Continued from:
Investigate - Chapter 5/? (Committee) Warning: Some Graphic Content.
[CHAPTER 6a - New Routine]
Congress moved astonishingly quick after the Oversight Hearing, and before the end of the week Superman had become an honorary citizen of the United States and a Treaty had been drafted.
Soon after news of his honorary U.S. citizenship came out, dozens of other nations followed suit, sending out their own formal declarations. By the end of the week, he was an honorary citizen of several dozen countries and the United Nations was now requesting talks with him and for the treaty between him and the US not be signed so that a worldwide treaty could be made with him instead. It was argued that Superman had stated Earth was his home, not just a single country, which was a valid argument.
However, this did open a Pandora's box - after all, each country had their own set of laws and code of ethics. Things the United States would be happy to have Superman involve himself with would never be allowed in other countries, particularly nations that did not ensure standard human rights for their citizens. And the other issue was, should Superman involve himself with such nations? Not to mention the whole nightmare that was politics.
It was then that Clark decided he needed to set a flat code of conduct he would hold himself to no matter the country, and if a nation did not agree with this code, they could request he stay outside of their borders, which he would honor. It was the best thing he could think of while ensuring his image remained untarnished.
The world accepted his Code of Conduct, which could be described simply as his oath to only peacefully enter countries to save lives threatened by accidents or natural disasters. He would carry out no other actions unless with the explicit permission of that nation's government.
He kept war, politics, and law out of it completely.
The glorious part of this code was that any country that might have outright refused him were now strongly discouraged from doing so because of how it would make them appear. Refusing his code would mean they were alright with allowing their people to die in instances where they could have been saved.
As for anything beyond the code a nation wished to implement, it fell to the treaty that quickly became termed as 'the Treaty of El’.
“Honey, this has ballooned well beyond your initial expectations. It has certainly blown apart mine,” Martha said, skimming the treaty he had just been given to review by the U.N..
“Yeah, Mom, but at least this way I have some control and input. And it protects us,” he said, a little exasperated.
Admittedly, they were a little overwhelmed by it all.
“It does,” Jonathan relented. “But son, do you know what you're doing? Do you really want this much influence?”
“I don't think I have much choice, Dad. Even if I didn't make a code or sign a treaty, my decisions would still receive the same amount of attention and scrutiny,” Clark said.
“You’re right, Clark. This is just a lot to take in.” Martha went on to the next page of the treaty. “I'm just glad you're staying out of politics and keeping your focus on rescue efforts. Anything more and I think some countries would become hostile,” Martha said before looking at another sheet on the table.
The list of countries where Lord Kal-El of the House of El, born of Krypton, now had honorary citizenship.
“One hundred and seventy nine,” Jonathan said in awe. “As overwhelming as all of this is, it really is amazing to see how much the world has accepted you.”
Clark smiled softly. “A relief you mean.”
“Well. . . .”
“It's okay, Dad. I agree with you,” he said before looking over his mom's shoulder to review the next portion. “Well, at least there's only ten pages.”
“Yes. They certainly took your request for a short treaty to heart,” Martha agreed.
“Are you going to announce the creation of your foundation before or after the signing of the treaty?” Jonathan asked, knowing that was the second thing occupying his son's mind.
“After. I don't want to distract from the treaty,” Clark answered certainly. “It’ll also give Ms. Lane some time to get things set up with the editor of the Daily Planet.”
Martha smirked to herself before turning her attention back to Clark.
"Which reminds me - your suit for the signing. I've finished the design," she said.
"Martha, is that really necessary? Why can't he just wear what he's been wearing as Superman so far? I doubt the world will mind," Jonathan put in, taking pity on his son.
Martha refrained from rolling her eyes. "He is signing a treaty with well over one hundred and fifty sovereign nations, I think this warrants a bit more decorum than merely being present in his typical attire. Sure, he could probably get away with wearing his usual suit, but wearing a special one will signify that he appreciates the enormity of this event; besides, when you get down to it, he's not just signing it as Kal-El, but as a representative of the Kryptonian people,” she said before taking a deep breath and placing her hand gently on Clark’s arm.
Clark nodded solemnly. “You’re right. Whether or not there are any other Kryptonians out there, I am representing my people. But this suit, it’s not too . . . extravagant is it?” he asked, a little uneasy.
“No, dear. It’s still based on your original suit, I’ve just added some Kryptonian flare. Borders, really. Come on, I’ll show you,” she said, handing the treaty over to Jonathan.
Clark followed her uncertainly, but as Martha rolled out the sheet of paper she had sketched the altered design on, he was instantly reassured.
With his normal suit as the template, tight red and gold cuffs accented in sapphire blue were on the wrists, extending slightly over the top of the hands in a gentle ‘V’ shape. On his boots, an inch from the top rim, had a thin line of gold all around, and the toe tips were blue with a matching strip of gold as a border between the blue and the red. The third and last change was to his cape, where the bottom edge now had a trim of blue sewn on with golden thread.
“Do you like it?” she asked, hopeful.
Clark nodded, impressed and a bit surprised that it actually worked. As loud as his suit already was, the additions somehow gave a regal aspect without tipping it into the gaudy and brass.
"I think this will work," he said with a smile. "Thanks, Mom."
O o O o O
Mayson sighed as she put down the latest report and rubbed her eyes.
She was grateful that it was Friday and the weekend would be spent at home with a few good movies. She needed to decompress.
She glanced at the TV in her office. It was muted but she didn't need any volume to know what, or rather who, they were talking about.
The signing of the Treaty of El was international news and was being televised as much as the initial appearance of Superman had been if not more. She wasn't sure what to think about it all, but it was reassuring to have a clear outline of what to expect where it came to Superman. She had to give it to him, he had reassured a lot of people by his apparent openness and desire to go the official route. It had even made her initial reservations about him fade a bit, even though the cynical side of her remained leery. He was just too good to be true. Here was a god in a cape willing to go out of his way to help mankind as lawfully as possible (after being discovered) and get nothing in return, other than be allowed to continue living on Earth--which he could do with or without permission.
'Granted, that's probably an oversimplification,' Mayson grudgingly thought to herself as she focused back on the television screen.
A clip of the treaty signing came on, showing Elias Olaffson, the current Speaker of the United Nations, shake hands with the Man of Steel who had even altered his uniform slightly for the grand occasion.
It all was really quite impressive and inspiring if she was honest. Reservations aside, everything was conducted so elegantly and was the definition of class. For once, the vast majority of the entire world agreed on something good.
She watched, for what must have been the fifth time since it first aired, Superman receive a gift from the United Nations: a golden capelet covered in emblems of all of the world’s participating nations (which was the vast, vast majority). He accepted it reverently and allowed Olaffson to place it around his shoulders and secure it at the front.
Mayson really hoped this ‘Lord Kal-El’ was legit and wasn’t some kind foreign agent working an elaborate ruse for something heinous like a world take over.
She gave a mental snort, acknowledging she was being a bit ridiculous. If Superman had wanted to rule the world, he would have done so already. Perhaps she was working too hard or wasn’t getting enough sleep.
Okay, she definitely wasn’t getting enough sleep.
Since that meal with Henderson and Kent, or Clark rather, she had been distracted. Troubled.
She had no doubt Clark had been serious and likely correct about his claims, both about the Boss and Intergang. She knew enough about him to know he didn’t make outlandish theories and he was no doubt good at what he did. He had solved Greg's disappearance, after all.
But that aside, when she put her personal feelings far behind her, there was something off with the Churches. About Bill.
She had ignored it for a long time, convincing herself that she was imagining things or was merely distracted by other cases and misplacing her feelings of unease on harmless coincidences and the like. But now that she had reason to really focus and look. . . .
She really needed to re-evaluate everything.
A knock on her door jam jolted her from her thoughts.
“Ms. Drake?” a voice asked.
“Yes?” she asked before she looked up and immediately stiffened.
“I apologize for startling you, Ms. Drake. I was told by Inspector Henderson to give my statement to you because he feels it might involve a case you’re working on, but I can come back later if you would prefer,” Superman said, standing calmly at the threshold.
If it wasn’t for his colorful suit, he would have appeared unassuming, perhaps even hesitant, but instead, he simply was.
She quickly stood up and beckoned him in, instantly falling into her ‘professional mode’ while hoping he didn’t notice her stiffness.
“No, now is fine, Superman,” she said, inwardly balking at how silly she felt using that name. “Feel free to sit. I’ll fill out the report as you give me your statement,” she said, retrieving the form and a pen.
“Before the Inspector instructed me to come to you, I had already filled out a police report,” he gently informed her, handing over the page before sitting in the chair across from her desk.
She took the report and forced herself to ignore how ridiculous he must feel sitting in an office chair in that suit and cape as she began to skim the report. Fortunately, the report took her mind off such trivial things and she couldn’t help but blink at the extremely precise handwriting before her and jump down to the main body of text. It looked as if every letter had been drawn with a stencil. The language was also very formal and brief while being informative and factual.
“Thank you. Is this your first time writing a report?” she asked, marginally impressed.
“I read up on how to write them a little while ago,” he answered simply.
“Well, this is very helpful. It’s as if you’ve been doing this for years,” she appraised. “Anyway, I see you witnessed the suspect threaten and attempt to harm the store owner, Mr. Wójcik." She reread the next bit and nodded to herself. This could be related to other incidents in that area of town, and possibly two murders she was investigating. Certainly had a similar MO. And he had smelt what he believed to be explosive -- C4 to be exact? She would need to make sure forensics checked for that.
“Yes. And if you need me to testify, I am willing to do so," he said amiably.
She hesitated.
"If you feel it wouldn't help the case, I understand," he added upon her silence.
She looked back to the top of his page where contact information should be, and, to her surprise, she found it had been filled out.
His name, Kal-El, along with an address and a phone number.
"I can contact you directly?" she asked, unable to hide her disbelief.
"Well, the address is a building downtown I'll be staying at sometimes, and the phone number is the landline there. This hasn't been made official yet, so I'd appreciate you keeping it under your hat for a week until it is, but yes, the department will be able to contact me through there. I'm in the process of making a non-profit and I'll have someone there manage my mail, answer phone calls, and forward pertinent messages to me," he said, growing a little self-conscious toward the end. He clasped his hands together over his knees.
"I see," she stated.
This had to be one of the most bizarre conversations she had ever had.
"Wait, so you'll have a residence in the city? You'll actually sleep there?" she asked. She wasn't sure why she was suddenly so curious about this, but she wanted to kick herself for not having better self control. "I'm sorry, it's none of my business."
"It's a fair question," he said, unbothered, which sort of surprised her. "I will sometimes sleep there, but it'll also act as headquarters for the non-profit. I haven't quite worked out the logistics yet, but I've found some good people so I think it'll work out."
"I see," she said again, even though she didn't. Not really. "Well, if we need you to testify, we'll be in touch, but before you go, about the explosive you detected," she continued, deciding to just plow ahead. “Do you know how much there may have been and where it was located?”
"It was more than a trace amount, I can tell you that, but it was spread out, I suppose you could say, and it wasn’t on the suspect.”
“So it was coming from around the store itself?”
He nodded.
“Hmm, well, I’ll be sure to have that checked out,” she said, making a little note. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Ms. Drake,” he said, standing up and leaving without another word.
As Superman disappeared out the door, Mayson suddenly realized something.
In the way he spoke and held himself, his genuine straightforwardness and gentle tone, he was nervous, as if afraid he would offend or frighten her. She was very good at reading body language, and she was certain that if he hadn’t been wearing that colorful outfit, she would have noticed more. She frowned as she mentally reviewed the last few minutes and stilled after she considered everything she knew about the Kryptonian.
Superman did want something, and whether or not he hoped to receive it in exchange for his assistance, he wanted it just the same.
Acceptance.
O o O o O
“This is great, Lois,” Perry praised as he tapped the front page of that morning's edition two weeks after the signing of the Treaty of El.
An image of Superman standing behind three well-dressed people was beneath the headline:
_______________________________________________________
'SUPERMAN FOUNDATION ESTABLISHED’
By Lois Lane
_______________________________________________________
“Thanks, Chief,” she said, beaming.
“And you're already working on the follow up piece, correct? I understand the donations are already pouring in.”
“Yes, as well as 25% of the profits from all Superman merchandise. The companies were quick to agree with the arrangement and apologized for not asking for Superman’s permission initially. I think some of them regret not taking the initiative because there’s a chance they could have avoided the competition they now have,” Lois added with a snicker.
“Has there been any hints as to where this money will be spent first?” Perry asked.
“It sounded like Metropolis Children’s Hospital was near the top of the list, but I know the orphanage was also a priority. They both are likely to get something by the end of the month.”
Perry gave a pleased nod.
“Now, there is another story I want to talk to you about,” Lois said, shifting gears.
“And that’s why you’re the best,” Perry noted.
“Yes, well, this story is linked to the bombings. I’m waiting to hear back from Henderson, and Jimmy is going through old city records now, but from what I’ve been able to find so far. . . . This is big.”
“I suspected as much,” Perry said, all previous pleasure now replaced with grim seriousness.
Despite all the attention the treaty and the world's formal welcome of Superman had been receiving the last few weeks, Lois had not forgotten about the series of bombs that had cut across Metropolis. She was determined to get to the bottom of it, even if it took her as long as it had taken her to get to the bottom of the miracles occurring around the world.
“Not just in how it involved Superman. I’m in the process of gathering and reading the police reports of that day and I don’t think they’re merely a random chain of tests placed for Superman as I had initially suspected,” she said, anger now leaking into her voice. “I think whoever is responsible was using this as a cover for something else. Sure, they likely did this to learn more about Superman, but that’s not their only or even main purpose.”
“What evidence do you have so far?” he asked.
Lois pursed her lips. “Nothing concrete yet, just a feeling.”
“You’ve gone off of that before and you haven’t let us down yet, but as always I want proof before anything goes to print. You have a week or I’ll have to assign you something else,” he cautioned.
“What if I need more time, Perry? I have a feeling this is going to be big,” she countered, not surprised by the condition, but not pleased.
“Find evidence, Lois, then you can argue,” Perry said.
“All right.” She hadn’t expected anything less.
O o O o O
“Clark, hi!” Mayson said, (pleasantly) surprised to find him talking to Henderson.
"Good morning, Mayson," Clark returned, equally cheerful as he offered her a donut.
“I was just bringing Clark up to speed with the traces of C4 found in Wójcik's shop,” Henderson explained, leaning back in his desk chair.
“Oh, good,” she said, taking the donut with a smile. “Thank you.”
Henderson continued. “Forensics found the chemical composition was an exact match to the residue found in the series of bombings likely set up to test Superman’s abilities.”
Clark nodded grimly, turning his eyes to the page in his other hand. “So Wójcik's in for questioning?”
“Yes. He’s not admitting to anything and has lawyered up, but you can tell he’s worried."
"Can I talk to him?" Clark asked.
"Sure, he's in a holding cell. The FBI are on their way."
"Then I should talk to him sooner rather than later," Clark said, putting aside his donut bag.
Henderson quickly got up. "He'll be in room three in ten minutes."
Mr. Wójcik was in the room in five minutes and Mayson watched Clark enter a minute later with Henderson.
"Do cholery jasnej," Wójcik grit softly through his teeth before defiantly stating in a heavy accent, "I already said, I'm not going to talk without my lawyer."
He was a grandfatherly gentleman and wore a tweed vest. His hair and goatee were mostly white.
Henderson opened his mouth to talk, but Clark lifted a hand and approached the man, foregoing the chair on the other side and simply stopping by the table and lowering himself to the old man's level. Mayson was surprised that Henderson didn't seem to mind Clark's approach or that he had taken control so abruptly, but she was even more stunned by what Clark did next.
"Panie Wójcik, myślę, że jedyna rzecz, którą jesteś winny, to próba ochrony twojej rodziny. A teraz, czy nie pomożesz mi pomóc?" Clark asked.
Mayson looked at Bill to see his reaction and was gratified to know she wasn't the only one flabbergasted by Kent's hidden talent as Wójcik replied in his native tongue, just as astonished.
Bill remained in the background as a dialogue commenced between Clark and the old man.
Ten minutes later, a much calmer Wójcik was returned to the holding cell and Clark had some very interesting information.
"So his grandson got a job delivering packages?" Mayson asked.
"Yeah, but when he learned how much he was being paid, two thousand per delivery, he knew something was fishy, so made his grandson quit. After he did, they were threatened," Clark explained. "Understandably, Wójcik is afraid of what could happen to his family if whoever hired his grandson believes they know anything about the packages and tells the police, but he's also afraid of his grandson taking the fall for whatever activities the packages might have been used for, so he decided the best thing to do was to take the blame on himself, to appease both sides, so to speak."
Bill and Mayson both shook their heads. Fear and love certainly made people do some mind boggling things.
"Did he know what was in the packages before we took him in for questioning?" Bill asked.
"No, he thought it was drugs, but as soon as he learned we suspected explosives, he recalled the bombings that had happened after his grandson first took the job and correctly suspected the worst."
"Did he say anything else?" Mayson asked.
"Just that the few times his grandson picked up and delivered packages, he had to store them at the shop for days at a time, which explains why Superman smelt the C4 residue but couldn't pinpoint its location," Clark answered.
Bill nodded grimly. "Wójcik and his family will need to go into protective custody."
"I warned him of that," Clark conceded.
"Good. I'll start making phone calls," Henderson said, pushing off from the wall.
"So, Polish?" Mayson asked after a moment. "I didn't know you were bilingual."
"I'm a polyglot, actually," Clark said with a shrug. "For whatever reason, I pick up languages quickly."
"How many do you know?" Mayson asked, thoroughly impressed.
"Depends on what you mean by 'know', but I can get by pretty much anywhere if I'm honest. I've traveled around the world for about a decade before arriving in Metropolis. Immersion really is the best way to pick up a language."
Mayson blinked.
"Weren't you in some special division for the Air Force as well?" Bill asked, a little confused but curious about what he was hearing.
"Yeah, the Special Field Support Division. I was essentially the trial run. It's a permanent part of the Air Force now though," Clark said matter-of-factly.
"So you learned to talk Polish from the military?" Mayson asked, now wondering if she had heard things wrong before.
"No. I went into the service roughly five years after learning the basics of many languages," Clark explained, before seeing their bewildered expressions. "I, uh . . . joined the Military because I needed a slight change and got an offer I couldn't refuse."
"A 'slight' change?" Mayson asked, wondering what he would consider a big change.
Suddenly, Clark stiffened. "What time is it?" he asked, before spotting the clock on the wall and swiftly heading out. "Oh, shoot. I'm sorry. I need to go. Meeting someone for a case. Sorry!"
"Okay, no problem! See you later, Clark!" Mayson called after him.
Bill chuckled.
"What?" Mayson asked him.
"Kent. Lieutenant Polyglot PI extraordinaire, can't keep track of time," he said, before clarifying. "He's always doing that, but he solves cases just the same."
Mayson smiled, amused as well, before pausing. "Wait, he was a military officer?"
At her expression, Bill broke into laughter.
O o O o O
Superman shot across the city, the screams beckoning him to the four lane bridge at the edge of Metropolis. Before he even saw the bridge, he knew it was an accident, but on his approach he could see it involved a charter bus full of middle school students and a fourteen wheeler. The front driver's side of the semi was twisted into the bus and had forced it up into and onto the concrete median, where it had caved inward horribly.
"Superman!" people cried, grateful but not yet relieved.
He was the first on the scene, which was no surprise since the accident had occurred barely a minute before. He scanned the bus, noting with some relief that the people within were no longer outright screaming since they had learned of his arrival.
There were twenty two children and three adults, apparently on a cross-country band trip. Fortunately, most only had a few scrapes and bruises, however, the bus driver and two students near the front row. . . .
He turned his attention to the concerned drivers who would not be going anywhere due to the crash blocking three of the four lanes. A handful had already gotten out of their cars and appeared to want to help.
"I've called 911," one spoke up, looking at him.
Superman nodded his acknowledgement and scanned the semi before deciding on a path.
"Anyone who wishes to help, come up, and let me know if you have any first aid or medical training," he said loudly. "Everyone else, please keep back and let the responders through when they arrive."
He was instantly rewarded with five individuals moving forward: a young couple, a middle-aged woman, and two toned bikers. The first three quickly stated they had some basic first aid training.
"Thank you," Superman said, moving to the front of the semi as they joined him.
Ripping off the passenger door, he put it aside before gently removing the limp, unconscious driver and placing him flat on the pavement. Much of the damaged to the semi was to the bottom front end and fortunately hadn't substantially reached the cabin.
"He's had a heart attack and needs CPR," Superman said as the young couple knelt down beside the man and started chest compressions after quickly confirming he had no pulse. "His left collarbone is broken and his ankle has been twisted, but nothing else," Superman added before leaving them to it and looking at the middle aged woman. With his voice low so it wouldn't carry, Superman said to her, "The bus driver is in a bad way. Go around and get in the bus. You must keep her calm and still. She has several broken ribs and has internal bleeding, but her spine is intact. I could take her to the hospital, but the two students behind her are in more immediate danger."
"I understand," the middle-aged woman said before hurrying around the semi and carefully climbing into the broken bus. "It's going to be alright now, honey. Superman's here and the ambulance is coming," she assured the driver.
Superman turned to the bikers. "Gentlemen, please go to the rear exit and begin carefully helping those able to vacate the bus," Superman directed, before turning to the worst of the accident.
The bikers did as requested as sirens blared in the distance.
Ignoring the people watching from their cars, Superman put his hand on the intertwined metal of the semi and bus that looked more like a steel meatball than the side of any vehicle. He could hear whimpering on the other side and, with his x-ray vision, saw a boy and girl caught in the horrible mess of aluminum branches and immovable iron vines.
He rose up above the street, eliciting some excited gasps behind him as he floated up and over to peer between the mangled, twisted metal. Meanwhile, the bikers and adults in the bus were ushering the uninjured children away from the wreck.
"Kids, this is Superman. I'm going to need you to stay as still as possible. I'm going to begin removing pieces of the bus so I can reach you."
He didn't wait for them to respond, knowing they were in varying stages of consciousness, and dropped down to hover over the median before focusing his vision. He cut through the metal faster than a blow torch and pulled back the first layer of entrapment. Dropping it behind him, he got to work on the next layer and then the next, working behind the bus driver until he couldn’t go any further safely.
Carefully bending a jagged rod of steel away from the boy’s face, he felt the paramedics approaching and could hear a stretcher being rolled out to the unconscious semi-truck driver still receiving CPR. Keeping his eyes directed ahead, he reached in and touched both of the kids' hands.
It was a little bit of a reach, especially since he had to reach over the girl to reach the boy, but he knew it was important for victims to receive physical contact.
The boy trembled in pain as he opened his eyes, but upon seeing Superman he smiled with relief and hope. The girl was unconscious.
“Superman?” he whispered.
“Yes. What’s your name?”
“Luke,” he breathed, ignoring his black bangs falling in his eyes.
“What’s her name?” Superman asked, motioning to the girl beside him whose head was bleeding.
“Charlette.”
“Good. Now, because of how the metal is bent, I’m going to have to get her out first, alright? So I need you to stay still but awake, okay?” Superman asked.
“Hmm-mm,” he managed through ebbing pain.
“If you need my attention, just tap on the metal with your nail or click your tongue. I’ll hear you. I know you’re hurting and very tired, but you must stay awake,” Superman said.
“‘Kay,” the boy said.
Superman gave him an encouraging smile before turning his attention to the girl as police began directing traffic away behind him, utilizing the single remaining lane.
The middle-aged woman and the bus driver couldn't see them, but Superman knew they could hear him.
“Superman?” a seasoned paramedic asked, calling up about four feet below him.
“We’re going to need a stretcher and a tourniquet so I can get her out,” Superman said, forgoing pleasantries, though he did take note of his nametag which read ‘Williams’.
“Got it,” Williams said, before shouting directions out to his crew. “Condition?”
There was only one access point to the children. The other side was blocked by metal and the efforts already in progress to get the driver out.
Superman held out his hand and hoisted the paramedic up to his level, taking his weight so he didn’t disturb the wreckage.
“The girl, Charlette, has a broken leg, concussion, lacerated side, and an injured arm that will require surgery,” Superman said before pointedly adding, “They will both need transfusions.” He pointed to a rod.
Williams followed the path with his eyes, finding the metal skewer had all but severed the girl’s arm but that its continued presence had prevented excessive blood loss. Small mercies.
Unfortunately, it hadn't just hit her arm. Before it had reached her, it had gone through Luke.
Grimly, the paramedic gave a short nod. He knew not to ask about the condition of the boy just then.
A moment later, a stretcher was ready for her.
“We’ll need the tourniquet before we move her, otherwise. . . .” Superman trailed off.
“Here, unless you would prefer I--” Williams offered uncertainly as he did his best to ignore that he was standing on Superman’s left boot and being further supported by the Kryptonian's left arm. He never thought he would be in such a position.
“I got it,” Superman said, gently lowering Williams before taking the rubber wrap. With superspeed, he wrapped the girl’s arm tightly just below the shoulder, stopping all circulation into her arm before looking back at the awestruck paramedic team below.
Superman glanced at the direction of the bus driver being maneuvered out.
“I’ll make this quick, but I’m not sure how this will all shift and I want to make sure Luke is safe, so when I get her out, it would be best if you all move back with her soon after," Superman said as the responders on the other side of the bus hurried to an ambulance on that side of the road with the bus driver.
All of the other students and adults were also clear of the bus, thanks to the bikers.
“We understand. On three, then?” Williams suggested.
Superman gave a nod before looking at Luke. “Luke, I’m going to get Charlette out now, but I must warn you, things are going to shift a bit. After it stills, I’ll get you out next, alright?”
Luke gave an understanding grunt.
“You’re doing really well. Just hold on a little longer.” Superman turned his gaze back to the head paramedic, who gave a ready nod. “One, two, three.”
In a blur and a flash of red melting steel, there was a groan and high pitched whine of metal as the girl disappeared, only to reappear on the gurney. Williams and his team moved away with her quickly as Superman immediately rose up and prevented the remains of the bus and semi from shifting further into the boy. Shards of glass fell and shattered on the pavement as the boy released a pain and fear laced scream before everything stopped.
Superman braced his arm against the remains of the bus as he hovered beside the boy, his free hand taking the boy’s own. Slowly, the boy opened his eyes again and found Superman’s face a few inches from his nose.
“Another gurney is on its way!” a paramedic shouted from below.
“Alright! Can we get an IV up here?” Superman asked with a glance back.
“Ladder is coming!” another shouted.
Luke heaved in a breath, fatigue and agony heavy in his gasp. His eyes were afraid and worried, and Superman was resigned to the fact he could see the all too familiar expression of coming death clear on the boy’s face. He could practically feel the veil separating life and death brushing near.
“Superman?” Luke asked.
“Yes?” he asked, never minding Williams who appeared beside him, climbing up the ladder his team had just placed over the median.
“I’m not going to make it, am I?” Luke asked.
Williams looked at Superman, not able to completely conceal the concern and sad acceptance in his eyes.
Even if the boy had not lost so much blood, his condition would still be dire. The metal rod was clear through his torso. There was no way it had not damaged at least one major organ, not to mention arteries. The only reason he was still alive was because the rod was still in place, slowing the blood-loss. Slowing his death.
Superman's jaw clenched, knowing a lie in this instance would not be considered a sin to most people, but also knowing from experience that stating the sad truth was not as demoralizing as most would imagine. The truth, even terrible, often did set one free.
However, an idea came to mind.
“There is something I could try, but I've never done it before and there is no guarantee that you would survive. A one in five chance, possibly, and I won't lie to you, it won't be comfortable."
"Please try. I don’t want to die trapped in here," Luke said.
“What will you try?” Williams asked Superman.
“I'll try to induce hypothermia to slow his heart rate, bleeding and tissue degradation. If he gets to the hospital in time, they might be able to save him in surgery,” Superman explained as an IV bag was handed up to them.
Williams quickly started the IV as he nodded. “It’s worth a shot. There’s no chance otherwise,” he said, deciding there was no point sugar-coating anything. The boy already knew. Better to go all for this effort than be wishy-washy.
“Please,” Luke whispered again.
“Alright. Close your eyes,” Superman directed.
Luke did so, trusting completely in the Kryptonian.
And Superman breathed, exhaling a white mist that settled on the boy and lowered his body temperature faster than one would believe possible.
A moment later, Superman shot focused heat vision at the metal rod, freeing Luke from the would-be tomb -- all the while listening to the boy’s slowing heart. With Williams' help, a backboard was placed and they lowered him onto the gurney below while carefully maneuvering the steel fragment still piercing him.
A path to the ambulance was instantly cleared, Williams shouting out orders for them to radio the hospital of Luke’s condition and the need of an immediate surgery.
“Everyone get in. I’ll fly you all at once,” Superman said as he got beside the ambulance in preparation to lift it.
No one argued, taking it all in stride thanks in part to Williams’ calm demeanor toward the hero. They were all on the same team, working toward one goal: preserving life.
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