Apologies for taking so long in posting this part - concussion isn't the best story aid 
I'll try to keep myself from being clunked on the back of the head with a big rock in future <g>Part 9
Metropolis was a huge city. People from all walks of life graced, befouled, sullied, and spat on its streets, its buildings, its apartments, and its alleyways. It was rich in culture, art, music; unfortunately, it was also full of idiots. This was made almost unbearably apparent by a particular protest, which was happening outside a city council building.
Tall and sedate, it loomed over the other, more modest edifices which graced the street – and tonight, a broad white banner hung over its entrance, proclaiming in bold, black letters the slogan, “CITY COUNCIL HONOURS SUPERMAN.” As the worthy event took place inside, a noisy group of demonstrators chanted under the eerie glare of television news lights, apparently not at all bothered with the fact that they were being held back by police barriers.
The place was a hive of activity: busy, excited reporters scrambling all over it. Picket signs waved menacingly in the air, proclaiming slogans nobody had ever expected to see about the man in question – “Down with Superman,” “No to Man of Steel,” and even “Superman or SuperCriminal?” The protestors were chanting zealously, never letting go and never stopping the monotonous tramp of their feet.
Across the street in the shadows, a single woman stepped out of the shadows, her head high and her shoulders thrown back. She watched the protestors for a moment, smirking. Fools. Poor, innocent, fools.
She didn’t like what she was about to do. She wasn’t completely soulless and without morality. She had had principles, ethics once. Back in the days when she had had an individual identity.
Those beliefs, that basic stand, and her name had vanished along with her face.
Seeing her opportunity, she quickly darted across the street, pushing her way through the crowds impatiently until she was in the midst of the mob, and well within earshot of all discussions going on.
“Could you tell us the purpose of this demonstration?”
"We don't think the city should be honouring Superman. Especially after he let Lex Luthor die."
A nearby female stuck her face up close to the mike.
“I've always been concerned about Superman. Why is he so secretive? What's he got to hide? I'm really not comfortable having him in Metropolis.”
Seeing her chance, she darted forward, staring impassionedly at the woman.
“I was there when Lex Luthor died. I prayed Superman would save him, but for some reason he decided not to. And I think the citizens of Metropolis have the right to ask...” She turned her face directly at the camera. “...is Lex Luthor's blood on Superman's hands?”
The crowd cheered loudly at this, and the woman smiled, preparing to make her exit. She had rocked the boat – time now to sit back and watch the result ripple through the water. No more was needed here tonight.
The smile froze on her face as a loud, commanding voice called from behind her.
“What’s going on here?”
The crowd moved as one, and the unwilling woman was dragged backwards and around, and heard, with the rest of the crowd, the unmistakable thunk that was the simultaneous jaws of the assembly hitting the floor.
Dammit! Dammit to hell! This wasn’t supposed to happen! *He* wasn’t supposed to be here!
He cut a commanding figure, striding from the top of the marble steps like that. The crowd had obviously gotten over their initial astonishment, and now they surged towards him, like a great, roaring tide, threatening to swallow him up. The expression on his face showed no sign of fear or contempt for the mob – only a kind of sickening gallantry – like the chivalrous white knights of olden times, atop a charging steed. Sir Puke-a-lot. How disgustingly Superman of him.
He was coming closer now – a god in Spandex. The woman was no more immune to his muscles, so perfectly outlined in his famous costume than any other of the females around her. His aura, though much too-good-to-be-true for her taste, was nonetheless powerfully magnetic.
He was advancing upon her ever more quickly, and the woman suddenly snapped to attention. What was she *doing*, standing here like some gum-chewing, ditzy sophomore, too stunned by the figure of man in front of her to register the fact that he was about to confront her?
She turned hastily, and immediately knew what a fly on the windshield of a car must feel like. The crowd was surging towards the man, as though he was a magnetic blue light and they were insects helplessly, hopelessly flying to their doom. She was caught in the current, and now she was frightened. She kicked and fought, even tried to scratch at a few offending hands and arms holding her back, and considering her determination and the strength that had returned to her body after the accident, she just might have made it...
...but she had not counted on her friend the reporter. The woman had clearly smelled an exclusive with that darned reporter’s-nose she was being told to develop so often, and was looking around for her. The journalist grabbed her wrist, just as the crowd parted. Looking into her eyes, the woman had the acute sensation of what an antelope about to be devoured by a lion must feel like.
“Let go of me!” she protested wildly, but the reporter was clearly not in the mood to negotiate.
“Go with me on this one, Lois – I promise I’ll return the favour the next time you need a scoop,” she hissed, and the woman got rather an unpleasant shock. They... were supposed to know each other? She and... her? Lois Lane? What?
No!
“Superman,” the woman she was supposed to know called eagerly, “Superman! Over here!” Her frenetic arm movements were threatening to knock people’s eyes out, but obviously they had caught the attention of the Man of Steel. His eyes widened when he discovered who was behind her, and the corners of his mouth curled up slightly. The woman, noticing this, groaned quietly, deep in her stomach.
Oh, boy.
* * * * * * * * * * *
He strode over impassively, his eyebrows raised politely at the reporter, apparently confident that this would be a supportive statement.
“Superman, Sandra Ellis, LNN news. Can you tell us what your feelings are on this demonstration and on the statement Ms. Lane just made?”
The superhero blinked a little, obviously not prepared for such a direct question, and then straightened up slightly.
“Ms. Ellis, the people here tonight seem to have doubts about my intentions here – my integrity. I’m here to quash any doubts and reassure them that my aim is still the same as it was when I first appeared: to fight for truth and justice. As for the second question,” he turned here and smiled slightly at the shell-shocked woman, “I’m sure I’ll agree with it, though I haven’t heard it yet.”
The crowd around him who had been listening roared with laughter, and Sandra’s stiff upper lip cracked slightly. This was the stuff dreams were made of – dreams in which huge public figures lost their temper and consequently, their good name, on live television.
“Ms. Lane. What have you to say to Superman?” she invited, her upper lip twitching. This should be good. She stepped back slightly in case she got caught up in the tumult that this would quite obviously cause.
“I... um... ” Lois began, looking slightly caught for words now. Sandra looked at her curiously. In the short amount of time Lois had spent working at LNN before Luthor had been brought crashing to his knees, she had been known as the sort of woman who voiced her opinion, loudly and often. Especially on controversial matters. In fact, from the reputation that had preceded MadDog Lane into the news network, Sandra would have expected people to be sweeping up the skin and hair left after the fracas by now.
Ah. There it was. The determination that had made this woman famous was now flickering fiercely in her eyes and she threw a derisive look at the Man of Steel. Sandra’s hand tightened on the microphone and she thrust it right under Lois’ nose, willing her to say something controversial. A few good quotes would make her editor very pleased... conflict-ridden stories bought viewers.
“Superman, on my wedding day, my soon-to-be husband, the richest man in Metropolis, the founder of many of the city’s most beautiful and beneficial buildings plummeted to his death, because you decided not to save him. In doing this, you’ve caused me personally a lot of heartache in the three months since. Now I... the *people* of Metropolis want an answer. Where were you on the day that Lex died?”
* * * * * * * * *
tbc...
