The world of the mid 1990s faded away. A brief blackness followed, then the familiar world of 2128 slowly coalesced around Clark Kent the Fourth, affectionately known around the halls of the Abstergo Corporation as “CK.” He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the harsh fluorescent lighting in the room as the virtual display before his eyes automatically turned off, leaving his glasses unobstructed again. He yawned broadly, exhausted beyond measure, mentally, physically, and emotionally from the ordeal he’d just been through. He could scarcely wait to lay down and get a well-deserved sleep.
“How was it?” his boss asked, stepping into the room from the smaller observation area to the side.
“Brutal,” he answered, slipping his hands out of the haptic gloves he’d been using. “I didn’t expect it to be so…draining,” he continued.
Dr. Kenneth Klein nodded. “It’s exhausting for everyone the first few times. But, the good news is, after a few more trips into the Animus, you’ll get used to it.”
But Clark shook his head. “That’s not it though. Yeah, I’m physically tired but…I didn’t…I never expected it to be so…emotional.”
Dr. Klein nodded once again. “Of course, every trip is different. But, for some, the trips into their ancestors’ memories isn’t bad. Even though they are actually ‘living’ through the events, they can disassociate themselves from what they’re experiencing. For others…it’s harder.”
“I knew about my great-great-great grandfather’s past,” Clark said, unstrapping himself and stepping down out of the gyrospheric apparatus that had allowed his body to move and twist as he’d digitally inhabited the body of his ancestor. He shook his head. “I just never realized how hellish his life really was. He truly was a tortured soul.”
“I tried to warn you,” his boss said sympathetically, putting a hand on the young man’s shoulder.
Clark sighed wearily as he shuffled across the room and sat down heavily in the armchair the Abstergo company provided in each room where its employees entered into the Animus. He hung his head and rested his chin on his chest., catching his breath and gathering his strength.
“We can debrief tomorrow,” Dr. Klein offered kindly.
“No, I can do it. Over dinner,” he added with a wry grin. “I’m starving.”
“The cafeteria is still open. I hear it’s surf and turf night,” the older man informed him.
“Perfect.” But he didn’t get up right away.
“What’s wrong?”
“I’m just…it’s weird to me, that’s all.”
“What is?”
Clark shrugged. “Everything. The original Clark. My great-great-great grandfather. He was twisted and manipulated into becoming this…this truly awful person. But from him…from his undying love for Lois Lane…all of this happened.”
“Utopia,” Dr. Klein said with a knowing nod.
But Clark shook his head and scratched his ear. “Not just utopia. Because of him, I’m alive. It’s incredible, you know?” He shook his head again, this time sadly as a great heaviness settled in his heart. “He had this…horrific life. His mind was warped at a young age. He was manipulated and forced to kill so many people. He was a slave to the man who should have been his brother. He was tortured with Kryptonite too many times to count. Everything was stacked against him.” His voice was strained with the swirling emotions that being in the Animus, living the first Clark’s life through his memories, had stirred up. A lump was in his throat as he fought back tears born from the hopelessness he’d felt emanating from his ancestor as he’d been forced to kill and known there would be no other life for him.
“But?” Dr. Klein prompted, as Clark fell silent to collect his thoughts.
“But…he changed. He risked everything for a woman he didn’t even know. He allowed love to slip into his heart. He sacrificed everything to keep her safe.”
“Love is the most powerful force in the universe,” his boss remarked thoughtfully.
Clark nodded and looked at the painting on the wall, depicting the first Clark. It had been commissioned by Lois shortly after the man’s death. How Abstergo had gotten ahold of it, Clark didn’t know. It should have been in a museum somewhere. But he rather liked the fact that it adorned the room where, day after day, week after week, Clark had relived the memories of his great-great-great grandfather. It had helped him to feel connected to his ancestor well before he’d ever climbed up into the Animus, strapped on the haptic gear, and allowed his mind to be transported to the far less civilized mid 1990s and experience the life Clark Kent the First had lived.
Clark pulled his gaze away to look at his boss. “You can say that again.” He gestured to the painting. “My great-great-great grandfather should have become the world’s most devastating villain. He should have destroyed this planet. He could have. He had more than enough power to, once he escaped from Lex Luthor’s influence.” He made a fist in his passion, then relaxed once more as images of his great-great-great grandmother flashed in his mind. He could see her gentle smile. It was no wonder why the first Clark had fallen so hard and fast for her.
He shook his head to dispel the images lingering in his mind. “But he found love instead. My great-great-great grandmother. Lois Lane. She saved the world, simply by returning his love. If she hadn’t…I hate to think of the consequences.”
He let out an involuntary shuddering sigh, doubting he would ever be brave enough to let his mind wander down the dark paths of ’what if.’ What if the original Clark hadn’t been captured and held prisoner by Bruce Wayne? What if he’d never met Lois? What if Clark had met her, but hadn’t been strong enough to let love into his life? What if Lois had never been able to see past the fact that Clark had been an assassin? What if she’d never forgiven him for killing her parents and sister?
What if?
What if?
What if?
Clark shook his head again. The ‘what ifs’ didn’t matter. His great-great-great grandfather had changed, thanks to Lois Lane and none of the morbid possible futures had come to pass. A smile crossed his face and his eyes sparkled in wonderment.
“But she did love him,” he continued after a moment of collecting his thoughts. “And that made all the difference. He spent his final days, his final moments, as a force for good. He laid the groundwork to expose the horrors Lex Luthor had committed. His journals and testimonials toppled one of the largest crime organizations in the country.”
“Four generations born from him,” Dr. Klein agreed in awe. “All of them making a difference in the world. All of them changing our world for the better. And all because one couple fell in love.”
Clark nodded, his voice going soft with awe and reverence for his ancestors. “A couple that, for all intents and purposes, never should have been. They had everything working against them.”
Dr. Klein smiled at him and patted his shoulder in understanding. “And that, my boy, is exactly why their love story is so timeless. It’s why families still recount the tale to their children, time and time again, why children ask for it as a bedtime story, why so many still visit the museums dedicated to Lois Lane and Clark Kent.”
“And yet, Clark isn’t always viewed in the best light,” Clark pointed out with a soft sigh. “Not that I can blame them too much. People don’t know his whole story. How can they? They haven’t lived the horrors he did. They never will, thanks to the work his descendants have done in making the world safer and more peaceful.”
“And that’s why I felt it was so important to send you into the Animus,” Dr. Klein reminded him with a kindly look. “His story has never been properly told. Oh, your great-great-great grandmother did a commendable job of it, based on what he’d told her and what he’d written in his journals. But to experience his full life? What you learned in there,” he said, gesturing to the now-silent machine behind them, “it’s going to utterly reshape the way people look at your great-great-great grandfather.”
Clark nodded as he recalled the stories he’d been told all throughout his childhood, at bedtime when his father would tuck him in, at his grandfather’s knee in front of the cozy fireplace on cold winter nights, at the hospital bedside of his great grandfather, who, though suffering from dementia, could recount the story of Lois and Clark with crystal-sharp clarity. A wistful smile touched his lips, even has he fought to reconcile the tamed-down stories he’d been told with the violent truth of what the first Clark’s life had been like.
He looked to the large, glossy, framed photograph of Lois Lane that hung next to the painting of his great-great-great grandfather. In it, she held two laughing toddlers in her arms – Clark Kent the Second and Samuel Kent. She was smiling, but it wasn’t the same smile Clark had seen while in the Animus. This smile, though lovingly directed at her sons, was tinged with a sadness that Clark had seen in every “post-Clark” photograph, as he’d dubbed them in his mind.
“It’s a shame,” he said finally, looking away and down at his hands, which lay nestled in his lap. “After such a tortured life, Clark barely got to experience any happiness, at least, not for very long. Two weeks. That’s all he had. Two weeks of freedom. Two weeks of being in love with Lois.” Another heavy sigh escaped his lips, his chest heaving with the weight of it. “He never even knew he was going to be a father.” He paused for a moment as the tiniest smile curved his lips upward in a reflective way. “Of course, neither did Lois.”
Silently, he recounted the story he’d been told by his family all his life. It hadn’t been until two months after his great-great-great grandfather’s funeral that Lois Lane had even discovered that she was pregnant. And that had only been because of Bruce Wayne.
“What woman would?” Dr. Klein mused. “She would have been too newly-pregnant to know before Clark’s murder.”
Clark the Fourth nodded sadly, thinking back over the story. No matter how many times he’d heard it, it had never ceased to bring him both a pang of sadness and amused disbelief. How anyone could go nearly three months without knowing they were pregnant still baffled him. He’d witnessed enough family members expand their families. His own aunt had endured the most grueling first trimester he could imagine, and though he’d been a mere seven years old at the time, the images of how sick she’d been still stuck with him to this day. And now that his own wife was expecting their first child, he was even more hyper-aware of the changes pregnancy made to a woman’s body.
And yet…now that he’d been through the Animus, he thought he understood it a little better. In living through the first Clark’s memories, he’d learned just how powerful love was. Loving his own wife was easy. Lois and Clark had needed to fight for every last iota of their happiness together, which had brought their love to unparalleled heights.
Unbidden, the image of the heartbroken, agonized, soul-shattered expression on his great-great-great grandmother’s young face as she cradled Clark’s dying body in her arms popped into his mind, chilling him to the bone. It was a look he knew he would never forget. It would haunt him for the rest of his life. He’d never seen anything like it before and doubted he ever would, even though he’d long ago taken up the role of a super-protector of the world, as had his father before him, and his father before him, and his father before him, following in the steps Clark Kent the Second had laid down, starting in his late-twenties.
A lump formed in Clark’s throat and he swallowed hard, trying to remove it while his eyes misted over. Quickly, he scrubbed his eyes with his sleeve, ridding himself of the evidence of the forceful emotions swirling within him, threatening to bring him to his knees.
Finally, after a long few moments, he felt confident enough to speak. “After the funeral, she kind of fell apart,” he explained softly.
Dr. Klein looked at him with quizzical expression. Clark knew the story of how Lois Lane had discovered her pregnancy was knowledge kept only within the family.
“At least, that’s what I’ve always been told,” Clark quickly elaborated with a shrug. The story poured out of him with ease as he recounted the tale for his boss. “She was tired all the time and was barely able to keep anything down.” He sighed again, for the first time appreciating how much his great-great-great grandmother had suffered. “Even water.”
Dr. Klein’s eyebrows raised in a silent “yikes” and Clark nodded in acknowledgment. Once again, Lois’ mournful, terrified cries as she realized the love of her life was dying rang in his ears, as clearly as if he were back in the Animus, watching it happen all over again. He heard her screams as she realized that there was nothing she could do to save him. He shuddered again as his heart broke anew for the woman he’d never gotten to meet in real life.
Shakily, he continued. “Bruce took her to the hospital, afraid for her life. He thought she was dying. At least, that’s how I’ve always heard it told by Bruce’s great grandson, William. Bruce thought that she’d given up the will to live with her fiancé dead.” A wistful smile crossed his lips as he remembered the fiercely strong woman he’d gotten to know through the original Clark’s memories. “But she wasn’t dying. She was pregnant…with twins no less.”
“That had to have been quite the shock,” Dr. Klein remarked, shaking his head awe.
“I’m sure it was,” Clark confirmed, absentmindedly wiping his hands on his pant legs. “It wound up being a blessing in disguise though. I was told that the news brought her back from the edge. In a way, Bruce hadn’t been completely wrong. While she hadn’t given up her will to live, she was certainly detached from the world around her. Those babies of hers gave her a reason to live, to fight, to become a force for good, to finish the work Clark had started.”
He smiled distractedly, so bound up in the memories of the stories he’d grown up hearing that he no longer saw the room in Abstergo anymore. Instead, the ghostly images of his great-great-great grandparents floated before his waking eyes, rendering him blind to all else. But they comforted him, rather than disturbed him, like benevolent angels sent to watch over him.
Once again, he heard his great-great-great grandfather’s vows to Lois and remembered the way the man had sworn to himself in his heart and mind that he would one day be worthy of her love. He recalled Clark’s solemn oath to be a better man and to make a life for both of them, and it resonated deeply with him. And while Clark the First hadn’t been able to marry Lois Lane and start a new life with her in which they raised their family as husband and wife, he had made good on all the rest of his promises. Clark the Fourth smiled again as he thought about all the good that had come from the changes his great-great-great grandfather had made.
He’d saved Bruce Wayne’s life, though he’d never much cared for the man. Sure, Bruce hadn’t won the election – the public had re-elected President Garner rather than the billionaire who’d survived three assassination attempts – but he’d gone on to help Lois ensure that the world never forgot Clark Kent, the man who’d been instrumental in taking down Lex Luthor. Clark the Fourth chuckled to himself. Not only had Clark saved Bruce’s life, by taking him to the hospital he’d chosen, he’d also inadvertently helped Bruce to meet his future wife – the surgeon who’d removed the bullet from his shoulder and repaired the damage it had done, though Bruce had never regained the full use of his arm again. Bruce had gone from being mistrustful and half-loathing Clark the First to becoming one of his biggest supporters, lauding Clark’s sacrifices and building museums around the country dedicated to both Lois and Clark in his later years, once Clark’s sons had begun the process of bringing the once-impossible notion of a utopian society closer to reality.
All because he’d come to understand how deeply Clark Kent’s love for Lois Lane had forever changed the former assassin.
Between Lois’ efforts and Bruce’s financing, the world had come to know the Father of Utopia.
But Clark had cemented his own immortality in his own right as well. The journals detailing all of Lex Luthor’s evil deeds had been instrumental – indeed, absolutely vital – in bringing the disgraced billionaire to justice. Clark the Fourth had seen the old film reels of Lex Luthor’s trial. He’d listened as his great-great-great grandmother had read the words written by his great-great-great grandfather, chronicling the way Lex had brainwashed him into becoming a super assassin and recounting, in minute detail, each murder he’d been forced to commit. He still felt a chill run down his spine as he recalled Lois Lane’s voice – strong and clear, though plainly biting back tears as she read the journals for the jury, lawyers, and the world at large.
Those journals had secured a verdict of ‘guilty’ and had pushed the presiding judge firmly in the direction of the death penalty. Lex Luthor – paralyzed from the waist down from the bullet that had stopped him from dealing the killing blow to Clark the First - had been denied any appeals and had, instead, faced a brief stay on death row and a swift execution. Afterwards, the journals had been donated to the Smithsonian Museum and considered as important a piece of history as the diary of Anne Frank or the death camps of Nazi Germany. Even now, four – soon to be five – generations later, every high school student in the country studied those journals as part of their history classes.
“Clark?” Dr. Klein prodded worriedly, peering at the far-off look in the younger man’s eyes.
“Oh, sorry,” Clark replied, clearing his throat pulling himself out of his thoughts.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Clark affirmed. “I was just…thinking. It’s pretty incredible, isn’t it?”
“What is?”
“Everything. Once my great-great-great grandmother discovered that she was carrying Clark’s sons, it pulled her out that dark, isolated place she’d slipped in after his death. It propelled her into motion and made her more determined than ever to honor Clark’s memory and take down the man who’d imprisoned, brainwashed, and tortured him for most of his life.” Clark’s voice was soft with respect for the amazing woman Lois Lane had been. It was humbling, when he thought about it, to know that he was descended from her as much as the first Clark.
“She brought Lex Luthor’s misdeeds to light and utterly destroyed both him and everything he’d ever built. She made absolutely certain history would remember him with the same disdain it does for Hitler and Stalin.”
“She raised her boys well,” Dr. Klein added after a moment, after Clark grew silent and contemplative.
He nodded gently. “She did. Those two boys grew up to be great men who helped usher in utopia. Because of them we now have a perfect world; peaceful and safe, in a way that the first Clark never got to experience for himself.” He sighed heavily, wishing the reformed assassin could have lived to see such greatness come to pass. “And yet, the world is still split on their opinion of Clark. For every person who sees him as a beacon of hope, there are a dozen others who still view him as a villain. They can’t see past the forced misdeeds he’d been coerced to commit. They don’t understand how much it hurt him to make all those kills, despite how much he’d tried to numb himself to the atrocities he was committing.”
“A view you’re going to help us change,” Dr. Klein confidently assured him. “With the knowledge you gained in there, we’ll be able to bring your great-great-great grandfather’s story to life. His life’s story will be turned into movies and holograms, taught in schools alongside his journals, turned into museum exhibits, featured on the news. The whole nine yards,” he vowed.
Clark nodded gravely. “I guess the saying is true. Post tenebras lux. Light from darkness.”
“’All great and beautiful work has come of first gazing without shrinking into the darkness,’” Dr. Klein quoted in turn.
“Who’s that from?” Clark said, looking up with interest. “I don’t recognize it.”
“John Ruskin,” his boss replied.
Clark nodded thoughtfully. “I’ll have to add him to my list of authors to read.”
“I think you’ll enjoy his works,” Dr. Klein said with a slight smile. “I’ll give you some time to recuperate and meet you downstairs?”
Clark pushed himself up out of the chair with a strength that went beyond the super powers he’d inherited through his Kryptonian genes. He squared his shoulders and gave his boss a tired, but content, smile. He shook his head.
“No, I’m ok. I’m actually really excited to share what I’ve learned. I think it’s going to revolutionize the way people look at the man who gave the Mother of Utopia her family back, and, in so doing, changed the world.”
The End.
