If you haven't already done so, before you start reading, you may want to check out
Sara\'s awesome trailer for this story!
TOC Author's note:
This story was written for and donated to the Archive/MBs/etc. DVD fundraiser. There was a spiffed-up HTML version with a logo/banner created by BanAnna and some nice visual and navigation features that I threw together (with help from some friendly FoLCs here on the boards - particularly Karen), but I decided to make that exclusive to the DVD.
Outside of that, I think this is the best way to enjoy the story - part by part, entry by entry, post by post. (Even if some parts are longer than others.)
As with all my longer stories (and this one is my longest solo effort to date, not counting "Finding Clark Kent," where the readers did most of the plotting work), this one is rather different than you might expect. Each of my rare 50k and over stories has been unique in its own way. This one has been written in journal style, and spans almost the entire timeline of the show. Don't expect it to be funny or whatever (though it has its moments now and again, I hope). I'm not saying it's a bad story. In fact, I'm fairly excited about it. I'm just saying that I think you'll have a better time if you approach it as free from expectations as possible.
Moving on to more important and less confusing matters, I'd like to thank my secret guardians, Sara Kraft and CC Aiken.
Sara was there from the beginning on this one, and with plenty of enthusiasm, to boot. Even when she was swamped with work and RL stuff, she always found the time to help with odd random questions and throw in some words of encouragement. Her comments were a delight to read, and, basically, I don't know where or what this story would have been without her. Oh, and let me not forget that awesome trailer. (Yay! I have a trailer! No one's ever made a trailer for me before!) She did a fantastic job, and was very patient and understanding as I "helped" her with the editing process. In short, she is just too cool.
CC's involvement started when I cautiously and tentatively wrote asking for permission to borrow a little something (which slowly grew during the writing process...). I was on vacation at the time with my family and having a great time, but CC's response was so glowingly positive that it remains in my mind as a highlight of the trip. We exchanged a few more emails over the next week or so, and next thing I knew, she'd signed on as a full BR. It was more than I'd ever hoped for. Her comments were even better. Some helpful, some very insightful, some hilarious, and all a joy to read. Furthermore, without my saying anything, she would invariably manage to praise exactly the things I'd been doubting. Working with her has been an unforgettable experience.
With those two on the job, I can confidently assure you that any mistakes left are purely Tommy's.
Finally, the good old standard disclaimer. Lois, Clark, and related characters are not mine. They belong to Time-Warner, ABC television, December Third Productions, and possibly others. I'm just borrowing them for a little non-profit fun. They go right back in the box when I'm done. Dialogue and plots were also taken from various episodes of the show and worked into the story as needed. Those are rightfully the property of the show's writers.
Okay... enough of that. On to the story!
Steel Shadows
By Paul-Gabriel Wiener
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
JOURNAL ENTRY #1
OCTOBER - NOVEMBER, 1993
(I'll try to get the
dates right, but it's
been a long time...)
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
This is a story that needs to be told. Even if it's never read, it should be written down somewhere. By now, it should be safe.
My name is Tommy Garrison. You probably don't remember me. My fifteen minutes of fame were up a long time ago. I was a boxer. The best there was. Thanks to a little mechanical help, that is. Unfortunately, the boxing commission didn't think it was really fair to have cyborgs in the ring. I was banned from the sport, fired from the only job I knew how to do.
Things did not go well for me after that. I hadn't committed any crime. All I'd done was let a doc rebuild my arms using better materials. Oh, and then get cocky from it and challenge Superman to a fight. Which I lost. Badly. Not the greatest idea in the world, I'll grant you, but let's just say that I was thinking with my fists at the time. Superman, though... he knocked some sense into me.
After our fight, I picked myself up, dusted myself off, and set about trying to do the right thing. Like I said, though, things did not go so well. No one wanted to hire a guy with robotic arms and a reputation for having a short temper. Especially not after said guy had tried to punch out Superman. Besides, I had no skills. There isn't much call for a boxer who can't box anymore.
I tried moving away, hoping to start fresh somewhere else, but it turns out that travelling with what amounts to a pair of concealed deadly weapons (made with enough metal to set off even the weakest detectors)... It's not so easy.
I tried hiring myself out as muscle, but quickly found that a boxer's reflexes don't do so much good when the other guy has a knife — or worse, a gun. I probably could have learned, but I didn't have the money to train myself. The kind of people who would have hired me weren't about to pay for my training out of the goodness of their hearts, either. Not with my history.
I did eventually get hired as a dockworker. They don't ask too many questions there. Not if you can bench press crates that normally take a forklift to move. But that didn't last, either. There was a strike, and I had to go with it. By the time it was resolved, I'd gotten rusty. Literally. And I had no one to fix me back up.
So, barely a month after I'd been looking at a national title, I found myself a washed-up wreck. No job. No money. No place to live. And a pair of arms that were rapidly becoming little more than dead weights.
I probably wouldn't have made it at all if not for Bibbo Bibowski. I'd met him on the docks. He was an ex-prizefighter, like me. Though that didn't really help matters. Bibbo had retired after a good career. I'd been kicked out for illegal enhancements. It also didn't help that Bibbo was Superman's self-proclaimed "number one fan."
Somehow, though, Bibbo didn't let any of that stop him from looking after me. He didn't have much, but he did whatever he could. He said "the big guy" would do no less. I could have pointed out that "the big guy" had, in fact, done less. I almost did, but... Superman was Bibbo's hero, and Bibbo was about the only friend I had left. So, I ignored the subject and life went on.
Then, one day, out of nowhere, a note appeared. It just fell, seemingly out of thin air, into my lap.
"Tommy, if you join us, we can help you. Come to 38th and Shuster at 9pm tonight. — S. S."
Well, that seemed pretty suspicious to me, but it wasn't like I had a better choice. So, I went.
The corner was dark, quiet, and empty. Very empty. Or so I thought before a scraping sound attracted my attention. Looking around, I noticed a manhole cover starting to move. One end had been raised an inch or so above street level. As I watched, the other end started to rise, as well. Then, the whole thing moved, seemingly by itself, to the side, leaving the manhole open.
I waited, but no one came up. I looked down the hole. There was no one there. The street still looked empty. I made my way over to where the cover was lying in the street. I picked it up. There was nothing attached to it. No hidden wires or anything. I frowned. Something had to have moved it.
"Just go down the ladder, will ya?" The voice came suddenly, from somewhere near my elbow. It sounded like a kid. I jumped and whirled around, but there was still nothing there.
"Shh. No talking above ground." Another kid. A girl, by the sound of it. There was still no one in sight. I glanced around, hoping to spot some speakers, but it was too dark.
"
You just talked." The first voice again, still close by.
"Only because you did."
"You just talked again."
"So did you."
I sighed, annoyed but also somewhat relieved. At least if it was kids (even if I couldn't see them), I could probably stop worrying about at least a few of the possible reasons a person would have for inviting me to a mysterious meeting in a dark and isolated section of the city. On the other hand, the note had promised help, and I doubted a couple of kids, whatever little tricks they had to hide themselves, could fix my arms. "You the ones who're supposed to help me?" I felt kind of stupid talking to thin air, but it wasn't like standing around listening to the voices argue was much better.
"Well... yeah."
"You gonna fix this?" I moved my arm a bit, in a way I knew all too well would make a noticeable grating sound.
It was a moment before he spoke again. "Oh. That. That doesn't sound so good. ... We couldn't fix that. Not anymore. But we'll take you to someone who can."
"Someone who lives in the sewers?"
"Shh." The girl again. "We really shouldn't be talking like this up here. Go on down. We'll follow you. We can talk when we're all at the bottom."
I thought about it. The whole thing kept getting more and more suspicious. Called out to a dark alley, spoken to from out of thin air. Instructed to go down into the sewers, where anything could happen. But... what did I have to lose, really? And they had promised help. I needed help, I admitted to myself. I needed it badly enough that I couldn't afford to pass up even this slim and dubious chance to get it. So, finally, I climbed down the ladder. I tried to move my arms as little as possible. No sense making those gears grate any more than necessary, especially not after that demonstration. By the time I got to the bottom, the manhole cover was back in place.
Less than a minute later, a girl's head appeared, floating in mid-air. She was wearing some kind of weird-looking goggles. I was still staring when suddenly a boy's head appeared a couple feet from the girl's. He was wearing goggles, too. The goggles made it hard to see their faces, but I guessed they were about 10 years old. Early teens at the most.
"Okay," the girl said, taking off her goggles. "We can talk now. I'm Karen. He's Dudley. We were sent to meet you and lead you back to the Fortress. Everyone else is waiting there." As she spoke, the rest of her body thankfully came into view under her head. She was wearing a coverall made of some kind of whitish fabric.
"Everyone else? Who else? And what's this all about?" I demanded, frustrated. I was getting a little tired of all this mystery. And, despite myself, I was still nervous.
Dudley spoke up. He was visible now, too, and wearing a suit made of the same material as Karen's. "Right now, there's Philip and Alan and Bobby and —"
I managed not to growl. Barely. "Never mind. Names tell me nothing. Just tell me what's going on. The note said you could help me."
"Yeah, that's Alan. He's the guy who made these suits. He can take care of your arms."
"It's not just that," Karen added. "You'll have a place with us. A room, food, something to do..."
"Uh-huh." A room in the sewers. Great. Just what I always wanted. "And what do I gotta do for all this help?"
Dudley looked at me like it should have been perfectly obvious. "Help us."
I frowned at him. "Help you what?"
It was Karen who answered this time. "It's... complicated. The others can explain it better. Come on, we'll take you to them and we can talk it out when we're all together."
Reluctantly, I agreed. I still didn't know what I was getting into, but standing around badgering a couple of kids wasn't going to help. So I let them lead me through a maze of tunnels. By the time we got to the door, I was completely turned around. Nowhere to go but forwards, I thought to myself.
Karen opened the door. I followed Dudley through it and into another tunnel. This one was different, though. There were a couple of cameras and some kind of nozzles set into the walls. Around the bend and past what seemed to be defensive barricades, there was another door, this one reinforced metal. It swung open by itself as I neared it. The kids led me through that door, a few rooms, and another tunnel. Finally, the tunnel opened into a larger room.
It was clearly set up as a multi-purpose living space. There was a small kitchen area, a recreation area with a large TV and a variety of toys and games, and a central table. It could have been the main room in just about any city bachelor pad. Except for the stone sewer walls. And the complete lack of windows. And, of course, the equipment in the corner. It was a complicated set-up involving a lot of monitors, controls, and other things I couldn't identify. I'd never seen anything like it, but it looked like it belonged in a certain rumored cave in Gotham. There was an armchair in front of the main console. It swung around. Seated in the chair was... another kid.
"Welcome," he said grandly, "to the Fortress of Sewertude."
"Uh, yeah. Thanks."
"Okay, Phillip," said an amused voice behind me, "you got to say it. Are you happy now?"
I whirled around. There was someone standing in the doorway across from the monitors. An adult. Thank heavens. "Who're you? You in charge of these kids?"
He chuckled. "Not exactly. My name is Bobby. I'm kind of the group's front man. I don't spend as much time down here as the others, but it's okay. The kids can take care of themselves, mostly."
"Yer kiddin' me. You telling me these kids live down here in the sewers by themselves?" Kids hiding out in the sewers? It sounded like something out of a cartoon. Well, at least they weren't green or something.
Another man, this one small and middle-aged, stepped forward, around Bobby. "Not exactly. I live down here, too. Got my workshop and everything. But the kids really can take care of themselves. I mean, they did take over the city for a while..."
"What? Oh! Turning the water into goo and that thing with the ATMs. That was you guys?"
"Yeah, that was us," Phillip said. "We were the Smart Kids."
"How'd you end up down here?"
"Well, we kind of got lost in the system," Phillip explained. "The orphanage records got taken by the police, and everyone thought someone else was looking out for us. Not that we really had a place to begin with. That orphanage was where they stuck kids they didn't know what to do with. When it closed, they kind of ran out of options for us. Not that the place was that great to start out with."
"They closed the orphanage on you guys?"
"Temporarily, they said. For investigation. The staff doctor was doing some pretty shady things."
"Like experimenting on us," Karen put in.
"Experimenting on you?" She couldn't possibly mean it like it sounded, I thought. I was wrong.
Phillip shook his head at my ignorance. "How do you think we got so smart? He came up with some stuff. Mentamide 5, he called it. When we drank it, it made us smart. For a while. Then it wore off. He had us going back and forth, on and off, so he could study us. That's why we broke out."
"So, what? You still taking the stuff now?"
"Nah," he responded. "We ran out, and the doc died. Besides, it's not good for you long-term. Most of us are back to normal now."
"Most of you?"
He nodded. "Except me. I took a newer version. Mentamide 6. I only had one dose, but it lasts a lot longer. Some of it's worn off, but I think I'll always be at least a little sharper than I otherwise would have been."
"Good for you, kid." I turned back to the new guy, whom I (correctly, as it turned out) assumed was Alan, the one who'd made the invisibility suits. "So you live down here with the kids, and you guys do... what?"
"Well," he responded shyly, "not much... yet. We've mostly been getting things set up. Phillip here had to remake his whole camera network by himself. Bobby and I have been making this little place more livable. The other kids have been scouting around and placing new cameras..."
"Uh-huh." Camera networks, invisible scouts, secret underground lair... What was I getting into? "So yer spies?"
Alan stepped back, shocked. "No, no! Nothing like that. Well, not really. We're... uhm... Bobby?"
Bobby smiled ruefully. "Thanks, Alan," he said dryly. Then, turning back to me, he gestured at the table. "Why don't we all sit down, and we'll try to explain things to you..."
So, that's what we did. It took a while, so I'll spare you the details. It seemed some guy by the name of H. G. Wells had gotten in touch with Bobby a few years back. Wells was a time traveller. Bobby didn't believe it at first, and I had a hard time, too, but Wells had come armed with an "advance copy" of the Daily Planet. It was enough to convince Bobby. I still wasn't sure, but I decided to let it go. Later events were enough to erase any lingering doubts I had.
Wells had come to Bobby to offer him a deal. Wells, using his knowledge of the future, would help Bobby get rich. In return, Bobby would help guide events to some kind of happy ending. Bobby would work as an informant for a couple of reporters, pretending to work for nothing more than some food. The information would come from Bobby's street contacts, but also from a secret group which Bobby would help found. The group would be made up of the forgotten people. People like Alan, the invisible man. People like the kids. People like... me.
The group would monitor events, gathering information. Sometimes, they'd pass it along to the reporters, through Bobby. Sometimes they'd act on it themselves. And that was where I came in. They wanted me to be the group's muscle.
"Hey, I tried muscle work," I told them when they got to that part. "It didn't work out so good. I'm a boxer, not a bodyguard. I'm not used to dealing with weapons. I found that out the hard way."
Dudley flashed me a grin. "Yeah, but you didn't have an invisible suit before."
"I'll help you train, too," Bobby put in. "I've got the money and the contacts. I can send you to a school where they won't ask too many questions."
"Besides," Phillip said, "it's more of a risk to go back. We'll give you food and shelter and fix your arms. How much longer do you think you can manage topside, without us?"
I had to admit, those were some good points. It still didn't sound that great to me. Risking my life to help people I didn't know, at the direction of some nutty guy who said he was a time traveller. But, as I'd told myself a few times already that night (and as Phillip had just reminded me), it wasn't like I had a better choice. I needed their help. Room and board sounded good, too. If they were a few tacos short of a Happy Meal, well, I'd put up with worse. So, I said I'd join up. They all smiled at that, but I ignored it.
We moved on to more technical stuff. Phillip had the camera network set up. The monitors would keep track of events on the surface, and the kids would go out as needed. There were two more kids who'd be around during the day. Aymee and her little sister, Inez, had been at the orphanage with the other Smart Kids, but their mother was still alive. She'd given her kids up shortly after her husband had left her. With little money and no income, she hadn't felt like she could properly provide for a family. After everything that had happened, though, she'd decided to give it another try. Bobby had quietly helped by seeing that she was hired at one of his restaurants. He'd also told her that he'd provide day care for her kids. He just hadn't mentioned that it would be in the sewers. She'd been shown a facility, had met Alan, found him trustworthy, and had been too grateful to ask more. Amy and Inez, who had already proven that they weren't too shy to stand up for themselves, had assured her they were happy with the arrangement, and (new to parenting and all too aware of the tentative nature of the as-yet-barely-reestablished bond with her kids), that had been enough for her.
As for Alan, he'd been recruited after quitting his job at Lexcorp. He'd happily taken the position after his invisibility suits had hit the front pages, but had rapidly learned that it wasn't the working environment for him. He'd been asked to make too many ethical compromises. He'd fought with his wife over the decision. Their marriage had been on shaky ground, anyway, since Alan had a way of paying a lot more attention to his lab equipment than his spouse. They split up, and he moved out.
Unlike me, when Bobby had approached him, Alan had jumped at the chance to do some good in the world. Already used to spending most of his time in an underground lab (first in his basement, then at Lexcorp), he'd settled smoothly into life at the Fortress. Bobby provided him with all the equipment he needed, and he wasted no time in using that equipment to do exactly what he'd refused to do for Luthor — recreate his invisibility suits. The work had gone quickly, with Phillip's help, and they'd even made some improvements, like adding UV goggles to pick up the invisible light the suits put out. I was glad for that. One of the first things I learned when I started working with the group was that it really helped to be able to see your own hands, not to mention your teammates.
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