Hey, why not.
Clark picked up the phone and brought it to his ear. "Clark Kent," he said, amiably.
“Holy mother of-!” squawked the person on the other end. There was a cough and some self-conscious throat-clearing which he presumed meant the owner of the voice was composing herself. “I should have led with great shades of Elvis, but in hindsight that would probably have seemed a bit contrived.”
After a moment, he frowned in confusion. "Who is this?"
“Only your biggest fan, baby!”
His shoulders tensed.
“That sounds a little stalker-ish, doesn’t it. Sorry.”
"How did you get this number?" he demanded.
“Believe it or not - no pun intended - I read it in a fanfiction!”
He looked around the room, flustered. "Look," he began, "I really--"
“You’re sceptical, I understand that. I never thought for a second this call would actually go through. What are the odds of that, like a gazillion to one? I mean the internet is so full of misinformation you have to take most of what you read with a great big bagful of salt. And yet here I am talking to one of the Daily Planet’s top reporters!” Her excitement level along with the pitch of her voice was rising ever higher. “And
Superman!"
He stilled.
“I suppose you’re going to try and deny it now,” she challenged.
"Uh huh."
“Well of course you are. It’s ingrained in your DNA as much as your ability to leap tall buildings in a single bound, or your love for Lois Lane. Not sure where in the timeline I’m talking to you exactly, but that’s not in question I hope.” She didn’t bother giving him a chance to answer. “No of course it isn’t, she’s the love of your life, isn’t she Clark.”
The frown deepened. "Well, yeah," he admitted.
The woman on the phone huffed an unconvincing sigh. “Oh well, a girl can always dream. As long as you take your shirt off periodically and continue to fill out those little red briefs of yours for all to see, we won’t have a problem.” A
problem? he wondered, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Although, speaking of, what’s up with the uniform in the new Man of Steel movie. Budget so tight they couldn’t afford a pair of underpants?”
He sighed. "That's not real," he protested. "It's completely fiction."
“Nonsense.” Her voice changed from dismissive to seductive. “Sweetheart, I’ve been watching and reading your story for the last 30 years. On film and television, in comic books and fanfic. I’ve even written some of it myself. There isn’t a detail of your life with which I’m not intimately acquainted.”
Clark gave the handset a dubious look, then brought it back up to his ear. "So you say," he said. ‘
Crackpot,’ he added mentally, but kept it to himself.
“Or if there is,” she added, “I can always find it out.”
That sounded suspiciously like a threat.
His eyebrows raised as he listened. "But how?"
“FoLCdom, Clark, have you not been listening? Your ass is ours! Remember the time Luthor trapped you in that cage or when Lois got that awful haircut?” Boy did he ever. “Not me personally, but it easily could have been. And when you had your secret exposed to the world? Next time you may not be so lucky about covering it up. Reversing time can be a tricky thing.”
How could she possibly know about that?!
“This isn’t blackmail, darling. You keep us happy, we keep you happy. But one move somebody doesn’t like and you could find yourself drowning in a vat of molten kryptonite! The green stuff, too, not any of those other silly varieties.”
There were ‘varieties’ now? Clark shuddered.
“And just because you don’t think that exists as a possibility doesn’t mean a thing. We are legion. One stroke of a bored writer’s pen, it’s reality and you, or somebody you love, is toast!”
He gasped and she softened a little. “Oh don’t worry, honey, there are very few truly vicious authors out there and it isn’t hard to keep us satisfied. We might enjoy inflicting a little trauma on you now and then, but Lois is almost always there to kiss it better.”
Almost always? “And sometimes more than that, if you’re really lucky.” He could hear the suggestive tone in her voice. “Now, be a doll and go take your shirt off in the men’s room. Mama’s in the mood for a little sugar!”
Wha-? Clark swallowed hard.
‘We are legion’ she’d said. ‘Toast’ she’d also said. And ‘molten kryptonite’. Dear God!
He glanced out the window, lowering his glasses as he peered outside. "I...uh...um..." he stammered. He pushed his glasses back up with one finger. "All right," he said, and immediately hung up the phone.
Good Boy.
