Lois & Clark Forums Forums Fan Fiction Lois & Clark Fanfic steelknights 3/9

gotta warn people---some bad language in this bit. a few f-bombs.


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Lois could see stars out the window before she realized she hadn't heard any
sirens for several hours. Luthor must have made them move off. By listening to the
little band talk, she was able to gather that Luthor had used a hostage to do it. She tried
to find out how many others were in the building, and the most accurate count she could
get was seven, with the unpleasant assumption that Superman was here.

The other hostages were split up in two rooms, and weren't being cared for like
she was. They had more freedom of movement, she found, but were denied things like
adequate food and privacy. The communications going in and out were irregular, but as
far as she knew, Gotham had so far put together nearly one hundred million dollars.
Luthor kept track of the deposits in his bank accounts set up in Switzerland through a
lap top computer. It was nearly nine at night when he leaned back, crossing his arms on
his chest.

"You see? Gotham can be reasonable."

"What is it?"

"Eighty-nine million."

The big burly man behind Luthor nodded, shifting his shoulders. "Since they
seem to be putting the effort together, would you want to stretch your deadline? No
sense in refusing contributions just for the sake of the clock."

Luthor rocked back on his chair a moment, thinking. "It's a possibility, Jeff. I'll
give it some thought."

Lois rolled her eyes at the talk. Lives were cheap, and money was everything.
She hadn't known Luthor to be a killer he wanted money, power, and domination. But
now he apparently thought nothing of stepping on people to get it. Leaning on them,
yes, but killing? She shuddered and turned away, staring out the window over her right.
Clouds had moved in and she couldn't see the stars anymore. Reflecting off the clouds
was the edge of a spotlight, or a shadow--she wasn't sure what. It was a black half-moon
with a hard curve to it. It looked like she could only see part of it, but the side of the
building blocked her view even when she stood up.

"That's it," Luthor was saying to himself. "Alright, two more hours added on.
It'll give us that much more time on phase two."

Lois had to bite her tongue to keep quiet. Phase two, debating on time allowed for
ransom--it made her stomach turn over. Luthor had died and--in his own words, like a
phoenix--come back. Maybe he was insane. His mood swings were rapid and violent.
Death was presumably the worst ultimatum, and he had been there and back. And now,
as she watched him give orders over the walkie-talkie, he was probably more reckless
than ever.

"Right," he was saying. "Plug them in and double check the frequencies on all of
them. I want a nice grave here."

"And you want this quiet?"

"Yes. Timing's very important, here."

"Sure thing. Red out."

Luthor cut the line. "Things go smoothly. It's nice when you're not in Metropolis
with a half-assed do-gooder in tights looking over your shoulder." He got light laughter
from the four in the room with him.

Lois snarled. The words cut deeper than anything Luthor had said. He was a
coward! He couldn't possibly stand up to Superman, except by stabbing him in the back.
She felt her face start trembling and she sank down. With her luck and the lack of sleep,
she'd start crying. She settled on the floor, and her hope kept falling past that.

"Barry. The charges?"

"Got a problem. 'Lil short on line, but I think I can rig something. Gimme a minute."

"Good." Luthor tapped into his bank account. "Well, well, well. While we've been
chatting, we've shot firmly past one hundred. One hundred-twenty-two, as of now." He
cut the connection. "I think we've got ourselves a winner." A satisfied smile on his face,
he went back to the walkie-talkie. "Barry. The charges?"

There was no answer, and Luthor waited a moment. "Barry? Wake up." Still not
breaking his smile, he flipped the frequency and found another of his people.

"Carl? Go check on Barry, he's forgotten his comm frequency."

"Sure. How's the money?"

"Well and good. Out."

Something small and crazy stirred in Lois for a moment. Barry had fallen out of
touch . . . But knowing the I.Q. Luthor tended to attract, the man was probably playing
tetris on his multi-function unit. It made her smile. The more irritated Luthor became,
the happier she would get.

"Carl. Did you find him?"

Expecting to get a fix on one of his people, all that answered him was static. For a
moment, Luthor's calm manner faltered. "Erikson, go check that room. Make sure
pretty boy's still in there." One of the men pushed leisurely away from the wall and
shouldered his machine gun, leaving the room.

Lois listened carefully to the conversation. Pretty boy? Knowing Luthor, that's
what he would call Clark. He must still be alive and in here, then. Dead people can't get
out and cause trouble. But Luthor had.

"Barry? Answer me." Silence on that end. Disgusted, Luthor sat down. "If I
hear that--"

"He's still there, sleeping like a baby," Erikson purred with mock affection.
Luthor relaxed visibly.

"Good. We know what we're dealing with. Send by fax to the police
commissioner that the deadline just got tighter. One hour from now and I turn it up. I
don't need the home town boys double crossing me." Another, seated cross-legged on
the floor with a battery powered fax and laptop, started typing.

Luthor got back on the walkie-talkie. "Nails. Where are you?"

A moment went by and there was a fumbling sound over the speaker. Then,
"Yeah. Here. Listen, L--"

"We're tightening the deadline. How are your people?"

"Well, they--they're okay, but, lis--"

"Be on the ready. I think the locals are about to commit multiple homicides."

"Yeah, but there's--"

"Now wouldn't be the time for an editorial."

"It's not that!" Even across the room, Lois could hear the fear in Nails' voice.
"It's that . . . look, things are quiet, and I can't reach Barry. All the cops are still out there and nobody's moved, but I think there's somethin' creepy in here."

"Then deal with it. Luthor out." He cut the frequency over. "Red. How are your
people?"

He got an immediate response. "Chipper as the night is long, but I think Barry and Carl found something to smoke," came the light answer.

"I think the locals are making a mistake. Be ready to move your gun. Clear?"

For a moment, there was silence on the other end, and then an ominous response.
"Holy sh--"

The line fell dead. "Dammit!" Luthor twisted around and pulled the third
machine gun from the rack, tossing it with effort to Tris. "You and Erikson go find out
what's going on. I'm losing patience."

As the two left, Lois risked a look around behind her, beginning to concentrate
closely on the exchanges. Whatever was going on, it had a dark feel to it. She knew
instinctively Clark wasn't capable of this. But it didn't feel like Superman, either. He
would have taken the direct approach--he would have flown in and taken Lex Luthor by
the scruff of his neck and hauled him out. Knock out the king and the rest would come
tumbling after. The comments she was overhearing from the Metro natives would have
a different cast to them, also. But something was taking out Luthor's men one at a time,
something that they found unfamiliar and startling. This wasn't a police rescue. This
was an unknown third party breaking in, apparently moving against Luthor. She liked
to think that any enemy of Luthor's was a friend of hers, but the voices on the walkie
talkies were not showing resignation at having been caught. They were showing real
panic and confusion, and she had precious little physical maneuvering room, effectively
handcuffed and chained to old heating pipes.

"Luthor? Erik. The room's empty."

"What?" Luthor stood, disbelieving.

"Red's room is empty. I think they went out the window. Red's gone, too."

"Don't tell me the whole flipping mass jumped fifteen stories."

There was silence a moment, then Erikson came back. "Beats me. The window's smashed, and there's some claw marks, kinda, on the ledge. Other than that, no struggle, and nothing down there. Ihave no idea what's down there, no idea what happened." Another pause. "I can see two cop cars, and everyone's still there. My guess is something was in the building with us from the start."

Luthor forced a deep breath. "Go check on Nails. He might need reinforcement.
Out." He sat there quietly for a moment, as if regaining control. "I like not what's
happening here."

"Message back from the cops, Mr. Luthor. They say they haven't done a thing,
and see no hostages out there."

"They're lying!" He pounded a fist on the low table hard enough to dent the top.

"Um . . .I saw something kind of funny before. Maybe relevant, I don't know."

"What?" Suddenly quiet, Luthor sat with his face in his hands as though weary.

"It was outside, maybe a half hour ago. Some kinda searchlight with a . . .sort of a
funky, scallop . . .shape."

Luthor looked up with a condescending, disappointed look. After a moment, Grey
shifted his weight uneasily. "Look, maybe it was a signal or somethin'."

Luthor kept him pinned on the stare as he reached for the walkie-talkie. "Erik.
Tris. You there?"

"You're not gonna believe this, but Nails and his room are gone, too. Same claw marks by the window. Whoever's doing this, the operation's slick as ice. We're definit--"

Luthor nearly crushed the walkie-talkie in his hand. He reached under the table
and pulled out a battered looking suitcase and opened it, taking out two huge, dull silver
guns. "Take the Eagles. Whatever it is, hunt it down and kill it."

Suddenly the walkie talkie came to life. "Luthor! Luthor!" From the strained
voice almost at a scream, it couldn't even be identified, and Luthor nearly fumbled the
walkie talkie in surprise.

"What?"

"Clear it out! There's a ****in' demon!"

"Where? Where is it?"

"Twel--" The line went dead.

"Go!" Luthor barked hoarsely to Grey and Jeff. "Twelfth floor!" The two left,
trading grim, nervous looks.

Wide eyed, heart starting to pound, Lois crouched on the floor, trying to fight
back panic. The word 'friend' normally applied to any force opposed to Luthor.
Superman, police, and any sane-minded citizen fit that definition, but so did the Ebola
virus, wildfires, and . . . unknown third parties that caused hardened criminals to scream
in fear. The lines were blurring, and the undefined darkness was clearly headed her
way.

Suddenly there was a vicious slamming sound in the hallway outside the room.
Someone shouted and a gun went off from the cannon-like roar, one of the Eagles.
There was an indeterminate scuffle, and then silence. Luthor jumped over and found
the last remaining gun, a .44.

Someone poked their head in the door. "Gun."

Luthor tossed him the .44 and Jeff disappeared. There was silence for nearly a
minute, and Lois took a deep breath. Luthor backed farther away from the door, aware
that he had no weapon, wishing he hadn't reacted like that. There was a slight sound
from the hallway, then quiet again.

Luthor started to move cautiously towards the door when he heard a machine
gun fire a short burst and bullets rip through the hall. There was the sound of a body
hitting something hard, and then another yell. Another short round from the machine
gun and something big and black hurtled into the room, crushing the table beneath it as
it fell. Jeff burst into the room with the .44 behind a heavily breathing Grey with a
machine gun.

After the sudden, violent activity, the stillness was eerie. Luthor stared at the
thing that Jeff and Grey had flushed out. "What is that?"

"I don't know, but I'm ****in' glad it's dead." Grey was shaking so hard he could
barely talk. "****in' thing probably lynched the lot."

"The Eagles?"

"Gone." Jeff paused and spit out a tooth, showing a little disbelief. "This here's
your demon. Cleaned us out."

Luthor stepped cautiously closer. It had the rough appearance of a man, all in
black body armor, with some kind of mask, or hood. Only the eyes and the area around
the mouth was exposed, the eyes staring up sightlessly. But what caught Luthor's eye
was a symbol in relief across the width of the upper chest. He walked around out of
reach until he could see it right side up.

"A scallop shape."

They stood looking at it for a moment, both Jeff and Grey's heavy breathing the
only sound in the room. "Jeff, go check on our boy next door." Luthor absently waved
the man out.

"What the ****'s this?" The fear still hadn't left Grey's voice.

"I don't know but I don't like it cutting my position short." Luthor's voice was
low and measured.

"Yeah, well, I don't like gettin' the piss scared outa me." Grey shifted the
machine gun and pumped the last couple of shells into the mid-section. The body
convulsed violently with the impact, then lurched back and was still again. A trickle of
blood fell from the corner of the mouth.

Grey remained standing by the feet while Luthor carefully stepped over the body
and rescued his lap top. He logged into his account, keeping a careful eye on the black
thing. A moment of quiet tapping and he nodded. "One thirty-seven. We'll get out
while we can. Are the sewers still open?"

"Dunno. Haven't had time to check."

Jeff came back in. "Still there, still out. What to do with this?" He kicked a black
boot.

Luthor paused. "Throw it out the window. In view of the Gotham authorities,"
he added.

Jeff stepped in and looked at the black form closely. The mid-section appeared to
consist of overlapping plates, almost like scales, but were heavily stylized, suggesting
musculature. Grey was moving around to the head, preparing to grab one of the arms
and pull the thing out.

Jeff leaned in closer a moment, suspicious. Then, "Hey. Hey, wait a--"

Even Lois gave a short, breathy scream when the black-clad arms suddenly shot
up. A foot in the mid-section and Jeff was vaulted over and back into Grey as the black
thing came to life. Quick as lightning, Luthor pounced on the .44, but the black man was
even quicker, rolling to his feet with the same motion that he had dispatched Jeff. A
cable seemed to shoot from his hand and the three-clawed hook at the end wrapped
itself around the .44, yanking it viciously from Luthor's hand and dislocating two of his
fingers. The gun went spinning across the room.

Grey only barely regained his balance and shot forward, aiming to take out a
knee, and suddenly his target vanished. He tried to brake, but something slammed him
forward from behind, crashing him into the wall next to the door.

Jeff found the machine gun, the clip empty, and swung it, missing the face by a
scant inch. Another swing and it was stopped by a black fist. There was a blurring fury
of movement, and a kick caught him in the ribs. He fell back into Luthor, who was
frantically scrabbling at the walkie-talkie. The black man whirled and threw something
at Grey that wrapped like a snake around his ankles. He fell with a crunch. Another one
got Jeff around the knees, only barely missing Luthor as he bolted by, heading for the
door. Jeff was half thrown, half shoved at Grey, and electricity suddenly started
crackling over their bodies as they twitched and writhed on the floor, a faint steam rising
from them.

Lois was shaking almost as much as the two on the floor were, trying to stay
quiet. The only sound in the room was the buzzing crackle of electricity, and it threw
blue-black reflections on the figure as it whirled, scanning the room quickly. The
electricity suddenly stopped then, plunging the room back into deep shadows, and he
looked back to the two on the floor. Lois stared, peering through the dusty room despite
her fear, trying to see as he suddenly turned his attention to the two on the floor. He
crossed over to them, and the cords that had wrapped them up were quickly pulled off.
He grabbed the hands of one of them and one of the cords was wound around the wrists.
At one point he reached to the back of his calf and Lois saw a brief flash of something
silver, and then he was dragging the man across the floor towards a window. He
crouched down, blocking Lois' view, and she only saw him reach for something first on
his left shoulder and then the right. Then he stood, reaching around to his back and
withdrawing something. She flinched and ducked as it seemed like he flicked it towards
her with a sidearm toss. Right about the same time she expected something to hit her,
there was a crash of glass and she jumped again. He knocked most of the glass out of the
window, using whatever was in his hand to shear the remaining edges of glass off of the
bottom of the opening. Then he physically hauled his prey up to the edge of the window.
The dead weight was eased through the open space, out the window. From his braced
posture and his grip on the cable, Lois guessed that he had some kind of body harness
that he was using. She heard the hiss of the cable as it played out from somewhere at
his mid-section or waist, and heard the taut, grating sound as it ran over the window
opening. It stopped then, and he leaned out of the waist-high opening, looking down.
After a few moments she heard the hiss of the cable returning, and caught a glimpse of
something round hanging at about stomach level. Then he repeated the procedure with
the other man on the floor, tying his hands, moving him over to the window, and getting
him out of the building.

Distracted from watching him, she almost forgot about her own situation. The
cable, returned to the round thing she had caught a glimpse of, was slid into a place at his
hip as he turned and started crossing over to her. She cowered and tried not to let it
hear a sob catch in her throat.

"I'm not going to hurt you."

She jumped. The voice, best described as a throaty whisper, startled her. She
opened her eyes just long enough to see a black fist convulse in a short pumping motion,
almost like a childish display of victory. A short, sharp hiss of metal on metal, and
suddenly there were several deadly little curved blades protruding from the forearm.

He was trying to get at the cables on her wrists. She stood shakily, nearly losing
her balance. He caught her with one arm wrapped around her back at the waist, and she
steadied awkwardly. Moving her wrists as far from a loop as he could, he began hacking
at the cables with the blades on his forearm.

"Those are steel cables!"

"I know." The same low, calm voice, this time in a tone that said 'be quiet'. She
stared in disbelief, wondering what he could have that could cut through the cable. The
blades flashed dangerously close to her wrists, and the steel cable actually frayed, then
parted under the blades in his forearm. He touched something at his wrist and they
retracted, just as quickly.

"Do you know where the last hostage is kept?"

She limped away from the wall, what had been her home for over twenty-four
hours. "Who are you? And why should I tell you where he is? You'll probably kill him,
too."

The black figure stopped abruptly and turned back to her. For the first time she
got a clear look at his face, courtesy of a break in the clouds letting moonlight in. It was
like nothing she'd ever seen before. The mask was black and lightly stylized, not
suggesting any facial features but not really hiding them, either. The whites of his eyes
seemed to explode out at her, softened only by the murky hazel of the irises. His lips
were full and expressive, maybe because that's all she could really see of him. He had
wiped some of the blood away, but what remained on his jaw and the mask added a
deadly serious cast to the image.

"I've killed no one tonight. Where is he?"

"I'm not sure." She backed down. Whoever or whatever this was, he was
accustomed to being obeyed she could hear it in his voice. "I think he might be on this
floor, down the hall that way somewhere." She made a nervous, awkward gesture.

"Show me."

Stiff from lack of movement, she did her best, but she got the feeling this . . .Darth
Vader . . .was breathing down her neck. Just as they got to the doorway, she heard
something. It was a distant rumbling, sounding muffled, as if it was far away and buried
somewhere. It only lasted a few seconds. She involuntarily flicked another glance at the
black man. His eyes darted away for a moment, attention diverted by the sound, but
only for a moment. Then he nodded her ahead of him again.

She entered the hallway and alien territory. There was a big dent, man-sized, in
one wall, with faint dark marks. Another place she saw a light spatter of blood. She
closed her eyes to it and moved on.

There were several rooms on her right, their size indicating they were once
personal offices. They came across one door that was closed and locked, or blocked
somehow from inside. A quick jut of his chin and she backed off, slow and uncertain.
Another spinning kick in the close confines of the hall and the door shot open, banging
against the inside wall and nearly coming closed again. He caught the door and looked in
the room, disappearing for a moment. She started to approach, and he suddenly
emerged again, drawing a startled gasp from her. His flat expression gave nothing
away--she only guessed nothing was in there. They continued down the hall.

She found herself formulating a plan of escape, only based on speed. Speed?
Away from this thing? Out of the frying pan, into the fire hardly began to describe how
she felt. She had been tightly confined physically for over twenty-four hours and was
short on food and most especially sleep. She couldn't bolt past this viper. He could be
fifty feet away and still have her. It didn't take brains to see he was trained for close-
quarter combat, but there was something else here, too. Body armor was one
thing--what he had was molded and stylized, ellipses and surges crossed over with struts
suggesting ribs. Across the chest was a shape in relief that consisted of curves and
spikes, like a boomerang mated with throwing stars. His legs were similarly protected,
the same physiological geometry hinting at major muscles of the legs. Two horns, or
spikes, stabbed up from the hood that covered his face, making her think of Satan's
horns. And right about at collarbone level, two black badges with a faint metallic sheen
showed the same symbol as that on his chest. They seemed to be the securing points of
a long, black, heavy cloak, swept back off his shoulders and down to not quite brushing
the floor, with a scalloped edge. It wasn't fabric it looked like a heavy leather, or a
thick, dull-finish vinyl. If someone introduced him as the hound that guarded the
entrance gate to Hades, it wouldn't surprise her very much.

"Who are you?" she heard herself asking. He only gave the barest pause and
nodded her ahead. She glanced back again and kept on moving.

The hall turned to the right, then left again. Two more doors stood partially open.
The one she looked in was completely bare. She came back out into the hallway, not
seeing the black man, and just then she heard another one of the distant rumblings.
Thinking it could be thunder from a storm moving in, she at first dismissed it. But a
second later she was very certain she felt the floor underneath her feet sway slightly. A
beginning burst of fear-driven adrenalin hit her system.

"Did you feel that?" she asked him as he emerged from the other room. "It felt
like a "

"Wait here." It was as if he hadn't heard her. The same kick, one she now knew
was from tae kwon do, lashed open a heavy door, revealing stairs. But he dispensed
with them completely, grasping the banister and vaulting over it and straight down,
disappearing in a heavy swirl of black leather. She stood staring at the empty space for
a moment, dazed by the sudden exit.

Good riddance.

She turned to the room he'd come out of. She pushed the door farther open with
effort, looking around it to see that an abandoned file cabinet was partially blocking it.
She slipped easily through the opening and into the room. It still had some furniture in
it. A free standing closet, a desk, some more file cabinets

"Clark!"

She skidded to her knees and crawled the rest of the way. He had been dumped
on the floor, sprawled awkwardly, still in his coat. His glasses were still on, but they
were slightly askew, and almost without thinking she reached over and straightened
them. There was something strapped around his chest, some kind of small, metallic box.
The steel cable ran through some mounting rings on the box and around his chest. His
hands had been tied, too, similar to how hers had been done. A section of the wall had
been knocked out, exposing pipework, and these were what he was attached to. She
clambered over an abandoned desk to get a better look at the knots. They were done
nearly identical to hers, but apparently Barry had had better aim on Clark, for his wrists
and hands weren't burned. She made a half-hearted attempt to pick some of the mess
loose, but gave up. She'd probably have to wait for . . .

Who in the world was he?