Clark reached out and grabbed his son, pulling the young boy flush against the alley wall with him just as an officer stomped by, the end of his cigarette glowing a hellish red in the dark just before the man stepped out into the murky halo of one of the few working streetlamps. They waited, scarcely breathing as he lingered there for an eternal moment, occasionally looking this way and that, as if he were somehow aware of their presence; but the shadows concealed them, the clashing colors of an ancient tradition of graffiti helping to further camouflage their presence. At last the officer moved on. Clark shifted the weight of the duffle bag on his shoulder and took his son's hand. "Come on," he whispered.
They moved swiftly and silently, avoiding the cop cars that occasionally rolled down the streets. "Dad?" the boy whispered as they hid behind a dumpster. "Why do we have to do this?"
He frowned. "I already told you the story," he replied, his jaw twitching as he remembered that fateful day so soon after he and Lois were first wed.
"I know," said the youth. "But, wasn't it Mom's fault?"
He knelt in front of his son, placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Son," he said, "Don't blame your mother for this. She had no idea what her actions would lead to, and really, they don't even matter anymore. This is a war."
"But we can't possibly win!" the boy protested, his nervousness written on his face.
They shrunk back as a police-wagon rolled by, pulling into the parking lot just a few feet away from them. Clark returned his attention to his son. "Don't think like that," he admonished, "Focus on what we need to do right now."
The boy nodded. "Okay, Dad."
They made their way to their target, and Clark scouted the tall, concrete structure with his x-ray vision. "Get ready," he warned. When the coast was clear, he caught his son by the waist and bolted up to the roof. "Hurry!" He opened the bag, setting it down in front of the device mounted there. They worked in tandem, faster than the human eye could see; the boy remembered everything he had been taught. Clark felt more proud of him than words could express.
At last, their work was done, just as Clark heard footsteps coming up the stairs. "Come on," he told the boy, "now!" They disappeared into the night, just as the door to the roof access opened.
The commissioner of the Gotham City Police Department frowned at the case files in his hand as he reached over to turn on the bat-signal. After a few seconds, he looked up into the sky, doing a double-take as he registered the shape of Mickey Mouse ears silhouetted against the clouds. "What on Earth--?" He sighed. "Every year with those two! At least now, I know why he sent Robin to Metropolis with a box of 'pixie dust'."
