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.