Hello everyone!
I'm brand new here, and this is my first attempt at fanfic, so lots of fdk please! I take all kinds: positive or negative.
This story takes place at the end of Top Copy, assuming that Diana HAD managed to tape Clark changing into Superman, and that Martha had not been so hip in the laser art division. I'll try to post a new part every couple days. Hope you enjoy!
P.S. if anyone is interested in beta-ing a couple parts for me I would appreciate it!
AN EARLY REVELATION: TOP COPY
Dying from exposure, he had always imagined, would be a cold and isolated experience. Slowly, the forces of nature would winnow away at a person’s life force, leaving them empty and lifeless. No one around to help, no one to be comforted by. Just the elements of nature.
This type of exposure was different. It felt hot and confining. The walls of the elevator pressed in on him as it crawled up the shaft on its way to the newsroom, where everyone was gathered around the TV, watching his biggest secret being torn to sheds. The voice of Diana Stride cut across his thought pattern as she narrated her exclusive footage of his slow, painful transformation from mild-mannered reporter to super-powered extra-terrestrial. Had she been on the balcony the entire time? He had been in such a daze from the kryptonite poisoning that she could have been in the room with a camera shoved in his face and he probably wouldn’t have noticed. Half-baked schemes of denial died in the making. There was no way he could contradict a video-tape of Clark Kent slowly morphing into Superman. His glasses pulled down, he witnessed the stunned reactions of his colleagues. They whispered to each other, none of them wanting to believe the tape, yet the irrefutable evidence was right in front of them. He caught snippets of murmured phrases: “Always thought they looked alike…” “Never in the same place…” “…wonder if Lois knew?”
All too soon, the elevator dinged and the doors pulled open to reveal a sea of eyes, swiveling to meet him. Although stepping from the elevator should have relieved his sense of confinement, those staring eyes only served to increase the pressure upon him. They were slowly stifling him, sending his brain wildly searching for a way to clear everything up in a neat, concise statement. Never, in the history of the English language had such a sentence existed. Finding no cure-all statement, and desperately needing reprieve from those glaring eyes, he said the next best thing:
“Uh… Hi.”
