[Chapter 3: Influx]"Kal? What's wrong?" Bernie asked as Kal walked in with his hands held close to the front of his chest but not touching.
His aura was thick with unease and worry.
"I don't know, but something definitely is. I couldn't stop my ice breath and, for the last hour or so, I've been feeling . . . I don't know,
off. And now my sense of touch is extremely intense."
Dr. Klein immediately got the aura camera and turned it on. He frowned.
"What?" Kal asked, idly shaking out his hands as he shifted his weight foot to foot.
"Your aura is a bit sporadic and your body temperature is about 101.2 degrees," Dr. Klein said.
His normal was 100.5°.
"How do you feel? Any pain?"
"No pain, just . . . The closest thing I can compare it to is being exposed to red kryptonite. I feel uncomfortable and restless," Kal tried to explain.
"Hmm. I wonder if this might be a consequence of healing. Perhaps your body is adjusting to the influx of repeatedly expending energy, like exercising a muscle," Dr. Klein theorized.
"Well, whatever is happening, if I can't stop a power when I need to, that's a problem. I could not stop, Bernie. I'm lucky I was just putting out a simple fire, if this had happened with my strength or my heat vision. . . ."
Dr. Klein's eyes widened in dawning apprehension.
"Okay, well let's not panic. This is probably temporary," Dr. Klein tried to calm.
Kal nodded, doing his best to keep his fears at bay.
"I need to have Mav make a statement and send a message to the UN," Kal said.
"Yes. And I think it goes without saying that the study will be paused and you'll be taking it easy until we figure this out," Dr. Klein said, picking up the phone and asking Mav to come up.
"Agreed," Kal said sadly, taking a seat on the nearby stool as Dr. Klein began outlining ways to safely test the condition of Kal’s abilities.
O o O o O
"Are you okay?" Lois asked, closing the front door behind her.
He was sitting on their couch, his hands resting lightly in his lap, palms up. He was still in his uniform.
"According to Bernie, my powers were fluctuating 25 to 80% above my normal. They've now settled to about 40%. We've contacted the UN, and Mav is going to make a statement soon,” he said, looking up at her.
“Do you feel okay?” she questioned, coming to him.
“I feel better than I did. I still feel strange, and my sense of touch is really distracting, but other than that, I think I'm okay."
"Your sense of touch?" she asked, confused.
"It's really sensitive. Everything feels much more intense. It almost hurts," he said. "Even my clothes, but touching my own skin is even worse. It's why I'm still in uniform. It provides a bit of a barrier without the rustle of normal clothes."
Lois frowned, concerned as she lowered her outstretched hand.
"It is getting better, though. Since coming home, it's about half as bad as it was," Kal assured.
"That's good at least," she said, carefully sitting beside him. "We'll figure this out."
Kal nodded, his aura wrapping around her whole form as if she was his lifeline.
"Kal?" she questioned, feeling his uncertainty. His fear.
"The last time I lost control of one of my powers, I was a child, Lois. I almost burned my family's barn down. If it hadn't been for my ice breath back then. . . . I can't afford a loss of control. I could hurt someone. I could hurt you."
Tears sprang to Lois' eyes, feeling the weight on his soul as it saturated his aura.
"Then if you're ever afraid you will hurt someone, spread out your aura and share your strength," she advised. "That should take care of things, right?"
Kal slowly nodded, relaxing. "That should work. Hopefully I have enough control for that if something happens."
"You will," Lois said confidently.
O o O o O
The next morning came faster than Clark would have liked, but his sense of touch had returned to normal and he felt okay, so he felt reassured enough to go to the precinct and get some work done. He would not be making any rescues if he could help it and decided he would keep his work light across the board.
It had taken a little convincing to get Lois to go to the Planet and for them not to just stay home together, but after Clark pointed out how much Perry was harping on the story involving the mysterious deaths in locked rooms, Lois caved.
Part of him was regretting that decision as he stepped onto the second floor of the precinct. Walking past an open office, he could hear the local news discussing the Foundation’s recent statement about him.
‘The Foundation announced last night that Superman has developed what they believe to be a medical condition brought about by the healing he has provided over the past ten weeks. According to the Foundation, Superman experienced a lack of control over his ice breath and an extreme sensitivity to touch called tactile hyperesthesia.’
Clark sighed as he continued down the hall, but he couldn’t ignore the newscaster.
‘Since the beginning of the study being conducted by the UN’s medical council, Superman has healed a total of 108 individuals, including 95 children. Of those healed, over 90% were suffering from exceedingly grave injuries and had not been expected to survive or obtain a good quality of life without his intervention. Unfortunately, due to recent events, Superman’s physician and the doctors overseeing the study have agreed to pause things until Superman’s condition stabilizes and is better understood. It is hoped that he can resume healing, just at a reduced rate.
'As for rescues, the Foundation stated that while Superman has requested the week off, he can still be contacted in high-stakes emergencies.'
Clark entered the records room and found the folders he wanted to go through. Deciding against reading any faster than a human would, he signed the folders out and went to an empty meeting room.
He got through the first folder in about an hour, taking his time as he noted a few interesting tidbits to share with Lois later, but unfortunately he found no breakthroughs. He sighed, idly rubbing his eyes before freezing.
Why was his left eye itchy?
He took a deep breath, startled to find the room was beginning to feel . . . crowded? No, that wasn't quite right. Everything just felt . . . skewed.
“Clark?”
Clark startled and looked up to find Henderson.
When had he entered the room?
"Clark, are you okay?” Bill asked, looking at him closely.
"Honestly? No. I–I don't know what's happening," Clark admitted, relieved it was Bill who had come in and no one else.
"What do you need?" Bill asked.
"Can I leave by that window without being seen? It's getting worse," Clark said, pointing at the window.
"Here, this way. That side of the building has surveillance," Bill said. "You can go from here."
He led him to the neighboring room and closed the door behind them.
"I'll say you headed home sick if anyone asks, and I'll take care of the folders," Bill said, watching him in concern.
"Thanks," Clark said, before opening the window and blurring out.
O o O o O
Clark thanked his muscle memory as he spun into his suit faster than human eyes could track, but muscle memory could not dictate his flight path to the Foundation.
He fought to keep his focus, to make it to the Foundation, but between the sun's glare, gusts of wind, smell of traffic exhaust, cacophony of thousands of voices, roars of hundreds of engines, microscopic granules in the air striking his skin, and dozens of other sensations, he barely realized he was losing altitude before he saw the pavement rushing up at him!
He couldn't stop his descent, but he slowed just enough to prevent himself from burrowing into the earth.
The crack of pavement echoed in his ears. Screeching tires resounded through his skull. Voices pinged repeatedly in the background as the rough texture beneath his hands clawed against his skin. The smell of asphalt assaulted his nose, filling his mouth with the taste of tar. He knew he was on his hands and knees, but beyond that he did not know. The vision in his right eye swam in and out, flipping between microscopic, telescopic, and x-ray vision in a nauseating kaleidoscope. His left remained blissfully dark, but that didn't make things better, just not worse.
He did his best not to move, but he wasn’t sure if it was helpful.
He could sense people were near. Feel their fear, question, concern, and hesitation, despite how much he tried to retain his aura.
"Superman, what's wrong?!" someone asked him.
“Everything is so loud!” he gasped. “It's too much! I can’t control any of my senses!”
He felt comprehension outside of himself, but a thundering of steps concussed against his frame, leaving him reeling. He sat up and covered his ears with his hands as he closed his right eye, his left always closed beneath the eyepatch.
It didn't help.
Still, he did his best to hold on and to not scare those who were near him anymore than he already had. He wasn't sure how much time was passing, but surely this couldn't last much longer. He pulled in his aura.
"
Move—ha
nds, Sup
erman," a garbled voice through the chaos said.
He forced himself to lower his hands and felt something hefty placed over his ears.
The noise reduction was such a relief he sagged forward, heaving a choked sigh.
And then the smell of coffee grounds flooded his sinuses. He inhaled deeply, so grateful for the reprieve even as his sight and touch were still in painful overdrive.
"Thank you. This helps a lot," he managed, though he didn’t dare open his eye yet.
"Is there anything else we can do?" another voice asked, nervous but energized.
"Is there any lead? I can't see through lead," Kal said, even as his sight peered through the flesh of his closed eyelid and saw the man with a freshly opened coffee canister kneeling in front of him.
There were a few others nearby, as well as a crowd standing a ways behind. Beyond them was a home department store, Home Renov. He had crashed onto its parking lot. It was a wonder he hadn't hit anything other than pavement.
"One moment, I have soldering wire. That has lead," someone else said before they ran off.
No one spoke for a long moment as he remained on his knees with his arms and hands positioned in a way to reduce the amount of contact with anything.
"Here it is!" A young man clamored down beside the man with the coffee and held out the blissfully, visually stable object.
Kal risked reaching out his hand and accepted it. Immediately, his skin crawled from the bitingly cold, coiled lead wire, feeling every groove, contour, and surface detail contacting his palm and fingers.
But his eye could focus on it. Sure, it zoomed in and out, but the violent jackhammer of visual torture became vastly limited because he couldn't see through it.
He slowly exhaled, his senses finally beginning to stabilize. After he felt confident to move, he looked up at the small group gathered anxiously in front of him.
"Thank you. That was far worse than the times I had lost control as a kid," he said, slowly standing up and returning the coiled wire.
He shook out his hand.
"So it's over?" the coffee guy asked.
"Everything is still heightened, but it's manageable, especially with these. Who gave me these?" he asked, motioning to the industry grade ear protection still firmly over his ears.
"I did." A little elderly woman stepped up. "My son works in construction, and he left them in my car."
"Thank you, Mrs. . . ?" He moved to take them off.
"No, no! Keep them. I can tell you still need them," she quickly said, waving her hands. "And it's Dorothy, Dorothy Dartford."
Kal didn't bother to hide his relief at being able to keep them as he smiled at her and left the ear protection on. “I’ll be sure to return them to you when I no longer need them,” he promised.
"Do you need a ride, Superman?" coffee guy asked.
"Actually, yes. But only if it's no trouble. I don't think it's a good idea for me to fly right now," Kal said, glancing down at the damage he had caused with a grimace.
All things considered, it wasn't too bad, but a ten foot square would need to be repaved due to the spiderweb of cracks.
"It's no trouble at all!" coffee guy said happily, motioning to his little truck.
Kal gratefully followed the gentleman, to the amazement of those watching.
It felt strange climbing into the pickup truck (headphones included) with everyone staring, but he would rather look a little out of place than plummet from the sky again. His senses were continuing to equalize, but he could still feel a strange undercurrent of . . . something. He knew he couldn’t risk it. He also wanted to be at the Foundation by the time the media learned what had happened.
Kal closed the passenger door as coffee guy placed the still open coffee container in the cup holder of the center console that was barely large enough for it.
Ten minutes later, and after causing several people to do double takes (seeing Superman in a vehicle with ear protection), they arrived at the Foundation.
O o O o O
Dr. Jamie King, a head scientist at the Solar and Heliospheric Observatory, frowned at the recent images they had captured of the sun.
"It's not a big storm, but it's certainly sustained. By far the longest on record, and it doesn't seem to be fading," King's coworker said. "It's quite remarkable."
And it was, but King's thoughts were not on how scientifically unprecedented it was. He was wondering. . . .
“Superman gets his powers from the sun,” he stated out loud.
Everyone in the room went silent and looked at each other, their eyes widening as they all recalled recent news.
King picked up the phone.
O o O o O
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