuned to the same channel.

For the next few hours, I lost myself in the stories of the day: Russia v. Ukraine, Israel v. Palestine, Sudan v. itself, and the President v. everything else. Unfortunately, those pertinent issues are relegated to side stories. The breaking news was all about yesterday’s events. Per usual, most of the “reporting” was speculative. Nobody seemed to have any hard facts to report. They were making it up as they went along. Such is the nature of 24-hour news. Real journalism requires time. Time to investigate, time to corroborate, time to organize into coherent reality, and time to actually inform people.

Frustrated, I decided to check for any local news coverage on the situation. I managed to catch the WCIU broadcast. They were also talking about this breaking story. However, they decided to interview a scientist rather than talking heads with national scope. The anchor was the usual late-20s pretty boy. The interviewee was a Hispanic woman that appeared to be a little older than him. She was dressed very well in her suit jacket but looked uncomfortable wearing it. Her dark hair was tied back in a tight bun and black plastic rim glasses sat atop her nose.

“Here with us today is a researcher from the University of Chicago, Dr. Isobel Marquez. As the world has been trying to sort out what exactly happened yesterday, Dr. Marquez has been at the forefront of solving that puzzle. An astrophysicist and cosmologist, she has dedicated her life to discovering the mysteries of our universe. It’s an honor to have you in our studio, Dr. Marquez.” the anchor introduced his guest.

She nodded cordially to him. “It’s my pleasure to offer insight into the truth of what we’re all experiencing, Mr. Olsen. Thank you for having me.”

He shifted his posture ever so slightly as he began the interview proper. “Dr. Marquez, the elephant in the room is obvious: what, exactly, happened yesterday?”

“I’m glad someone finally asked that question. It’s simple, really. A wave or pulse of energy was detected by the Gemini Observatory in Hawaii several days ago. Many astronomers and cosmologists have been hypothesizing what it could be because we’ve never witnessed anything else like it. We believed it to be a novel astronomical phenomenon. As we observed it, we became aware of its blueshift wavelength.”

“Mind breaking that down for our viewers, Doctor? What’s a blueshift wavelength?”

“A blueshift wavelength refers to the frequency of the light getting shorter. Adversely, a redshift wavelength refers to the frequency of the light getting longer. In astronomy, these denote an object or phenomenon moving closer to the observer or further away. It’s called the Doppler Effect. You can observe a similar phenomenon watching a video of a semi-truck blowing its horn or in person. The horn seems to increase in pitch as it approaches you and decrease in pitch as it moves away. We have observed many of the galaxies in our cluster moving away from us. The light coming from them is in a redshift wavelength pattern. However, our neighbor the Andromeda Galaxy is moving toward us, its light emitting a blueshift wavelength.”

“So, you’re saying that this unknown thing was moving toward us?”

“Oh, yes. Observatories all around the world were confirming it within hours. We had no idea what it was but it was, by all calculations, going to hit our planet. We were able to deduce that it was, in fact, energy rather than a solid object, which brought immense relief. There was no use tracking its speed as it was the speed of light. At first detection, it was well outside the solar system; approximately twenty-five times the distance from the sun to Pluto. We didn’t have much time to really study it before it was going to hit.”

“The public was notified that some disruptions to our lives may occur mere hours before it happened, but why weren’t we notified much sooner if you and your colleagues knew it was going to hit a full six days in advance?”

The good doctor clenched her jaw. “National Security.”

This kid was really asking some hardball questions. I had underestimated the guy.

The anchor, now identified as Jakob Olsen on the screen, nodded quickly. “I see. What do you make of the reports of ‘people with powers’ coming in? Could this be linked to your phenomenon?”

“My hypothesis on the topic is this phenomenon originated from interstellar space. It could perhaps even have originated in a neighboring galaxy. I’ll have to retroactively track its trajectory to be certain. As a cosmologist, I know that there is still quite a lot we don’t know about the universe. What I won’t do is respond to speculation and rumor.” Dr. Marquez stated plainly.

The anchor smiled. “I think we’ll punctuate with that. Thank you, Dr. Marquez.”

The broadcast moved on to the weather afterward. Why had I never heard of this guy before? Who was this Jake Olsen person? What was readily apparent was that he was quite the journalist. He wanted the truth. He danced around the speculation, but wasn’t concerned with it. Good, solid, honest reporting. The good doctor handled herself well opposite such a journalist. She kept to the facts without veering off course. She never took his bait. This interview could go national.

A phone rang. The sound hit my ears as muffled. I started searching the couch cushions to no avail. It rang again and I did what I could to discover its location. Slightly frantic, I rushed upstairs, but had to stop myself. I had just ascended the stairs in less than half a second. I looked behind me to marvel at the achievement for a moment before the phone rang again. It was coming from mine and my wife’s bedroom. I once again experienced myself move at incredible speed and heard the tail end of the ring. It was coming from the hamper. I dug into it and discovered the pants I’d worn yesterday with my phone still in the pocket. Pulling it out, the screen read “Mom and Dad”. Without thinking, I answered the phone.

“Hello?” I greeted.

“Hannah? Madison?” My mother’s voice wondered. “Why do you have your father’s phone?”

The realization of what I’d done hit me like a ton of bricks. I answered honestly, “It’s not Hannah or Madison, Mom.”

“You sound too young to be Laura. Who are you, young lady?”

“Mom… it’s me… Christopher.”

My mother has always been a pragmatic, facts-oriented woman. It was never a mystery where I inherited those traits from. She was quite skeptical at first. As I explained the events of yesterday, she began to understand more. I told her about the trip, the airport, the pulse thing, the ride home, and the rest of the evening. I left nothing to speculation. Just the facts, as Joe Friday used to say. She asked a lot of probing questions and I answered honestly. Our conversation carried on for over an hour and I still wasn’t sure whether or not she believed a word she was hearing. She then asked the one question I didn’t expect.

“What’s the family secret? Christopher would know this.” She asked firmly.

Caught off guard, I didn’t know how to answer at first. My mind searched for the one fact she was looking for. When my mind finally reached the answer, I breathed a heavy sigh. “We’re Jewish. Grandma barely escaped Europe after being planted with a Catholic family in the Netherlands when she was six, just before the German invasion. They hid her until the liberation, when she met an army corporal, fell in love, and moved to his hometown: Sheboygan. You found her original birth certificate hidden in a letter written in Yiddish in her cedar chest. You also found her Dutch passport with her assumed name: Mieke Keller. Most people called her ‘Marie’, though. We don’t talk about it because grandma was really traumatized by it all.”

The sound of the phone dropping on the ground was rather loud, to my ear. It had never been that loud before, but I guess this is part of that “super hearing” Madison was talking about. Noises denoting she’s fumbling with the phone followed before it was back up to her ear. Strangely, I could hear her heart rate increase.

“Christopher…” She breathed shakenly. “...is… is it really you?”

Not that she could see me, but I nodded. “It is, Mom. I can’t explain how at all, but it’s me. I don’t even know how to tell you how alien this voice is and I’m not even going to entertain the idea of my body, right now.”

Her voice was still shaking and her heart rate was up. “How… how did this even happen?”

“It happened right here in my living room in front of my wife and children last night. We went to the hospital, but all they could tell me was that I was a perfectly healthy seventeen year old girl. All the parts and everything. It’s all the same thing we just spent the last hour discussing.” I sighed, emotion climbing and causing tears to build up in my eyes.

“Your father and I have been hearing about that pulse on the news. It tripped his pace maker.” Her heart rate remained high.

It was my turn for a rise in heart rate. “Oh my god! He’s okay, right?!”

I could hear her skin glide against the phone. She was nodding. “Yes, honey. Your father is fine. It was only a few seconds.”

The well of tears increased in volume. “Geez, Mom… please don’t scare me like that.” I swallowed a knot in my throat. “Yea, so… there’s a correlation between the wave and what happened last night. Nothing definitive whatsoever.” I let out a groan sigh. “I wish I still had a newsroom full of people to work the angles with.”

I heard my mother nod again. “We noticed that, too. There’s a lot of talk on the news, but very little being said.” She took a moment to think. “Have you heard them talking about people with powers? What kind of nonsense is that?”

I hung my head and closed my eyes. “That one is probably true, Mom. I’ve had some really strange experiences since last night.”

“Christopher, I need to be honest: I still don’t know what to say about all this. I know my son to be a forty-five year old man. He’s a good husband to his wife, a good father to his children, and a positive member of his community. He makes sacrifices that might harm him but lead to a good life for his family. He’s engaged in his children’s lives. He’d give the shirt off his back or the last dollar in his wallet if he felt someone needed it more than him. I know it’s you, but… it’s really throwing me off that I think I’m talking to Hannah or Madison in the back of my mind.”

“I know, Mom. Can you imagine what I’m going through, right now?”

“Oh, HEAVENS yes. What are you going to do? Are you even going to be able to go back to work? How are you and Laura going to work? What about the girls? There are so many unknowns right now.”

Tears finally began to fall. “I don’t even know, Mom. I’m scared. I don’t know what I’ll do to provide for my family and back Laura up on the bills. She seems so withdrawn, Mom. This is probably just as confusing and scary for her. And the girls…” I sobbed. “Olivia wouldn’t even look at me, last night. Wouldn’t make eye contact.”

My mother’s voice shifted to a tone I’m convinced only mothers can achieve. The soft, comforting, soothing tone they adopt when their children are in crisis. “Oh, sweetheart… I know it’s bad now, but it can improve. A lot of people are going to doubt you. Honestly, right now, I do. You have to hold your head up and show us who you are, honey.”

“I’ll try, Mom. I’ve always tried to be the son you deserve. Everything’s upside down now. I don’t know which end is up and I’m the stuffing of a bratwurst in a casing that isn’t mine.”

“What was that thing your English teacher in high school would always tell you?”

She took me off guard. “Mr. Hanson? I…” My eyes wandered over the surface of the wall in front of me, searching for the answer. That particular English teacher had made an impression on me and helped make me want to be a journalist. Suddenly, the answer arrived in my conscious mind. “He said ‘show me, don’t tell me’.”

I heard the skin slide over the plastic of the phone again. She nodded. “Exactly. I still can’t believe the voice I’m speaking to is my son. Show me. Don’t tell me.”

“Thanks, Mom.” Hearing the front door startled me. I quickly sniffed back some excess mucus and wiped the tears from my face. “I have to go, Mom. The girls are home.”

We quickly said our good-byes before I hung up the phone and desperately tried to wipe the tears from my eyes and face. The phone was set upon the night stand before I exited the bedroom and entered the hallway. At first sight of me, Hannah rolled her eyes and slipped past me without a word. A soft smile was extended to Olivia, but she gave me an odd look before entering her bedroom. Standing in the hallway, I was 0 for 2. Madison reached the top of the stairs and gave me a disapproving look.

“You kinda look like crap, Dad.” She noted.

I let out a sigh. “Yea, I know.”

With a cheeky grin, she pointed finger guns at her bedroom door. “Homework.”

I meekly nodded as she, too, disappeared behind the door. Oh for three, I guess. In a bit of a sulk, I descended the stairs, rounded the corner, and headed to the kitchen to prepare some dinner. It’s an unwritten agreement between Laura and I that the first person home after work cooks dinner. Tonight, I was emotionally drained and did not possess the drive to make anything elaborate. After a quick check of the cupboards and refrigerator, it was decided that tonight would be sloppy joes and macaroni and cheese with some broccoli on the side. Once the hamburger was browned, the sloppy joe mix was released from the can, the pasta shells were al dente, the cheese sauce added, and the broccoli steamed, I called everyone down for dinner while I served up plates. The entire process took about an hour.

Though the girls and I sat at the table to eat, nobody said a word. It was a lot of awkward silence and uncomfortable glances. Glancing at the clock on the wall, Laura was working late again. When the girls finished, at least they cleared their own plates before they shuffled off to their bedrooms. The dishes were swiftly rinsed and set in the dishwasher. Yet again, I felt myself just going through the motions of life.

My mood found me moving out to the back deck, leaning against the railing. We bought this house to have room for each of the kids. The spare bedroom was a bonus that was nice to find should either of our parents visit. The deck was the icing on the cake. We could watch the kids play and have some time to talk. Hannah was only ten when we moved in. Madison was seven. Olivia was barely a year old. Watching the sunset, I was keenly aware that those days were gone. I think, on some level, all parents would wish for those days to last forever.

I could hear Laura’s car pull into the driveway. She shuffled into the house through the mudroom. I might have marveled at this new ability of mine if the acquisition of such a thing hadn’t broken my life. Laura hung her keys near the garage and set her purse on a ledge I built for her. Her tired feet shuffled on the linoleum of the kitchen floor. I didn’t leave my perch on the deck. Her footfalls started moving toward the sliding door and she stepped out onto the deck.

“Hannah? What are you doing out here, sweetie?” She asked.

I hung my head and lay it against my arms on the railing. “I’m not Hannah.”

She stopped short a few feet behind me. “Oh…”

I turned to meet her eyes. “Long night again?”

“Yea… uh… Chris, I think you should sleep on the couch.” She turned and went back inside.

She was trying to hide it, but I could see the pain and confusion on her face. Maybe she accepted a bit of a longer shift at work so she could avoid coming home. I didn’t know for sure and she wouldn’t tell me. After twenty-two years of marriage, there wasn’t much that was still a mystery between us. It was starting to feel as if a rift was forming.

Turning back to watch the sunset, I couldn’t help but note the juxtaposition between the actual sunset and what felt like the sunset of my marriage. Laura and I had always acted like teenagers one minute and a well-oiled machine of teamwork the next.

I wanted to just start running somewhere. Anywhere. Problem is: where are you supposed to run to escape from yourself?

Beacon of Hope



Chapter Four

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=Bz2DYae3xKE ))

Awakening the next morning after spending the night on the couch, I was surprised to not wake up with back pain as I anticipated. I made quick work of folding and organizing the pillow and blanket before setting them at the far end of the couch. Thankfully, I could smell fresh coffee in the kitchen. Finding my way there, I was under the impression I would once again be the only one home. Perhaps this was the perfect opportunity to get through some housework that had been neglected the last few days.

Turning around after adding the right amount of creamer to my mug, Madison was standing at a slightly slanted angle with one arm on the back of one of the dining room chairs. I must not have been paying attention because she seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. She was at least dressed with a blue T-shirt, gray hoodie, blue jeans, and her go-to Converse sneakers. About to say something once completing my first sip of coffee, she beat me to it.

“We have a problem, Dad.” She stated.

Finishing my sip, I lowered the coffee mug. “I’d say we do. Why aren’t you in school, young lady?”

She casually shrugged. “It’s May Day. Teacher strike day. They’ve been talking about it for weeks.” She shook her head. “Not the point, Dad. How long are you going to wear the same T-shirt and sweatpants that don’t remotely fit you?”

The comment caused me to take a quick glance down at myself, then slumped. “I’d forgotten I was wearing the same thing since I changed after getting home from the hospital.”

“You’ve been forgetting a lot, Dad. Like how to shower, for one.”

I furrowed my brows at her. “Who’s the parent here?”

“Don’t deflect. After you finish your coffee, will you go upstairs and shower? I’ve got an idea.”

A quizzical eyebrow raised on my face. “Oh? Have a plan, do you?”

“Yes, I do. So, shower for me? Please?”

I rolled my eyes. “If it’ll make you happy, sweetheart.”

She smiled, nodded, then spun around to leave me with my coffee. It’s difficult to nail down the motivations of teenagers, at times. Nothing explaining her behavior would come to mind, save for the fact I really did need a shower and to put on fresh clothes. Her empathy likely picked up on my low mood the past couple of days. Laura and I had gone great lengths to foster those sorts of things in our children.

After finishing my coffee and putting the mug in the sink, I followed the request. Once in the bedroom Laura and I share, the shirt and pants came off and went directly into the hamper. There was always a fresh set of towels in the bathroom, so all I had to do was jump in and do my business. The air moving over my bare skin was one thing. Hot water cascading over it was another. Washing this foreign casing was yet a third. I’d like to think I did my best but I may not have.

After a few minutes, I emerged from the steamy bathroom having washed this alien body and my hair. Unfortunately, I had wrapped the towel around my waist as I had always done and Madison was waiting for me in the bedroom.

“Holy boobs!” She quickly turned her head. “Cover up, dude! Sheesh! Wrap the towel around your chest!”

Darting back into the bathroom, I resituated the towel with an embarrassed blush on my cheeks. “Sorry, Madison. This is new to me.”

She had already left the room. She spoke at a normal volume as if she knew I could hear her regardless. “I left some clothes on the bed. Put them on, please.”

I could, in fact, hear her perfectly. Clinging the towel to my body over my chest, I reemerged from the bathroom and cautiously scanned my surroundings. Madison had disappeared but left behind a collection of clothing sitting on the comforter on my side of the bed. I looked at the collection curiously as I toweled off. I couldn’t tell what all was there, but it sure was colorful. Atop the neatly folded pile was a pair of white tennis shoes. The rest was a blend of blue, red, and yellow. Since when did my daughter wear primary colors like this?

Lifting the shoes off the pile and setting them on the ground, I picked up the first article of clothing: panties. With a sigh and a shrug, I slipped them on. They fit fine, I assume. Next was a sports bra. What was Madison getting at? Having seen Laura put one of these on several times, I slipped it on like an incredibly tight tank top. It seemed a little tight, but otherwise fine. Next was something that somewhat looked like pants but weren’t. Laura and the girls called them ‘leggings’. Slipping them on, I was surprised to learn they fit well. Next was a yellow tank top. Finally, a blue hoodie. Unfurling it, I learned that it was the hoodie we’d gotten for Madison with the new Superman emblem specifically designed for the movie set to release over the summer on the chest. Rolling my eyes, I slipped it over my head. With the provided socks and shoes slipped on, I was dressed; albeit in my daughter’s clothes.

I exited the bedroom to the sight of my daughter smirking at me with a metal baseball bat slung over her shoulders. My surprise was written all over my face.

“Not bad, Dad. Figured you’d whine about the underwear, but you’re a trooper.” She nodded toward the stairs. “Let’s go.”

“Madison, I don’t know what you’re planning. Why am I dressed in predominantly primary colors with your new hoodie?” I wondered.

“Driving the point home, old man. You’ll see. We’re going out to Busse Woods, by the way.”

“Would you mind elaborating why you’re making all these requests?” I was fairly suspicious of her intentions. However, after having gotten the cold shoulder from the family for a full day, I was more than happy to engage with someone.

She didn’t say a word further. She led me through the house to the mudroom, tossed me my keys, opened the door, and waited by the passenger door of my car. I hadn’t touched the navy blue Toyota Camry in over a week. Fob in hand, the doors opened automatically when I put my hand on the handle. She climbed into the passenger seat as I climbed into the driver’s side.

After buckling in and reversing out of the garage, I guided the car southward in the direction of the Ned Brown Forest Preserve. A lot of people just call it “Busse Woods” because of the Busse Forest Natural Preserve. It’s one of the last remaining preserves of old growth hardwood flatwoods left in Chicagoland. It’s a pretty big draw for people in six townships seeking some good recreational areas. From her directions to head down Golf Road, I deduced that Madison wanted us to head over to the Ned Brown Model Airplane Flying Field. My mind remained suspicious yet curious about her intentions.

We arrived and settled into the parking lot about fifteen minutes after leaving. Madison unbuckled and climbed out of the car. I followed suit a moment later.

“Madison, what is this all about? Why are we here?” I finally asked her.

She scanned our surroundings. “It’s a Thursday and, like, nine a.m. Nobody’s here, yet.”

“Why does that matter?”

With one arm out, she gestured toward the front end of the Camry. “Pick up the car, Dad.”

“Excuse me?”

“We’re here for an experiment. Would you please indulge me?”

I continued to look at her with a raised eyebrow and confused expression. What was she getting at? There was no way I was going to be able to lift a vehicle weighing in at nearly two tons. Sighing at her, I bent down and made sure to grasp onto the frame rather than the plastic body panels. With my legs, I pushed upward.

“See, Madison, there’s no way…” The car lifted off the ground as easily as if I were lifting one of the children’s books I’d read to the girls to get them to sleep. With wide eyes, I gently put it back on the ground and turned to Madison.

She grinned at me like an imp. “See? Super strength.”

I was still squatting by the car with a stunned expression when something hit my shoulder and Madison cried out. I spun around quickly. The bat she was carrying lay on the ground with a dent in it and she was shaking her hands.

“Admittedly, I did not think that one through.” She announced. “Ouch.”

“What did you do, Madison? Are you hurt?”

“No, Dad. I’m fine. My bat isn’t doing so well.” She chuckled. “I hit you with it.”

“Why would you do that?”

“To prove a point. See that dent? I smacked you like I was going for a home run. You’re invulnerable, so far.”

“Madison Louise! What on Earth would possess you to hit me with a baseball bat?!” I narrowed my eyes on my daughter.

“Remember when the syringes wouldn’t break your skin at the hospital?” I nodded slowly, so she continued. “It’s because they can’t. The curve of your shoulder dented my bat because I hit you with everything I had. I knew I wouldn’t hurt you, Dad. I just needed to prove it to you.”

“What has gotten into you?”

“Nothing. Something really weird has happened to you and it’s not just that you look like a sister born between me and Hannah. You shot that pillar at the hospital with just your eyes. You saw our skeletons!” She was very animated in her description. “I’ve been hearing about people with powers all over social media. Instagram is full of people showing off. You would think it was doctored until you saw it for yourself.”

“What does this have to do with anything?”

“I’m trying to get you to acknowledge what’s happened to you, Dad.” Tears formed in her eyes. “Nobody else will. Hannah’s in denial and all depressed. Mom’s barely speaking to anyone. Olivia doesn’t know what to make of anything anymore.”

My heart and posture sank simultaneously. I spoke quietly. “I know.”

“Okay, so maybe you don’t look like my dad anymore. The gruff, depressed, but kind old guy is gone.” She sniffled as a tear rolled down her cheek. “You’ve slogged through the mud for so long you kinda forgot who you were. It’s about time something cool happened for you.”

Without thinking, I strode over and pulled my little girl into a hug. “Oh, sweetie… I’m not gone. I’m right here.” It shocked me that my voice came out with the same tone my mother had used in our phone conversation yesterday.

To my surprise, she hugged me back. “Kinda feels like it. You don’t look like you anymore. Everybody’s all depressed like you died or something, most of all you.”

“I’m really going through it, right now, kiddo.”

“I know. Mom made you sleep on the couch. She only does that when you’ve done something stupid.” She sniffled. “I’m trying to give you something to brighten up. I’ll work on everybody else later.”

“That’s not something you need to do, honey.”

“Somebody has to. Otherwise, the family’s going to fall apart and I don’t want that.”

“I admire your conviction, Madison. You’re only fifteen, though. You’re still a kid. It’s not on you, honey.”

She pulled back out of the hug. “Then maybe you need to. Look at me and focus. Try to see my skeleton.”

“I’d really rather not.”

“DAD!” She insisted.

With a sigh, I looked at her. It took a few moments of intense focus, but the blue filter came back like a closing shutter. I could see the outline of her body, her bones, the outlines of her internal organs, and beyond. I turned and looked at the car, seeing the outline of the body with all the metal parts inside.

“Whoa…” I breathed.

“X-ray vision. I told you.” She pointed at the bat on the ground. “Shoot that with your eyes.”

I blinked quickly, dispelling the blue filter and returning the world to normal. “What?”

She didn’t answer, merely pointed at the bat. Letting out a sigh, I tried to focus again. This time, I imagined the bat glowing red with heat. As I stared at the bat, a red filter filled my eyes like a closing shutter of a camera. Once it closed, the bat actually started smoking and Madison shrieked. That brought me out of focus as I blinked a few times before looking in her direction.

“Okay, that’s definitely heat vision. The movies and TV shows are actually pretty close.” She admitted. “Now, blow on it before it starts a fire!”

I cocked my head to the side, but followed her guidance. Taking in a breath, I blew toward the bat like I was blowing out a birthday candle. I could see my breath all the way to the bat like it was an extremely cold day. The bat shattered under the effects of being super heated then super cooled.

Madison laughed again. “And that’s super breath. Dad, are you not understanding what I’m getting at, yet?”

“You’re trying to prove that I’m basically Superman.”

She nodded. “Pretty much. We already know you’ve got super hearing. So that leaves super speed and flight.” She pointed in the direction we had come, toward Golf Rd. “Why don’t you dash to the end of the parking lot?”

Moving around the car, I lined up toward the end of the parking lot. Taking in a breath, I tried to focus. Two little hops, then I was off. The world seemed to slow down the moment I started to run, almost if it were standing still. I glanced around me to see birds almost frozen in the air, squirrels mid ground hop, and the trees not even moving in the wind. At the end of the parking lot, I came to a stop and slid in the grass. The motion of the world resumed.

“That’s super speed.” I heard Madison say at conversational volume. “If you can hear me, jump toward me.”

Feeling sheer exhilaration, I bent my knees and really put in some effort. I shot into the air in a way I’ve never experienced before. The arch of my trajectory was toward my daughter but the height of the jump is the highest I have ever been above the Earth without being atop a tall building or in an airplane. Frankly, it scared me. I flailed a bit, experiencing self-preservation like any sane human. I didn’t realize I had closed my eyes until I just stopped moving. Confused, I opened my eyes again to find myself about thirty feet away from Madison but about sixty feet in the air. I was hovering. Madison’s smile has never been larger.

“My dad is freakin’ Superman!” She shrieked.

By jove, she was right. Somehow, she knew. Fascinated by my situation, I wanted to test the limits all the sudden. Taking in a breath, I was nervous. Slowly, I willed myself up a few feet. Mind-blowingly, it happened. Then, back down and I went downward. Side to side. Forward and back. All of it worked.

“Go for it, Dad.” Madison whispered.

Taking in another breath, I gave her the first smile I’d given anyone since the other night. By simple thought, my trajectory changed to straight up. I don’t know why I put my fist out in front of me like I did, but it seemed like the thing to do. The wind rushed by my face at a speed I couldn’t calculate. The hoodie and my hair responded to the forces. Shifting to a lateral trajectory, I could now see the ground. I wasn’t quite at cloud level but pretty close. Chicagoland rushed by underneath me. This must be why Peter Pan never wanted to grow up. With a giant smile on my face, I kept my body straight and put my arms out beside me like they were wings and just… flew.

Everyone has those dreams where they’re flying. They remember the exhilaration and intense hit of dopamine to their brains. I’m here to tell you that feeling doesn’t come close to the raw exultation of doing it for real. Angling my arms a bit further backward like some kind of high tech fighter jet, I willed myself to go faster… and I did. My heart skipped a beat and I flew over Michigan faster than I ever have. Banking beforehand, I turned around just before Detroit and headed back. I went even faster. Behind me was a loud ‘crack’. The wind rushed past me so fast it barely registered to me.

Within seconds, I was over Lake Michigan and once again back in Chicago. The city whizzed by underneath me so quickly I almost hit Willis Tower without intending to. Willing myself to slow down as I headed Northwest, dodged around O’Hare, and came back around toward Busse Woods to meet back up with Madison. Moving my arms forward seemed to help me visualize slowing down. Before I knew it, I was back in that classic pose with one fist forward. One problem: how was I supposed to land?

There was a thought in the back of my head about how the movies always showed someone who could fly coming in for a landing. None of them helped. I flipped my body so my feet went first and the ground grew closer. When my feet actually hit the grass, I was just traveling too fast and went tumbling end over end. My body rolled right past Madison and continued on for another ten feet before I came to a stop in the grass, laughing.

Madison ran up beaming from ear to ear. “How was it?”

“That was single handedly the most exhilarating experience of my entire life.” I managed to say after laughing at my own folly. “I’ll have to learn how to stick the landing, but Detroit looks nice this time of year.”

“You made it all the way to Detroit?”

“Almost. I turned around just before I got there.” I rolled over and stood up, brushing off the debris from my less-than-graceful landing. “You were absolutely right, kiddo. About everything.”

Madison smiled. “Glad to see you having some fun, Dad.” She paused for a moment. “You know what this means, though, right?”

“Not really following.”

“It means you could be a real life superhero. You’ve got the powers. You just need the tights.”

I held up a finger. “I think I’m gonna draw the line at tights. There is probably going to need to be a lot of practice, too. What if I hurt someone?”

“Well, I mean, superheroes kinda beat up bad guys, so… that’s probably part of the package.”

“I’ll leave fighting as a last resort. Besides, I’m terrible at it.” My eyes scanned the park, hoping we were still alone and no one saw my display. Finding none, my eyes turned back to my daughter. “What made you want to encourage me?”

“For one, all the depression stuff. For two, do you remember the first comic book you ever gave me?”

I nodded firmly. “Like it was yesterday. Kelly Sue DeConnick’s take on Captain Marvel from 2012, issue #1. You were seven and not quite sure you were ‘the right kind of girl’. I wanted you to see a diverse way to be who you are, honey.”

“Did you read it?”

“Of course I did. I gave you my copy.”

“That’s why I encouraged you, Dad.” She took a breath and stuffed her hands in the pockets of her hoodie. “When I saw the things you could do and what happened, I figured you’d brush it aside like some dream. You needed to know for sure it wasn’t. Maybe it’ll give you something to hold onto while all this crazy family drama plays out?”

I smiled like a proud parent. “Look at you being all noble.”

“Bah ba-da bah-bah… BUM, Bum, bum…” She shot me a cheeky grin as she sang the melody of the iconic John Williams score.

Laughing, I shook my head. “Goofball.” I shrugged. “You hungry? I feel like pizza.”

Beacon of Hope



Chapter Five

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=ltoaQo2ynSo ))

"Breaking news tonight: the Superman is real and he is American. SkyCam footage from the National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration and WGN-TV in and around downtown Chicago show what analysts have confirmed to be a human being flying under their own propulsion. The blurry images have been analyzed by several experts in the fields of photography and aeronautics since they surfaced online this morning, going viral on social media. Take a look." The broadcast cuts to a video that lasts no more than five seconds, showing a single small object traveling at immense speed over the skyline of the city. It then cuts to another video from a different angle showcasing roughly the same object. "It's gone in the blink of an eye, but we'll slow the images down as much as we can to show you what's going on." The second video seems to have a closer vantage point. Going frame-by-frame, the small object is a blur of royal blue and red encircled by a Mach effect. One image lingers on the screen. "As you can see, there is no way to truly identify what we're seeing here. What has people talking is the blue and red color of the object. Experts have confirmed that the size and mass of the object based on the profile of this white cone on the latter third, called the Mach effect, matches that of a human being. With the color scheme and speed, it has people talking. Whether or not that's good news for Warner Brothers Discovery and their movie directed by James Gunn set to release in July remains to be seen."

The news wouldn't shut up about it. Every channel. Every station. Every affiliate. All visual news journalism was showing the videos. All print media, if it even exists anymore, was showing still pictures and freeze frames. Madison showed me the explosion of content on TikTok and Instagram about the situation as well. The world was going crazy over the possibility of a powerful superhero existing among them.

Meanwhile, back at home, the weekend came and went like a winter gust through downtown. Hannah practically ignored me. Olivia seemed almost afraid of me. Laura was more ghost than person. Madison was the only one really connecting with me, even if most of our interactions were her going full fan girl. The only time I could get her off the topic of Superman was Star Wars Day when we shared our love for the space opera George Lucas created. I was feeling more and more like a stranger or novelty in my own house. It didn't help my perception of myself at all, either. It was as if the entire foundation I'd spent the past twenty-five years building was crumbling underneath me.

Utilizing the office space I'd put together during the pandemic in the basement, I resumed my dead end job. With everything going on, it completely skipped my mind. Though, one email to HR about being involved in an accident in the back of an Uber was enough of a plausible excuse for my absence. The fact I never used Uber didn't matter. I never expensed my ground travel when I went to conferences. Working from home meant I wouldn't have to explain why a seventeen year old girl was doing a forty-five year old man's job, either.

Looking at the house, one wouldn't be able to tell the family life was in turmoil. I might only have been walking around in a T-shirt and sweatpants while sleeping on the couch every night, but all the household chores were done. Unlike many men in my generation, I would never forgive myself for simply assuming Laura would do it all – going to work, raising the kids, and accomplishing all the household tasks – while all I ever did was go to work and watch sports. We were proud of our fifty-fifty distribution.

Wednesday night, I was at the sink hand-washing a couple of pans and cutting boards that don't really fit in the dishwasher. For once, my mind was blank. I knew Laura was standing in the archway to the corridor behind me and that she had been standing there for a few minutes. I kept hearing her take in breaths as if she were about to speak and then hesitate. After a few tries, I decided to speak first.

"You can't really sneak up on me, Laura." I told her while still facing the sink and scrubbing a particularly dirty pan. Cheese is very sticky. "I heard you come in the house about ten minutes ago."

She let out a sigh. "Chris, can we talk?"

"I'm listening."

"No... I mean... facing each other. Maybe at the table?"

"Okay." I set down the pan I was working on, rinsed my hands, dried them, then turned to face her.

My wife was the most beautiful human being I have ever laid eyes on. Her auburn hair was situated into a messy bun. Her demure chin quivered ever so slightly. Her button nose appeared slightly red. Her hazel eyes seemed to have shed some tears recently. Her kissable lips were shaped into a small frown. I adored her and yet my heart broke at the sight of her.

Following the request, we both moved to the table and sat opposite each other. "What's on your mind?" I asked.

She hung her head then brought it back up to meet my eyes. "I'm really sorry, Chris. I've been really absent and avoidant of you."

I nodded to her. "Seemed like you needed some time, honey."

She smiled and wiped a tear from the corner of her eye. "Understatement, Christopher. Truth is..." She breathed deep. "...I couldn't cope. The night it happened, I was really there for my husband – for you. When I saw the radiology and spoke with the doctor, I knew there'd be very little chance I would get my Chris back. I'm sorry, but it's been affecting me to think of a girl the same age as Hannah that I don't really know sleeping on the other side of the bed where my husband used to be."

"I'm well aware, Laura."

"I'm not finished." She breathed quickly. "That's why I asked you to sleep on the couch, but you can't do that forever. You need a bed to sleep in. You can't keep wearing those T-shirts and sweatpants that look like you stole them, either. You need your own clothes. I've set aside some money for you to take care of things. I know we usually make financial decisions together, but this is new for both of us. I thought a proactive approach might be best."

"Very wise of you, Laura."

"I'll take you to do some shopping tomorrow. I took the day off. What do you think?"

I hesitated for a long moment. "You mean, like... when we take the girls back-to-school shopping sort of situation?"

"Basically, but without knowing your sizes. We'll have to work that out. Beyond that, why don't you take the spare room as your own bedroom." Her eyes teared up a little. "This entire situation is really hard on both of us. I don't really know the right way to do things, but this is the best I can do for now."

Tears started welling up in my own eyes. "I know, Laura." I tried to swallow the knot in my throat. "What does this mean for our marriage?"

"I don't know, Chris. I just don't know." She stood and walked out of the kitchen.

The house fell silent in a matter of minutes. After finishing the dishes, I investigated the spare room. It was situated on the ground floor, just past the living room. We usually only used it for guests – such as if Laura's parents or mine were in town for a visit. It was a rather sanitized and impersonal space. There was a queen sized bed, nightstands on either side of the bed, a dresser, and a walk-in closet. The bedding hadn't been changed in nearly a year, so that was the first thing to go. Fetching some fresh bedding from the linen closet of the laundry room, I set about making the bed. It wasn't the best and was all miss-matched but it was functional.

Sleep didn't come easily that night. My relationship with my wife and children was completely uprooted. Thus far, the only one that would really talk to me was Madison. There was no real way to know what Laura was planning the next day but I was comforted in the fact she was willing to spend time with me. Trying to discern what she intended for the day was enough to drive me a little crazy.

The next morning, Laura woke me up somewhat early and threw clothes at me. Not maliciously, mind you. She was being playful for the first time since everything happened. It was a simple T-shirt, pair of jeans, the white shoes Madison loaned me the other day, and feminine under garments. She told me she wasn't going to take someone that looked like a "shlubby teenager" shopping. I dressed without protest. When I encountered her in the kitchen, she already had a mug of coffee prepared for both of us before requesting we both get in the car. She even ran a brush through my hair.

Still disoriented and confused, I simply followed along. Once in the car and seatbelt buckled, I did not really anticipate a visit to Woodfield Mall, the largest shopping center in all of Chicagoland. Thankfully, we had arrived on a Thursday which was one of the less busy days. Similar to back-to-school shopping, Laura had a plan and I was basically just along for the ride. We made our way into the sparsely populated interior of Nordstrom. Inside, Laura consulted with some people who set about wrapping measuring tape around different sections of my body. They relayed some numbers that meant absolutely nothing to me. Laura nodded, thanked them, and continued guiding me along her planned out path.

Four and a half hours later, we had been to no less than eight stores and spent about the same amount of money that we might have with all three of our daughters in tow. Laura made sure to grab all the essentials and I was only there for a yes/no vote on select items. She was the one who knew what she was doing, afterall. All told, I had a small wardrobe at my own disposal that anyone in my current position might need. Underwear, socks, jeans, T-shirts, leggings, sweaters, and some sportswear that can double as pajamas were all acquired. I vetoed any idea to grab anything resembling a skirt or a dress and Laura nodded in agreement.

We both ordered some chicken teriyaki at the Suki Hana and sat down to eat it. Laura looked exhausted, but I felt like I could keep the same pace all day. Neither of us had eaten breakfast, so we both sort of shoveled the food in our mouths.

"Thanks for today, Laura." I softly spoke between bites.

She finished chewing her own bite before responding. "You're welcome, Chris. You need things that actually fit you..." She gestured to my body. "...now."

"It's incredibly weird, but appreciated. I wouldn't have known where to even start."

"Measurements. Always measurements." She wiped her mouth with a napkin. "You're a size eight, by the way. Medium tops, medium pants. Size eight shoes. You need to remember that."

"I don't really want to think about it, most of the time."

"We can't deny reality, Chris. Something profound has happened to you and it's affecting all of us – especially you and me."

"Laura, I –" I stopped the conversation short. My ears had picked up an odd sound. The sound of fire. Then a couple of screams. My head turned toward the noise.

"What?" She asked. Then, she heard screaming.

I turned to her quickly. "Stay here."

Without really thinking, I jumped up as the world around me entered slow motion. Having heard the sound behind me, I got to the balcony area and looked around. I could see panicked faces slowly moving away from the far side of the mall from me on the ground floor. Not having the time to ponder why anyone would put the food court on the third floor of a huge mall like this, I vaulted over the railing. While falling, I willed myself to fly like I had with Madison a few days ago. Amazingly, it worked and I propelled myself toward the faces. I took a left at Macy's and spotted the problem.

A person engulfed in flame stood in the middle of the corridor and a pillar of flame was growing toward the American Eagle store. People were panicked and there was a teenager on the ground with her hand up trying to protect herself from the flames. I swooped in and gently picked her up. Having taken her a good thirty feet from the flames, time around me returned to normal. She looked at me with shock in her eyes. I set her down.

"Are you okay?" I asked. She nodded. "Good. Get further away to safety."

She obliged without a word and I turned back to the problem at hand. The guy was lit up like Human Torch and shooting flames from his hands. The world slowed down again and I ran to the front of the store. Planting my feet, I stood in front of the flames with an arm forward in front of me. I could hear panicked screams inside. After a moment, the flames stopped and I lowered my arm. My clothes were a little singed, but I was unharmed. I stared down the flame guy who looked at me entirely bewildered.

"Who the fuck are you? Where'd you come from?" He asked.

"Doesn't matter. Stop what you're doing. You're putting people's lives in danger." I requested.

"Some little girl comes out of nowhere and wants me to stop trying to burn down this shithole? Are you with their corporate public relations?" He cackled.

"No. I work for a different company. Nowhere near this big."

"Oh. Another corporate stooge, huh? Do you know what this place did to me? Why are you protecting it?"

"I'm not. There are some very frightened people inside. You're scaring a lot of people. People will get hurt. They are who I'm going to protect."

He scowled. "Suit yourself."

He positioned his hands again and the wall of fire came at my face, this time. I put my arm up in a vain attempt to block. Strong, encouraging words weren't going to stop this guy. My brain started searching for solutions. Finally, it came to me. Taking in a deep breath, I began blowing it out in the guy's direction. Once again, it looked like I was blowing a fog out of my mouth. I kept blowing until not only the pillar of flame coming at me was extinguished but the flame guy was extinguished as well. Once I could confirm that, I rushed over to grab his shirt and push him against the far wall. I knocked the wind out of him.

"Knock. It. Off." I ordered him with a slight growl to my voice. "If you want to get back at someone for some perceived slight against you, this isn't the way to do it. You don't put innocent people in harm's way because a corporation wronged you. Understand?"

He coughed. "Jesus! What kind of freak are you?"

"A lot like you, I suspect. The difference is: I'm stopping you."

"There's not even a first degree burn on you and you blew out my flame with your breath!"

"I'm well aware. Are we going to stop comparing powers, now, and get to the point? Stop this, now. This isn't the way to do things."

"Who do you think you are? Superman or something?"

I chuckled. "Clearly, I'm not." He went silent. I lifted him higher. "Are we done with our tantrum, now?"

He screeched. "Yes! Jesus Christ!"

In the distance, I could hear sirens as I lowered him back down onto his feet. I didn't let him go, however. Behind me, I could hear the mall security people gathering. My head turned toward them. At least one of them had a firearm drawn.

"There's no need for lethal force." I stated to the guard who looked fairly frightened. "I have him subdued and he's agreed to play nice, now. You wouldn't happen to have some handcuffs or zip ties, would you?"

The nervous guard fired his weapon. I spun around and positioned myself between the bullet and the guy who had been on fire only moments ago. Astonishingly, it bounced off of me harmlessly. All the guards' eyes widened.

"Whoa... how did you know you were bulletproof?" Flame Guy asked me.

"I really didn't. I just knew you weren't." I stated plainly to him before looking at the guards. "Guys, c'mon. Zip ties or cuffs, please." One guard approached me with a set of zip tie cuffs in his hands. I nodded to him before turning back to Flame Guy, getting his hands behind his back, and getting the cuffs secured on him. "Don't fight it. You're already in a lot of trouble. Don't make it worse for yourself. Okay?"

He hung his head. "Yea. Okay."

Both of us turned in tandem as I handed him off to the security guards. To the one slowly holstering his firearm, I nodded. "You okay?"

"I... I just shot you..." He softly reported.

"Yes, I think you did. No harm done. Are you okay?"

"I don't know."

I shrugged. "Maybe take the day off?" Turning my attention from him to the people inside American Eagle, I moved over and gently pushed the barricade they had constructed away from the entrance. "Everybody okay?" Roughly eight people nodded, their eyes wide. "The coast is clear, everybody. It's safe now."

Turning around, a crowd had formed a short distance away. I recognized a few of the faces of frightened people that had run off before I got here. The girl I had saved from the flames started clapping, tears in her eyes. In the next second, everyone joined in. My face felt a little flush as I gave a small wave before running off.

The world around me returned to slow-mo mode as I made my way back up to my wife on the upper level. It was a little tricky to maneuver around people on the stairwell, but I managed. When I reached the food court, Laura was looking over the railing. She must have been trying to figure out what was happening.

"Honey..." I began.

She spun around and squealed with a hand on her chest. "Jesus, Christopher! What happened down there? Why are the clothes you borrowed burnt?"

"We'll talk about it in the car. Right now, can we get the shopping bags and go?"

Cocking her head to the side, she barely nodded and moved toward me in an effort to help. With all the shopping bags divided between the two of us, we made our way down the stairs toward the ground level. The endeavor was a bit complicated by the commotion earlier. Even going through Primark and trying to navigate toward the eastern exit doors was hampered by the efforts of the police to clear the mall. Eventually, we did emerge into the partly cloudy weather and walked one-third the way around the mall back to my wife's car. Laura kept trying to get me to tell her what happened along the way, but I deflected.

Eventually, we did make it back to the car. When the bags were in the back and we were settled in with the doors closed, I did finally tell her what happened. I divulged every detail and left nothing out. If she hadn't seen me move faster than the blink of an eye and vault over the railing to the ground level without dying, she may never have believed I could fly or that the fire never actually hurt me. She took a long moment to really consider what I had told her. It's not every day that one learns they're playing chauffeur to someone with super powers.

"So..." She began. "You can actually do all those things Madison was getting excited about?"

"Yes, I can." I stated plainly. "I can relate to the excitement from Madison. She's been fawning over me since we tested all of the powers over at Busse Woods last week."

"You know, I really doubted the whole idea of 'special powers' that people have been talking about until today. Once I saw you turn into a blur right in front of me, all pretence was gone."

"It's been reality for me since last week with Madison. You know she hit me with a metal baseball bat?"

"She did what?!"

"It didn't hurt. It hit me in the shoulder and just bent the bat. It's how I had an idea that I wouldn't burn with the fire. I wasn't totally sure about the literal 'bulletproof' part until today, though."

"You really should be more careful. You might be fireproof or bulletproof, but your clothes aren't. One hole in the wrong place and you are instantly 'not safe for work'. It's very different with female bits, Chris."

"I'm becoming aware of this, Laura." I sighed. "You know the best part? Remember the viral video of that blue and red object from last week?" My wife nodded. "That was me."

She shook her head. "I still can't quite believe it. I have one question, though: why did you hop up like that, today? Why put yourself in potential harm or step in front of a bullet you didn't know whether or not you'd survive?"

My gaze focused forward out the windshield. "Because it was the right thing to do."

Beacon of Hope



Chapter Six

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=2aJUnltwsqs ))

As one might expect, the mall incident blew up. The local news was talking about it. The national news was talking about it. Social media was filled with amateur videos of it. None of the angles actually managed to capture my face, but they caught everything else. It was interesting to see my speed, flight, and frost breath from a perspective other than my own. To see this young woman no older than my own daughters accomplish these feats from an outside viewpoint was eye opening.

Madison had become something of a confidante. I wasn't happy to learn that she would sometimes climb out onto our roof, but her reasoning was intriguing. She would climb out there and lie down on the shingles, gazing skyward for solace or to think over impactful events. Before now, I hadn't known her as such an introspective person. Maybe I had been a bit too busy with work or turned off in a way. A few evenings after the mall incident, we had climbed out there together and watched the sunset.

"You're going to have to be more careful out there, Dad." She advised after a while.

Taking in a breath, I nodded. "Your mother said the same thing on the way home from the whole thing."

"It's not just the danger of a wardrobe malfunction. There's a reason superheroes wear costumes and masks, you know. It's not just because it looks cool or distinguishes them from others."

My head nodded while my eyes stayed on the horizon. "Yea, the whole 'secret identity' thing."

"Why do you think Batman wears the costume, cape, and cowl?"

I turned to look at her and shrug. "He says it in the comics: to strike fear into the hearts of the people making the people of Gotham afraid."

She rolled her eyes at me. "Dad, how do you think the press in Gotham City would react if they found out the richest man in Gotham was going around beating up street criminals in the middle of the night? What if Mark Zuckerberg took all that kickboxing training, went into San Jose, and started beating up on the gangs or some guy robbing a convenience store?"

I recoiled at the questions. "Well, as a journalist, it would probably be a top story and not a good look for Bruce Wayne or Mark Zuckerberg. The story would come out, then lawsuits and criminal prosecution would likely follow."

"Right. But Batman's a good guy, right?"

"Well... his methods leave a lot to be desired, but he gets to justice in the end. I don't appreciate all the violence as a means to an end, personally."

She leaned a little closer to me. "And what happens when the villains find out the true identities of the heroes?"

My face showed an expression that conveyed I finally understood the point. "Oh."

"It puts the loved ones of the hero in danger, doesn't it?" I nodded and she continued. "It makes it hard for the hero to hold a normal job or lead a normal life, doesn't it?"

"So, you're suggesting that I need some kind of costume and probably a mask if I'm gonna do other things like I did at the mall, aren't you?"

"The question is: how? It's not like you've got a baby blanket from the planet Krypton you were wrapped in that Grandma can sew a suit together from."

I let out a laugh. "Madison, you know your grandmother can't sew."

She joined in the laughter, playfully pushing me. "You know what I mean. It's gotta be just as tough as you are now. I have no idea how that's possible, though."

I searched my mind for possibilities, but really only came to one. "Military grade advanced materials research, probably. We're in uncharted waters with that thing that hit Earth, whatever it was. If it made me like this and that guy at the mall like he was, what else is possible?"

"I'm too tired to think too deeply on it. I'm gonna head in for bed. You gonna do your flight practice tonight?"

"Probably... after I make sure you make it into your bedroom safely."

We both began to make our way off the roof. We were only a few feet from her bedroom window. There was just a slim bit of roof in front of it. I walked alongside her and made sure she didn't slip and fall to the ground below. She made it just fine without my help, but one can never be too careful. Once she was safely inside, I leaned in to kiss her forehead as I'd done since she was a child.

"Sweet dreams, sweetie," I stated softly to her.

She smiled. "G'night, Dad. Have a good flight."

She closed the window and I was alone on the roof. I walked back to the spot we'd just been sitting and stood waiting for darkness. I had decided that practicing my abilities might actually be a good idea. There was no way to know my limits without practicing. Exercising caution was a good idea, especially after how my exploits have been blowing up on the news and social media. Flying, specifically, had been documented by public access cameras and reposted online which led to its virality. Deciding to fly at night reduced the chances of that happening drastically.

Once the sun went down and the light faded a bit, I slowly lifted off the roof and propelled myself upward. Once about cloud level, I could hide amongst the fluffy water vapor without attracting attention. The trade off was that it was really hard to see anything that might be approaching with the naked eye, so I had to resort to "super vision". I had discovered it wasn't simply limited to fluoroscopy but I could also utilize thermoscopy. This way, I could see birds and even planes around me. Strange for most people, but it seemed more natural to me the more I used it.

There was no real flight plan on these excursions. I merely picked a direction and let my whims take me. Most people might start jogging or riding a bike as a means of focusing internally and processing their stress. Before all this, I had no such outlet. Now, taking a flight was becoming the activity that was allowing me to process everything that was going on and reflect on it. Not to mention, it was the most exhilarating experience of my life. There truly was no equal.

My mind drifted to my family. Laura and I were talking more, but our relationship had most definitely changed. Neither of us had as yet determined to what extent. Hannah had still not spoken a word to me. Madison had become something of a confidante. Olivia was finally beginning to speak with me. She remained quite laconic, but I'll consider even a single word to be progress. I'm not truly sure what role I play in the family anymore. I act as if I'm still the father, but it doesn't seem like anyone else considers me to be such any longer.

Suddenly, something grabbed the front of the off-shoulder sweater I was wearing, flipped me over, and forced me downward. Falling out of the sky, the mystery was solved. I was looking up at a man that appeared to be close to hitting thirty with long ginger hair and a thick beard. His blue eyes were nearly the color of ice. Underneath his blue tunic, it seemed his muscles had muscles. Behind him, the clouds seemed to almost form a halo and really showcased the stairs beyond. In seconds, my back hit the ground but he did not release his grip. Instead, he raised his right arm. His right hand wasn't human. It seemed to be an entirely metal hand of some kind. The craftsmanship seemed archaic, but it worked.

"Hver ert þú? Hvað ert þú að gera í mínu landi?" He nearly growled.

Instinctively, my hands rushed up to cover my face. Panic filled my voice. "Whoa! I don't know what you're saying!"

He seemed to hesitate for a moment and release his grip a little. He spoke with a thick accent I couldn't decipher. "Who... are... you? Why you come here?"

The panic remained in my voice. "My name is Christopher Kent! I'm not sure where 'here' is!"

His grip was entirely released and I heard him stand. "Kristófer? What father would give his daughter that name? Do you mean to say Kristín?"

Feeling safer, I lowered my hands and looked up at him. For all the world, the man looked like someone from a Renaissance Faire that decided they were a Scandinavian from the Viking Age. "No. I mean Christopher." I stood and brushed myself off, getting a look at the crater that had been caused by the rough landing. "Where am I?"

With his human hand, he gestured to the landscape. "Ísland."

I shook my head. "You mean to tell me I was lost in my thoughts so long I ended up in Iceland?!"

"I do not know of this." He stated, his accent still very thick.

"Whom do I have the pleasure of speaking with?"

He took a moment to collect his thoughts. "I am called Týr Hymisson. I am protector of these lands."

"Tyr?" I asked then let out a laugh. "Really? They let you have that name?" I knew from a piece several years prior that Iceland actually passed a law that governed what names parents could give to their children. I sometimes thought a similar law should be implemented in the United States, but alas...

"My name precedes the law by many years." He stated plainly. His brow furrowed in what I interpreted to be thought. "You are called Kristófer. You fly. You do not get harmed when I bring you to ground. Yes?"

My own brow furrowed. "All correct. Where are you going with this?"

He started pacing and stroking his beard. "It has happened again."

"What has happened again?"

"The beacon of the stars."

"Excuse me?"

He stopped pacing and looked at me directly. "Many years ago, when the world was young, the sky blessed many. All over the world, blessed beings emerged. They became known as The Gods. We were people, like any. We were changed." He hung his head. "I was changed." He sighed. "I was called Tewiyā then: mother of seven and leader of our people. Forty winters passed before that day."

My eyes widened at his admission. "Wait, you're saying this event has happened before? Where the Earth is struck by some cosmic phenomenon and people emerged with powers?"

"As you say, it was some time ago. Five thousand winters have passed."

"FIVE... THOUSAND... YEARS?!"

"In your words, yes." He shook his head. "How many are you?"

My eyebrow raised almost instantly. "I don't understand."

"How many like you?"

"I have no idea. This only happened about a week and a half ago."

"Still new? Chaos has not come?"

"Uh... what do you mean 'chaos'?"

He growled. "It happened to us. People change. They have power. Some use for good. Others... not so good."

"I don't think anyone has sorted themselves out, yet. Though, I did stop some guy who used fire in a shopping mall a few days ago. He was going to hurt people."

He narrowed his eyes on me. "Why do that?"

I stood firm. "It was the right thing to do. People were going to get hurt."

He kept his eyes narrowed and I was left wondering what he was thinking. "What else you do? Just fly and not get hurt?"

I shrugged. "A few other things."

"What things?"

I took in a breath, not knowing why I was divulging this information to some Icelandic man I'd just met that thinks he's five thousand years old. "I... can see in the X-ray and infrared spectrum. I'm really strong. I'm really fast. I can blow really hard and make it cold. I can shoot hot energy from my eyes. I can even hear and smell really well."

He nodded. "Strong, fast, and the other things?" He took a stance and smirked. "Show me. Hit me."

I chuckled nervously. "I'd really rather not. I'm non-violent."

He hit me. With his metal hand. It actually hurt a little and I went flying backward. I hit a big rock and slumped to the ground unceremoniously. The rock cracked. Shaking my head, I came back to my senses just in time to see him coming at me in a leaping strike while screaming some kind of war cry. He intended to punch me again. The world around me went into slow motion again as I stood, dusted myself off, and stepped to the side. Time returned to normal and his hand impacted the rock instead of me. With a twisted grin, he turned to me and attacked again. It was clear he was not going to stop.

He raised his fist to attack once more. The world slowed again. I moved to dodge each of his blows. The first couple missed but a third hit me and knocked me over. When a fourth blow came at me, I put my hand up and caught it. The world returned to normal and I merely held his fist in my hand while he stared me down. It was quite the feat because his hand was absolutely huge compared to mine. It took very little effort for me to hold his hand in place.

"What are you trying to prove?" I asked him.

I could feel the effort leave his arm and he pulled his fist away. "Testing. You are fast, tough, and strong. Good. You cannot fight. Maybe I train you."

"What? Why do you think I need you to train me?"

"Many trials lie ahead. You need to be ready."

"I already told you I'm non-violent. I don't want to fight."

He took in a breath and let it out slowly. "What you do when you have no choice but fighting? Give up?"

"Well, no, but –"

"Exactly this. You learn to fight so you don't have to."

"That doesn't make any sense."

"It will. Where you live?"

"Chicago... ish."

"United States? Is bad place to be... or good place."

"You are still not making sense."

"Accent is thick or your head?" He sighed, frustrated. "You train with me here. I call you and you come, yes?"

"Maybe it would be better if we set a schedule or something." I shook my head. "Why am I negotiating a schedule with a deranged Icelandic man?!"

"It maybe best if you come at night. You have day job? You keep it. You come here at night and we train. Deal?"

"I still don't know who you are, really. I know you can punch me. That's it."

"I am Týr. The people of my homeland called me the god of the skies, war, justice, and heroes. They did not know things. I accepted and did what I could." He smirked. "Because it right thing to do."

"You're telling me you are THE Týr?"

He nodded firmly. "Yes. Týr Hymisson. Where is mystery?"

I threw up my hands. "Okay, I'm going home now."

"I come with you, then. I fly too." He actually smiled.

"What? No! My wife would rightfully have my head for bringing some strange man home in the middle of the night!"

He nodded. "Forgive me. I have not known people for some time. I follow, but find other place so your wife not angry."

I let out a groan. It seemed there was no deterring this man. "I can't really stop you from following me, but don't make it weird and be discreet. People make a spectacle if you can fly without wings."

"I know. People change." He nodded.

Keeping an eye on him, I slowly rose into the air. I'd gotten rather proficient at controlling the speed of my flight since I started practicing. After a few moments, he started to follow me. Turning and heading higher into the sky, a large part of me was trying to understand why I had begun to tentatively trust this man. There is no way we'd have known one another otherwise. We had just met. And yet, there was a trust between us. Explanations escaped me.

Further, he seemed to have something of an understanding of the event that changed me. He claimed it had changed him, too. A very long time ago, a similar event had occurred and created the beings ancient people had referred to as The Gods, according to him. Anthropological history was never my strong subject, but I do remember that the gods of Sumer had first appeared in text about the time he was describing. I wouldn't bet on my accuracy of knowledge, though. It's been thirty years since I remember any talk of world history on a daily basis. It would seem that I had a mystery on my hands. I had no idea where to begin finding the answers.

Once over my home, I bid my compatriot adieu and flew down toward my house. He stayed back, thankfully. I could safely enter my house and move toward my bed in the spare room without worry. Changing out of the now dirty sweater and sweatpants, I grabbed another set of loungewear and crawled under the blankets. Something told me my world was about to get a lot bigger.

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."

Beacon of Hope



Chapter Eight

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=GP7zpdwo3Xo ))

Once back in the car, I sat for a moment to think. A large portion of my psyche couldn't believe that Dr. Voss had agreed to the task with so little convincing. At least, from my perspective it didn't seem like much convincing. Beyond that, my world seemed to be changing in so many ways. If I had been told a month ago that in a short amount of time I would no longer be male, physically regressed back to seventeen, would discover mind-blowing abilities in myself, consort with a literal god, be on the verge of losing a job I hated anyway, and was contemplating some kind of altruistic endeavor that could put my family at risk, there would be discussions about the merits of psychotherapy. The truth is stranger than fiction.

After taking in a weighted breath, a text was submitted to the family group chat. Hannah suggested we start one when she got her first phone at fourteen. We added Madison just last year. Eventually, Olivia will be added as well but it's too soon. My text was to announce a family meeting at the dining table once I arrived at home. Setting my phone in the alcove built into the car, I started on my way home. At this hour, I was well aware it would be a long drive. The sun was setting, casting orange and yellow light across the landscape. Rush hour was still going strong.

Finally at home, I pulled into the garage. Thankfully, Laura's SUV was present. At the door to the mud room, I took in a deep breath to prepare myself for what was about to transpire. Afterward, a simple message that I had arrived was sent to the group chat. I opened the door and stepped into the house. The corridor was rather short and I emerged into the open floorplan that was our kitchen and dining room. I leaned against a chair and waited for whomever would actually arrive. Given my relationship with the family of late, I only expected Laura and Madison to show.

Over the course of the next few minutes, everyone settled themselves at the table, even Hannah and Olivia. I tried not to show my surprise. The faces of my family were rather blank and unreadable. Laura seemed tired from work. Hannah hadn't yet put down her phone. Madison just kept looking at everyone else. Olivia seemed to want to be anywhere but here. After a moment, I cleared my throat.

"Thanks, everybody." I began. "I really appreciate you all being here." I let out a sigh. "It's no mystery that things have changed in the house. Ever since this thing happened to me – to us – there has been a lot of silence. Not many of us have said much to one another. There again, things are still changing somewhat and maybe I just can't hear you speaking to one another. Let's address the elephant in the room."

I took another deep breath. "I have not been the best husband or father to any of you for a long time." All of them stopped and looked at me with widened eyes. "Since my layoff at the Chicago Tribune, I've all but disappeared. I've gone to work, come home, spoken a few words, and then gone to bed. The light has gone from my heart. My only concern has been your comfort and happiness. I've even failed at that." Tears built up in my eyes.

My eyes turned to my wife. "Laura, you've deserved better. You have deserved a partner against the world and I was wrapped up in my own. I retreated into my shell and almost forgot you existed. I thought if I just put my head down, helped around the house, and made sure the mortgage was paid it would be enough. I was wrong." My wife's eyes misted up as I spoke.

My eyes moved to my eldest. "Hannah, I couldn't find the right words to say to you for the longest time. I don't know your friends anymore. I don't know if you have a boyfriend or girlfriend or what. All I know is my little girl is about to graduate high school and move on to bigger things while I still hold onto the ten year old I built pillow forts with on the weekends." Tears were now running down my cheeks.

My eyes moved to the middle child. "Madison... I'm so glad we've been able to actually connect, recently. I'm sorry it didn't happen sooner, sweetheart."

Finally, my gaze landed on the youngest. "Olivia... baby... you have needed a father for far too long. All I did was try to placate you with stuffed dolls as the only way to let you know I was thinking about you. You have needed bedtime stories of epic proportions. You've needed more hugs and tea parties. I'm sorry I haven't been there for you, sweetheart."

My focus returned to the group as a whole. "I'm about to do something brave... or stupid... or both. Only Madison really knows what I'm capable of now and even then at a basic level. Larry Lang stopped by today."

"Larry was here?" Laura asked.

"Not as such. Her name is Lauren, now. She's like me. She told me her family basically fell apart after all this. Rather quickly, too."

Laura nodded. "Alana and I have been talking."

It was my turn to nod. "I thought you might. Honestly, I don't want that to happen to this family, but Madison is the only one that's really spoken to me in almost three weeks. Besides, it goes deeper than maybe any of you realize."

"What's deeper than your dad basically becoming your sister in minutes right before your eyes?" Hannah finally spoke. Her words had bite to them.

"You guys have been seeing what's going on with ICE recently?" Laura and the teenagers nodded. Olivia looked confused. "That's going to start happening to people like me. Larry – I mean, Lauren – has sources that show Orivox Enterprises is going to mobilize their mercenaries, American Vanguard Solutions, against people affected by the same thing that changed me. That, coupled with the fact Larry is now a 20 year old young woman named Lauren, is what destroyed his family. There's nothing saying they're going after family members, but they might in order to get to people with powers."

"What are you gonna do that's stupid, Daddy?" Olivia eventually spoke.

I took a deep breath. "I'm... gonna do a superhero... thing."

"You're right. That is stupid." Hannah quipped.

"No, it isn't! You haven't seen what Dad can do!" Madison defended me.

"I don't really care, Madison! And, if you hadn't noticed," Hannah pointed at me, "that isn't Dad! Not anymore!"

"Hannah!" Laura gasped. I merely hung my head.

"What, Mom?! Use your eyes! That's not my dad and it's definitely not your husband!"

"Young lady–" Laura started to scold her.

"She's got a point, Laura." I sighed before I looked sullenly at my eldest daughter. "Your feelings are valid, Hannah. I've been feeling rather similarly for a while now." My gaze turned to Laura. "You kicked me out of our room the night after this all happened. First, I was on the couch and then I moved into the spare room. We've barely spoken."

Laura nearly huffed. "I'm just going through things, Chris."

"As am I, Laura, but even a blind person can see that our relationship just isn't going to work, anymore. We can't lie to ourselves about that. I love you more than anything, but it would be a bad look for both of us to try to continue like nothing happened." My eyes landed on each child as I spoke. "What good will it do trying to pretend to be your father when I look about a year younger than Hannah but almost like her twin? More than a few people have mistaken me for her in the last three weeks. I battle it every day, but the mirror is winning."

Hannah slumped in her chair. "This family is fucked."

"Hannah! Language!" Laura and I chorused.

Madison, desperate to change the subject, spoke up. "So... you're gonna wear tights and a cape, huh?"

I slapped my face with my palm. "I'm gonna pass on the concept of tights. I don't know, yet, what the uniform I'm going to wear will look like. I spoke with an advanced materials researcher today. Just now. That's where I was today."

"What can you do?" Olivia jumped into the conversation.

"Basically everything Superman can do." I informed her. "Flying, all the eye things, the breath, the strength, and I'm bulletproof."

"So, that girl at the mall? That was you?" Hannah finally straightened back up.

I firmly nodded. "Yes, it was me. That's why I thought a uniform might be a good idea. Can't stop dangerous people and risk a wardrobe malfunction."

"It was kinda dumb to do that in broad daylight." Hannah chided.

"Your mother thought the same."

All the girls turned to Laura. "You knew?!"

Laura held up her hands. "Not really. I was just helping with the wardrobe in the first place."

"Don't be hard on your mother, girls. She's dealing with all this just like you all are." I tried to deescalate. "The biggest problem with the thought of doing the 'Caped Crusader' thing is that it could endanger all of you. That's the last thing I want. I don't know what I'd do if any of you were harmed because of me."

"That's why superheroes have secret identities." Madison stated plainly.

"Exactly. Mine has to be ironclad to keep all of you safe." I sighed. "It might mean I have to go the same route that Lauren did: fake her own death and/or disappearance."

"Larry's not dead, though. Not that we know. No funeral or anything." Laura questioned.

"That's what I thought, too. Larry – I mean, Lauren – has something in the works. I don't know what it is, yet. I wanted to get a sense of how all of you might feel about all of this. Sounds like the general idea is that I'm simultaneously stupid and not really a member of this family anymore." I hung my head again as the tears returned.

"Honey..." Laura began to gently protest.

"I'm not deaf, Laura. I even have super hearing, remember? I've heard everything that's been said."

Hannah groaned. "I'm not trying to be a dick, okay? I just feel like my dad's already dead. Ever since you changed, I've been hit pretty hard. I don't know what you are right now but I don't want you to not be a part of my life."

Madison nodded. "Yea, it's pretty weird calling you 'Dad' when you look like my big sister, but I wanted to keep acknowledging who you are inside. You're still the big dork that's cool to geek out with me sometimes."

"My daddy's not dead, but you don't look like him anymore. You look like a stranger I'm related to." Olivia observed.

Laura stood and approached me, putting her arms comfortingly over my shoulders. "You're not stupid, Christopher. You are a part of this family. We just don't know what part. We'll have to figure that out. It'll take time." She took a deep breath. "I personally think your idea to help others shows your heart is in the right place."

"Stupid..." Hannah began, then smirked. "...but noble. It's kinda right up your alley."

"You've always been my hero, Daddy." Olivia stated plainly.

My heart melted and the tears came easily.

"You know how I feel, Dad. I've been pretty excited about this the whole time."

I gave them a weak, teary smile. "Thanks, you guys."

My phone emitted a tone that signaled a text message and vibrated in my pocket. I fished it out, unlocked the screen, and read the message. My blood ran cold. Without a second thought, I spun out of Laura's comforting gesture and the world slowed to a crawl. I ran out the sliding door to the deck and jumped. At the apex of the leap, I willed myself into flight and to travel as fast as I possibly could. There were several sonic booms that clapped behind me. The wind whipped through my hair and clothes. It was cold enough to freeze the fresh tears on my face from moments ago.

'Christopher, your father is having a heart attack. I called 9-1-1 but I don't know if they'll be here in time. Prepare for the worst, honey.' The text from my mother had read.

Knowing that if I went east far enough to hit Lake Michigan, I could follow the coastline all the way to Sheboygan. I wouldn't have to go all the way into town, though. The family farm was on the south end of the city. There was no time to note how suburban developments had swallowed a lot of old family farms. I still have yet to figure out how to land properly because I slammed into the wheat field, rolled, and even skidded. The world remained in slow motion as I ran toward the house. It only returned to normal when my feet landed on the front porch of the house. I knew the door was unlocked, so I let myself in.

"Mom?! Dad?!" I called out, not even considering they wouldn't recognize my voice.

The house was arranged like any other mid-century ranch-style house. The family room no child was to ever enter was on the other side of a half wall to my right. Before me was the main hallway with family photos through the years. Beyond the family room on the right was the kitchen. To the left was the actual living room. My mother emerged from around the corner. The tears returned.

"Hannah?" She asked, causing more tears.

"It's Christopher, Mom. Where's dad?"

"Christopher? How did you get here? It's two hours drive from Arlington Heights and I just sent you the text."

"Doesn't matter right now, Mom! Where's dad?!"

She pointed down the other hallway. "In the bedroom. We were –"

The world slowed once more as I started running toward her, then around the corner to my parents' bedroom. My father was sitting on the edge of the bed, clutching his chest and breathing laboredly. When the world returned to normal speed, he looked up at me.

"Hannah?" He struggled to ask.

"I don't have time to explain, Dad. It's me, Christopher. Trust me on that." The world adopted the blue hue around me and I could see all of my father's insides. Unpleasant to be sure, but it had purpose. It took me a second to really decipher what I was looking at, but I found his heart. I could hear his weak pulse but I couldn't decipher what I was seeing other than the fact his pacemaker wasn't doing its job very well. Blinking quickly, I looked up at him when the world returned to normal vision. "Let me take you to the hospital."

My mother entered the room behind me. "I've already called the ambulance."

"You said you didn't think they'd be here in time!"

"I still don't, but what can we do?"

"Quite a lot, actually." I swooped in and gently took hold of my father. Once I had a hold of him, I maneuvered through the house. Once outside through the front door, I took to the air.

Holding tightly to my father, it dawned on me he was the first person to fly in my arms. The closest hospital I knew to take him to was Aurora Medical Center. It appeared as if they'd made some upgrades in the past few years, but the Emergency Department was in the same place. Carrying precious cargo, it was incredibly important to figure out how to land correctly. I did everything I could think of to slow myself down enough to gently touch down on the sidewalk near the doors. I stumbled a little, but at least nobody was hurt. Running at normal speed, I entered the doors with him and went straight for a wheelchair.

"Heart attack!" I yelled as I wheeled him into the waiting room.

"What's the patient's name?" The woman from registration asked me as the triage nurses jumped into action.

"Jonas Kent." I responded, watching helplessly.

"Birthdate?" Came the voice of the woman from registration.

"February 29, 1956." I turned my gaze toward the registration woman. "Is he gonna be okay?"

"We're going to do everything we can to help him. What's your relation, sweetie?"

"I'm his kid."

Her eyes became as big as dinner plates. "I've heard of having kids late, but your case takes the cake, honey. He was, what, in his forties when you were born?"

Not wishing to answer that particular question, I turned around and made my way out the door. Once clear of prying eyes, I took to the skies again and headed back to the farmstead. Once again, I landed less than gracefully. Dusting myself off, I found my mom standing on the porch with worry written on her face. As I strode up, her hand shot to her mouth.

"Where's my husband?" She exclaimed.

"I got him to the hospital. The triage nurses are handling it." I informed her as the first wail of the ambulance sirens could be heard.

She looked me up and down. "You moved like the wind. You got here in two minutes from Illinois. What is going on?"

I motioned to my body with my hands. "May I present the aforementioned brat casing, Mom. All quarter-Jewish of it. Remember the 'nonsense' about people with powers?" She nodded. "It's not nonsense, Mom. I can do a lot of things. I panicked when I read your text. Emotion pushed me to limits I'd never even tested before. I flew here as fast as I could."

"You can fly?"

"Yes, Mom, I can fly. Landing is the hard part, but I got Dad to the emergency room without hurting him."

She took a few tentative steps toward me, giving me a look I couldn't decipher. She reached out and cupped my face in her hands. After a moment, she smiled broadly. "There's my Christopher. It's right there in your eyes." She pulled me toward her and embraced me against her chest. "Thank you for coming to help your father, honey."

"Of course, Mom." For the first time in years, I wrapped my arms around and embraced my mother. Full of emotions, the waterworks were fully operational.

"We're going to have to make up a story for you. It's gotten big, but Sheboygan is still a small town. You probably went to school with the EMTs about to come here. Maybe even their parents."

I spoke through sobs. "I don't care, Mom. I'm just glad I could be here for Dad. I did tell the lady at registration that I was his kid, though."

She tapped my back to reassure me. "You let me take care of it, then."

Beacon of Hope



Chapter Nine

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=aJxrX42WcjQ ))

As my father laid in a hospital bed hooked up to all the machines, my mother dutifully tended to him as much as she could. After telling my mother I had my phone on me, I began to aimlessly walk the block – which consisted of County Road TT, South Taylor Drive, and the combination loop of University/Campus Drive. The scenery was the hospital, the Performing Arts Center for Lutheran High School, and the University of Wisconsin - Green Bay Extension, as well as the woods separating all of them in tandem with Bookworm Gardens. It was a long walk. Perfect for someone that needed to process something big.

In one night, my entire family dynamic was changing. Looking at my diminutive left hand, I glanced at the comparatively gigantic wedding band I stubbornly still wore; albeit on my thumb because it wouldn't fit any other finger. I was going to lose my wife. Inside, I was still the man two years older than 'that Danvers girl' I'd fallen for in college. The man that stood with sweating palms in an uncomfortable tuxedo waiting to see her in her white gown. The man that was so proud to meet his first child, as well as every child after, and simultaneously believed that was the moment my wife was the most beautiful. The man that was so proud to buy a first house with her. The man that felt like an utter failure when the Tribune laid him off. The man who loved his children with every piece of his soul.

The man that may be about to lose his father. My parents had always been a solid bedrock in my life. I was their miracle child. The only one to be born. Mom and Dad had difficulty conceiving children and Mom had a lot of miscarriages. I'm the one that made it. Ironically, I was also Mom's first pregnancy. My parents had raised me with all the love in the world. Dad taught me how to be a man and provide for the family. He taught me to farm, but I always wanted to be a writer. Mom taught me how to be caring and nurturing. Both would always say that the best man was a well-rounded one. They did their best to mold me into that ideal. I'd like to think it worked.

My parents were the first ones I called when I met Laura Danvers, my future wife. They were the ones I confided in as to whether and when I should propose. They were the first to know about the birth of each of our children. Dad was the one that told me being a father would have many triumphs and failures, but was ultimately the greatest experience of his life. Mom was the one that told me my wife would generally figure out most things, but would need support through it all. They were the first to know about every failure, too. They consoled me when I lost my job at the Tribune and gave me the strength to keep going in spite of it. They urged me to keep going, for my sake as well as my family's. In the last few years, I retreated from them as much as I had Laura and the girls.

As I walked, tears ran down my cheeks. I'd never shed so many tears in a single night. What else can one do when their whole world falls apart?

As I approached Bookworm Gardens, Týr landed gently beside me. He said nothing for a few minutes. As I sniffled from the crying, he gently tapped my shoulder. I don't truly know why someone that was still quite a stranger to me was so comforting in that moment. For a few minutes, we walked in silence while the crickets sang their chorus in the distant foliage. My footfalls were quiet while his were lumbering. We must have been quite the sight: a 5'10" crying teenage girl with a hulking 6'7" giant of a ginger man.

"Your family coming." He informed me softly. "They are worried... for you and father."

"Thanks, Tyr." I struggled to say.

"I tell you many times, name is said like 'toor', not 'tier'."

"Force of habit, I guess. Sorry."

"Much like you cling to Kristófer though you are not." He took a breath to let his words sink in. "When the cosmos blessed me, I was not ready to release my name. I was mother. I was leader. My children and the people thought other things. They give me new name. In time, I forget what is to be mother, but never what is leader. New people gave me new name. I keep Týr. Maybe the people give you new name in time. Things change."

"I still can't see you as a woman. You've said it, but I can't picture it."

"Is many winters ago. Is lost to the memory of people. Is not lost to me. Like you, things change fast and kvennváðir, as you say 'dress', no longer fit. I had to become new thing. It take time for thinking to change, but must be done." He sighed. "I, too, lose father young. I lose him when still in swaddling clothes, not yet bleeding. He was good man, but young man. I lose husband with baby still on breast during war."

"Death is part of life," He continued. "Is like wheel. Snows leave, plants grow, harvest come, plants die, snow returns. Is cycle. People who name me 'Týr' believe in life after this. They say there place called 'Fólkvangr'. It is place of sheep people, weavers, tailors, farmers, and other things. It not place of glory and feasting, not Valhöll. It place of Freyja. Maybe, if death happen, your father go there?"

Tears kept streaming down my cheeks. "Is it a pretty place? A happy place?"

He shrugged. "At times. Is most beautiful of places to people who live in place of mountains, snow, and cold."

"Good point."

"What I say is: you're man here like I am woman here," He gestured to the center of his chest. "But you not man to people. I am not woman to people. Not for many winters. You woman to people." He scoffed. "More like girl, but point same." He shook his head. "You need to find heart of girl and accept like I find heart of man and accept. I must afklæða, remove, my kvennváðir, clothing of woman. You must klæða, put on, kvennváðir. Understand?"

"I have no idea what language you're speaking, but you're at least kind of making sense."

"Your people call it 'Old Norse'. I call it tongue of my mother."

"I thought you sounded vaguely Scandinavian, but I wasn't completely sure."

"It is tongue that birth other tongues." He shook his head. "We are not holding oar."

"If that means the conversation has drifted off course, then you may be right." I sniffled, then inhaled deeply. "I'm losing everything I hold dear: my marriage, my daughters, maybe even my father. I stopped being a journalist years ago. All of this is destroying my sense of self. I don't know who I am anymore."

He nodded. "I know this. When I changed, world became lonely place. No children. No people. I must wear the cloth of man. I must live life of man. I not know how to do this. No teacher. My boat had no oars. Many winters have passed but I remember." He turned to looking at me with a look of warmth. "I will be your oar. Your teacher."

"It's been five thousand years since you were female. How would you even know?"

"Winters pass, but does the seed not linger?"

"That makes far more sense than I anticipated. Times change, but the essentials remain?" He nodded to me. "I guess I can understand that."

"Now is not time for these things. We must return to your father. You must be with him if light fades. Is the way of things."

The walk back to the hospital wasn't very long. Our conversation had nearly lasted the full distance around the block. Back in the waiting room, I found my mother sitting alone with the worry of many on her face. I sat next to her and took her hand. She was only in the waiting room because they had taken my father to surgery. It would be hours before we heard anything. Cardiovascular surgery is a complicated process. Týr stayed at a distance, but close enough to be a reminder of his presence. It was obvious that it had been many years since he had been comfortable around many people.

After a while, Laura and the girls appeared in the doorway before joining my mother and I in the waiting room seats. Everyone exchanged pleasantries and condolences. There was a lot of awkward silence among us until the surgeon called my mother to speak with her. The tension was thick while they had their conversation. My mother returned with new tears in her eyes.

"What did the doctor say, Marian?" Laura asked, breaking the silence.

My mother struggled to speak. "That he... he made it through the surgery, but... there was a lot of damage. He... he might only have a day or two." She sobbed. "He's... sleeping now."

For all of us that understood, tears began flowing. Olivia hadn't been fully briefed on what was happening.

"What's the matter?" She asked.

Temporarily releasing my mother's hand while Laura took the other one, I knelt down to our daughter and struggled to speak the words I needed to. "Sweetheart, Grandpa... is very sick. That's why I left the house so quickly. His... his heart is not doing well." As my words sank in, she started crying. "We... we're gonna lose Grandpa, honey." My tears came heavier. "I'm so sorry, sweetheart."

To my surprise, she reached out and pulled me into a hug before crying on my shoulder. "I don't want Grampa to go to heaven."

"Neither do I, baby." I squeaked out and cried harder along with her. "Neither do I."

It was a bittersweet moment. My youngest was actually coming to me for comfort and I was going to lose my father. In the next second, Hannah and Madison joined our embrace with sobs of their own. I did my best to embrace all my girls and try to offer comfort, but we were all hurting just as much. After a few moments, Laura and my mother joined our embrace and cried as well. For a while, we were a ball of hugs and sobs. None of us were coming out of this unscathed.

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

Hours later, Laura had taken the girls to the Super 8 just north off Taylor Drive. She knew if anything happened, nobody could get there quicker than I. She and the girls were exhausted, physically from the drive and emotionally from the news. My mother had since drifted off in the hospital recliner holding my father's hand. Týr remained vigilant on the periphery but tried to not get in anyone's way. Meanwhile, I remained at my father's side opposite my mother. To my surprise, I wasn't the least bit tired. I was perfectly content to watch over my dad through the night.

Memories flowed through my mind, one after another. The time he came into the house covered in grease from working on the tractor and scooped me up while I was watching Sesame Street. He held me over his head like I was flying. The smile on his face when interacting with his young son was palpable. The time he actually wore a suit as we attended his mother's funeral. It's the first time I saw him actually cry. The time I had peeked through the crack in the door and saw him comfort Mom after her final miscarriage. He held her head against his chest and let her cry as long as she needed to. They never tried for children again. The time he was in the stands when I landed my first successful hit in baseball. He had a team cap on and spilled the popcorn by cheering exuberantly. The time he gave me "the talk" right before my first date which consisted of simply telling me to be respectful and not doing anything stupid. The time I turned back to him after getting my high school diploma to see the proud smile on his face. The time he helped me move into the dorms at Northwestern. The time he first met Laura. The time we first brought each of the girls to see their grandparents after only being born days before.

There were so many more, both good and bad. He always told me the bad days just allowed the good ones to feel that much better. At the time he said those words, I couldn't fathom what he meant. I was beginning to understand. My tears had been flowing freely all night.

"Ope. Look who it is... not-Hannah," A weak voice broke the silence. "Word is that you saved me."

I straightened up and gave a meek smile. "Hey, Pop. How you feeling?"

"I'm feelin' kinda crummy. Why are you callin' me 'Pop'? I'm not sure who you are." My father's eyebrows furrowed at me.

Feeling like crying again, I reached out and wrapped a hand around his arm. "I'm your son. I'm Christopher."

He actually chuckled. "Sure thing, bud."

"Remember that thing that happened about three weeks ago? The one that tripped your pacemaker?"

"No, yeah. That was no picnic. Scared my wife somethin' fierce. How'd you know about that?"

"And you remember hearing that it changed some people? Gave them powers?"

He raised an eyebrow at me. "Where you tryin' to go with this?"

"Do you remember how you got here to the hospital?"

He almost answered, but stopped himself. After a moment, he sighed into his words. "Well, I'll be... You flew me here. You're really fast."

"I can do other things, but they weren't needed. I just wanted to help."

He looked up at the ceiling. "It was like an angel."

"Not quite like that, Pop." I shook my head. "Remember when I was a kid and you'd hold me up so I could feel like I was flying?" The tears and sniffles came back. "I can do it for real, now."

His eyes returned to mine. "What's my middle name?"

The question caught me off-guard, but I shrugged at him. "Clark. Why?"

"How old am I?" He kept his focused stare.

"You're sixty-nine."

"Yeah, no. How old am I?"

My mind searched for his meaning. He meant something other than his chronological age. He'd joke about it sometimes. Still crying, I actually laughed. "You're seventeen, Pop." Having been born on Leap Day, there had been seventeen since the year he was born. It was one of his favorite jokes.

He smiled at me. "Yeah, you're my kid. How old are you, now?" My guess is that my answers to his questions convinced him of my identity.

"I'm forty-five, Pop." He glared at me again. I rolled my eyes. "Fine. The doctors say I'm seventeen, too."

"Seventeen, huh? Ain't that somethin'? Me and my kid the same age?" He chuckled. After a moment, he motioned toward my body. "So, this all happen with that... thing?"

I nodded. "Yea."

"So, what all can you do?"

"Basically everything Superman can."

"And you're a Kent. A real one. How 'bout that?" He looked up at the ceiling again. "I wanted to name you 'Clark' but your mom thought I was bein' stupid." We shared a chuckle before he continued. "Y'know, Chris, I never told your mom this: I always wondered what kinda dad I'd be to a daughter. I always wanted one. Broke your mom's and my heart when we couldn't have any more babies." He returned his gaze to me. "Don't get me wrong, son: raisin' you was the best job I ever had. You're special to your mom and me." He let out a whimsical sigh. "I guess the stars was playin' darts, again. Hit a bullseye right on you."

Sniffling and tears flowing, I chuckled. "Yea, they did."

His voice turned somber. "What's the prognosis?"

More tears flowed. "It's not good, Pop. You're dying."

"Been dyin' since the day I was born, kid." He shook his head. "It's my heart, ain't it?" Tearfully, I nodded in response. "Your gran-dad always said my heart was too big for this world. I'd like to think he kinda had a point. I've always tried to live up to that, y'know. This world's too mean to not be. I've tried to teach you to be that way." He took as deep a breath as he could. "You're a good man, Chris. You took care of your mom and me. You took care of your wife and kids. You took a hit on the chin and kept going. I did the best I could think of for you and you turned out better than I ever dreamed. You've got words, kid. Always have. It's your actions, though, that show people who you are. That sayin', I'm proud I got to be your dad."

More tears than I've ever shed poured out of my eyes as I got up and hugged him.

He bent at the elbow and meekly tapped my shoulder while turning his head so our foreheads touched. "Whatever you're gonna be goin' forward – man, woman, boy, girl – you just show people the kind of person you are. Use what you've been given to leave this world better than you found it, like I tried to do every day."

Through sobs, talking was hard. "I'll make you proud, Pop."

"You already have, kid."

Beacon of Hope



Chapter Ten

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=lIqBXPtolcw ))

Five days later, we buried my father. I wore a suit. With my car back in Illinois, Laura and the girls came with me to buy the suit. Hannah tried to convince me to wear a customary black dress with sensible flats and Madison somewhat encouraged this, but I repelled the efforts. I compromised with a sensible pantsuit from the women's section, but insisted on a tie. Laura was more accommodating than the girls and even found a suitable pair of loafers for me. We even managed to find Týr something to wear so he didn't look like we dragged him to a funeral from a Renaissance Faire.

My father had seemed to make an impact on the small village surrounding the Kent Farm south of Sheboygan, WI. Nearly two thousand people came to show their respects. I only recognized about a third of the faces. We held the ceremony at the Immaculate Conception Catholic Church because my parents both loved the interior. My family had been Catholic for as long as I could remember, but it never caught on with me. The priest had some lovely things to say during the mass and the choir sang some lovely songs. It was the dedications that really caught much of the audience. First, the priest said a few words about my father. Then, a couple of his friends. I had the responsibility of the official eulogy.

It hurt that I couldn't write it completely genuinely. Nobody was going to believe this seventeen year old girl in a pantsuit was actually the child of Jonas and Marian Kent. Thus, I wrote it like one of my articles and read it in a third-person voice. It started with an apology for the absence of their son, Christopher Joseph Kent. From there, it was a collection of all the things I could remember about my father, good and bad, with a few jokes thrown in – inside jokes, including the one he always told about his birthday. It told of his willingness to help others at the drop of a hat. It told of a man torn over the fact he and his wife couldn't have more children than one; that he took most of the blame for. It told of a warm hug awaiting anyone that needed one. It told of a man dedicated to his family and friends. It ended with my favorite quote of my father's.

"...and remember to always leave the world better than you found it." I concluded with a giant knot in my throat and tears streaming down my face. "Good bye, Jonas Kent."

I stepped away from the pulpit that we used for the podium and returned to my seat in the pew between my mother and my family. To my surprise, my mother still wanted me to be one of the pallbearers. Thus, at the conclusion of the ceremony, I helped carry my father to his final resting place. It was difficult to compensate for the other five people as I could carry the whole load as if it were a feather. We dedicated his grave at the cemetery and the priest gave his blessing. One toss of dirt later, everyone began to disperse. I stood and stared at the casket as the cemetery staff lowered him into the pit. Týr, again, stood in the periphery as did Laura and the girls. The only one that approached was my mother. She extended one arm over both my shoulders, holding my deltoid, with one arm and gently placed her other hand on my deltoid nearest her. Even in her own pain, she was trying to comfort me.

We stood there for an indeterminate amount of time in silence. I could hear Laura and the girls walking back toward the car. Once we knew we were truly alone, my mother spoke.

"He's already through the pearly gates, honey. They had a pass saved for him." She tried reassuring me.

"I can do all these things, but I couldn't save him." I sniffled. "I couldn't even give his eulogy as his son, Mom."

"Hush, now, child." My mother turned me toward her, keeping her hands on my shoulders. "You came the minute that text reached your phone. I can scarcely believe how fast you arrived or that you flew. Your only concern was your father's health. You did everything you could do. The almighty has plans for all of us, Christopher. If this be his will, then so be it. Funerals and eulogies are for the living. Your father is fully aware of how much you love him and what he meant to you."

I absently wiped a new tear from my cheek. "Thanks, Mom."

"Now, I have something to show you."

Arm over my shoulder, she led me a few plots down to a couple of older headstones. The first bore the names of James Harold Weber and a name I'd not seen before: Miriam Krista Weber (née Katzenberg). The second bore the names of Ernest Jonathon Kent and Astrid Karin Kent (née Johannson). The second was fairly aged, but the first seemed newer.

"These are your grandparents. You were really young when they passed away." She pointed at the second headstone. "Those are your father's parents. Your middle name starting with a 'J' came from them. They were all about boy's names with a 'J' somewhere in the name." She pointed to the first. "These are my parents. I updated the headstone after my mother passed. Daddy died first in a tractor accident. Nobody would plant in that field for a few years because of that. I had already found my mother's original birth certificate in her hope chest and discovered her true name while I was pregnant with you. I updated the headstone when she died of cancer."

She took a deep breath. "I never told your father, but I secretly hoped for a daughter. You almost had a little sister, but then the miscarriage. It broke a part of me, Christopher. It really did."

"Dad told me that he did, too, but never told you." My eyes looked down at hers. She was the same height as Hannah. "He told me that first night. Everybody else was asleep."

A single tear rolled down her cheek. "Thank you for telling me, honey." Her eyes returned to the headstones. "Your situation is very confusing. I don't understand it, but I want to help the best I can. I already told anyone that asked at the funeral that you are a foster child. Jonas and I took you in when your parents died in an accident about a year ago." She sniffled. "You need a name. I want to name you for my mother, if you'll let me. She went through so much in the war. She had to learn a new way of being, like you do now."

"Really, Mom?"

She nodded firmly. "Naturally, it won't be exactly the same. Your name 'Christopher' already came from her name. I've been doing a lot of thinking. 'Krista' might be a bit dated for someone your age now, but 'Kristen' seems fine. 'Miriam' is a fine middle name. So, what do you say? 'Kristen Miriam Kent'?"

"Did you talk with Dad about this before he... ?"

"I did. He agreed it was the most pragmatic. I don't know if you noticed, but he was only calling you 'Chris' before the end because both names have the same nickname. The new one would just be a 'K' instead of 'Ch'."

"Sounds fine, Mom." I took in a long breath. "I was actually going to talk to you about something like this. A friend of mine uncovered something sinister."

"That Larry Lang boy you've been friends with since high school?"

I nodded. "Her name is Lauren, now."

"Oh... so it changed him/her, too?"

"It did. Lauren found out that the government is going to start rounding up people like us through a federal contractor." I turned to look her in the eyes. "I can't let that happen, Mom. I can't let the things that have been happening continue. I intend to do just what Dad told me to do: leave this world better than I found it."

"What are you going to do, honey?"

"I'm going to get some kind of uniform and help people. At the same time, I can't put Laura and the girls at risk. If these federally sanctioned stormtroopers come for me and can't get me, I'm afraid they might do something to hurt my family. We're going to need to have another funeral. This time, it would be for Christopher Kent."

My mother considered my words for a moment before nodding. "What do you need from me, sweetheart?"

I smiled. "You just gave it to me. That... and we might have to redo my bedroom."

She nodded again. "It was getting dusty, anyway."

"Thanks, Mom. I'll call Lauren and have her get to work on all the logistics."

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

The days seemed to melt together after that. I called Lauren later that afternoon and filled her in on the situation. She offered some very sincere and very deep condolences. She promised to begin crafting some plausible reason why 'Lauren Lang' and 'Kristen Kent' existed while 'Lawrence Lang' and 'Christopher Kent' did not. My next communication was with Dr. Voss, informing her of the reason I'd not contacted her in six days. She, too, offered condolences. I made a promise to stop by the lab when I was back in Chicagoland.

Two days after the funeral, I rode with Laura and my daughters back to Arlington Heights. Discussing my new name and the situation going forward was not an easy conversation. Laura first objected because she didn't want to see me go and thought she might be pushing me away while she dealt with her own issues about me. Hannah shed a few tears for reasons she kept to herself. Madison was bummed that our growing closeness would stop. Olivia really didn't like the idea of my leaving. I reassured all of them that the idea to leave had not been taken lightly, that my love for them was not any less, and that I could just zip over from Wisconsin at a moment's notice. Their acceptance of the situation at hand did grow as we talked. It's a two-hour drive, after all. In all fairness, I really didn't want to leave them. I was doing the hard thing in an effort to keep them safe.

Back in Chicagoland, I drove to Northwestern that very day. It was still early afternoon and I confirmed with Dr. Voss that she was ready for me. Half an hour later, I was in her lab/office. She showed me several sketches, first. She'd drawn up some concepts of what the suit might look like at completion. They were mostly more modern adaptations of Supergirl costumes I'd seen in several comics, skirt and all. I stressed two things: the need to avoid copyright infringement and that I did not want a skirt. She rubbed her temples in frustration.

"Here's the thing: we'll start with the basics," She began. "The colors. They're the thing that's going to make you stand out. For the blue, I went with a staple: middle saturated azure. I borrowed from Christopher Reeve's costume and whatever I could grab from the trailers featuring David Corenswet's costume. It's bright and cheerful, which works for color theory. The red doesn't have a name. I went a little darker and a bit more bold. It compliments the middle saturated azure wonderfully. For the yellow, I put down the banana and went with a bright yellow gold to tie everything together and make it a good, modern look. Back in the day, all they had was primary colors, so that's why we have the pallet we do."

"Won't a suit made with those colors be claimed as copyright?" I wondered.

She shook her head. "All you have to do is change about twenty-five percent and you get plausible deniability. It's the 21st Century, honey. A lot of ideas are copies of what came before." She rolled her eyes. "Since you hate all my skirt ideas, I've got..." She had to dig deep in her pile of mock-ups to find the one she was looking for. When she showed it to me, it looked like a Superman costume with boobs. "That's the best non-skirt one I came up with."

I smacked my forehead. "Oh, Warner Brothers Discovery is going to come for my head if American Vanguard Solutions doesn't beat them to it!"

She narrowed her eyes on me. "You're looking to be a super hero in this world, honey. You've got all the powers, so why not lean into it? People are going to instantly recognize this uniform. The guy is, after all, the most well known super hero. Even people who have never read a comic book or watched one of the movies know who Superman is. They're gonna know you're there to help just by looking at you. That's the goal, right?"

I stared at the sheet of paper. "Yea, that's the goal. Did we have to do the trunks, though?"

Again, she rolled her eyes. "I'm not budging on those. For one, you're female so they're basically like hotpants. They're not a fashion faux pas. For two, I watched an interview with the new actor and I liked his take on the classic trunks. He thought they were intentionally silly. It was to make the guy approachable and show he doesn't take himself too seriously. On you, they'll look fine and serve to contrast and break up the suit a little. I also hired a graphic designer friend to envision an 'S' symbol for the chest. You're welcome."

"I don't even have a name and you're putting an 'S' symbol on my chest?"

She grumbled. "The total package is a statement! The blue suit, the red trunks, the yellow belt, the red boots that I will add a yellow band to the top of, and the pièce de résistance... the ankle-length billowing red cape with the yellow shield on the back! It's a look that will say 'I am powerful, noble, and approachable'!" She sighed like I offended her. "Suit first. You can figure out a name later."

I sighed in relinquishment. "Fine. What do you need from me?"

"I'll take you to the imaging suite where we will get a full 3D model of you. Then, you get naked," She shrugged.

"Cheese and crackers, I haven't been naked in front of anyone but my wife for twenty-three years!"

"It's the most precise way to take measurements. I'll show you where to stand when we get there. After that, you'll be alone. Yes, the 3D scan will come up on my screen but it never shows the really intimate stuff. You're perfectly safe, okay?"

My body squirmed. "I don't know about this..."

A small digital 'ding' sound emanated from the tablet on her desk. She spun around, strode over, picked it up, and glanced at the screen for a moment. "Oh, lovely. Your symbol is ready." She flipped over the tablet to show me. The design was similar, yet different in subtle ways. There was still the classic diamond-shaped shield design with three layers: yellow, then red, then yellow again for the background. The "S" itself was a more angular and somewhat digital design, a far cry from the looping and curvy nature of the English letter itself. "Thoughts?"

My eyebrows raised in appreciation. "Okay, that looks pretty cool. I did not know I could appreciate an angular 'S' shape and I lived through the '90s."

Her facial expression melted into a blank, unapproving glare. "You may want to tone down talk of 'the late 1900s' as the kids call it. If you're going to develop a secret identity, I suggest getting on TikTok and studying as much of the lingo as you can before they ban it for real." She started walking toward the door to the corridor beyond.

I shrugged. "I could just talk to my daughters. I've got two teenagers."

Stopping short at the door, she turned to me. "No, you don't. You're seventeen, remember?" She motioned for me to follow her with her head. "Let's get this over with."

Sighing, I started to follow. "Oh. Right. I keep forgetting."

She led me out of her lab and down the corridor with the click-clack of her heels echoing endlessly. The architecture of the Technological Institute at Northwestern was nothing short of a modern marvel. The floors were clean and coated with linoleum. The walls to the labs and offices were framed with wooden accents. The upper levels were mostly glass. Steel beam rafters framed the entire structure in a blend of industrial design and modern science. It was a wonder I never came into this building when I studied here.

Dr. Voss rounded a corner and ushered me into what looked to be a newer lab. It had fewer windows than many of the others. The byline on the door read: Digital Simulation Research for the Purposes of Digital Art and Interactive Media. Once inside, there was a corridor that branched in two directions. I was directed to the left while Dr. Voss moved to the right. The right seemed to be a control room of sorts. The left as a room with a giant white ring with all kinds of cords and hoses attached to it. It looked like it had been ripped right out of an episode of Westworld or, perhaps, inspired the design.

"I'll start up the imaging suite while you close the door and disrobe." She announced over a PA system somewhere in the room.

Turning around, I made sure to lock the door. Afterward, my eyes scanned the room. There were no windows, mirrors, or one-way glass sections. It was me and the Westworld scanning device. That's it. Taking a deep breath, I felt comfortable enough to disrobe. Folding my clothes and stacking them in a corner, I stepped into the marked area in the middle of the machine.

"Are you ready?" She asked.

"Let's get this over with." I answered.

She had me stand in several poses whilst the machine whizzed around me. From T-pose, to t-arms and spread legs, then A-pose, then A-arms and legs spread. She asked me to strike a pose like a superhero with my fists on my hips and legs shoulder-width apart. She even asked me to pose like I was flying so I hovered a little and obliged. After that, she asked me to do a "superhero landing" and I had no idea what she was talking about. She told me to think about Natasha Romanov from the Marvel films. I obliged but I felt really silly. There's no way to know if it was pertinent to anticipating the stretch the fabric would need to accommodate or if she was being facetious. When she cleared me, I hurried putting my clothes back on, unlocked the door, and stepped into the corridor.

After a moment, she joined me with her tablet in hand once more. She held it up for me to see. "These are the results," She stated plainly. With her finger, she panned through a 3D model of each pose I had assumed. The 3D models looked like a faceless, gray Barbie doll. "See? I got all your musculature and nothing I didn't need."

My eyebrows raised in astonishment. "Wow. I look like an athlete. Like... a girl that plays softball or volleyball in school or something."

Dr. Voss exited the imaging suite and started down the corridor toward her lab with me not far behind. She tapped on her tablet as we walked. Before long, we were back through the doors into her lab and heading toward her office. She kept her focus on the tablet for a few more moments, completely ignoring me. I simply leaned on the door frame with my arms folded and somewhat mindlessly glanced around the office and lab. Occasionally, she'd curse to herself in a volume she may have thought I might not be able to hear, but I heard it all. About the time I moved to pull my phone out of my pocket to play a game or something, she happily shrieked.

"Got it!" She exclaimed. She held the tablet to her chest for a moment. "Now, remember: this is really just a rough mockup. I'll clean it up and get to work on the production model. It's better than the concept drawing." She then turned the tablet to show me her work.

Grasping the sides gingerly, I pulled it closer in an effort to really examine what I was looking at. She'd used the hands-on-hips pose and put the suit with the trunks on my body. Admittedly, it looked pretty amazing. She pointed at different parts of the rendering as she spoke.

"The end product will have a hexagonal texture to the main blue of the suit. That happens with the materials and tech I'm looking forward to using. The emblem on your chest will be raised and embellished nicely. I'm going to work on adding some utility to the belt. Right now, it's only decorative. You can see the yellow-gold band at the top of the boots. The cape will flow nicely, I think. The emblem on the back won't be raised. What do you think?"

Offering a warm smile. "I think you're incredibly talented at what you do, Dr. Voss. It looks very nice. I'm excited to see what the final product will look like."

"It's going to be cutting edge, I assure you. I have a couple of my Bombyx mori that I think were impacted by the stellar inversion pulse as you were. Their silk is coming out stronger than any natural fiber I've ever seen. With a little contingency reinforcement and a little tech, it'll be a perfect suit for someone like you."

"I really appreciate everything you're doing for me."

She shrugged. "It's nothing, really. I finally get to indulge in my dream of fashion design and you get to be a guinea pig for some new materials. It's a win-win."

"How long until the suit will be ready?"

"Maybe two weeks? Give or take? Natural, sustainable fibers take a little longer to cultivate than the synthetics someone else might try to peddle you."

"Worth that wait. Thank you, Doctor." I extended a hand for a handshake.

She happily takes my hand and shakes it. "The pleasure is all mine. Now, get out of here. I've got work to do."

I gave her a cordial nod before turning to leave. Something inside was telling me the next two weeks were going to crawl by with how much I was going to anticipate the suit.

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.

Beacon of Hope



Chapter Twelve

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=ysSxxIqKNN0 ))

Even a couple of days after a full month since everything happened, the feeling of actually being able to fly cannot be understated. Now having the suit, the freedom to do so was a growing sense in my heart. The suit was performing admirably. It fit me like a glove, moved with me, and the streamlined profile really added some maneuverability. The only thing flapping was the cape but it brought a sense of pride in me to feel it as it reacted to the air around me. The nobility inherent in such an adornment was felt in my soul. I felt like I not only had power but also purpose. I could now do what I had set out to do a short time ago. Like any uniform, this suit would distinguish me from anyone else and command recognition. I wasn't looking for fame or fortune. I just wanted to help and the suit would soon be that bridge between me and the people of Chicago.

Closing my eyes, I spread my arms as if I were imitating an airplane. I flew through the air at a leisurely pace. The wind tickled my skin, whipped my hair around, and fluttered the cape as I moved along. My heart fluttered and a smile formed on my face. I felt as happy and fulfilled in that moment that perhaps Robin Williams imagined what truly flying might have felt like in that scene from Hook where he takes flight for the first time. There have been many actors that have tried to capture this feeling over the years, but I think Mr. Williams got the closest to really capturing it.

A sharp shriek interrupted my reverie. I recognized that tone almost instantly: a mother's almost helpless, worried scream. Coming to a stop and hovering midair, I followed Týr's advice and closed my eyes. The shriek came again and, once I had discerned its point of origin, I tried to determine what was happening. As if I had a powerful pair of binoculars, my gaze landed on a child that was likely about three years old wandering into the street chasing after a rainbow-colored ball. The young woman I could only assume was her mother had a frantic expression on her face and was running toward her child. There was an old pickup truck approaching the location of the child and traveling at far too high a speed for such a residential area.

There was no hesitation in me. I immediately accelerated toward the child, hearing a sonic boom behind me. The world slowed down as I rushed toward the scene. In mere moments, I arrived, scooped up the child, and forgot how to land correctly. I held the little girl close to my chest and wrapped my cape around her while I rolled a few times. As I came to a stop, I could feel the truck hit me from behind and the front end buckled on impact. I had already cradled the little girl in my arms and protected her with everything I had. Upon a survey of the scene seconds later, I knew the danger was over.

The girl's mother ran toward me with tears rolling down her cheeks and her mascara completely destroyed. I gently pulled my cape away and the girl turned her head toward her mother's frantic screams. Giving the child a quick glance, there wasn't so much as a bruise or abrasion on her. I stood and delivered the girl to her mother's exasperated arms. She held her baby to her chest and mouthed the words "thank you" before collapsing to her knees. A crowd was gathering as I turned and narrowed my eyes at the driver of the truck. He looked a bit dazed and had a nasty bruise on his forehead from hitting the steering wheel.

"What were you thinking?" I asked him.

He turned and looked at me, seemingly confused. I could smell alcohol on his breath. "Didn't I just hit you? How are you standing here?"

"Doesn't matter. You need to get to the hospital and make sure you don't have a concussion. You should be ashamed of yourself for driving while intoxicated. You nearly killed a child. If I hadn't been here, you would have. Think that over, friend."

Angered, I ignored anything further that man had to say. The mother had taken her child out of the street. I spotted the ball and jogged over to pick it up. When I brought it to the little girl, she seemed very pleased.

"There you go, little one." I almost cooed at her. "Do me a favor, though? Get an adult next time the ball goes into the road, okay? Safety first."

"Okay, Super Lady," The little girl smiled.

Her mother, still distraught, spoke in shrill waves. "Thank you, so much. You have no idea what she means to me."

I smiled at her. "I kinda do. Glad you're both safe."

"What's your name?" The mother asked me.

I shrugged. "Don't have one. It's my first day."

Without another word, I took to the skies again. A hole in my heart was filled in that moment. My years-long search for purpose had come to an end. Not since helping my parents with volunteer work or working for a newspaper had I felt the genuine joy of being able to materially help people. This more active role was starting to feel like a well-fitting glove.

Moments later, my eyes fell on an older man in an electric wheelchair. The infrastructure in this part of town didn't seem to have been maintained well at all. The corner curb cut had long since crumbled. The sidewalks themselves had been darkened by years of neglect and the sections were uneven. He was just a guy trying to cross the street and was stopped with a stuck wheel. Being a little more conscientious of my landing, I gently set down nearby and calmly strode over to him. His hairline had long since receded and his waistline had expanded. He was struggling and getting more frustrated by the second.

"Need a hand?" I asked while calmly approaching.

He appeared startled and took one look at me, trying to ascertain my intentions. Or so I thought. "There a comic book convention in town I didn't know about?"

I chuckled. "No. It's my new uniform. Like it?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Why does it look like a Superman costume?"

I shrugged. "That was more of an inspiration." I pointed to his chair. "Looks like you're a little stuck."

He groaned. "Damn city hasn't fixed the sidewalks in years. They'd rather pay for patchwork fixes to the major roads and forget they've got a legal mandate to maintain the ADA-compliant stuff."

"Yea, they're not the best at that." I agreed. "Trying to cross the street?"

"Yep. Trying to get to the corner shop for a pack of cigarettes."

"Well, you really shouldn't smoke, but I'm not your mother." I moved behind him.

He laughed. "How's a little girl like you gonna help my fat ass get loose?"

Without much effort, I held the sides and lifted the entire chair then began walking him across the street. "You really shouldn't talk about yourself like that. There are so many reasons people gain weight. It's not an indictment against your character."

He locked up and stiffened himself in the chair. "Holy shit! How are you doing this?!"

"Doing what? Lifting you? Easy, I just did it." Neither of us said much until I set him back down on the opposing sidewalk. "There ya go. Should be easier getting to the store, now."

His eyes looked at me and his face carried an air of incredulity. "With that much strength in such a small package, why help me?"

I offered a smile. "Because it's the right thing to do, friend. Are you going to be okay getting home?"

He slowly nodded at me. "I should be fine, if I avoid this street. Sidewalks are crap, too."

I nodded. "Yea, I noticed that. You be careful, okay?"

"Sure thing."

I leapt into the air right there with him still wearing an expression of incredulity. The poor guy was flabbergasted. It was his questioning of his own worth that made my heart sink a little bit. So many people like him feel so unworthy of positive attention. Hopefully, I can help change that perception in some small way.

Sure, I'd done some good, but I was also supposed to be testing the suit. After a thought hit me quickly, I began to climb upward. Once free of the airspace generally occupied by local aircraft, I kicked it into high gear. A couple sonic booms sounded behind me, but it didn't seem like anything was negatively affecting the suit. Even the cape that flapped constantly in the wind showed no sign of deterioration at all. Not a thread seemed to be loose. Once at a sufficient height, I turned and decided to see just how fast I could get going while encircling the city. I'm not completely sure how fast I was going but I know it made me dizzy watching the greater Chicago area spin that fast.

As I hovered in an effort to cure my dizziness, the high-pitched wail of an emergency vehicle reached my ears. The sound had a long rise and fall in pitch, denoting an ambulance or fire truck. My eyes searched for the source of the siren. I couldn't immediately see it, so I had to follow the sound a bit to figure out its point of origin. Flying quite a bit lower, I spotted a five-car pileup on I-90. As if the midday lunch rush weren't enough, it had apparently slowed all traffic in the area and the ambulance was behind all the rest of it. With the cars looking like mangled hunks of metal, time would be of the essence. That ambulance had to get through. I zipped over as quickly as I could.

For the moment, I bypassed the scene of the collision. I kept low and just over the traffic. When my path came close to the ambulance, I slowed to a stop and slowly hovered toward the driver side window. Initial instinct told me to tap on the glass, but the driver noticed me immediately given that I'd just flown in.

"Is everybody buckled in securely?" I asked the driver.

"Yea, we're good and safe. Really wish these drivers would move so we could get through." He answered.

"Are you heading to the collision?"

"Yes, we are. Who are you?"

I chuckled. "Don't have a name, yet. Hold onto something. I'll get you in there."

My eyes darted around me looking for a solution. I could just shove cars out of the way, but that would cause even more damage than had already occurred today. Glancing back at the ambulance, something obvious stood out to me: the ground clearance. Hoping with all my heart that my hare-brained idea worked, I floated to just behind the ambulance. After setting down on the street, I got my hands under the bumper and started lifting. It didn't take very much at all. As I lifted, I walked my hands down the frame until I could get enough leverage to fully lift the entire ambulance off the street. Gently, I lifted the thing over my head before taking flight once more. I floated just over the cars and carried the ambulance toward the site of the collision.

Once I found a clear spot to set down the ambulance, I worked in reverse to set it back down again. I could hear the EMTs inside leap into action. They started grabbing kits. I walked up to the driver's window once again.

"What should I look for?" I asked the driver.

"The worst cases." He answered.

"How would I know who's the worst off?"

"Look for neck, spine, or rib injuries. You've got the flight and strength like Superman. You got the X-ray vision thing, too?"

"Yes, but I'm not a radiologist. I'm not sure what I'm looking at."

"Look for broken bones in the neck, back, or ribs. We'll triage from there."

"You guys have backup enroute?"

He nodded. "Yea, but who knows if they'll make it through the traffic!"

"I'll do what I can." I nodded firmly at him.

The first thing I did was zip over to the vehicles a few feet away. I tried each door. If I couldn't open the door, I ripped it off. Next, I did what I could to concentrate. No part of me was looking forward to seeing another human's skeleton and innards, but it had to be done. The first vehicle at the back of the pileup was a black SUV with a family inside: dad, mom, and two kids. The doors opened fine and–after a once over with that blue filter in my eyes–they all seemed okay. I asked them politely to go to the EMTs. The next vehicle was a gray Tesla. The guy inside was generally okay, but there was a small fracture in his forehead, so I alerted the EMTs.

The next three were hard. The chassis were mangled messes. No way to open the doors, so I ripped them off. The first car was an older sedan with an elderly couple inside. After scanning the man and the woman, I determined there weren't any skeletal injuries but that didn't mean much. I'm going to have to learn to decipher what I'm seeing with these eyes. The next vehicle was an absolutely giant black SUV. There were six occupants inside, all teenagers. There were two broken legs, a broken clavicle, and one fractured rib. Their injuries looked a bit worse but were mostly bruises.

The first vehicle in the line was the worst. I couldn't tell what it was originally. I actually had to tear open the roof to get to the people inside. There was a toddler in the back seat, kept safe by the car seat. No significant injuries. The front seat was a different story. They were a young couple. A pregnant woman had been driving. Her neck, back, and ribs all checked out. Her left arm was broken, as well as a few of her toes. The young man was in the worst shape. He was unconscious, there was a crack in one of his neck vertebrae, and two in his spine. Both legs were broken. His heartbeat sounded faint.

I zipped over to the EMTs and alerted them to the situation in the first vehicle. As I ran over with them, I explained what I had seen of the injuries. They worked quickly and jumped on the radio to request a helicopter. I asked where the backup was and they stated I may have to help a couple more ambulances get through to the scene. I wasted no time in doing just that. The EMTs addressed the situation with the young couple and I brought in two more ambulances that had gotten stuck in the snarled traffic. After quickly dispensing with the pleasantries and informing them of the situation at hand, they got to work.

Part of me felt a little useless to help beyond what I'd already done. I'm not the one with any medical training, that was my wife. Thus, I stood back and let the real heroes do their work. There was a moment where I had to pull the mangled mess of the car away from the husband in the passenger seat, which I executed proudly. In the midst of all of it, the wife regained consciousness and began screaming. The EMTs assisting her did their best to calm her down, but something was definitely wrong. One of them approached me.

"Look... uh... whatever your name is," She began. "We've got to get this woman to a hospital quickly. She's been in labor this whole time and we can't get her there quickly enough."

My posture straightened. "Say no more. Where's the closest maternity ward?"

"Ascension Resurrection over off of West Talcott."

I nodded. "Get her ready for transport and radio ahead for me."

Working together, we wasted no time in preparing the woman for transport. She wailed in pain emanating from different sources. Once she was ready, I took her gingerly in my arms and held her securely. I took to the air and headed west by northwest. Naturally, the mother wanted to know the state of her toddler. I reassured her that the little one was safe and that I would bring the child to the hospital for her. Upon arrival, there was actually a team on the way out the door to greet us. They took the woman and I informed one of the nurses that I would be bringing her toddler to her. They informed me they would get the woman's full name and see about calling her family as quickly as they could. Thanking them, I was in the air once more and headed back to the scene.

It was really nothing at all to remove the toddler from the back seat. The hard part was finding the stuffed bunny that seemed to have gotten lost in the wreckage. I had to wait until the young father was finally removed from the car before I could search in earnest. My heart sank a bit as I glimpsed at his limp, unconscious form. Thankfully, his heart was still beating and he was breathing, albeit very weakly. When he was free of the vehicle and on a stretcher, I searched for the stuffed bunny and the toddler's diaper bag. The bunny had gotten wedged under the driver's seat–where I also found a phone–and I had to tear the part of the car that used to be the trunk in order to get to the diaper bag. They were going to life flight the father to Advocate Lutheran, which I would relay to the nurses at Ascension Resurrection for the mother's knowledge.

There wasn't much more I could do to help. The professionals were hard at work. I was thanked for the assistance before I took to the skies again with the toddler belted into the carseat in my arms and diaper bag strapped across my body. The nurses took the child and diaper bag from me and assured me immediate family would be notified. I had to specify that I had just brought the mother in whilst she was in labor so they knew whose child I had just brought. I then relayed the information of where they'd taken the father. I also turned over the phone. Leaving the hospital without any knowledge of the fate of that family was more difficult than I ever anticipated. I'd have to see it on the news like everyone else.

The passage of time had really escaped me in all the chaos of the moment. I made my way back to Northwestern. Landing somewhere inconspicuously, I used my speed to get back to Dr. Voss' lab. When I arrived, I couldn't immediately see either her or Lauren. A couple of giggles came from the back office, though. Walking at a usual human pace, I approached the office door to see Lauren and Dr. Voss with a couple glasses of wine and apparently building some camaraderie.

Dr. Voss checked her watch. "Took you long enough! Where have you been? I thought you'd just circle the city a few times and come back."

With a smile, I shrugged. "Well, I helped fix a couple of problems."

"Translation: you did superhero things to test the limits of the suit further than simply going for a flight?" Dr. Voss wondered.

"Saved a kid from getting hit by a car, helped a guy in a wheelchair get across the street, and assisted some EMTs at the site of a pretty bad accident." I recalled.

"How bad was the accident? Everybody okay?" Lauren wondered.

My body slumped. "Don't know for sure. Mostly some broken bones and maybe some bruises. One family was hit pretty hard. The toddler in the back seat was okay, but Mom and Dad weren't so hot. Mom was pregnant and she's in labor now. Dad had some very precarious fractures and his heart was sounding pretty weak. I hope they make it."

The whole mood soured. Lauren nodded. "Yeah, me too. Sounds like today was not their day."

"They were lucky I was there. Three ambulances were trapped in the snarled traffic. I had to carry them in."

"And the suit fared well through it all?" Dr. Voss inquired.

I nodded firmly. "Yes. I got going at an amazing speed around the city. It even made me dizzy." I made some seemingly erratic movements with my arms and legs. "This suit is amazingly comfortable and really holds up to the way my body moves."

"The flexibility was the hard part." Dr. Voss admitted. "In case you hadn't noticed, silk isn't exactly known for elasticity when woven into fabric for clothing. I had to weave it a certain way with other natural fibers to get the kind of flex of spandex without the synthetic fossil fuel materials. It's actually natural rubber spun into a fiber about as thick as the silk. The graphene is just carbon. The nanotech that allows for the inflation and deflation as the zipper is up or down was constructed with titanium and carbon fiber. It'll also repair the suit if it ever gets damaged, which I highly doubt it will. It's amazing it only took two weeks to put together."

"I am thoroughly pleased with and impressed by the suit, Dr. Voss. Thank you." I smiled in her direction.

She took a final sip of her wine from the glass. "You're welcome." Her glance turned to the window as the light of the day faded. "When you answered my question the day you first came in here, I didn't know what to make of it. I suspected–and your friend here has confirmed–that you're a terrible liar. So, when you told me you didn't want to be a hero but rather just wanted to do the right thing, I knew you were the right person for my first suit."

"Your first suit?" I wondered.

"Oh, yes. Your friend and I have been workshopping." Dr. Voss' eyes landed hard on me. "You've got quite the legacy to live up to. People are going to mistake you for the big blue boy scout..." She looked me up and down. "...well, his cousin, anyway. Either way, with what you've been given in the form of powers, they're going to expect certain things. Remember: you're not him and you're not her. You're your own kind of person, but—"

I deeply sighed. "With great power comes great responsibility."

Lauren finally chimed in after nearly choking on her wine and laughing. "Dude, that's Spider-Man's thing!"

Dr. Voss rolled her eyes. "I was basically making that point, myself. Really, what I'm saying through the haze of wine is this: I think you've got the chops, kid. You've got the right mindset and I can't wait to see what you do." She poured herself at least a splash more of wine and held up her glass. "Here's to the future of the Angel of Chicago."

Lauren clinked her glass against Dr. Voss'. "Here, here!"

My cheeks felt warm as I blushed. "Guys, it's not like that..." A sound reached my ears. The rise and fall of a fire engine's wailing siren. "Something's happening, guys. I... I think I gotta go?"

"The super hearing thing? What are you hearing?" Lauren asked.

"Fire engine sirens. Four of them." I answered. My eyes darted between the two of them. "Stay here. I'll be back as soon as I can."

As the world slowed to a crawl, I ran out of the office and then out of the building. Taking to the air, I searched frantically for the source of the sirens. They seemed to be originating from a few miles into the city. I could see smoke rising into the twilight sky and rushed toward it. Once again as if my eyes were binoculars, they zeroed in on an apartment building about ten stories tall. It seemed to be something that may have been built near the start of the twentieth century. Worse, it was engulfed in flames and smoke billowed out of open windows. The fourth and final fire engine was just arriving and the crew was beginning their hookup procedure.

I swooped in and did everything I could to land gently near the gathered fire engines. Several firefighters stopped for a moment and gawked once I did so. I looked around at all their faces.

"Who's in charge, here?" I questioned the gawkers.

For a moment, none answered. They simply looked around and looked at me with disbelief. When someone finally did speak, it was through their breathing apparatus. "Captain's in the lead engine."

I nodded cordially. "Thank you." Turning toward the lead engine, I walked up to the one guy yelling into a hand mic without a breather mask. "Are you the lead on this?"

He glanced at me, then looked me up and down. "Little girl, I don't have time for your cosplay convention shenanigans."

Frowning at him, I turned to the building and went toward the front door with him calling after me about how dangerous it is for a civilian to go into a burning building. Naturally, his pleas were ignored. At the entrance, I took a deep breath and exhaled at the flames in the foyer. My breath was like a fog and I watched as the flames died out fairly quickly, replaced by snow-like sediment. I turned back to the Captain and put a hand on my hip.

"Let me help, Captain. This is no cosplay. I'm the real deal."

He nearly dropped his mic and stood aghast for a moment. "Jesus Christ, it's a genuine article." He shook his head, trying to clear his amazement. "Look, this thing's out of our control and we've got to get to the upper floors. There are people up there that couldn't evacuate. Think you can handle it?"

I nodded firmly. "I'll clear a path."

Turning back into the building, I did just that. There was a stairwell at both ends of the building situated in the middle of the structure. They seemed load-bearing and should have served as escape routes under other circumstances. Sadly, both were engulfed in flames. There were a couple of hose teams trying to extinguish the fires close by so they could access the floors above. Meter by meter, I used my frost breath to clear a path. Once a central corridor was established, the hose teams moved in to extinguish the flames on the periphery. I set about clearing the stairs.

As Dr. Voss had said, I'm a terrible liar; so I won't even try denying fact: I was pretty scared. I'd never been in a raging inferno before. However, the cries for help above me kept me moving. Part of me knew it was hotter than most temperatures I've ever experienced in the building. A few embers had landed on the suit, but it seemed to shrug them off as if they were just lightning bugs. Neither me nor the suit endured any damage in the endeavor. Frightened as I was, the people trapped by these flames were probably twice as scared as I. They didn't have the invulnerability that I did. Scared as I was, I pressed on for them.

As I moved methodically through the building, I tried different options to locate anyone that might be trapped inside. Strangely, I learned that I did actually have a "thermal vision" mode to my eyes, but that was useless in this situation. X-ray vision came in very handy. Thankfully, everyone on the fifth floor down had been able to escape. The humans, at least. There were a couple of birds, some hamsters, and a turtle that hadn't been able to escape with their humans. I had located them with my vision, then used my breath to clear a path before evacuating them in quick succession. Each time, I was back in the building and making my way to the next one. Flames in slow motion are more terrifying than they are at regular speed. I was doing my best for every creature affected by this fire to reach safety. There was a little pushback from the firefighters for rescuing the animals before the humans, but every victim of this fire was equally important to me. My retort was simply to tell them to call an emergency veterinarian as well as EMTs for the humans.

Once I reached the sixth floor, there were humans as well as animals to get to safety. An elderly couple, a young couple with their first child, a lesbian couple, their cat, three dogs, and a family of five were all brought out of the building in a methodical manner. The firefighters not on hose teams helped usher the people toward the EMTs and they had thankfully called in a veterinarian for the animals. Continuing onward, I went floor by floor evacuating any victim I found. There were even a few I had to fly out the window and down to waiting EMTs. After finally rescuing victims from the tenth floor, I really thought I was finished and everyone was safe. I took a breath, relieved that people were safe.

That's when the cries of a child and the small howl of a dog reached my ears. My eyes darted upward. I knew that I'd checked every floor. The blue filter closed in over my eyes and I scanned the entire structure. That's when I saw a small human and a dog on the roof. In haste, the world slowed as I jumped into the air and landed on top of the building. I found the child, about ten years old, and a dog huddled in a corner. There were two small paper bowls nearby. One appeared to have a small amount of water while the other had the remnants of table scraps stuck to the side. The dog started to bark even before I slowed to normal speed. When the world returned to normal, the dog jumped toward me in a protective posture in front of the boy and unleashed the warning barks.

I've grown up around dogs. I knew what that meant. In response, I slowly turned to the side and shrunk down before trying to move closer. It would be a bad idea to make eye contact. When I got within non-threatening nose distance, I stopped and watched the dog in my peripheral vision. After a moment, the dog got silent and cautiously approached. Not a single one of my muscles moved as the dog's nose did the work. After a moment, the dog seemed to accept my request to approach and returned to the boy's side. The boy appeared confused.

"I've never seen him act like that," The child noted.

I shrugged and smiled. "I pretty much told him that I'm a friend in his language and he gets it. I've been around a lot of dogs in my life."

"Seems like it."

"Are you two okay? Where are your folks?"

The boy shrugged. "I think they got out before I got trapped here by the fire. I couldn't leave Buddy. He doesn't have anybody but me."

"Buddy, huh? Is that the dog's name?"

"I dunno. It's what I call him. He got left here when his family moved out. I've been taking care of him."

"That's very kind of you. Why haven't you moved him in with your family?"

The boy frowned. "My parents don't want a dog. They say they shouldn't be in apartments."

"Well, I've rescued a few dogs today. I can tell you they do okay. Maybe we can talk to your parents about it?"

The boy shook his head. "They know about the other dogs. They don't care. But Buddy doesn't have anybody else. I can't just leave him." He leaned his head against the dog that merely sat by and panted.

I smiled warmly at the boy. "I've no intention of leaving him. We'll get you both down on solid ground and work from there, okay?"

"Did you bring a ladder?"

I shook my head and chuckled. "No. I'm going to carry you and Buddy while I fly you down to the ground."

"You fly? Is that why you kinda look like Superman?"

"He was an inspiration for my uniform. You like it? I just got it today."

"It's kinda cool. But you're a girl. Why Superman? Why not Supergirl?"

I motioned to the suit with my pointer fingers on both hands. "This is more my style. What do you say we talk more on the ground, huh? It's safer down there... for both of you."

The boy shrugged. "So long as Buddy comes, I guess."

"Wouldn't have it any other way."

Gently, I picked up the boy in one arm and the dog in the other. Once they were both secure, I slowly rose off the roof, floated over the edge, and slowly descended to street level. The dog was not pleased about the heights and fought to get free of my grasp, but I held him fairly well. The boy's head was pressed against my shoulder. I think he liked the height less than the dog. When my feet touched the blacktop of the street, EMTs approached to attend to the boy. I cradled the dog and stayed near the boy, stroking the animal in an effort to reassure him things were okay. A veterinarian approached and almost tried to take the dog out of my arms. I shook my head.

"The dog needs to stay near the boy. Can you examine him in my arms?" I asked.

The vet nodded. "Not like I haven't done it a million times before." She thoroughly examined the dog physically. She checked the teeth, the body, the paws, and the ears. She shook her head. "This dog is still a puppy. About ten or eleven months old, I'd say. He's malnourished, too. Is he the boy's dog?"

I shook my head. "Not really, no. The boy told me that a family moved out and abandoned the dog. He's been taking care of it the best he can. His folks won't let him keep it, though."

"Well, we can take the dog to the shelter, but they don't usually get adopted at this age. He's past the cute, adorable puppy-breath stage."

My heart sank. It would seem that many people's adoption habits carry from adopting humans to adopting pets: most want babies. I shouted more towards the boy. "Hey, kid. What's your name?"

"Dontae," he shouted back, taking off the oxygen mask for a moment.

"What do you think about me taking Buddy with me, Dontae? I know a really nice lady that lives on a farm that can take care of him. She'll feed him and give him all the love he can stomach."

Tears started to form in the boy's eyes. "You're gonna take him away?"

I shrugged, feeling a knot form in my throat. The vet had finished her examination, so I moved closer to the boy. "Well, kinda. The doctor says he's not doing well, Dontae. He needs good food. I know you're doing your best, but he needs a little more. Maybe even a family of his own, y'know?"

Tears rolled down Dontae's cheeks. "I'll never see him again?"

"I'll make you a promise, Dontae: all you have to do is call out to me. I can hear a lot from really far away. I'll hear you. Call out to me when you want to see Buddy and, as long as it's okay with your folks, I'll bring you to see him. Any time you need to. How's that sound?"

"I don't even know your name."

I chuckled. "Well, I don't have a superhero kind of name, yet. What do you think I should be called?"

Dontae sniffled as he thought for a moment. "I dunno. All I can think of is 'Blue Angel'."

I chuckled. "That works for me, then. You can call me when you want to see Buddy." I moved the dog closer so he could lick Dontae's tears away. There was a lot of love between the two of them and I would never want to sever that connection, but the vet was right: the dog needed someone that could feed him adequately.

After a few minutes, tears still streamed down his face, but Dontae looked up at me. "Okay. Buddy needs somebody. He needs good food and to sleep with someone at night, not alone up here on the roof. It's not fair to him. If you promise to take good care of him and let me see him, I'll let you take him to a good home."

I smiled at the very gracious kid. "You're a strong, brave little boy, Dontae. It's not easy saying good-bye to friends when you don't know if you'll ever meet again. Thank you for trusting me. I'll see that he has a good family that will love him. I promise you that and I promise you'll get to see him whenever you want and your parents say it's okay."

"Okay." Dontae stroked Buddy's head and choked up as he spoke. "See you later, Buddy."

The EMTs lifted the gurney up into the ambulance and closed the doors. I helped Buddy wave his paw at his friend Dontae.

Beacon of Hope



Chapter Thirteen

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=I6cdPeYJh0s ))

"Buddy" was definitely with me when I returned to fetch my clothes and Lauren from Dr. Voss' office. He was getting used to the idea of flying, but still wasn't happy about it. He was sweet with both of them while I got dressed in "civilian" clothes once more. Both of them wondered what happened even though they could smell the smoke on me and the dog. I debriefed them on the building fire and all the relevant information. We didn't talk about it very long, thankfully. I couldn't get Dontae's sorrow out of my head. Poor kid. I slipped the suit into the backpack I had brought with me and Dr. Voss informed me that it was machine washable so I could get the smell of smoke out of it.

Driving back to Lauren's apartment, she told me I should probably get some basic supplies for "Buddy" before I went home. I couldn't disagree. He would need a collar and a leash at the very least. A couple of bowls for food and water as well as the food itself wouldn't hurt, either. He paced in the back seat as I drove and we chatted. She promised to get me a burner phone so we could actually call one another at times. It was a pretty solid idea, given the state of the world. After dropping her off, I made my way toward Arlington Heights.

I got a good look at "Buddy" as I drove. He seemed to be a decent medium-sized dog that should probably weigh somewhere around forty or forty-five pounds. His breed appeared to be all over the place: shepherd, collie, Labrador retriever, some kind of terrier, and heaven only knows what else. His coat, though patchy at the current moment, was almost completely white with "doggy freckles" closer to his paws. His eyes were a lovely brown-ish gold kind of color. He seemed fairly energetic, though that could have been anxiety over the new experience of car travel. All-in-all, he seemed like a rather cute little guy.

After making the stop to get everything the dog might initially need, I returned to the car to find he had curled up and fallen asleep. Stashing all the stuff in the trunk, I couldn't bring myself to rationalize stopping at the house in Arlington Heights. With a resolved sigh, I began the two-and-a-half hour journey to Sheboygan. Amazingly, the dog slept the whole way back. Flying back probably would have stressed him out more than he already had been that evening. I had plenty of time to figure out what I would be telling my mother about this situation and reflecting on the irony of being afraid of my mother's wrath. That was a feeling I'd not felt in more than twenty-five years.

Mom wasn't at all happy about being surprised with a dog. There may have been more than a passing thought that care for the canine might be delegated to her responsibility despite my assurances to the contrary. The negotiations were rather intense. I think what won her over were my impassioned pleas to consider that a young boy had gone out of his way to help the dog after the family had seemingly abandoned him. "Buddy" needed to be looked over by a veterinarian, a good home, and just to feel loved. I also brought up the fact she liked Týr's idea of raising sheep and having a dog around to help shepherd them. All of that was practically for not because she melted the moment she saw his face and his tail wag. My mother has always been a huge softie for animals.

The next handful of days were filled with training sessions for both myself and "Buddy". It was touch and go for the most part. "Buddy" was still used to softer food, so he didn't know what to do with kibble. I had to grab some fresh dog food from the store so he'd eat, then slowly introduce the kibble. He was fine having a collar wrapped around his neck. He was terrible on a leash, though. Leash training and potty training became top priorities. Meanwhile, Týr and I focused on my landings. The goal was less bull in a china shop and more gymnast finisher. That toddler I saved could have gotten badly hurt because I landed like a sack of meat tossed out of an airplane. Slowly but surely, the concepts were sticking and I was having more landings and fewer disastrous crashes.

One day arrived that was incredibly important to more people than just me: the day of my eldest daughter's graduation. I had no idea what to wear. What I settled on was a loose white T-shirt, high-waisted jeans, tennis shoes, and a vest. With my mother's help, my hair was situated up in a half ponytail. With my glasses in place on my face, the only thing that really stopped the look from being a 1990s throwback was a pair of Doc Martens. I made a mental note to pick up a pair when I could afford it. Glancing at myself in a mirror, I couldn't help but see some of the girls I went to high school with. The concept of "that's you, moron" hadn't sunk in, yet.

Mom insisted on driving. I tasked Týr with looking after "Buddy" while we were gone, which he accepted gladly. He seemed to have an affinity for canines. The ride into Illinois was interesting, to say the least. My taste in music was a little harder than my mother's. A raging guitar riff and some heavy percussion got me energized while allowing me to process thoughts. Eighties rock to grunge to early '00s alternative usually did the trick. Mom preferred the lighter stuff like Billy Joel, Chicago, Journey, and her personal favorite, George Michael. I didn't have the heart to tell her he's gay. Neither of us were well versed in the technology of the day, so a Spotify playlist was out of the question. We simply battled over the radio dial every half hour or so.

Two hours later, Mom drove to the school, John Hersey High School, rather than stop at the house first. My mind was still not registering it as Laura's house, now. In a sea of relatives awaiting the students clad in chocolate brown and the same burnt orange of the Chicago Bears, we managed to locate Laura and the girls. Mom and Laura sat together while Madison and Olivia served as bookends to me. Laura debriefed my mom concerning Hannah's achievements through last year of high school. My daughter made Valedictorian and would be making a speech. Madison gushed about seeing me in my new costume all over the internet in hushed tones so eavesdroppers wouldn't hear a thing but I could hear her clear as day. To my surprise, Olivia actually leaned on me and whined that she was already bored. Long ceremonies like this are definitely not designed for younger kids. I simply slipped an arm around her in an effort to comfort her like I usually do. She seemed amiable to the gesture.

Olivia wasn't far off the mark. The high point of the ceremony was watching the graduating class walk in and take their seats–the boys in brown and the girls in the burnt orange that made my Wisconsin-native blood boil. First at the podium was the Salutatorian for a generic welcome speech. That was followed by no less than six speeches by faculty about what a great achievement the students had made and how they were going to change the world. Anyone that has been out of high school for at least a decade knows all that is nothing more than hogwash. There were a couple of musical numbers from graduating seniors that were part of the band and choir. The worst part was waiting for more than five hundred names to be announced as each student received their diploma. The whole family cheered when the principal called out "Hannah Jonelle Kent", my daughter's full name.

Finally, the ceremony was coming to a close when the principal introduced my daughter as the Valedictorian, using her full name once again. I watched my little girl stride up to the podium with all the poise and confidence Laura and I had always hoped we'd encourage our daughters to have. Her burnt orange cap and gown glistened in the sunlight. Her sleek, straight, dark brown hair was meticulously groomed. Given my ability to "zoom in" with my vision as it was now, I could see the fiery passion in her piercing blue eyes. Her makeup was simple and accentuated all the best parts of her face. She had to adjust the microphone a little higher because she stood at a statuesque five-foot-nine. She cleared her throat before she spoke.

"Friends, family, faculty, and graduates," she began. "We've come to a crossroad in our lives. Today, we say goodbye to the trappings of adolescence. We'll never set foot in the halls, classrooms, music halls, theaters, sports fields, or the principal's office ever again." A few in the crowd laughed. "We'll never again hear that bell that signals the end of one block of instruction nor the one that tells us we're late for the next one. We'll never again hear the roar of conversation, laughter, or taunting in the halls. We'll probably never see each other's faces again after today."

She choked up a little as she took a pause and looked out at her fellow graduates. "That hurts more than I ever thought it would. We grew up together. We remember the same schools, the same teachers, the same food fights, and the same active shooter drills. We've felt the same fear, pain, melancholy, and even the same joy. We've watched each other grow into the young men and young women we are today." She seemed to attempt to swallow a knot in her throat. "I thought I was ready to say good-bye. Some of you already know, but I lost my grandpa a couple weeks ago. I took my Pop-pop for granted, thinking he'd always be there. I wasn't ready to say 'good-bye', but I had to. After his funeral, I started thinking about all of you. Some of you I don't know. Many I do. I'm going to miss all of you. I'm not really ready to say good-bye, but I know I have to."

She took a breath and cleared her throat again. "We enter the wider world starting today. My dad always taught me to seek the truth in everything, no matter how it might make you feel. In his example, I'm going to lay down some hard facts. We enter a world where, if we go to college after this, we will probably be plagued with crushing student loan debt for the rest of our lives. We enter a world where climate change will shape every part of our lives and make everything worse. We enter a world with armed conflicts everywhere we look. We enter a world where some of our compatriots won't be able to have a commencement like this because their school has been bombed out of existence or some whack job walked into their school with an AR-15 and unalived them. We enter a world where masked men in vests they bought off Amazon kidnap anybody with a brown complexion that speaks Spanish and puts them in concentration camps before sending them to lands unknown. We enter a world where a fat old man with the worst spray tan ever has delusions of grandeur and wants to rule with the iron fist of authoritarianism." She took a good pause before she said the final line. "We enter a world where a foreign government can take our tax money, fund a propaganda apparatus, bribe politicians, and then turn around to commit the most watched genocide in the history of the world."

Folding up her paper, she glared at her fellow graduates. "I ask only this: what are you going to do about it?"

Nobody said a word as she spun on her heel, strode over to her seat, and sat with force. The silence was deafening. In that moment, I don't think I've ever been more proud of her. After a few moments, the principal approached the podium one last time to officially announce the Class of 2025. More than five hundred caps flew into the air. My hope was that each graduate take up Hannah's call to arms and be the change they want to see in the world. Deep down, I committed myself to righting all of the wrongs I had the power to.

The next couple of hours were something of a whirlwind. The crowd began to disperse a little. We made our way toward Hannah who hovered near the stage taking selfies with her friends. We stood back and allowed her to have her social moment before the family descended upon her. She hugged her grandmother and mother with gusto. She addressed Madison and Olivia lovingly. When her eyes landed on me, there was a quiet moment before she pulled me into a hug. I teared up and sobbed telling her how utterly proud I was of her. She had grown into quite the fierce, driven young woman.

"Thanks, Dad." She whispered very lowly into my ear. "That speech was for you as much as my classmates."

"I'll do my best to live up to it, sweetheart. I suggest you do the same." I whispered.

"Count on it, Dad."

"That's my girl."

Our embrace tightened for a moment. It was equivalent to a firm handshake between us, coming to an accord with each other. After a few moments, we released that embrace. For a fleeting amount of time, the family chatted about seemingly random things. Toward the end, Hannah let us know about a party that was occurring and the whole graduating class was invited. Both Laura and I voiced our concern, but trusted her to make good decisions and get home safely. After Hannah bounded off after her friends, the family exchanged hugs and good-byes.

The trip back to Sheboygan began in earnest. Once again, Mom and I battled over the radio but allowed one another to enjoy our individual tastes. We actually sang along to a few of the songs, albeit poorly. Mom didn't know the lyrics to most of my songs and I didn't know the lyrics to most of hers, but there were occasional overlaps that we both enjoyed. It was an unintentional bonding exercise that I don't remember us ever doing before. However, about twenty minutes from the farm, Mom turned the volume down low and glanced at me with something indecipherable behind her eyes.

"Kristen," she began with a quick breath, "I'm going to give you that letter I found in your grandmother's hope chest." She shrugged and chuckled somewhat nervously. "Heck, you can take all the documents if you want. She never taught us–your aunts, uncles, and I–to speak or read whatever that language in the letter is, German, or Dutch. Maybe you can find someone that can tell us what it means?"

I turned toward my mother whose eyes remained on the road ahead like a dutiful driver. "O... kay. That was random. What brought you to that idea?"

She shrugged. "I've always been curious about them. Mom never told me what they were or what they meant. I figured one was her birth certificate because of the name, date, and where she was born. It's a little confusing with the date numbers flipped around, but I've seen enough birth certificates to figure it out. The two passports are easy to decipher if you've seen any passport at all." She took in a quick deep breath. "They're family history we know next to nothing about. With everything happening, right now, I want to know. Don't you?"

I shrugged. "There's always been a passing, vague curiosity about all of that. We know what the language in the letter is, Mom. Remember that Jewish family from back when I was in high school? They told us the letter had been written in Yiddish, but they couldn't read it."

"What is Yiddish, again?"

"The language of the Ashkenazi people, Mom. It's a merging of German from the Middle Ages, Hebrew, and I think a bit of Aramaic and Slavic, if my memory is serving me correctly. There used to be a lot of speakers before..." I let out a sigh. "...before the Holocaust."

"I still don't like that you showed the letter to that girl."

My eyes rolled almost automatically. "I saw the dreidel she was playing with that had symbols like the letter. That's when I learned about Hanukkah and the Hebrew language, remember?"

"I do, but I was telling you that your grandmother was very protective of those things and rather paranoid about them."

"They call that Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, now, Mom. Even after the war, Nana never felt like she could turn off the paranoia."

"Now we have people openly doing the salute and flying all the flags. The Nazis never went anywhere, Kristen. They just stayed hidden. That's what your grandmother always feared and why she kept her secret."

"Maybe now is the best time to discover the truth. Is that why you're wanting me to see if I can get the letter deciphered?"

My mother let out a long breath. "Sweetie, I promised your grandmother that I'd keep the secret while she was alive. We kept it in the family, as I promised. She's been gone for a while now. Yes, maybe now is the time for the truth to be revealed."

"I never told anyone where the letter came from. I'll look into finding out what it says, Mom."

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

It took very little time to research how one might go about translating handwritten text written in Yiddish: navigate to Google and type in "translating Yiddish near me". There were several resources for Jewish people in the area of Sheboygan. There was even an exhibit in the Mead Library about holocaust survivors from the area that started in 2001, a couple of years after I left for college. There was a Jewish Museum in Milwaukee, too. After some phone calls, nobody at the library knew how to translate Yiddish and the museum didn't offer that as a service. However, the Illinois Holocaust Museum & Education Center was excited about the prospect of looking over my grandmother's documents and translating for me. They had a few people on staff that could do it for me on the spot, if I asked. Thus, back down to Chicago for me. Well, technically Skokie, but who's counting?

Instead of using up all the fuel, I opted to fly down. I wore the suit Mom had graciously washed for me with "civilian clothes" in a backpack, making sure I didn't forget the glasses Lauren had made for me. Once I found a safe spot to change, I could just walk over to the museum. Harms Flatwoods was the perfect spot. A slight super speed run from the woods toward the entrance got me in fairly quickly. Once inside, all I had to do was talk to someone at the information desk and wait for one of their curators to come out and speak to me.

A woman about the age I am... was... came out to greet me with a smile. Her brown hair was showing signs of graying, her face had a few wrinkles, and her clothing was roughly the same style Laura might wear. Atop her head, though, at the crown was a blue and white disc-shaped object held in place by bobby pins. She offered her hand for a shake.

"Hello, there," She greeted me with that gentle smile. "I'm Rabbi Dr. Naomi Weiss. What might your name be?"

I accepted the offered hand. "I'm Kris Kent."

"Is that short for something or am I reading too much into it?"

My mind screamed a little rebellion just before I spoke. "Kristen."

"Are you the same young woman that called us yesterday hoping to translate something written in Yiddish?"

"Yes, I am. You wouldn't happen to speak German and Dutch as well, would you?"

She turned and motioned for me to follow. "I think I know what you're getting at." Answering her request, she ushered me into a room off to the side away from other guests and museum exhibits. It very much appeared to be the office of a curator. "Why don't you show me what you have and we'll go from there?"

Taking my backpack off my back, I made sure to open the pocket that did not contain my suit. The bag had two main pockets and the documents were in the second, carefully set in a binder to keep them safe. I displayed all I had on the surface of the lighted table we were standing on opposite sides of. The letter, the German passport, the Dutch passport, and the birth certificate were carefully laid out on the table. Dr. Weiss glanced at them carefully and her eyes widened when the puzzle pieces fell into place. She put protective gloves on her hands and handled each document with the practiced precision of someone whom had examined thousands of similar documents in the past.

"These are the documents of a survivor," She noted. "Everything to identify this person is here." She glanced at the first piece of paper. "This is a birth certificate." She pointed to each piece of information as she informed me of what it said. "It says here that a girl, Miriam Krista, was born at 7:18 am in Cologne on October 16, 1934. It also says her parents were Hermann and Rebekah Katzenberg, a cobbler and a washer woman, lived at 16 Lochnerstrasse, and that they were Jewish. There's just official stamps and other things besides that."

The next thing she picked up was the German passport. The eagle, wreath, and swastika were prominently featured on the haunting brown cover. Opening it, the large "J" in stamped red ink was hard to ignore. Her heart seemed to sink. "These never get easier to look at." She pointed to the name on the first page. "See here where it says 'Katzenberg, Miriam Sara'? Jews in Germany were forced to alter their names to make them stand out as Jewish to authorities. Boys or men had to add 'Israel' and girls or women had to add 'Sara'. It was one more way to 'other' the Jewish population and identify them quickly." On the next page, she found vital information and a picture of my grandmother when she was very young. Probably about five years old, I think. "Is she still alive?"

I wasn't thinking when I shook my head before speaking. "She passed when I was in middle school at her home in Wisconsin."

Rabbi Dr. Weiss raised her eyebrow. "Recent development, then? She lived a good, long life. That's wonderful to hear."

I decided to keep the knowledge that she died in her late sixties about twenty or so years ago to myself. I'd already let enough slip. Secrets are hard to keep. "No, yeah..."

She then picked up the Dutch passport with its distinctive black cover. "Ah, the 'zwarte vod', otherwise known as the 'black rag'. These were first issued in 1950, after all the government details were ironed out from the war. All this on the cover means 'The Kingdom of the Netherlands'." She opened the cover and scanned over the details. Upon coming to the picture, she compared the photograph with the German passport. "Oh, my..."

"What? Something wrong?"

She shook her head. "Not particularly. I conjecture that your grandmother was one of the Hidden Children. In 1942, an underground network of people began hiding children to keep them safe from the Nazis. They forged all kinds of documents that gave the children an entirely different past, fabricating family records as well as names. It was pretty extensive. In this German passport, we have Miriam Katzenberg. In this Dutch one, we have Mieke Keller from... oh, my, she's from a hero village: Nieuwlande. She was probably moved all over the countryside for years and was finally settled with a family from that village."

I nodded along as she explained. "Yeah, no, we knew a lot of that, but Nana wouldn't really talk about much. All we know is she met my grandpa after the war. He was in the Army."

She set down the passports. "She probably went southward to try reuniting with her family after the liberation. Some troops remained in the South Limburg region for a while. With her birthplace being Cologne and the likelihood of her only speaking Dutch to protect herself, she probably stayed on the Dutch side of the border. She may have tried getting in contact with the resistance people that may have known the fate of her family." She let out a heavy sigh. "Seeing that she remained in the Netherlands before marrying your grandfather bodes ill for her family. I can look into what might have happened to them, if you wish."

I nodded slowly. "It might be nice to know."

She nodded quickly. "Now, let's see this letter." She picked up the sheets of paper written in Yiddish. There were two pages, yellowed with the passage of time. "It's dated April 19th of 1940. That's a month before Germany invaded the Netherlands and two years before there was an organization capable of facilitating the Hidden Children. Interesting." She kept reading, whispering the words aloud as she did so. It was the first time I'd ever heard them vocalized before. She took in a strained breath. "This is from her mother." She quickly turned to me. "Would you permit me to record this? We have so few of these sorts of letters. They have incredible significance."

I nodded quickly. "Absolutely."

She spun to her computer and quickly loaded up a program. Within moments it was loaded and she returned to the table armed with a small microphone with some extra buttons. My initial thought was that it was some sort of dictation she was about to do. Picking up the letter once again, she began reading.

First, she spoke in Yiddish, then translated into English. "To my beloved Miriam," she began. Again, she spoke Yiddish then occasionally glanced at me for the English translation. "I am writing with trembling hands, not knowing if my words will ever find you again. I am Rebekah, your mother, and your father is Hermann, a shoemaker of little means. We live as we can with bread and work and with laughter among your brothers and sisters when the day's toil is done. There are eight of you: my children, my heart. We are not a rich family, only a washerwoman and a cobbler's house; but love has never been in short supply here."

She paused only briefly to gauge my reaction, but my eyes were fixed on the letter. She continued, reciting the Yiddish before translating into English. "The world grows darker each day, now. You are too young to understand the hatred that spreads like a sickness, but your father and I see it. We know what is coming. And so, with tears, we send you away to safety like the mother of Moishe who placed her child in the reeds of the river Nile, praying someone kind would draw him out. I do not know if I will see you again, my child; but I must believe that by letting you go you may live."

She stopped for a moment to let things hang in the air a moment. That air was heavy with tension, but one question crossed my mind. "Who or what is Moishe?"

"It's the Yiddish form of Moses. Your great-grandmother framing the story in this manner carries a lot of weight in Jewish tradition. She was engaging in an act of faith that God would watch over her child as he did Moses when she, the child's mother, could not. It also carries some local geographical significance as the Rhine River bisects Cologne, flows northward, then cuts westerly through the Netherlands. She was sending her child down the river to lands unknown, having faith that she would be protected. It's a powerful passage." Rabbi Dr. Weiss explained.

Clearing her throat, she returned to the letter. Again, first in Yiddish then in English. "I cannot give you riches or titles. I can only give you words. You must carry the light of our family with you. Be strong where I cannot be. Be brave when the world tells you to bow your head. You are my little seraph–my burning one–who must guard the flame even when the night is long. Shine, my child. Shine even when we cannot."

My ears perked up. "Seraph, like Seraphim? The angels?"

She lowered the letter and looked at me like a teacher would a student that just got the wrong answer. "By technicality, yes. What religion have you been raised under?"

"My family is Catholic."

She nodded. "Yes, well... these are not the angels you might have seen in iconography that originated from the Renaissance. The seraphim are not blonde white men dressed in armor with wings and swords. Correspondingly, the cherubim are not simply 'baby angels'. Jews know them to be terrifying creatures you don't simply invoke out of nowhere. Cherubim are creatures with the face of a human, body of a lion, wings of an eagle, as well as the strength and tail of an ox or those winged wheels-within-wheels things with thousands of eyes. Effigies of them sit atop the Ark of the Covenant. Seraphim, on the other hand, are six-winged creatures of fire that encircle the throne of God. They protect it and sing His praises." She took a quick breath. "What your great-grandmother was invoking is a blessing: that her daughter be the light of righteousness in the darkness of evil and strife. It's also a prayer that her daughter be the light for others. Had Judaism allowed female rabbis at the time, your great-grandmother would have made a phenomenal one."

I blinked rapidly. "Wow."

"Indeed." She carried on reading, though her voice caught midway through reading the Yiddish. She struggled through the passage, tears forming in her eyes. Then, she repeated in English. "Know this above all: you are loved. From the first cry of your birth until my last breath, you are loved. If God grants you children, tell them their grandmother's heart was full even in sorrow. Live, Miriam. Live for all of us. Your mother, Rebekah Goldstein Katzenberg."

Neither of us spoke for a long moment. Tears reflecting the powerful message finally revealed through time affected us both. Words have failed me only a select few times in my life. This was one of those times. Rabbi Dr. Weiss collected herself much faster than I.

"Would you like us to keep these for you? They will be preserved and added to the museum. Stories like these are so vital." She softly requested.

Somewhat numb, I shrugged. "I don't know. She lived her life in Sheboygan. She lived a good life there with my grandfather, my mother, my aunts, and uncles. There's an exhibit in the Mead Library there."

She nodded. "Of course, local representation is a good thing. I'm merely suggesting we store the originals here and preserve them. We can send replicas to the Mead Library, at your request." She paused a moment, glancing at the letter one last time. "Was she as her mother hoped she'd be: a light in the darkness?"

I nodded, memories of my grandmother's smile playing in my mind's eye. The memory caused me to tear up again. "Yes. Nana was one of the most loving people I've ever known. She cared deeply for her family and her community. She raised my mother to be an incredibly loving woman who then raised me."

Rabbi Dr. Weiss smiled. "Jewish heritage is matrilineal. It flows from mother to daughter. It's gone from your great-grandmother, to your grandmother, to your mother, and now to you. Did you know?"

"Vaguely."

"Maybe find some wisdom from your great-grandmother's prayer." She let out a sigh. "I can send you copies of the documents, if you'd like?" I simply nodded. "And Kristen?" My eyes met hers. "Thank you for bringing this to us. Every story deserves to be told."

My head slowly nodded as I slung the backpack over my shoulders and walked out the door. My mind was still racing with all the facts I'd just learned. The world beyond seemed to almost not exist. I soon found myself outside and walking back to Harms Flatwoods. A single word escaped my lips carried by a whisper.

"Seraphim."

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.

Beacon of Hope



Chapter Fifteen

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=YV4oYkIeGJc ))

Exposure has consequences. Always. Mine was no different. There were cellphone videos, amateur photos, news reports, and online threads that went on for miles. I think I broke the internet. Every single news outlet was covering what happened. It was unfortunately overshadowing the single largest coordinated protest in the history of the United States. It did not sit well with me that people were debating whether or not Warner Brothers Discovery should sue me because of my suit rather than discuss the impact of "No Kings Day". Legacy media had failed once again to cover the real story. Instead, they defaulted to the old habits of getting as many clicks to their websites and YouTube videos over doing any actual journalism.

In new media, however, it was a different story. The podcast bros were talking about how hot I looked in the suit and wanted to guess how old I was. Gross. The Twitch commentators were asking why I confronted AVS and seemed to bow before Chicago PD. YouTube gamer-chair pundits wanted to know why I thought I had the authority to act in the way that I did. The more serious commentators across all platforms simply wanted to know why I was doing what I was doing. They wanted to get to the heart of my motivations. They were the ones doing the real journalism. An incredibly small channel that did YouTube and TikTok content with about twenty thousand subscribers called "The Planet Daily" expressed interest in an interview. I may take the girl who is the face of the channel up on her invitation someday.

The nicknames wouldn't stop, either. TMZ was calling me "Cape Girl". BuzzFeed was calling me "Blue-Eyed Savior" for some reason. That felt creepy. US Today was referring to me as "The Flying Wonder". The New York Times got real creative with "The Girl in the Cape". My old employer, the Chicago Tribune, was calling me "Windy City Wonder"–for which I appreciated their poetic alliteration. The Washington Post asked the question "America's First Superwoman?", which was no doubt going to have some lawyers calling them soon. CNN wanted to call me "The Sky Angel" for whatever reason. The BBC echoed them but mixed it up with "The Chicago Angel". The "big three"–ABC, NBC, and CBS–were calling me "The Miracle in Chicago" while recalling all I'd done so far. Fox News, Newsmax, and OAN–on the other hand–were calling me "Super Girl" with all the dripping disdain and malice they could muster. I don't think they cared about getting sued over that one.

The hashtags were much more humorous: #SuperShero, #SkyGirl, #SuperNotMan, #PunchLikeAGirl (with a GIF of my arm going through the APC), #CapeGoals, #FasterThanCoffee, #FasterThanYourEx, #CapeNotOptional, #CapeChick, and #HeatVisionAndChill. They made me giggle, at least. Madison sent me a link to a post on Reddit which had the subject line of "Chicago Just Got Its Own Superhero IRL?!" Many of the comments were positive and congratulatory. Others were mean-spirited. Still, others were creepy and not safe for work. That's the internet for you: it will never surprise you with its vile or downright hilarious denizens.

After sifting through social media for about half an hour in the evening, I curled up on the couch and turned on the news like I would when I was a teenager–the first time. Koda curled up next to me and laid his head in my lap. My mother had made some lemonade and it sat in a tall glass beside me with an ice cube inside. Flipping through the channels, it was obvious that the news cycle hadn't given up on my appearance at the "No Kings" march, even after three days. It would be nice if they dropped that and moved onto some real news.

A phone ring came to my ear. It wasn't the phone laying on the table right next to me. That was the phone I'd had all along. No, this one was the burner phone Lauren had given me. With a groan, I gently got up off the couch, much to Koda's dismay, and moved toward my bedroom. I still hadn't cleaned it up much but at least I had cleared out all the musty old clothes from the 1990s and replaced them with my current wardrobe. The phone in question sat on the bedside table, charging. Unplugging the cord from the base of the phone, I tapped the green button and put the phone to my ear.

"Hey, Lauren, howsbyyou?" I answered the phone.

First, I heard a groan. Then her voice. "Lord, it's been too long since I've been home." She chuckled. "Not why I'm calling, though. I've got some information you might want."

"Oh, yea? What's that?"

"I've been doing some digging. It's pretty hard to find these things, but I'm tracking a plane connected to ICE's deportations."

My heart nearly stopped. "You're not gonna get in trouble for this, right?"

"Please. I cover my tracks better than the CIA."

"Where's the plane goin'?"

"Seattle. Boeing Field. Officially, it's 'King County International Airport' but nobody's ever called it that."

"How do I find it? I've never been to Washington State."

"Well, you'll see Seattle pretty well from the air. Puget Sound is pretty big and there's no big cities further west of there. You know what the Space Needle looks like, right?"

"I might have seen it on a postcard about twenty years ago."

Lauren sighed. "Google it. It's iconic. You can't miss the thing. Once you see it, look to the south. The big airport, SeaTac, is oriented due north and south. Boeing Field, however, is oriented at an angle–140 degrees when you approach from the north and 320 from the south. It's right alongside a railroad and I-5. You'll see it."

"When's this plane supposed to be there?"

"Expected landing at about 7pm local time."

I pulled the phone away from my ear and checked the time: 8:32pm Sheboygan time. "That gives me twenty minutes."

"And you can fly faster than an SR-71. Your point?" She scoffed. "There's people counting on you."

I groaned. "You're right." I sighed, then tapped the red button on the phone.

As suggested, I pulled up a photo of the Space Needle and committed the structure to memory as I got dressed. Koda looked on from the door to my bedroom tilting his head from side to side, trying to assess exactly what I was up to. When my suit was on, I turned around to see Koda looking somber and whimpering. Pets really have a way with pulling on your heartstrings. I gave him a good rub and promised to be back as soon as I could. Before leaving, I asked Týr to check in on Koda and he agreed. Problem solved, I took to the air.

At this point, I was rather amateurish with my flight patterns. Pilots worth their salt will account for the curvature of the planet as they plan their routes. I'm the moron that started heading due west. It was fine for a while. I watched plains and mountains move underneath me at break-neck speed. There were a multitude of cities and towns beneath me, but nothing approaching "major city" scale. When I got closer to the Pacific Coast and saw the ocean beyond a valley with a winding ribbon of water, I started to think I was going the wrong way. Looking northward, the river got wider as it traveled through urban areas. Slowing down, I turned north and willed myself faster once again. I passed over a big city that lay near two big rivers. That had to be Portland. Further north, I began to see the bottom edge of what I would recognize as Puget Sound. Now, I knew roughly where I was going. If I followed the ribbon of asphalt known as Interstate 5, I would eventually arrive in Seattle. That got harder to do once I came upon the seemingly unified city sprawl between Olympia and Seattle.

Flying lower, I was able to follow the interstate more easily. In no time at all, I passed two airports and began to see the skyline of the Emerald City. To my left, I saw the Space Needle in person for the first time in my life. Lovely building, but it meant I'd gone too far north. I spun around and headed southward once more. Further south, I could see the due north and south strips of asphalt that Lauren had called "SeaTac" and the slightly slanted double strips of a smaller airport–Boeing Field. I decided to stop and hover in an effort to get a lay of the land. It must have been quite a sight for drivers on the interstate to see me hanging there in the air with the golden hour sun shining on me.

Looking over the buildings, there were quite a few of them. At least I could tell you which one was the control tower. The others, I was not as sure about. One thing that stuck out to me, however, was a figure clad in denim and black on the roof of one of the buildings. On the tarmac below, a plain white aircraft with no decal markings at all sat with idling engines surrounded by six white vans and two SUVs. Quickly, I zipped over and landed behind the figure, which appeared to be female with brown hair, and crouched down.

"Hey, there!" I shout-whispered.

She spun around and looked at me. She was wearing what appeared to be a black, one-piece swimsuit with fishnet stockings under a denim bordello jacket and shorts. Her hands were clad in black, fingerless gloves and her feet in black Doc Marten boots. The third of her face surrounding her hazel eyes was covered in a black domino mask. From the moment she looked at me, she appeared angry.

"Who the fuck are you?!" She shout-whispered the question to me.

I crawled closer. "I would hope I'm a friend. What's going on?"

Then, it dawned on her. "You're that chick from Chicago, aren't you?!"

"It's my usual haunt, yes. Can we focus? What's going on?"

She turned over and resumed watching the scene from her belly. "Welcome to the reality of our country, right now. This is what an ICE deportation flight looks like. See the people down below going up the stairs with their hands and legs linked together by chains? Those are probably innocent people." She pointed at one person in particular. "That's a twelve year old girl. They've got her chained up like she's some kind of Hannibal Lecter or something. This is disgusting."

My eyes narrowed in anger. "We have to do something."

"Easier said than done, big girl. We can't all smash our fists through engine blocks or tank electro-nets like they're nothing, y'know."

"Well, I'm here to help. You have a plan?"

She smirked. "Well, now that I have Superman with tits to hang with, I might have a chance of freeing these people."

"Please don't call me that."

"What else am I supposed to call you? Windy City Wonder? Sky Girl? Super Teen? Are you going to let the media name you or are you going to grab a name and take it?"

I shook my head. "Just call me 'friend' for now. I haven't come up with anything, yet, okay?"

She rolled her eyes. "Fine. You ready to be an accessory to a federal crime?"

"I'm here to do what's right."

She chuckled. "Girl Scouts' honor?" Again, she rolled her eyes. "Fine. I'll take out the out-of-shape guards. You disable the plane then free the people. I saw a bus further down the tarmac. Maybe we can use that to get the people out of here. How's your Spanish?"

"Non-existent."

"Fine, I'll do the linguistic heavy lifting while you do all the other heavy lifting. Deal?"

With a curt nod, we executed the plan. Only one sure way to disable the plane came to my mind. As if on cue, one unexpected variable entered the area: black SUVs marked with the unmistakable symbol for American Vanguard Solutions. While the girl that seemed to be my compatriot scurried down from the roof, I watched them. Six armed guards and three people in chains exited the vehicles. The intentions of AVS were becoming more clear. Like ICE, they were kidnapping people but these people were under suspicion for having powers.

With a single leap, I was in the air a good few meters. My eyes narrowed in on my target and I bolted forward with a sonic boom cracking behind me. Orienting myself at this speed wasn't as difficult as one might think. I lined myself up with the engine on the port side of the aircraft and, with my fist forward, flew right through it. The thing threw sparks and smoke as I smashed it out the back end of its housing. Executing a lateral loop-de-loop, I did the same thing to the starboard side engine. With both engines completely disabled, the plane wasn't going anywhere any time soon.

That's when the screeches started. They hurt. A lot. Apparently, my new friend's power was that she screamed at such a pitch with enough force that it created a powerful soundwave. It was an overpowered sonic weapon that I'm sure the US military might love to get their hands on. For me and my super hearing, it disoriented me a bit and actually hurt my ears a little. For the masked federal agents on the ground, it knocked them on their butts and broke the windows in their vehicles. ICE agents and AVS operatives both pulled weapons and started screaming at her to surrender.

Coming to a running landing on the ground, the world around me slowed to a crawl. I ran to each person with a firearm and relieved them of said weapon. I carried those weapons some distance away and unceremoniously dropped them in a dumpster. Returning to the scene, the world caught back up with me and resumed normal speed. The agents and operatives looked around confused that they'd been relieved of their weapons. My new friend didn't waste any time considering situational awareness. She simply started throwing punches and kicks like a seasoned fighter. It was impressive for a few seconds before I joined the fray. Týr had taught me to monitor the amount of force I was putting in each hit because there's no doubt I could Mortal Kombat some people if I didn't. I resorted to utilizing open palm strikes against the body armor to subdue the AVS operatives and clear the way to their captives. It seemed to work as they no doubt had the wind knocked out of them.

Starting with the AVS captives, I ripped the cuffs off every person in chains. It was like pulling apart Playdoh. From the tarmac to on board the plane, people were being freed at break-neck speed. The flight crew and flight attendants did not stop me. There were a couple of agents already on board the plane that tried but received an open palm strike to their "bulletproof" vests. One guy who pulled a gun flew back a few feet. In the back of my mind, I hoped he was going to be okay. It was and never shall be my goal to kill, merely to incapacitate. Moving through the plane and freeing people, I did my best to communicate.

"Everyone that can speak English, follow me and please translate for our non-English-speaking friends that I mean no harm and I'm here to help get you people out of here safely." I announced. A flurry of speech followed in my wake, mostly in Spanish.

Exiting the main hatch to the stairs, my eyes caught sight of my new friend breathing laboredly and many unconscious men around her. There was a lot of blood splatter around, which alarmed me.

"What the hey, dude!? We're not here to kill anyone! What's with all the blood!?" I shouted.

She scoffed before yelling back. "Relax, Blue Streak, I didn't kill anybody. They've had a beating like this coming for months. I just let out some aggression, okay?"

Rolling my eyes, I pointed to the cabin behind me. "I've got about forty people coming out."

"Good. Sounds like we'll need that bus. Be a dear and fetch it, please? I'll do the talking."

"How can we help?" One of the three former AVS captives spoke up, yelling toward me.

My finger pointed at my compatriot. "She's going to need help talking to people if any of you can speak Spanish. Maybe, if one of you can drive a bus, you can help get these people to safety."

Nods were exchanged in agreement and I jumped upward before engaging my flight. Heading in the direction that my new friend had indicated, I did indeed find a bus sitting on the tarmac. It was a white prison bus, but it may have to do. Hopping inside for a moment, I confirmed the keys were indeed in the ignition. Starting the bus was easy enough but I had no idea how to work the controls. Climbing back out of the bus, I scooted myself underneath it. Thankfully, the frame of a bus is easy enough to figure out. With arms on each beam of the frame, I started from a kneeling position and pushed upward. The whole bus lifted off the ground as I did so. It felt like a 10-pound barbell used to. It was at that moment that I really started to contemplate how strong I actually was.

Slowly lifting into the air and floating over to the location of the blank white airplane, I must have looked like every hero shot featuring Superman in the history of film. There was no interest on my part to look like that, but the faces of the people below me certainly reflected it. Getting to a clear spot, I set about making a soft landing and setting the bus' tires back down on the tarmac. Crawling out from under the bus, I started to hear sirens that I feared were approaching. They were quite a distance away, so not an immediate threat. The rescued migrants cheered. I simply offered a warm smile and a nod. One of the former AVS captives started ushering people onto the bus.

"Sirens are coming. We should hurry." I informed those around me.

"What? I don't hear anything." My new friend, the brunette, responded.

I leveled a blank look at her and tapped an ear with a finger. "Super hearing." To the ones ushering people onto the bus. "When you get clear of the gate, head south. They're coming from somewhere downtown."

When everyone was on board the bus, the doors closed and it started to move. One zip over to the gates, I used my heat vision to disable the lock and get them open. Within moments, we were staring at the rear end of the bus heading southward. Forty people were saved today, but there were still thousands in ICE custody under conditions they really didn't want the public knowing about.

"I go by 'Feedback', by the way." My new friend stated plainly, watching the bus leave.

"Pleasure to meet you, Feedback." I answered with a small smile. "I can't say that I approve of the methods, but I think your heart's in the right place."

She shrugged. "Those who would make peaceful revolution impossible make violent revolution inevitable. John Fitzgerald Kennedy."

I sighed. "Darkness cannot drive out darkness: only light can do that. Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King, Junior."

"Geezus, you are a fucking Girl Scout, aren't you?"

I crossed my arms over my chest. "Boy Scout. Eagle Scout, to be exact. Proud of it."

She nodded very slowly. "Oh, you're one of those. There's even a couple like you right here in Seattle. They're looking into options to reverse what the 'Event' did to us, but with the current administration's actions, the stochastic terrorism that's reached a fever pitch, and all the other hurdles that have come along it's a hard road." She let out a sigh. "Look, Blue, I know the struggle more than you think. I used to be there, myself. I wasn't always this young, pretty, and lithe, y'know?" She started walking northward. "Join me in my car? I'll tell you more, but we have to bolt before those other thugs get here."

I raised an eyebrow as I followed behind her. "What did you mean by all that?"

"The Pulse thing changed you, right? It did that to a lot of us. Take me, for example: sixty-some years old, audio engineer, former jazz vocalist before smoking ruined my pipes, and reminiscing about my glory days in martial arts tournaments. Ralph Macchio played 'The Karate Kid', but I was 'The Karate Kid' back in the '80s. Forty-seven national and international titles, my friend." She let out a sigh. "Your body gives up after a while and when I couldn't hide behind the machismo anymore, I transitioned in my forties. My broke ass could never get any surgeries or anything, so I kinda felt stuck. I always wondered what I'd have looked like if I'd been born female."

We arrived at a positively ancient, green Dodge Neon. She pulled out her keys and unlocked the driver side, then climbed in. Leaning over to the passenger side, she unlocked the passenger door. Accepting the unspoken invitation, I sat down in the passenger seat, moved my cape to a comfortable position, and closed the door. She closed her door as well, letting out a breath.

"Now," she started, "I find myself in the body of a nineteen year old, fully female version of myself. It's a dream come true for somebody like me, but I can see how it might be an absolute fucking nightmare for someone else. What about you, Blue?"

"Why are we sitting here? Shouldn't we be following the bus and make sure everybody's safe?" I wondered.

"They're gonna be okay. We're gonna wait for that goon squad you said you heard to pass so we don't look suspicious. Now, stop obfuscating and answer the question, please."

Letting out a long sigh, I stared forward through the windshield to the rail tracks across the road. "I was coming home after a conference. I was a corporate PR guy who was basically dead inside. My job used to mean something when I worked at the Tribune."

"The Chicago Tribune? Newspaper guy? For real?"

I nodded quickly. "I got laid off about ten years ago. In my forty-five years on this planet, I was told I had to put my head down and provide for the family, so I did. I got a loving wife and three beautiful girls out of the deal. I had a great house and a great family. It was just the job I couldn't stand. Made me feel numb to the world. Still do, in some ways. I never even thought about whether or not I'm a man. This happened and... I dunno... my folks always taught me to do your best with what you're given, but I don't know which end is up sometimes."

She nodded in understanding. "I get that. My kids are grown. They don't need me anymore. How old are your girls?"

A small, proud smile creased my lips. "The oldest is eighteen. Just graduated high school. Then, fifteen and nine."

"Ouch. Sounds like they still need you. That's gotta be rough."

"Yea." Finally, I turned to her with tears welling up in my eyes. "It hurts, but not as much as the love of your life telling you she doesn't want to share a bed with you anymore." I hung my head. "I live back with my mom, now. Same house, same farm I grew up on."

"Wow... that's rough." She took a deep breath. "Kinda makes sense that you're out here doing what you're doing, though. I mean, the parallels to a fictional character made up by two Jewish boys in Cleveland are uncanny."

"I'm even Jewish, too. By heredity, not religion." I chuckled.

"Shut the front door! Seriously?! Fuck, this universe and its sense of humor are beyond human capacity to ever fully grasp! Jewish farm boy turned journalist with a great marriage and loving kids that's granted all these amazing powers? You're a Siegel and Schuster wet dream!" She laughed.

I smirked. "You can't tell anyone, but my last name is Kent. I'm not even kidding."

She threw her head back and laughed with her whole chest. "Fuck, I gotta pee, now!"

She climbed out of the car, barely able to breathe from laughing so hard. She walked to a nearby business to relieve herself and there was a convoy of unmarked vehicles with lights and sirens passing when she returned. We got a little more cordial and I actually told her the name my mother had given me, Kristen Kent. She laughed again at the spot-on alliteration. She told me the name she had chosen for herself, Jenna Mills. In all honesty, it was incredibly refreshing to connect with someone that had endured the changes of this whole situation that I hadn't known before.

After waiting a few minutes when the convoy fully passed by, she started the car and drove us northbound. She offered me a tour of Seattle hosted by a local, but I politely declined and took a raincheck. Some day soon, I'd like to take her up on it, but I needed to get back to "my own turf". She understood. I gave her the number to the burner phone and asked her to text me sometime. She agreed. I had a feeling this was going to be the start of an interesting friendship.

Jenna drove to a more secluded area of the Industrial District in the city before she pulled over to let me out. She couldn't guarantee we hadn't been caught on camera at the airport, but I could leave from here as discreetly as possible. I slowly floated upward as we said our good-byes. Then, I turned skyward and accelerated. I knew I had to head eastward to get home. However, my navigation skills were still terrible.

I almost ended up in Canada. The Upper Peninsula of Michigan is pretty this time of year. There's a reason we go camping up there, donchaknow.

Beacon of Hope



Chapter Sixteen

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=hdw1uKiTI5c ))

Screams. Terrifying screams.

Initially, I thought it was all in my head. For the last bit of time–slightly over two weeks–I'd been on a crusade against AVS and ICE. Mostly, Lauren and I worked together to find locations of aircraft that had been contracted to shuttle both powered people and immigrants around the country and, eventually, out of it. I'd gone to Nevada, Arizona, Texas, Washington, New York, Massachusetts, Connecticut, Virginia, Florida, and the hub of it all: Louisiana. No less than thirty aircraft were now without engines, similar to the first in Seattle. I hadn't yet hit any detention facilities, but those were definitely my next goal. Needless to say, this had not made me any friends in the administration.

Lukas Lowen, CEO of OriVox Enterprises which was the parent company of American Vanguard Solutions, had finally shown his face as he made the rounds in the media. I got a good look at the man. Compared to interviewers, he seemed to be of average male height. His hair reminded me of Mark Zuckerberg, but ginger. His gray eyes seemed to reach into the soul in a disturbing way. His physique showed he knew what a gym was and he did not skip leg day. His cool, calm, collected demeanor seemed to melt away just a bit when anyone wanted to talk about "that girl in the blue suit with the red cape". He spoke about me with scorn and animosity, naming me AVS Priority One. I knew I'd eventually paint a target on my own back, but I didn't anticipate being so afraid. Lauren and I hadn't faked the death of Christopher Kent, as of yet, so my family could be a target if any connection was made to me. That scared me more than anything else.

My eyes slowly opened, awakened from the middle of sleep. Koda noticed I was awake and licked my face. I could still hear the screaming. I had thought it was a product of my dreams, but that wasn't the case. The sounds seemed to echo into my very soul. It was the type of scream no parent ever wants to hear: the terrified scream of a child fearing for their life. There was no need for coffee. I was immediately wide awake. I gently coaxed Koda away from me and moved to put on my suit. In moments, I zipped up the back and flipped the cape over my head. Careful not to break anything, I made my way to the back sliding glass door and let myself out. One jump into the air and I was off.

It was the middle of the night. It was pitch black. Rain was falling all around me. I was through the rain in a few seconds and the wind whipped through my wet hair and cape. Just before I might have been completely dry, I hit another wall of storms. The only thing lighting my way was the flashes of lightning all around me. The screams pushed me forward, ever faster. I had zero clue where I was going and I was only marginally looking out for air traffic besides myself.

At some point, I hit what simply felt like a wall of water in the sky. It was warm and wet and just coming down in sheets. All I knew was that I was getting closer to the screams. I had to search a bit to get a good bearing on where they were originating, but I zoomed in quickly. With the atmospheric flashes lighting the way occasionally, the only thing I knew for certain was that I was in some hilly area. The elevation was higher than most areas of the central plains of the country, but nothing to write home about. It was also full of rivers and tributary streams. They seemed to snake between the hills everywhere I looked. Something wasn't right, though. As I got closer to the screams, the water level was definitely too high for comfort and the current was dangerously fast.

I could hear the screams but I couldn't see anything. Hovering for a moment, lightning flashed and thunder cracked behind me as I took a breath, closed my eyes, and willed my vision to shift to something useful. When I opened them again, it was like a blue filter was in front of my eyes. The difference to when this happened before was that I wasn't seeing skeletons but heat signatures. Looking below me, I could see groups of these signatures huddled in what seemed to be rectangular structures of some kind. There was at least one line of people from one rectangle to a larger box structure and some signatures moving along the line. Still others seemed to be moving away at a fast pace. These heat signatures are where the screams were originating from. There was a flood and people were being carried down river as a result of that flood.

Acting quickly, I zipped over to the first signatures and dove after them. I was literally plucking them out of the river. After I scooped up the first two, it became obvious to me that I was pulling children out of the flood waters. They clung to me with all their strength and let out cries of desperation. I wasn't entirely sure what to do with them at first, but I looked back toward the larger groupings of heat signatures then flew towards them. I deposited the two children I'd plucked out of the river on higher ground near what sounded like adults. The kids couched water from their lungs and cried out to the adults. I turned and blasted off down the river to grab more.

Two by two, I pulled more children out of the raging river and delivered them to safety. Something deep inside drove me to keep going as long as I could. I was not slowing down at all. A few times, I actually had to dive into the water to rescue the victims. I even scooped up a couple of teenage girls that thanked me profusely. They seemed to be about the age I was now and told me they were counselors at a summer camp for girls. I was rescuing some of the youngest campers of said summer camp, they told me. I promised the counselors that I would not stop until all of the kids were safe. After dropping them off with the others, I kept going back to the river until all the heat signatures from the camp were safe.

Once I was sure there were no more campers in the river, I rushed to help where I could. That line I'd seen earlier was counselors and other camp staff trying to make sure other campers trapped in their cabins got out of those cabins and delivered to the higher ground of the larger building that might have been a cafeteria or indoor recreation hub. At the head of the line was an elderly man doing his best to get the kids to safety. He was apparently the owner of the camp. I assisted by carrying some of the kids up the hill myself and depositing them near the other kids I'd delivered. When that was done, I helped get the adults up the hill as well.

"Are you an angel?" The old man asked.

"No, I'm a friend." I replied before I took off again.

There were more screams. More terror. More lives to save.

Following the flow of the river, I searched for more signatures. There weren't just humans in the river, but a whole host of animals, too. Hundreds of them. The wild animals were easy. All I had to do was get them to higher ground and they scattered accordingly. The domesticated ones were the trouble. I did find a farm with good fencing higher up a hill, so I decided to gather them all there. I never counted how many I pulled out of the flood waters.

There were a lot of people caught in the flood zone. It was the middle of the night, after all. Most had been asleep. There were so many campgrounds to cover. As the waters kept rising, I was even hearing car horns in the river. Diving below the surface, I did the same thing as I had done with the bus back in Seattle: position my hands on the frame and lift the vehicle. After gingerly setting the vehicle out of harm's way, it was off to the next one. There were even RV's with whole families on board. As the waters surged, whole houses were being plucked off their foundations and swept downriver. I couldn't save the houses, but I could save the people inside them. I rescued more children from the flood waters, this time some boys from a camp further down river.

As the hours passed, I started to hear helicopters around me. I was happy to know I was no longer the only one out here. Slowly, the waters started to recede and the sun began to rise. Bridges were being revealed and so was the extent of the devastation. I would later learn that instruments used to measure just how high the waters rose had broken from the raw force of the deluge. Surveying the area, I found the staging area for rescue operations. Local sheriff's departments, fire departments both locally and from the surrounding areas, state disaster organizations, the US Coast Guard, and other federal agencies all responded for the humans. Several federal, state, and local animal welfare organizations had responded as well. It was very much an all-hands-on-deck situation and I was glad for it.

I finally discovered where I was: Texas. The search and rescue teams asked for a debrief after taking a single look at me. My hair, body, and suit were absolutely drenched. There were small bits of debris from the river clinging to parts of the suit, my hair, and my skin. I kept my descriptions short and to the point. I could still hear people calling out for help. Once the other teams were informed, we parted ways and I went back to work.

Whenever I would come in contact with a helicopter and there were people or animals in the area in need of rescue, I would signal to the pilot or crew how many were below them and where they were. It was a coordinated effort, now. All of us worked tirelessly through the day. Having pointed out where I'd been dropping off the pets and other domesticated animals, I was glad to see helicopters and other rescue vehicles from the appropriate organizations rallying to that position.

My last rescue was a little girl I'd somehow missed in the chaos. She was screaming out for help and clung to a tree for dear life. She was just as drenched as I was. My swooping in scared her at first, but she learned very quickly I was there to get her to safety. She nearly jumped into my arms, wrapped her arms around my neck, and her legs around my torso in much the same way she'd been clinging to the tree.

"It's okay, sweetie. You're gonna be okay, now." I told her in the best soothing voice I could. "Where were you before the river got you?"

Trembling from fear and the cold, her answer came slowly. "Camp Mystic. Are my friends okay?"

My heart sank. That was the first location I'd been to. I was sure I'd gotten everyone out of the river, but I was being proved wrong. "I don't know who your friends are. I can take you there to find out, though. I got a lot of you girls out of the river earlier."

She started to cry. "I want my mom."

Tears welling up in my eyes, I gently rubbed her back. "I bet you do. I would, too. It's been a very scary day." I started flying to the camp up river. "You're a very brave little girl. You must be a really strong swimmer, too. You got into that tree and stayed safe all this time. What's your name, sweetie?"

"Lila." She sniffled. "What's yours?"

For a moment, I hesitated. I didn't know how to answer, honestly. It might have been easy for Jenna to call herself "Feedback". Her only power I'd witnessed was a sonic force wave activated by screaming at a pitch similar to what might come out of a speaker if a microphone is pointed at it. Lauren had chosen "Veritas" as she sought the truth. The ancient Norse had named Týr and I have no idea why. However, names have meaning. They have a certain gravitas to them. I'd been mulling over what to call myself for a while. It had to be something that mattered as well as something that rolled off the tongue well. There was only one thing that kept returning to the forefront of my mind when considering the name.

"My name... isn't quite like yours." I began. "I'm Seraphim."

"Like the angels?"

I chuckled. "Sort of. More so the Jewish interpretation than the Christian one, though."

"You fly like an angel. You answer prayers like an angel. You save people like an angel. It's a good name."

"Well, I'm no angel, honey. I'm just as human as you. I just happen to have been given a few extra things that I use to help people."

Lila's grip tightened on me like a hug. "Today, you're my angel, then."

"I'll take that."

Getting back to the camp, the devastation I'd missed in the dark of night became very apparent. It was absolutely horrifying. Turning from that, I heard the low roar of diesel engines a bit further ahead. There were a few buses lined up from the local school district to get the campers into town to reunite with their families. Several faces lit up when I slowly landed with Lila still in my arms. Counselors ran to meet us and share their joy that she'd been found. With one last comforting back rub, I assured her she was now safe and set her down. She bounded off toward the other campers and counselors.

She told everyone my name. A chorus of girls screaming "Thank you, Seraphim" hit my ears to cap off a long day of rescues.

I stayed behind for a couple of days to do everything I could to aid in the recovery effort. In the days that followed, I would learn that twenty-seven people and a number of uncounted pets still perished that day. Each body recovered was more heart-wrenching than the last and they were all an emotional gut punch. I felt like a failure. In the chaos and darkness, I couldn't save everybody no matter how much I wished I had. Family members and pet owners watched me visibly break down and cry, mourning every single recovered body.

No matter how tortuous it was, I stayed until we were sure all that could be found were. I was in Texas for five days, barely eating or sleeping the entire time. Some of the first responders were starting to worry about me, but I would not relent until every victim was accounted for. While flying overhead, the use of my x-ray vision had proved invaluable in that effort. I patrolled every inch of the affected area from the source of the flooding, through the devastated area, and down to Canyon Lake. Finally, I was reassured there was nothing more I could do. I nodded, gave a quick wave, and flew home.

Back in Sheboygan, my mother was furious that I had seemingly disappeared in the dead of night. I didn't say a word. My body simply trudged up to her and I collapsed into sobs. She had seen the news. She knew where I had been. Instead of scolding me, she simply held me while I cried. Everything I'd been blocking out for days came rushing to the surface. I finally felt every emotion I'd been holding back. After a while, I told my mother everything I'd experienced through sobs. I doubt she understood a single word. I barely did. She simply held me, stroked my hair, and rocked me while sitting on the front steps of the house. The last time I remember being in a position like this was when I skinned my knee trying to learn to ride a bike when I was six.

When I finally stopped crying, she cradled my face in her hands and gently wiped away the tears. Her facial expression was one of gentle concern. She asked me to repeat the story once more. I tripped over sobs a couple more times as I explained what happened, but she was incredibly patient with me. Never did her expression shift. It was fairly calming and comforting in the moment. When I finished regaling my tale, she took in a breath.

"What you did by leavin' here like you did when you heard those screams was a good thing." She started off well enough. "You didn't think when you went off down dere. Dere would'a been lots more people not goin' home without you dere, by golly, I tells ya." She pulled me against her chest and cradled my head. "You put so much of yourself out dere."

"I know you did all ya could, honey. You been beatin' yourself up over what happened wit yer dad since he's been gone. You gots all dese powers, dat's true. You ain't all powerful, Kristen. God's got you beat on dat. You can't be everywhere at once or do everything at once. Ainna yer fault if people get hurt if you ain't dere, donchaknow. Yer only human, honey."

"I should'a been faster." I sniffled.

"Yeah, no, you shouldn'a. You was as fast as you could be. You gots a lot of people safe, honey. Dey was sayin' dat if not for you, dere would'a been more'n a hundred that passed. No, yeah, almost thirty people passed and dat's a shame, but nothin' you could'a done. You gotta stop blamin' yourself for things you can't control. Yer dad's wit God cuz he was called, baby. Dem people what passed are wit God cuz dat's how it goes, sometimes. Ainna yer fault, baby. I'm so proud of you for doin' what you did."

More tears rolled down my cheeks, but not sad or overwhelmed ones this time. "Thanks, Mom."

Placing a hand on the back of my head, she pulled me toward her and gently kissed my forehead. "Yer welcome, kid." She smiled at me while I pulled away. "Now, let's get ya inside. Ya need a shower and dat suit needs warshing. Ya both stink."

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

I'm very thankful that Hannah and Madison taught me how to navigate social media because my millennial butt was not all that good at it. Using the burner phone, I had created "lurker" accounts to simply monitor things. Trying to process what had happened in Texas by looking at news reports on the internet probably was not my best idea. However, I was looking for one submission in particular. In all my years of journalism, I had not really seen someone get such in depth coverage of events from their bedroom like I was seeing on the YouTube channel The Planet Daily.

As I've said before, it was a small channel that started out as a video log–or "vlog", as the kids call it–meant to process the lockdown and events of 2020. In the years following, it had grown to a meager twenty thousand subscribers. The girl running the channel seemed to really have an eye for journalism, even if she's never been in college. That's likely about to change given that she revealed her birthday is approaching in August on a recent video where she'll turn eighteen. I tried to glean as much information as I could before sending a message of any kind. Finding out she had an Instagram account helped my search. Somewhat trembling because I've always been on the side that does the interviews not the side that gets interviewed, I sent her a direct message.

She seemed rather excited, if my claim of being the girl in the cape was legitimate. She asked to meet so that I can prove the authenticity of my claim before she would agree to anything further. Respecting her skepticism, I agreed. Her chosen place to meet was a riddle. She wanted to meet at the birthplace of Superman at 2pm the day following our interaction. I had no idea what she was talking about and she did not elaborate. Even as a fan of comics, I actually had to do some digging to understand what she meant. According to online sources, there were two options: the childhood home of Jerry Siegel or Glenville High School. Both in Cleveland, Ohio.

Funny enough, the day of our appointed meeting was the same day that James Gunn's Superman officially released in theaters. Mom had long since washed the suit after everything it went through in Texas. Dr. Voss' genius in making sure the suit was machine washable had paid off in spades. Stepping into the suit and getting ready for the meeting, I was nervous. With the suit secured and cape flipped, I let Koda out to spend some time with Týr while I was gone. They both benefitted from the experience of time together. The trip to Cleveland was quicker than one might expect. If you don't have to drive, it's just on the other side of Lake Michigan from Sheboygan or Chicago. The hard part was locating the addresses I needed to.

Glenville High School was the first place I sought out. It was the place that the two men who would be the fathers of the incredibly famous Kryptonian met. The first address was the current location of the school. Built in 1966, it wasn't where they actually attended the school. Also, my quarry wasn't there. Next, I tried the old location of the school which had been a two-story brick building that actually had Siegel and Shuster in the halls. That wasn't the meeting location, either. The building had also been demolished a very long time ago and replaced with quiet family homes. No, my quarry had chosen the more obvious location: the still-standing childhood home of Jerome Siegel on Kimberly Avenue.

Sure enough, I had found our meeting location. On the sidewalk outside the house stood a teenager with a pink tank top, denim shorts, and flip-flops on her feet. Over her shoulder, she had draped a satchel that looked to be quite a few years older than she was. Her dark brown hair was twisted into a loose braid and draped over her shoulder. I slowly maneuvered myself downward before calling out to her while still somewhat airborne.

"Miss Lane?" I asked the young woman.

She spun around to meet my eyes. Her gray eyes seemed to reach directly into my soul. "Oh, so you weren't kidding." She leaned against the fence with the red upside-down triangle with an "S" inside. On the opposite fence was a similar triangle filled with information about Jerry Siegel engraved on the surface. "Part of me was skeptical you'd even show up, if I'm being honest."

"Why would you think that?"

"My channel is tiny. Only twenty-K followers. I guess my first question is: why me? I'm sure you've gotten plenty of invitations for interviews recently."

Shrugging, I lowered myself to the ground and finally landed. "Why not? It's clear you've got a nose for journalism, even without having studied communications in college. Your subscriber count might be small compared to other voices on the platform, but even the smallest voice echoes into the void. People hear it." Approaching the sidewalk, I noticed that she was almost a full head shorter than I. My eyes wandered to the iconic house with little bits of Superman memorabilia all over.

"How would you know that much about journalism? You're about the same age as me, I think. Right?"

Slowly, I shook my head. "I might look this way, now, but I'm much older in reality." I let out a sigh and met her eyes again. "Do you now believe that I am whom I claimed to be in our messages?"

She raised an eyebrow at me. "I run on proof. How much older are you?"

"A truth seeker." I smirked. "Mid-forties. Old enough to have three kids and a spouse. My oldest just graduated high school."

"How?"

I shrugged. "Whatever that pulse thing was back in April. It's changed a lot of people, including me. I guess I'm just the most high profile?"

"Got me there. You are the flashy one, I'll give you that. I'm aware of people operating in Seattle, Los Angeles, and New York, so far. The one in New York is more conjecture, but I think she may be legit."

"Based on the previous reporting on your channel, I've no doubt you'll get to the bottom of it. I can confirm the one in Seattle calls herself 'Feedback'. I've met her. I know the one from Los Angeles personally as well. I can't speak to the one in New York."

"Yeah? You can confirm, huh? And what's the name you're going with?"

"Seraphim. I'd like to think of it as an answer to a prayer a poor Jewish woman made for her daughter in 1940, who also happens to be my great-grandmother. I hope to live up to that prayer."

"Seraphim, huh?" She tapped a finger on her lips. "Seraph, the Hebrew meaning 'burning one'. Reference to the angels encircling the throne of God, singing his praises. Why the plural form?"

I shrugged. "It sounded better? The tri-syllabic word rolls off the tongue quite well, don't you think?"

She slowly nodded. "Matches the rhythm of 'Superman', too. You're not afraid you're going to get sued by the company that owns the character?"

"Yes, that was subconsciously intended, I suppose. I didn't actually design the suit. It was made for me. The symbol was also independently created by a graphic designer. Wonderful craftsmanship, don't you think?"

"Oh, it's a lovely suit to get sued in."

I shook my head. "Not the intended purpose." I let out a quick sigh. "I didn't expect to actually endure the interview, just yet. I thought this was a show of faith."

"It is, but I am recording everything. Not video, obviously, but the audio. I'm not trying to come off as a hardass. It's just my nature. I don't really trust anyone."

"Perhaps someday you'll come to trust me." I offered a smile.

"One final question: why don't you wear a mask? Your face is out there to be used in AI facial recognition. Someone's going to figure out who you are, eventually."

"In the world today, there are people hiding their faces and doing heinous acts. They think they can act with impunity and without accountability. My decision to not wear a mask is an effort to be held accountable. I'm not hiding my face because–though I value my everyday anonymity–I act in a public way that isn't without its implications. I'm trying to foster trust. You know my face. You know you can trust me because of what I do. I'm here to help. I'm here to be a friend to those that have none."

"Wow. Someone that actually believes in altruism. Please pinch me."

"Sincerity, empathy, and compassion are some things this world lacks, right now. Isn't it time people had a little hope?"

She hesitated for a long moment. She glanced at the sidewalk and appeared to be thinking. After a time, she raised her eyes to me once more. "Please don't call me 'Miss Lane'. You make me sound like a teacher. I'm Lindsey."

I offered a warm smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Lindsey."

"I'll send you the address for a podcast studio a friend will let me use. We'll do a full interview there as soon as we can. Are you still willing to do it?"

I nodded slowly, but firmly. "Of course, Miss Lane–I mean, Lindsey. You let me know and I'll be there."

"You never answered my question: why me? I'm a small channel. I'm nobody."

"We're all somebody, Lindsey."

Beacon of Hope



Chapter Seventeen

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=eC5OsxKjPlc ))

The farm has always been a place of solace. I'd forgotten that over the years. Having left for college immediately after high school, it had been years since I stepped foot on my parents' farm for more than a few hours at a time through multiple visits. Life in a big city simply moves at a faster pace, even if you live in the suburbs. Mine had been no different. Years had gone by in the blink of an eye. While I had been present for my family, the girls just shot up like weeds and got older. The scent of baby powder and dirty diapers was replaced by multiple beauty products and perfume. Even after I shut down upon getting laid off from the newspaper, our lives seemed content enough. There were opportunities to come together as a family and create some memories. It's just not the same out on a farm. Everything just seems to move slower out here.

Sitting on the back porch steps with my eyes toward the northern horizon, my arms rested on my knees. A mug of coffee occupied one hand and the other was stroking Koda who leaned against my thigh. Týr had finished his self-prescribed morning chores. My mother was whipping up something for breakfast in the kitchen behind me. With no children to shuttle to school, no morning meeting to be punctual for, no breaking news to respond to, and no emergency needing my attention, there was only the ambience of birds singing, crows talking to each other, and the occasional bellow of a cow from somewhere nearby.

My hair was pulled back into a ponytail with a thing called a "scrunchie" my mother had insisted on purchasing for me. An oversized sweatshirt over a tank top covered my upper body while leggings and insulated slippers covered my lower half. I was beginning to truly understand the comfort and utility of leggings my daughters seemed to rave about. I didn't have to wear the glasses Lauren had made for me, though. No closed circuit cameras with facial recognition software out in the middle of nowhere. Everything fit this new body I'd been given rather well and was comfortable enough.

My mind drifted to the possibility of returning to an exclusively male life. I won't say that I hadn't thought about the prospect. Search engines are generally free. Once you sift through all the ads, you can actually find some information. I'd looked into the experiences of transgender men all over the internet. I'd discovered the world of hair cuts, binders, packers, and testosterone treatments. Going deeper, there were top surgeries and bottom surgeries with a variety of testimonies concerning the efficacy of such treatments. The before and after pictures were the most shocking. I had no idea such a world existed and seeing people that could be clearly defined as young women before becoming someone clearly defined as a young man afterward was quite extraordinary. It could be quite possible to perhaps reclaim a life I'd known for forty-five years.

The downsides came quickly, though. There was no guarantee that I could even seek treatment in this sociopolitical climate. Further, I was now once again a dependent of my mother's and her insurance coverage would come into play. While I was working remotely, I was keeping a very small fraction of my pay to sustain myself. Most was going to Laura and the girls. Further still, I truly had no idea what effects this pulse had on my body as a whole. I already knew that needles would not pierce my skin, so the most effective route of intramuscular injections was out of the question. Creams and gels might be an option, but with much slower progression. There was no way to know if my body would accept or reject those changes, anyway. Beyond the medication, I could never do any surgeries. Given some experience with tear gas that I'd had, it would be incredibly unlikely I could even be sedated under general anesthesia. Like the needles, the scalpels likely wouldn't be able to pierce my skin either. At the end of the day, I would still have the skeletal structure of a puberty-influenced human female that stands five-feet-ten-inches. It would never be like it was before when I had the skeletal structure of a puberty-influenced human male that stood close to six-feet-four inches.

There was no going back. I could not change what had happened to me. Pondering all the facts involved, there was only one conclusion I could reach. Like an intersex person with complete androgen insensitivity, I may be forced to remain in this female body I've been given whether I liked the idea or not. It was a sobering thought. Therapy was going to get expensive.

"Kris! Ya gots company!" My mother yelled from the kitchen, thoroughly derailing my train of thought.

"Tell 'em to c'mout here, Ma!" I yelled my request back.

Footfalls reached my ear as someone approached, bypassing the kitchen. "Thanks, Mrs. Kent." A familiar feminine voice spoke to my mother.

Koda stirred and moved to meet the new person. They shared a moment. I could hear him sniffing the guest and start panting happily once his ears got scritches. He joined me once more, satisfied the guest wasn't a threat. Giving his head and neck some rubs, I took a moment to sip my coffee.

"Morning, Lauren." I greeted the guest, not averting my eyes from the horizon.

"Since when do you have a dog?" She inquired. "That's new. I don't think I ever remember a dog on the farm before." She moved to lean on the railing over my left shoulder.

"We've had a few out here. We didn't when I was in high school. I was broken up over losing two of them because the neighbor used some nasty pesticide in one of their fields." My head hung in remembrance. "Couple of really good hounds. Spent a good few years with 'em. Haven't had a dog since then."

"And you neglected to tell your best friend this because... ?" She wondered.

"Never came up. Too painful rememberin' how they died." Shaking my head, I would have liked very much to get those images out of my head. "Koda was rescued from a fire. He needed a good home." My head finally turned toward her. "What brings you up north?"

Her hair was a little shorter than the last time we'd seen each other. New haircut, I guess. With summer in full swing, the tank top and denim shorts seemed practical enough. She shook her head at me. "Business, I'm afraid. I've uncovered some finished intelligence cables from AVS to DHS. Sounds like they're going to coordinate a raid with ICE fairly soon. Sounds like a big one. A lot bigger than the Home Depot or the cannabis farm raids over in California, at any rate."

"How much bigger?"

"You know that industrial area just east of Oak Park?"

"I'm familiar. There's tons of places over there and the freight rail tracks spread into it."

"Pretty much that whole area. The focus is on Chicago Beverage Systems that's owned by Reyes Holdings, but that doesn't mean they're not going to raid Damron, Graphic Packaging, or any of the other businesses in the area. They're going to hit it hard, too. From what I've read, just about every ICE agent or AVS operative in the area is going to be committed to it."

"Where's your second source?"

"What?"

"Lauren, we're journalists. We always have other sources, right?"

"Yes, but the two or three I was in contact with couldn't confirm or deny the cables. I'm getting stiff-armed, but these shouldn't be ignored. We've got to do something."

"We?" I looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

"I'm not sitting by on the sidelines, anymore, Kris. I'm going this time. Dr. Voss made me a good suit. It took a while to put together, but it's just as tough as yours. Don't worry. I'm not going to be getting my hands dirty on the ground. That's for you to do with your insane strength. Drones, I can do. Ripping open an APC is outside my skillset."

"You sure about this?"

Her face became almost expressionless but determined. "I'm sure. In the field, call me 'Veritas'."

I stood and turned toward her. "Pleasure to meet you, Veritas. I'm Seraphim."

"Finally settled on a name, huh?"

"No, yeah, took me a—" My explanation was broken off by the burner phone ringing. According to the screen, Lt. Henderson was calling. "Well, well... if it isn't that second source we needed." Tapping the green button, I put the phone to my ear. "You've got Seraphim."

"Who is that?" Lt. Henderson's slightly distorted voice asked. "I'm looking for the girl in blue and red. This her?"

"This is the number you called, is it not, Lieutenant? I know it's not widely known, yet, but I've settled on a codename. We'll use it from now on."

"Whatever you want, Blue." He let out a quick sigh. "I've got some intel for you."

"Can I put you on speaker, Lieutenant?"

"If you think it's safe, fine."

Pressing the button, I spoke toward the phone in hopes that Lauren would hear Lt. Henderson. "Okay, go ahead."

Again, he let out a sigh. "Okay, so you know: Illinois is a 'sanctuary state'. We're under orders not to participate with these guys unless they have a judicial warrant, but they only ever have administrative warrants that don't hold up. That said, I've been hearing from a few people around that they know a big raid is about to happen. They mentioned some company that's gonna pay them off-duty."

"Did you happen to catch the name of the company, Lieutenant?" I asked while likely already knowing the answer.

"American Vanguard Solutions. It's some merc company that sprang up in the last couple years. Ever since people with powers have been appearing, they've been working alongside ICE to do some raids and cover their own behinds."

"That is known, Lieutenant. To those paying attention, anyway. They're rounding up citizens to screen them for their potential of having some kind of powers. It's a 'guilty until proven innocent' affair." I rolled my eyes. "Any idea when this is all going to coalesce?"

"Sounds like it's going to happen tomorrow. Some time around 11am, I think." He cleared his throat. "You should know that you are their number one target. Ever since you've been taking out the planes they're using to get people around the country faster, they've been out for you. I don't think they've got anything that'll hold you at all, but be safe regardless. I think you're doing some good things out there. Keep it up."

Narrowing my eyes, I nodded. "Count on it, Lieutenant. Thanks." Hanging up the phone, I glanced at Lauren. "Looks like we've got our confirmation. Get on the horn and alert the local organizations. We'll try to deter this action first and intervene if we have to."

She nodded firmly. "Got it. Seraphim and Veritas are on the case!"

"You not go alone." Týr's voice dripped with conviction as he almost seemed to appear out of nowhere. I watched as he closed his iron hand into a fist and clenched it tight. "I go."

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

The next morning, Týr and I came into town quite early. We had coffee with Lauren and went over our game plan. I had brought a backpack with my suit inside. For once, Týr had clothes from the current century: a T-shirt, pair of jeans, good boots, and a red flannel he seemed rather partial to. For all the world, he looked like Chris Hemsworth as Thor in the first movie but with red hair. He carried a satchel with a set of armor he'd fetched from a cache back in Iceland. Lauren told me that Dr. Voss had fashioned her a suit, but was very tight-lipped about it until she was ready for the debut. Mostly, we covered communications. Lauren had fashioned some earbuds for Týr and I to wear that would also allow us to communicate with her. She was very much becoming the tech genius of our little group. How she went from investigative reporter to tech genius is still a mystery to me. Perhaps it had always been a hobby she kept close to the chest?

After formulating our plan and networking with the local protest movement, all three of us piled into Lauren's car and headed for the likely location of the raid. Týr wasn't a fan of the low ceilings and voiced that he'd much rather be flying. Frankly, I couldn't blame him because I would rather fly as well but we had to keep a lower profile and not tip off ICE or AVS to our presence this early in the game. If they were to turn and run too early it would defeat the purpose we had for today: to send a message that we would not stand for their tactics any longer. Chicago was not going to allow anything similar to events in Los Angeles to occur, nor were we. Innocent people being apprehended and locked away without due process was not something we were going to allow anymore.

Lauren parked in the lot right across from the building in question just off North Kilbourn Avenue. We had tried to not seem conspicuous and park so close to the building, but there really weren't that many accessible parking lots or facilities nearby that fit our needs. It would have to do. We crossed the street and darted toward the south end of the building. Once we found an inconspicuous spot, Týr jumped to the top and served as a lookout. Given the all-clear, I took Lauren's hand and floated to the roof with her.

On the roof, we had a whole expanse to survey the surroundings. The roof was flat with very few things protruding off the surface. Changing into a suit would be a challenge. Týr ran over to some air conditioning vents that covered from his belly button down, which worked for men. Lauren, however, started taking off her oversized T-shirt to reveal she was mostly already wearing her suit. It was a marvel, to be sure. All I had to do was utilize my super speed and nobody would see me changing.

Lauren's suit seemed to be made of some kind of leather and fabric composite with reinforcement that made it look like some kind of armor. The majority of it was a silver-gray, similar to a color called "gun metal", with green accents. The reinforcement made her chest, stomach, arms, legs, shoulders, writs, and pelvic region stand out. They were like inlaid panels of armor. It had pauldrons, bracers, leg plates, a chest plate, shin plates, and even a hood. It seemed to be the love child of Oliver Queen's iconic third suit from the Arrowverse and Natasha Romanov's suit from the MCU. She even had a half helmet she slipped on that reminded me of Captain America's helmet from the first Avengers film, but featured lenses over her eyes like Spider-Man that glowed the same green as the accents on the rest of her suit. There was a prominent "V" on her forehead and chest.

"Dr. Voss truly outdid herself." I stated toward the sight before me.

Lauren's exposed mouth smirked. "She really did, didn't she? Told you it was something to behold."

"And you did not disappoint."

She pulled gloves and boots that were the same silver-gray of the suit out of her bag before slipping them on. "Suit up, Seraphim. We've got a job to do."

I nodded to her before the world around me slowed to a crawl. The T-shirt, jeans, tennis shoes, and hoodie I was wearing came off and I pulled the suit out of my bag. In the next moment, I slipped it on, zipped it up so it conformed to my body, then flipped the cape over my head. After slipping on my boots, I stuffed my other clothes in my bag before the world returned to normal speed. I smirked at Lauren.

She rolled her eyes. "Show off."

She and I positioned ourselves at the lip of the roof as a crowd gathered at the southern end of North Kilbourn Avenue. No matter if they came from the Broadview facility or the one downtown, they'd have to cross the tracks to get into the industrial area. The only other entry was from the North at Chicago Avenue. We were prepared for either possibility. Lauren checked the time. It was only 10:30 am.

"Is time?" Týr asked over my shoulder.

This caused me to turn and look at him. He looked to be half museum piece and half modern adaptation of what a Norse warrior might have looked like. His boots and pants were fairly standard fare. There was a sort of undergarment that hung to his knees. Overtop of that was a collection of a chainmail shirt and various leather or metal embellishments. His chest was covered in some kind of cuirass that bore a single rune on the chest: Tiwaz, the upward arrow attributed to him. There were pauldrons on his shoulders and bracers on his wrists. Overtop his shoulder pauldrons hung a single bit of fur that extended halfway down his back. If he had a shield with a sword or axe, he'd be the best dressed cast member of the Vikings television show. His brown furrowed with determination as his eyes scanned the crowd below us.

"Not yet, big guy. First, we have to wait." I responded.

Týr sighed in defeat. Meanwhile, Lauren had been fidgeting with her gloves and bracers. I hadn't noticed before, but there seemed to be a lot of hidden buttons. My eyes caught sight of several small objects coming out of the car we'd arrived in. The sound reaching my ears suggested they were small drones. I didn't know what purpose they would serve.

"Maybe you should say a few words?" Lauren suggested.

My eyes blinked rapidly. "What? Why?"

She turned to me. "Are you kidding? You've become a symbol. You've saved people from all manner of mishaps here in the city. You broke those two people out of AVS custody just a couple weeks ago. Heck, you went all the way down to Texas and single-handedly insured the survival of over a hundred people. Have you even been online? Týr and I might be dressed like heroes, but you legitimately are one. You're the talk of the country."

Letting out a breath, I nodded. "Yes, I've been online. I've seen what's being said. I'm apparently the 'Champion of the Oppressed'. Even given that, you know I've never enjoyed public speaking. Yes, I won some awards in high school, but that was almost thirty years ago and they were prepared statements. You've even watched me fall flat while attempting improv. What am I even supposed to say?"

"Speak from your heart. Inspire these people to do the right thing. It's your whole M.O. my friend."

Returning my gaze to the growing crowd beneath us, I focused on what they might be saying to one another. There was a lot of anger and hurt in their voices. The empathy of the people in the gathering crowd was enormous. Come what may, they were out here to do what they could to protect vulnerable members of society against tyranny. Still, some were talking about methods they might entertain to stop the stormtroopers that would be arriving in short order. Lauren was right: they needed someone to talk to them and appeal to their better morals. While helping potential innocent victims, they could not react in a manner that would put themselves or those they were trying to help in danger.

Turning around, the world slowed to a crawl all around me. I ran the length of the building and leapt into the air. At the apex of the jump, I willed myself to fly. At a reasonable speed, I circled around the area and resolved to approach from the north. At a few hundred feet above the ground, I could see quite a long distance but still did not catch sight of anything that might be construed as a vehicle used by ICE or AVS. Coming down Kilbourn, I approached the gathering crowd, greeted by cheers. Thankful for the admiration, I still did my best to quiet them down. There was a bit of murmuring among the growing crowd that was likely about to be more than two thousand. Those closest to me smiled and referred to me as the "Windy City Wonder", which caused me to chuckle. All I requested was a megaphone. It took a moment to get one, but it was delivered quickly. I thanked whomever donated it and promised to return it.

I'd never used one of these things before, so it was a little difficult to figure out at first. Once I stopped trying to damage everyone's ears with the high-pitched squeal noises, I willed myself upward and floated a few feet above the crowd. As one might expect, all eyes were on me.

Putting the device to my lips, I pulled the activation trigger and spoke. "Good morning! Can everyone hear me?" The crowd erupted in confirmation. Smiling, I continued, "First of all, I want to thank all of you for taking the time out of your day to be here. I want to thank the organizers of the Illinois Coalition for Immigrant and Refugee Rights for responding to the call from my friend Veritas and ensuring that you are all here, this morning. In case you hadn't heard, I am Seraphim."

Taking a breath, I knew what I said in the next few minutes would need to be impactful. "If you knew me personally, you'd be aware that I'm better with writing my thoughts rather than speaking them. I'm not someone that's terribly good at speeches." I took a quick breath. "But I also know that someone has to speak for those whose voices are being suppressed."

With my free hand, I pointed at the Chicago Beverage Systems building behind me. "There are people in that building that are just going about their work day with no idea what's about to happen. They didn't ask for this. They didn't ask to be exploited by a machine that treats them like numbers on a spreadsheet. They didn't ask to be vilified by an administration that doesn't believe they're people. They're here putting in an honest day's work and hoping for an honest day's pay. They're trying to feed, clothe, and house their families. They are not criminals with nefarious intentions."

Lowering my arm, I looked at the crowd. "Look around you at the person in front of, to the side, and behind you. Is their hair color different from yours? Their eye color? The tint of their skin? The clothes they wear? As people, we have our differences. That's the spice of life. It's the amazing thing we call 'humanity'. These are your neighbors, your fellow church goers, your coworkers, your brothers, sisters, mothers, fathers, cousins, and, yes, even friends. These are the faces of Chicago and by extension the great country we call home."

After taking a beat to think, I continued. "The people on their way here don't want you to feel that community. They dress up like soldiers and claim to be law enforcement. They hide their identities and claim it's for accountability. They carry weapons of war and claim it's for safety. They will claim they are here to capture and detain criminals—both immigrants and people with powers. We know it's all a lie. We know that the brutality is the point. They are coming to show force and sow fear. They want you to be afraid, lay down, and just accept this new reality they are trying to create. They want you to be quiet. I'm here to say what you already know: there is another way. There's always another way.

"I have learned the hard way that true strength is showing vulnerability, compassion, and empathy. Without those things, you don't have mercy and strength without mercy is cruelty. I have carried buses and ambulances over my head and they felt to me like they were made of cardboard. I don't know the full scope of what I can do with my strength, but I do know that the heaviest things I have ever carried were the hopes, dreams, and wellbeing of a nine year old girl I pulled out of a catastrophically flooded river not too long ago, the promise of an infant child rescued from a fire safely into his mother's arms, a newborn into its mother's arms after she was the victim of a car accident, and the promise to a young boy that he'll get to see the dog he raised from a puppy some day.

"I didn't ask for this. I was once a middle-aged man with a beautiful wife and three wonderful children. I had an education from a great college and a career that maybe I didn't like so much," I paused as the crowd chuckled. "Now, I look like what you might think of as a child with way too much power. At least, that's what AVS might want you to think. They want you to be afraid of people like me — afraid of what you don't understand. It shouldn't be a requirement to show that you've put in the work. Dignity and personal agency shouldn't be predicated on whether or not you're 'one of the good ones'. Everyone deserves their right to life, liberty, and their own pursuit of happiness, whatever that means for them." My eyes scanned the crowd. "I've had a lot taken from me. My wife. My kids. My career. My manhood. By the logic of bad actors, I should be one of the most evil beings this world has ever seen. Instead, I chose to put on this suit. I chose to be there for people that need it the most. I chose to be better. Like you, I choose to be here in this moment ready to stand against bad actors and protect the vulnerable."

"I must ask you one thing: do not answer their violence with your own. Stand firm against the tide but do not put yourself in harm's way. Today is about standing for what is right. It's about making a statement that we will not allow anyone's liberty to be traded for so-called security. It's about the people inside. It's about letting ICE and AVS know that we will not stand for them trampling our Constitution. Non-violence is no weakness – it is discipline. We will meet their brutality with resolve. Let the world see who they are and, by extension, who we are: the people of Chicago standing against injustice."

"If they threaten violence, rest assured that I will stand between them and you. Let them come after me. I can take it."

I lowered my head and smiled as a thought crossed my mind. "I'm reminded of a quote that better writers than I came up with. It's from the funeral of Margaret Elizabeth Carter and spoken by her niece, Sharon Carter. She said, 'Compromise where you can. Where you can't, don't. Even if everyone is telling you that something wrong is something right... even if the whole world is telling you to move... it is your duty to plant yourself like a tree, look them in the eye, and say 'No, you move.'

"Today, I plan to do exactly that. The winds of oppression are nothing compared to the winds off Lake Michigan in the winter. As people of the 'Windy City', we know we can stand firm against this."

I released the trigger and lowered the megaphone. The crowd was silent for a moment before erupting into a sea of cheers and promises of solidarity.

The device in my ear crackled to life. "Did I get all that on video? You bet I did." Lauren announced through the communications. "Will it go viral? Probably, but that doesn't matter so much as that exact message getting out. Nice work, Seraphim."

Beacon of Hope



Chapter Eighteen

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=sYpCMLW2n_Q))

We didn't have to wait long. The various trucks, unmarked cars, panel vans, and APCs came rolling into the area ten minutes before 11 am. They fooled us a little. They didn't come from the south as we expected. They had hoped to foil our blockade by coming from the north. Lauren's drones picked them up turning off Chicago Avenue. The two columns of opposing forces, one being the motorcade from the north and the other being over two thousand humans on foot from the south, were about to meet like army forces of the 18th Century. Hoping to serve as a buffer between the two, I marched on foot at the front of the column of people. It was absolutely clear whose side I was on.

"This may get ugly, Seraphim." Lauren warned over the comms. "I've got some drones set to record and others set to live stream. Let's hope nobody does anything stupid."

"That's the plan, Veritas: remain peaceful." I stated as our column marched to meet the vehicles that largely had no livery designating their affiliation.

As we marched, our column began to fan outward in an attempt to box in the ICE officials. They stopped at the intersection of Kilbourn and Ohio, in front of a mattress factory. There was really no way to know whether that was their intended target or one they settled on because there were so many people in front of the other factory. Undeterred by our approach, agents filtered out of the various vehicles. They looked like an invading army dressed in the camouflage fatigues, tactical gear, faces covered, and weapons slung across their torsos. I didn't know enough about weapons to know if the ones they carried were lethal or non-lethal. I held onto the hope that they were non-lethal. There was very little coordination of their movements as some moved to block the crowd from interfering while some made their way toward the doorway of the mattress factory.

There was mounting evidence that the crowd would not reach the agents before they breached the building. Time was of the essence and I might be the only person present that was fast enough to head off these agents. I spoke into the comms. "I'm going in."

Without waiting for any reply, I began to walk faster than the crowd. My eyes searched for the location of the group headed to the building. In the next moment, the world slowed to a crawl as I ran toward the factory entrance. It was clear that perhaps they weren't anticipating my participation in today's events. With a column of seven agents within two meters of the entrance, I ran and put myself between them and the door. The world returned to normal speed. The wannabe soldiers with patches only showing text that read "Police", "ESO", "HSI", "DHS", or "ICE" on them came to an unsure halt a few feet in front of me as I narrowed my eyes on them. Their immediate response was to raise their weapons on me. I stood my ground.

"Metahuman! Move!" One yelled at me.

My stern expression remained unchanged. "No. You move."

The reply was a face full of pepper spray from one of the agents. I stood like nothing happened because, from my perspective, nothing had. It didn't affect me at all. I could smell it, but it otherwise had no effect. When that didn't work like they'd hoped, two quickly moved to grab me–one on each arm. They put their full force into the interaction but I didn't move a millimeter. Frustrated, they grew more forceful but the effort was futile. I didn't budge.

"I will not allow you to harm the innocent people inside this building." I told them. "Go back to wherever you came from and leave this city."

"STOP RESISTING!" The man with a typical middle-age-spread physique on my left arm yelled in my ear.

"No." Was my reply.

"You are under arrest for obstruction, metahuman! Stop resisting!" The other man on my right who seemed a little younger shouted.

In the next second, three more joined in and tried to get a hand on me. One grabbed my cape and tried to pull me in various directions with it. In my own head, the laughter could not be contained. Outwardly, I maintained a stoic, steadfast expression. Their efforts were genuinely funny. Seven grown men couldn't move me so much as a millimeter, try as they might. The solace for me in the situation was that the longer they tried to wrestle me to the ground meant more time for the people inside the building to enjoy their freedom.

"Movement from the south," Lauren announced over the comms. "Looks like AVS vehicles coming this way. I can sense two powered people in the bottling plant and three more in that crowd of protestors. Stay alert."

Meanwhile, the men were still yelling at me to stop resisting. They were putting in a great deal of effort to arrest me for getting in their way. One of the men further back fired off a few rounds of something at my forehead. A couple of those rounds struck the men trying to detain me. From the smell of them, it seemed like they might be the pepper balls I'd heard of being used in Los Angeles. They were the same solution as what was being put into pepper spray but in paintball form.

"Ow!" One of the men trying to apprehend me squealed. "Dammit, Dietrich! We're right here without masks on and having a hard enough time bringing this little bitch down! Knock it off!"

Narrowing my eyes further on him, I was now a little angry. All I had to do was move aggressively in one direction or another and all six men trying to wrestle me to the ground were flung backward off of me. I took one step forward and tapped the man on the shoulder.

"Excuse me, but this isn't the time to throw around slurs." I interjected. "What a small man you must be to justify seven men piling on and trying to subdue one 'little bitch', as you call it. I suggest therapy."

He spun around to face me, his face obscured by a neck gaiter and his eyes by sunglasses. "How about you shut the fuck up, put your hands behind your back, and stop resisting!" He noticed the men starting to get back up after I knocked them down. He immediately pulled a gun from its holster. "GET DOWN ON THE GROUND! NOW!"

I didn't flinch. "No."

He fired four rounds at me, alarming just about everyone else. The other agents immediately turned toward me, leveling their weapons on me. The gathered crowd of protestors let out screams and lowered themselves to the ground. The world once again slowed to a crawl as I began moving. I grabbed his firearm out of his hands and moved back to the spot I had been standing in front of the building and held up the pistol. When the speed of the world resumed, I was standing a little bit away from him. My arm was outstretched with his pistol in my hand. I slowly closed my hand into a fist, crushing the firearm in the process.

"The violence ends now." I stated plainly as the color drained from the face of the man before me.

"AVS confirmed at the bottling plant. Four vehicles spotted." Lauren stated over the comms.

"Seraphim busy. I will handle." Týr replied.

Part of me was curious to know what he meant by "handle" but the more dominant part reminded me to stay focused on the task at hand for the moment. These agents had escalated the situation to deadly force. So far, only I had been on the receiving end of the muzzle flash. There was definitely a risk the agents would turn that force on the protestors and I was not going to let that happen. Taking a breath, my eyes met the sunglasses lenses of the agents around me.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you cannot hurt me. You cannot move me. You will not breach this factory." I stated in a calm voice but projected so they could hear me. "I've no intention of harming you. I would hope you have no intentions of harming either the good people gathered here to exercise their First Amendment rights or the Fourth Amendment rights of the people within this building. I ask that you turn around and head back to your headquarters, then tell your superiors that Chicago is off limits. Your operation will be a failure so long as I am here."

The squeak of feedback from a microphone sounded. I had to bring my hands to my ears because of it. Then, a gruff male voice shouted. "GET ON THE GROUND, METAHUMAN! YOU ARE UNDER ARREST!"

"I am a citizen of these United States. You do not have the authority to detain me and I will not comply."

"Oh, this is going viral. I'm getting over one hundred thousand viewers on the live stream. We're getting a lot of vocal support for this. Keep it up." Lauren informed me over comms.

None of this was about fame or views. I could really care less if something I was doing was popular or not. All I knew was what the President and his cronies were doing was wrong on several levels. Someone had to intervene on behalf of the innocent people that were being caught up in some warped crusade to "make America great again". This wasn't greatness. It was cowardice and prejudice.

A hatch popped open on a couple of the military surplus APCs that ICE had brought. Out of the hatches appeared a single man with some sort of device that I couldn't quite decipher. After a moment, I heard several "thunk" sounds from those devices/weapons. In the next moment, there were explosions. They had fired flashbang grenades over the protestors which was answered by frightened screams. The sound of aluminum hitting asphalt followed and white smoke began to form. If they couldn't get to me, they were going to go after the protestors. Not on my watch. It didn't seem at all that these ICE enforcers were going to respond to calls to their better selves. They were out to cause violence. There had to be a way to solve this. There's always another way.

For so long these agents have had masks over their faces and existed in the realm of anonymity. It's well known in psychology that the veil of anonymity is a heck of a drug that lowers adherence to social norms as well as increasing aggressive and anti-social behavior. Any news story about 4Chan in the past fifteen years confirms the phenomenon. The veil of anonymity in online spaces has certainly widened the divisions already present in people of the 21st Century. Mix in a heavy dose of unchecked power and a sense of impunity to produce a volatile soup that has become of the Immigration & Customs Enforcement agency. Their actions are those of fascists. What are fascists allergic to? The truth.

"Veritas, encircle your drones around the ICE agents." I requested. "I'll buy you some time. Be prepared to get photographs in a clockwise manner from my current position."

"What are you going to do, Seraphim?" She wondered.

"Expose the truth and see that justice is done someday."

Hearing the little motors on the drones get a little louder, I knew they were moving into the formation I requested. Meanwhile, the world once again slowed to a crawl as I leapt laterally then willed myself to hover in mid-air near the agents. I gave them all a similar stern look that I might use with my daughters when they step out of line. The world returned to normal speed.

"I am going to give you one last chance: disengage now." I demanded. "I would advise you to find a different line of work. What you're doing is wrong."

My answer was a rapid fire of pepper balls and rubber bullets that would cause extreme discomfort or seriously injure anyone else this sort of onslaught was visited upon. They didn't care.

"Suit yourself. Veritas, begin."

Once again, the world slowed to a crawl. I landed and began running around on the level the most agents were on. My idea was two fold: I would remove the masks and any other articles they were using to conceal their identities, then I would also relieve them of all their weapons. It was frankly rather extensive work. I had to move in such a way that the intended action was performed and no one was injured. When you're moving that fast and have the kind of strength that I do, delicate movements are the key. Everyone around me looked a lot like a department store mannequin, so I treated them as such. I removed sunglasses and ballcaps. I pulled down masks and neck gaiters. I took sidearms and any other firearms then unceremoniously crushed them. I took their paintball guns with pepper balls as well as their rubber bullet launchers, crushing them as well. Their flashbangs and gas grenades were removed from their gear as well. I took everything from them they might use to harm anyone in the vicinity. While I was at it, I gathered the gas grenades off the ground and threw them into the air. It's likely they could have gone into orbit.

When everything was done, I returned to the same spot I had been hovering in before. When the world returned to normal speed, there was panic. For once, it wasn't the protestors doing the panicking. Shutter sounds echoed through the area as Lauren's drones took photos and catalogued the faces of every single agent in attendance. They gasped when they realized they had none of their weapons, lethal or non-lethal. They seemed to scramble for a few moments. Now was my time to narrow my eyes on them.

"I tried to warn you, ladies and gentlemen. Now I'm not asking. Get out of my city. Quit your job. What you're doing is wrong and it will not continue. Wherever you threaten the livelihood, safety, and security of the people I have taken under my charge, I will be there to stop you. Your days of terrorizing the people of Chicago with impunity ends here. Get in your vehicles and leave."

Without their faces covered or their weapons, the agents were on the back foot. They learned very quickly that I am not to be underestimated or trifled with. In haste, they loaded back into their various vehicles and quickly left the scene with their tails between their legs. They had been outmatched and every tool of oppression they had used was taken away from them. People with that much bluster and willing to visit that much violence on people are not strong men. They're cowards masquerading in the worst cosplay ever seen.

The crowd of protestors erupted in cheers all around me.

"That was amazing, Seraphim!" Veritas shouted. "I got all of it! We'll be able to cross-reference databases and employ facial recognition to expose these assholes all over the place! So much for their veil of secrecy!"

"Could use help." Týr finally chimed in. "Girl here turn to magma. Agents trying to get to her. She could melt my hand. Much fire."

With a nod to the crowd of protestors, I jolted myself in the air toward the beverage factory. There were five military grade APCs around the entrance and all of them bore the logo for American Vanguard Solutions. Part of my brain wanted to ascertain how deeply AVS had their tentacles into taxpayers' money through the Department of Homeland Security but that would have to wait. Unfortunately most of the personnel had gone inside, leaving only the drivers in the vehicles left outside. I also had a sneaking suspicion it might be a little easier to convince the AVS people to leave than it had been for ICE.

Entering the building, I encountered a lot of fire and an unhealthy amount of smoke. The world slowed to a crawl as I made my way through the building. There was a situation to attend to, yes, but I wanted to make sure people were able to leave the building if they needed to. Thankfully, there were only one or two people in the entire building that hadn't been able to evacuate. Getting them out was easy enough.

Finally, I found myself in the belly of the problem. There were fires all around the area that would have to be dealt with, of course. Though, a lot of my attention was on a 10-foot tall person that seemed to be entirely made of lava with fire-glowing eyes and fire for hair. There were no legs to speak of. Just arms of fury, eyes of rage, and did I mention the hair was just fire and smoke?

"Good golly, if I didn't know any better I would believe that was an animatronic Te Ka right there before me!" I exclaimed.

"Seraphim, seriously?! A Moana reference?!" Veritas objected.

"I have a daughter less than ten years old. I've seen it hundreds of times."

"Less talking. More helping." Týr grumbled.

"Right. Drag AVS out of here and stand guard over the door. I'll get these fires out and have a word with Te Ka, here." I suggested.

"I like dragging idea." Týr admitted. The next thing I heard below me and over the comms was some kind of war cry in a language I had no hope of deciphering.

Moving quickly, I moved in a circle and utilized my frost breath to tame the fires. It took a little time, but they were eventually under control. I landed gently before the lava creature and looked into what I think was the eyes. Behind me, there were agents barking orders at Týr who obviously wasn't listening. From the sound of it, there were at least six bodies dragging on the ground behind the big guy. I held my arms up to the lava thing in surrender. What I interpreted from the individual was fear more than anger or malice. Thus, I acted accordingly.

"I'm not here to hurt you." I told the form before me.

"You're with them!" The thing actually talked and seemed to screech. I think she was female. There was no way to tell in this form for certain, but I remembered Týr saying something about it. Maybe he had seen her transform into this?

Next thing I know, an arm coiled itself and then smacked me with a backhand. I've been hit before. However, I'd never actually been struck in a way that affected me until that moment from anyone other than Týr. The strike sent me careening into some factory equipment that will likely never work again after this. I wasn't hurt but actually being moved by a hit was different. Collecting myself, I slowly walked back to where I was standing before with my hands up in surrender the whole time.

"No, I'm not associated with American Vanguard Solutions and I condemn their actions." I told the lava form in front of me. "I'm actually here to protect you from them. Sorry I was late. Dealing with ICE at the mattress factory held me up. The man with the metal hand is a friend of mine. His name is Týr, by the way."

The lava being cocked its head to the side and the eyes looked astonishingly expressive. It almost seemed to be raising an eyebrow at me. "You're fightin' those goons?"

"Yes, I am. I've dedicated myself to protecting the people of Chicago. That means all the people from all over the area... even the superpowered ones."

The lava being scoffed. "This ain't no superpower. I'm cursed."

I lowered my hands, rather certain I wasn't going to get hit again. "That's not true."

"Easy for you to say, gringa. Did you sprout tits in moments and end up the same age as your own niece? Not only that, you got racial-profiling ICE and their AVS friends breathing down your neck just 'cause you're broke and brown? Didn't think so."

I took a long breath. "While I can't say I have the exact same experience as you, I can say that I basically became a female twin of my eldest daughter. The world around me seems to be made of cardboard and one little slip up can really hurt someone. That much I understand. I'm doing what I can to help with the rest. I'm sorry you're dealing with so much."

"How old were you... before?"

"Forty-five. You?"

"Thirty-six. My baby girl had just turned three." The lava being seemed to be getting smaller before my eyes. "How old are you now?"

"Seventeen. I live with my mom, if you can believe it." I smirked.

As the being shrank, it became more and more human. "Same. Only reason I got this job is because I have a buddy that forged some papers."

"I get it: you're just trying to survive. It's not right that ICE and AVS are rounding people up the way they are."

Finally, the form solidified into a Hispanic teenager. I could clearly hear her voice, finally. "No, it ain't. What are you gonna do about it?"

"Everything I can. You have a name? I'm Seraphim."

"They're callin' me 'Alma', these days."

I offered a smile. "Well, Alma, why don't you get out of here and maybe go hug that little girl of yours real tight. They grow up quicker than you think. My oldest just graduated high school."

Her eyes teared up. "I will. Thanks." She turned to run out the back door.

"You're welcome."

"Coast is clear, Seraphim. We've got AVS leaving the scene as we speak. Nice work, everybody."

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

Sitting in a small, meticulously arranged studio in a basement in Ohio would not have been on my list of things to accomplish after the showdown in Chicago. There would no doubt be ramifications for the actions taken, but I was keeping a promise. The chair I had been given was comfortable enough but I never knew how to sit anymore. There are so many social expectations on someone perceived to be a young woman that baffled me. I opted for the classic pose of sitting up straight with one leg crossed over the other. It was simple and should pass expectations.

The young woman across from me in a chair of her own wore a simple white and short-sleeved blouse, gray vest, and nicely pressed tan slacks. She wore very little makeup where I wore none. Her posture was a little more slouching but her ankles were crossed near the floor. Her dark brown hair was tied in a no-nonsense ponytail and her almost gray blue eyes focused on the cameras before she looked at me.

"You ready for this? I'm not going to pull any punches and we're likely going to be the talk of the internet for the next week," Lindsey Lane cautioned me with a large notepad sitting in her lap.

"Admittedly, I'm a bit nervous, but I'm ready for people to see what I might have to say about some things." I answered her.

"Your funeral." She joked before turning to click the mouse that sat on a little table beside her. She offered a smile to a camera that sat far enough to her right—my left—that it gave a panoramic view of both she and I in our seats. "Hello, everyone! Welcome to The Planet Daily. We are now live on Twitch, YouTube, Facebook, and Instagram. You can listen through audio on the app formerly known as Twitter as well. I'm your host, Lindsey Lane. With me today is probably someone the chat is going crazy about right now, the enigmatic Seraphim. She's come out of the woodwork and made a name for herself over the course of the past couple of months." She then turned to me. "Seraphim..."

I straightened my posture a little. "Miss Lane."

Lindsey rolled her eyes at me. "Right. The first and most pertinent question, as I see it, is: why put on the suit and do what you do?"

"Great question." I smiled while finding a good answer in my head. "Originally, the suit was a pragmatic choice. I needed something that could withstand many of the things that I can. The first thing I did that people might remember is subdue someone with fire-based powers in a mall. The fire burned my clothing. I thought it would be a bad look if my clothing couldn't handle the same things I can."

Lindsey clicked her pen before speaking. "So, why intervene at all? At the time, weren't you just some bystander in that same mall going about your business like everybody else?"

"I was, yes. Like many people at the time, I was just trying to buy some clothes. When I heard the frightened screams, I felt like I had to act. At that time, I knew what sort of powers I had and how they might be applied in some situations. I had the ability to protect people who might be frightened or hurt, so I did."

"No hesitation on your part whatsoever?"

"No. None at all. People were scared and someone might be hurt. That's all that mattered to me."

"What made you decide a suit was the best idea?"

"Again, in that confrontation with the young man with fire powers, my clothes were burned and I was afraid that similar situations might create 'not safe for work' videos based on how many people were filming me. It was about maintaining modesty and practicality."

"Could you set the record straight on whether or not you were the person seen on the SkyCam footage back in May of this year?"

"I was the person in the footage."

"So, you had an idea about the color scheme for your costume–or uniform–all the way back in May?"

"No, I didn't. That was a joke from..." My brain wanted to say 'my daughter' but caught itself before continuing. "...a friend. She had red leggings, a yellow shirt, and a blue hoodie she put me in before we went to a park to test my powers. I was still in a veil of denial at that time."

"Denial that you had powers and what had happened to you was reality or not?"

"Yes and no? When the event occurred on April 29th, I would imagine everyone dealing with the ramifications was in some level of denial throughout May. I didn't really have the luxury of denying the reality of what had occurred. On April 28th, I was a forty-five year old man stuck in a corporate rut. By April 30th, I was a seventeen year old girl with superpowers. I don't believe my experience is an isolated incident."

"There is evidence of other people affected by this event that came out the other end with superpowers. I've got sources confirming someone in Seattle, Los Angeles, New York, and even as far as Puerto Rico."

"I can confirm personal knowledge of the woman in Seattle and the one in Los Angeles, personally. I know them both."

"How do you know them, exactly?"

"I can't disclose that, Miss Lane. To protect their safety and mine, I won't."

"Would you say that putting on the suit is also a way to protect your safety?"

"In a round about way, yes. For the record: I did not design my suit, but I did have approval or veto power." I tapped my chest. "Not even this emblem was my creativity, but that of others. The designer of the suit is Dr. Ingrid Voss and she'll be glad I told you. She's very proud of it. The designer of the emblem doesn't wish to be named publicly."

She wrote something on her notepad before looking at me with a raised eyebrow. "Are you not afraid of an impending legal battle? The suit bears a striking resemblance to a certain character that belongs to Warner Brothers Discovery and DC Comics through them."

"I raised that concern myself. Given that I practically appear to be a Rule 63 of the character and have all the powers, I thought going for a similar costume design might raise more than a few eyebrows." I admitted. "Dr. Voss is very confident that will not be the case. Neither she nor I have been contacted by Warner Brothers Discovery by way of a cease and desist order, as of this moment."

"So why tread that line and design the suit in such a way?"

"The similarities are there for a reason: they're recognizable. Even people that have never consumed a single piece of media about Superman know who he is and what he generally looks like. They see the blue suit, red trunks and boots and cape, as well as the yellow accents and know that person is a force for good. When I first went to see Dr. Voss, I was simply there to ask what sort of materials a suit like this might be made of based on the needs I had. She volunteered to design and produce the suit based on my answers to her questions."

"What were those questions?"

"My intentions. She, like you and many other people, questioned my motives. Let's be honest: until three months ago, superheroes were fantasy. They were the stuff of graphic novels, some pretty compelling video games, and multibillion-dollar franchises in the movie theaters. Thus, what would possess someone to think they could do such things in our world? Fame? Fortune?" I shook my head. "Not for me. There may come a time when people seek those kinds of things, but I won't be one of them. I do what I do because I care, I have the ability, and I feel like that bestows on me a certain level of responsibility. No one is imposing that on me. It's just the kind of values I was brought up with. The strong don't dominate the weak, in my eyes. The strong are those that have the ability to help people that may not be able to help themselves and do so. The strong are those that know they can do something about the wrongs happening in our world and have the wisdom to know when they should intervene or when they shouldn't."

"Some pretty compelling moral character."

"What can I say? Like the man from Krypton, I am a farm boy at heart. My parents raised me with midwestern values that carry through to make me the person I am today."

Again, she raised an eyebrow at me. "How do you identify, these days? What are your pronouns? How do you see yourself?"

That series of questions caused me to sigh. "I... Well, to the world, I'm some girl in a tight blue suit, red hotpants, some rather nice boots, and a cape. Out of the suit, I'm just another teenage girl trying to navigate the world. In my mind and in my heart? I don't know. I lived for forty-five years as a man with a male body. I was rather proud of some of my accomplishments and not so proud of others. I had a life before this that's not so easy to let go of. I don't really know what I think of myself, right now, but I'm trying to make the best of it."

"How do you feel about being referred to as a 'girl' and with 'she/her' pronouns?"

"I've made my peace with it. It's what people see and what they can base their beliefs on. I understand that I'm something of a role model for young girls and that's fine with me. I'm working through some things, but it can be a lonely road at times."

"Is that why you saved the Camp Mystic girls and many others on the morning of Independence Day? To feed the role model narrative?"

"No. I woke up to some of the most horrifying screams I've ever heard in my life. I have children of my own. No parent ever wants to hear that sound. I went to Texas not knowing the source of the screams or why the kids were screaming. I just knew they needed help and I was the one that could be there to help." A tear welled up in my eyes. "I couldn't live with myself thinking of the pain their parents would have gone through had I not been there. There are still people who died that day and I still feel their loss. I can't help but blame myself for not getting to them in time."

Lindsey leaned forward with an understanding look on her face. "You might be faster than anyone can really comprehend, but even you can't save everyone. You're still human."

"I'm still learning that lesson."

"One final question: some would say that you've begun a crusade against Immigration & Customs Enforcement in Chicago and their partners, American Vanguard Solutions. What do you have to say to that?"

"I will not stand idly by and allow fascism to come to Chicago. The DOJ, DHS, and the President himself all make a mockery of the law. They're abusing people and stoking fear. According to the only data being analyzed on the topic, ninety-percent of people being held in ICE custody have no criminal record whatsoever. They're incarcerating innocent people, racial profiling others, and causing fear in our communities. AVS is worse. They're a private company contracted with the federal government to apprehend people simply because they have powers. The administration sees people like me as a threat and they want to eliminate that threat."

"What do you have to say to the people that state your actions justify theirs? That you and others like you are fueling the fears while proving the government's point?"

"Propaganda. I save people. I protect the innocent. I have exercised incredible restraint and ensured that no federal officer has been physically harmed by my actions. I have taken their weapons of war and their lethal force away from them and crushed it. If we don't protect the First Amendment, what's the point of any of the others?"

"Well said. Thank you, Seraphim."

"You're welcome, Miss Lane."

Beacon of Hope



Chapter Nineteen

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.

Addendum -- This is the final chapter of this story. Thank you to everyone that joined me on this journey. Your support has been phenomenal along the way. I've enjoyed reading your reactions to the story as it was released. To close NaNoWriMo 2025, BCTS will be the exclusive home to the totality of this novel for the next two weeks. I'll post the "afterward" as planned on my birthday. For now, thanks for all the fish.

(( Chapter Theme: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Vn7CBtdM3dE ))

The door swung open and we were once again greeted by the world outside the theater. Everybody else's eyes took a moment to adjust but mine were fine. It was opening night of the new Superman movie. Madison had convinced us all to make it a family experience. Laura, Hannah, Madison, Olivia, and I came together and now we were leaving as a group. Laura and I discussed the exorbitant prices of the tickets and food. Madison and Olivia were animatedly discussing their favorite parts with Hannah occasionally providing her own commentary. Once outside and out of normal human hearing radius, Madison walked ahead of us all and turned toward us.

"How accurate do you think they were?" She asked the group, walking backwards as she spoke.

"Accurate to what, sweetie?" Laura wondered.

"Well, I mean, Dad's the expert on this." Madison gestured toward me.

I blinked rapidly. So far, Madison and Hannah were the only ones still calling me "Dad". Olivia and Laura had moved on to simply "Kristen" or "Kris". With an oversized T-shirt tucked into some loose-fitting jeans, unassuming tennis shoes, and the glasses Lauren had made on my face, I was firmly in my "secret identity" mode. "Yea, no, I got no idea what you're talkin' about, Maddie."

Yes, that included the Wisconsin accent. I'd rationalized that if I were going to make things believable as "Seraphim" and "Kristen" being two different people then I'd have to play up a few aspects of myself in "Kristen" mode while shedding them completely in "Seraphim" mode. Being in public, "Kristen" mode was switched on.

Madison groaned and dramatically rolled her eyes. "I mean with the powers and everything. Did they capture the essence?"

I let out a sigh. "It's different in the fiction, ya know. These are people that come up with stuff in their head and make it make sense on camera. What I can do is different, ya know?"

"Yea, it's a movie, Maddie." Hannah agreed. "Though, I really think they captured a kind of guy like you, Dad. It's creepy how close they got."

"Clark's from Kansas. I'm from Wisconsin. There's some differences." I noted.

"Pa made me think about Grampa." Olivia added as she teared up. "I miss him."

"Me too." I agreed, slipping an arm over her shoulder in a comforting gesture.

"Why are you comparing Kristen to a fictional character, Madison? They're going to be different in many ways, obviously." Laura finally responded.

"She's not a man, for starters. Not anymore, anyway." Hannah nodded.

"There's a lot of similarities, that's all. I really wanted to know how accurate all the powers were to the real life equivalent we've got walking to Mom's car with us. I'm making comparisons, okay?" Madison defended her line of thinking.

"Yea, no, I get it. We're from the Midwest. We don't really swear. Honestly, we're both a little corny. We do the best we can do with what we got. He looks good in the trunks, dere." I drew the comparisons. "I ain't gonna deny there's some things the same and some things not. I liked the speech he gave to Luthor, though. That's good writin'."

"I like that the character is a good guy because he chooses to be." Hannah joined in. "Like, you've got influences from your parents and maybe expectations from them. They don't dictate who you are. Not even what you say makes you who you are. Your actions do."

"You feel like we influenced you in one way or another, Hannah?" Laura asked.

She laughed. "No way, Mom. You and Dad are like Ma and Pa Kent... which is weird to say out loud."

"That's true. They do their best to guide, not preach. I've got a couple friends with preachy parents. It's kinda cringe." Madison agreed.

I tried to lower my voice as deep as I could get it. It ended up being mid-alto range at best. "Parents ain't for tellin' their kids who they're supposed to be. We're here to give y'all the tools to help you make fools of yourselves all on your own."

Laura raised an eyebrow at me. "You memorized that without using a notebook and shorthand?"

"And I paraphrased it." I smirked.

"And your impression sucked." Madison laughed. "But I get the point. Thanks for not being preachy parents."

"You're welcome." Laura and I chorused.

Laura unlocked the SUV and we all started climbing in. Thankfully, Olivia was now to a point where she didn't have to be in a car seat anymore.

"So, what are you going to do about school, Dad? It starts up next month, you know." Hannah wondered.

"Your gramma has decided that I should go to my old school to keep up appearances. I dunno about doin' high school all over again." I admitted.

"You're gonna go to school? That's weird." Olivia tried to process the idea.

"I'm technically seventeen, kiddo. It's gotta look authentic, ya know."

"You've got a point, Kris. If the secret identity is going to work, you've got to fully lean into it. I'm with Marian on that one." Laura nodded as she started the car.

"Et tu, my love?" I couldn't hold back the chuckle. "Like I know the first thing about bein' a teenager raised on an iPad."

Hannah spun around to the rear compartment as she had claimed "shotgun" earlier in the night. "Hey, I resent that characterization! We didn't have those when we were little and we barely got phones at fourteen!"

"Yea, I don't get a phone for a few more years and you guys won't let me have an iPad." Olivia grumbled.

"It's a stereotype from old people your father is using to terrible effect," Laura reassured them.

"What I mean is that I'm gonna need you guys to teach me how to be someone of your generation." I clarified.

"So say that instead of spitting bad stereotypes. Besides, Gen Z isn't the iPad generation. It's Gen Alpha, like Olivia, that has that label." Hannah explained.

"All my friends have iPads. Why can't I have one?" Olivia whined.

"See?" Hannah motioned to her sister.

"Because you ask that question, Olivia. You don't have an iPad because we would rather you learn in a healthy way." Laura explained in that maternal vocal tone of hers. "You may not believe it, but it is for your own good."

"ANYway..." Madison decided to end that portion of the discussion. "How are you going to juggle high school and saving the world, Dad?"

I shrugged. "I dunno, yet. Gotta figure it out, like anythin' else."

"Good answer, Kris." Laura smiled.

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

Mom, Týr, Koda, and I gathered together in the living room to watch the news. Mom and I situated ourselves on either end of the sofa with Koda curled up between us. His head was in my lap, of course. Týr settled himself into a recliner off to the side. The television was still a rather new thing for him after his long self-isolation in Iceland. I had heard through Lauren that tonight was a night to tune into the broadcast. Generally, I'm not a fan of the major news networks. Corporate news stations skirted around the actual truth depending on who owned them. It didn't signal good journalism for me.

As one might expect, the broadcast tonight was one of those "round table" interviews that happen so often on big stations. These "debates" didn't inform anyone. They caused more people to continue to marginalize themselves into their own bubbles of bias. The commercial break ended and the broadcast faded in on the young male anchor. The lower third text read: "Seraphim: Friend or Foe. Debate tonight."

"Welcome back, ladies and gentlemen," the anchor began. "On tonight's broadcast, we touch on a subject that sometimes seems to be a divisive one. To the Trump administration, this entity is Enemy Number One. According to polls, the public seems to think she is a source for good. We are of course talking about the person who calls herself Seraphim and predominantly operates in the Chicagoland area. Joining me tonight are..." The image cut away to a Hispanic woman with her hair in a bun and wearing a white lab coat. "...Dr. Isobel Marquez, an astrophysicist and cosmologist with the University of Chicago. And..." The image again cut to reveal a young man, mid-twenties from the look of him, with a scowl on his face and hair like Mark Zuckerberg but ginger. His suit looked rather expensive. "...Lukas Lowen, CEO of Orivox Enterprises. Thank you both for joining us this evening."

"Thank you, Michael," They chorused.

The visual on screen moved so that a view of all three of them were together in a line in the middle of the screen. "Dr. Marquez, we'll start with you. Can you definitively answer for the people watching tonight what you believe caused all this in the first place?"

Dr. Marquez furrowed her brow. "I don't understand the question. Could you elaborate?"

"I'll explain the question: what caused our current situation? Where would someone like Seraphim or her copycat in Los Angeles come from in the first place?" The anchor explained.

Dr. Marquez rolled her eyes before beginning. "Well, I can't speak to her motives or what inspiration she's working from, but I do have a hypothesis about why she exists at all. On April 29th of this year, our planet was subject to an astronomical phenomenon we've not experienced before. I don't have all the details, as of yet. It's only been just over two months since the event occurred. We're still studying the phenomenon and its effects. We can extrapolate from recent events that, apparently, it has bestowed some extraordinary abilities in certain humans—"

Lowen scoffed and shook his head. "Oh, come on! Let's be clear: these beings are no longer human! They're a menace!"

The anchor held up his hand. "Mr. Lowen, I'm going to ask you to hold your comment until I call on you. Dr. Marquez, please proceed."

She took a breath and remained professional. "As I was saying, a certain number of people we can't accurately quantify have developed abilities that previously only existed in comic books and blockbuster movies. My team has documented some of the footage of Seraphim for study. We're also looking into the individuals in Los Angeles, the one who calls herself Feedback in Seattle, some scattered reports of someone in Manhattan, and another person in Puerto Rico. These are cases that stand out as they have gone out of their way to be public with what they can do. Hopefully, we can procure their DNA samples for analysis."

Again, Lowen scoffed. "We can get you several samples from detainees we've removed from the streets, Doctor."

I could hear Týr actually growl at that comment.

"That brings us to another point," The anchor pivoted. "Mr. Lowen, you've not kept your ties to the formation of American Vanguard Solutions and the contract with the Department of Homeland Security a secret at all. Would you kindly tell us why?"

"Gladly, Michael." Lukas Lowen leaned forward and almost looked angry. "You see, these beings, these... metahumans, as we've come to categorize them, are not simply victims. They're dangerous. You've seen this girl who calls herself 'Seraphim' just as much as I have. She put an arm through a fully-armored personnel carrier like it was wet cardboard. She's faster than anything we've ever seen. She's stronger than anything we've ever seen. She flies around with no regard for FAA protocol. She can put a fire out with just her breath. Who's to say she didn't actually start that building fire back in June with those laser eyes of hers? She and the other metahumans are a national security threat. We need to detain them, catalogue them, determine their abilities, and assess their threat level. Only then can the American public be assured of their safety."

"You can't be serious!" Dr. Marquez objected. "Suspending habeas corpus is a power only the President of the United States has in very limited circumstances!"

"President Trump issued an Executive Order in June that affords us the jurisdiction and full cooperation of federal law enforcement." Lukas sneered.

"An executive order is not law, Mr. Lowen. Surely you recognize that?" The anchor asserted.

"While that is true, we'll have our day in court to make our case. As I understand it, there's a case making its way through the federal courts in California at this very moment. Illinois has yet to respond. If Congress will not act to protect the American people, then someone has to and I believe this administration has the best interests of the people in mind."

Dr. Marquez narrowed her eyes and furrowed her brow. "You mean the best interests of you and your companies, Mr. Lowen?"

"Are you suggesting that Orivox Enterprises and American Vanguard Solutions have a conflict of interest, Dr. Marquez?" Lukas sat back in his chair. "I assure you that our only interest is the safety of the American people. We have gotten some very dangerous people off the streets. Remember that young man that created an aura of fire around himself and attacked the Woodfield Mall? We have him and so many like him in custody."

"As I understand it, he was in Chicago Police custody before AVS came along and took him. Legitimate criminals are one thing. Innocents that simply happen to be gifted are another matter. They still have their rights." Dr. Marquez scolded him.

"What about the rights of people that could be violated by their shenanigans? Do we care about them?" Lukas shot back.

"So, they're being prosecuted for 'pre-crime', now? Is this The Minority Report?"

"We're exercising preemptive restraint. Once we know their identity and what they can do, we catalogue it and set them free when we confirm they have no criminal record. We keep the information for internal uses in the interest of national security."

"You mean providing data for your friends like Peter Thiel and Larry Ellison?"

Lukas shrugged and smirked. "Toe-may-toe, toe-mah-toe."

"I'm going to have to agree with Dr. Marquez, Mr. Lowen." The anchor finally interjected. "You seem like you don't care for the constitutional rights of these individuals. That phenomenon caused a lot of upheaval in our world, but that's no reason to suspend the constitutional rights of average citizens."

"That's just the thing, Michael: they're not 'average citizens'. These are extraordinary times that facilitate extraordinary methods." Lukas nodded.

I hit the power button on the television, then turned to everyone else. "Oh, this is bad." I breathed, my eyes very wide indeed.

Týr turned his chair to us with a glower on his face and his metal hand in a fist. "The evil of this man..."

Even my mother was shocked. "Yeah, heard dat. He weren't raised right."

"That's the understatement of the year." I nodded. "I got a feelin' we're gonna be seein' a lot of him."

"We must prepare." Týr acknowledged. "Others in danger."

"You may be right."

Beacon of Hope



Afterward

If you're reading this, thank you for reading this labor of love. I was really inspired by James Gunn's Superman and felt like the world could really use a character like that in more of a "real world" context. It got this whole ball rolling. Now, it's turned into SEVERAL book ideas.

As stated, what you've just read is the first book in the series. There are other heroes who will join Seraphim in the future. Who are they? You'll have to read the books featuring them to find out. The observant among you may have already seen the universe page and noticed titles that haven't appeared as their own books, yet. They are coming soon. I've had some life difficulties recently that have slowed down the writing process but not stopped it. These are stories I need to tell and I hope that you will enjoy reading them.

If you have read this and it's given you an idea that you may want to throw in your hat, let me know. Consult the universe page and we'll go from there. I would like "Starforged Sagas" to become something of a literary universe that many authors have a hand in shaping. Could the next one be you? Who knows?!

I really do hope you've enjoyed the ride. A bit of a Marvel-style teaser:

Seraphim will return.

Happy Birthday to me! Týr bids you all "Glaðligr Jól" (whatever that means).