Rating - PG 13 for implied violence, adult themes, and occasional mild language.
Disclaimer - Recognisable characters from the Lois and Clark universe are not mine.
Posting schedule - I'll try for twice a week.
B.A.M.R. - depending on your definition of angst - high. There are more details in the WHAM warning thread.
To my trio of wonderful BRs - Iolanthe, Deja Vu, and Lynn - thank you for your amazing efforts in improving my fics.
Format - at this stage (and it could change) this will be a series of stories. The first one is eight parts in length.
A/N - I know nothing about how a secret government agency works. (If I did, I probably shouldn't have written this fic!) It could be that you will read something in the fic and figure it wouldn't work that way. However, it's also possible that you could read something that did actually happen in RL and draw the same conclusion! Feel free to point out anything that stretches belief, but please realise that I'm not trying to accurately portray any government agency (good thing, that!) - I'm trying to tell a story that I hope will prove enjoyable to other FoLCs.
PROLOGUE
August 2, 1987
Jason Trask stepped into his office. Directly ahead of him, the wide one-way viewing-window beckoned him forward, but he paused long enough to lock the door behind him before advancing. He slipped the bunch of keys into his pocket, reflecting on the magnitude of his achievement.
Vindication tasted so very sweet.
His work, his dedication, his belief had led to this triumph, and he intended to savour every second of it.
He moved to his desk - which was positioned centrally in front of the window - and looked down into the prison below. It was a small rectangular room, bleak and eminently inhospitable. There were no windows to the world outside. There was no furniture. The walls were dirty off-white, and the concrete floor was dull grey.
The only aberration was the shoulder-height stub of wall that jutted into the room on the far side of the door. It gave a modicum of privacy to the tiny area jammed into the corner that housed the only 'amenity' - a toilet, nothing more than a bowl; it didn't even have a seat.
Until today, this cell had been empty.
Ready. Prepared. Waiting.
But empty.
Until today ...
The capture had been meticulously planned and flawlessly executed.
Two years of dedication and determination - beginning the day that Trask had been assigned to investigate the discovery of a small spaceship - had led to this.
Trask had overseen the transportation of the spaceship - under the cover of darkness - to the innocuous-looking and remote farmhouse in Nebraska that had become his home during the long months of research. He had examined every inch of the alien craft and catalogued his findings in minute detail.
From the start, he had been convinced that the spaceship had brought alien life to Earth. The longer it had taken to find evidence of that life, the more certain he'd become that he was pitted against an evil and insidious enemy. Alien forces had sent an infiltrator - someone to live among humans, pretending to *be* human - to collect information and develop a strategy for the successful invasion of Earth.
The size of the spaceship indicated a young passenger. In order to determine the approximate age the alien would appear now, Trask had needed to know when the spaceship had landed on Earth.
His most telling clue had been that a wildfire had devoured miles of land to the north of Smallville back in 1957. Initially, Trask had wondered if the spaceship had started the fire, but that path of investigation had closed down when old newspaper reports revealed the cause to be a spark from a backfiring tractor.
However, the fire had razed the field where the spaceship had been subsequently found, and Trask was confident that it hadn't been there during the fire. The lack of burn marks on the spacecraft was inconclusive - it had entered the earth's atmosphere undamaged - but the fact that he had found no trace of ash anywhere on the craft had led him to believe that its arrival had been within the past thirty years.
Therefore, his most likely target was someone who looked like a man in his twenties. A man in his prime. A man grown and ready to strike.
The successful outcome of his previous mission had given Trask enough credibility that when he took his conclusions to the higher-ups, they had listened. Over the years, he had perfected the art of helping others to see the truth, and he'd convinced them that alien occupation of Earth was a far more pressing danger than any posed by recalcitrant foreign nations. After some debate, the higher-ups had allowed the assignment to continue.
A year and a half into the operation, Trask had had to accept that the spaceship held no definitive clues to the identity, whereabouts, abilities, or appearance of the alien.
By then, he was hoping that the superiors had all but forgotten about the existence of his operation. It was the ideal situation for him - he received his pay, and he was free to pursue the most urgent issue facing his planet without being bothered by demands for updates or asked probing questions about the exact nature of his discoveries.
However, Trask hadn't known how long the status quo would remain, and every day, he'd dreaded getting the call that would summon him to headquarters to be informed that his mission had been discontinued.
In desperation, he had returned to the site where the spaceship had been recovered - a field in the boondocks of Kansas - and had begun a solitary and painstaking search of the area.
And then, he'd found it. Or rather, them. Multiple rocks - green in colour and glowing eerily as if lit from within.
With great excitement, Trask had taken them back to his lab, and by the time the call had finally come, he had indisputable proof that the rocks were alien in origin.
The higher-ups had issued stern warnings that time was limited, but they had allowed him to continue.
The rock had no effect on any human, but over the months, Trask had formulated the hypothesis that it might affect the alien. Fearing that the impatience of the higher-ups would result in him being re-assigned and the spaceship and rock being relegated to a forgotten depot, he had decided on his boldest move.
Despite his inclination to work alone, he'd recruited Moyne - a ruthless and uncompromising man he knew from a previous mission - and together they had begun canvassing the area near where the spaceship had landed.
Trask couldn't predict the effect of the rock but - if the alien had taken on human form - it could be the only way to distinguish the invader from the people of Planet Earth.
And how simple it had been.
At the fifth house, a farmer's wife had answered their knock and invited them in for coffee. They had previously devised a cover story that they were conducting a survey on opportunities for America's youth. The friendly woman had called in her husband and the son who was home from college for the summer. The moment the son had stepped into the room, he'd collapsed, writhing and clutching his chest in agony.
The woman had rushed forward, and Moyne had restrained her. Despite his pain, the alien had lurched at Moyne. Trask's gun was out and fired in less than a second. He knew his aim had been true, but the bullet had been completely ineffectual.
In that moment, Trask had been sure of his triumph. A beast who was impervious to bullets and who had a severe reaction to the alien substance - that was abundant evidence of his identity.
The three of them - the alien and the two traitors who had sheltered him - had been hauled away, leaving the half-full coffee cups on the table.
Trask had cast off the traitors to someone else - he had no interest in them. His business was with the alien.
Now, Trask stared down into the formerly empty cell as the intoxicating rush of victory sluiced through his veins. The alien lay in the middle of the concrete floor - exactly where Moyne had dumped him.
Traditional weapons - Trask carried a variety - had been futile against the alien, but the green substance reduced him to a quivering pile of weakness. As they had travelled to Metropolis in the back of a white van, Moyne had more than justified Trask's decision to include him in this mission. The assistant had been unrelenting in ensuring the alien had no possible opportunity for a counterattack.
After many long hours of travel, they'd arrived at Bessolo Boulevard in Metropolis. Tucked behind the warehouse was an unused - and mostly forgotten - compound that had been grudgingly provided in response to Trask's demands.
Moyne and Trask had dragged the unconscious alien into his new - and final - abode. Certain that he held every advantage, Trask had ordered that the green substance be removed from the cell. He wanted the alien to recover enough to be aware of his vanquishment.
The invader *would* die - there could be no other outcome if the people of Earth were to be saved. But Trask, having spent two years searching for the alien, now intended to make the death long and slow and agonising.
It was going to be absorbing to watch how the savage animal responded to his captivity.
Trask sat at his desk, opened the brand new logbook he had prepared in anticipation of this moment, and picked up a pen.
The alien still hadn't moved.
August 2, 1987
I have prevailed against the alien threat to the people of Earth. Today, I found, captured, and conquered the monster who was sent here as a precursor to the invasion of our planet. As I write these words, I observe him through the viewing window. His body glistens with still-damp blood from the wounds that were necessarily inflicted to guarantee our safety during the precarious business of transporting him to his cell.
Of pressing importance is the need to deny him any opportunity to communicate with his co-conspirators in this evil plot. I must find answers to the questions regarding the scope of his powers. I must know my enemy thoroughly.
I will show him no mercy. He is not human. He is an animal - a dangerous, vile, depraved animal - who knows nothing but brutality and violence.
His mission was to conquer. His destiny is defeat.
