Greg Cox - Man of Steel

“Anybody know where the toner cartridges are—?” she said.

But nobody paid any attention to her. Instead she saw Lombard and Jenny rushing across the bullpen. They looked as if they had a lot more than toner on their minds. Even Steve looked excited, and maybe a little scared.

Lois didn’t like being out of the loop.

“What’s going on?” she asked before they had passed.

“It’s on the news!” Jenny called out. “Everyone’s talking about it!”

Talking about what? Lois hurried after them to the other side of the room, where she found Perry and the rest of the staff staring at a bank of TV monitors, tuned to every major station. As much as the Planet regarded broadcast journalism as the competition, they still needed to monitor breaking stories as they happened.

Every channel—Fox, CNN, even the major networks—was running the same footage, showing what looked like a giant, three-limbed octopus hanging in front of the full moon. Lois stared wide-eyed at the ominous UFO. More than anyone else in the room, she knew that Earth was sometime visited by vessels from other worlds.

Could this have anything to do with Clark? Or that ship they’d found buried beneath the ice?

She glanced out a window and was stunned when she saw the lights of Metropolis going dark, borough by borough, block by block. Before she could say anything the wave hit the Daily Planet building and the power went out, throwing the bullpen and offices into darkness. Startled gasps and even yelps came from the group—even Perry. People stumbled and bumped into each other.

Lois reached out to steady herself against a cubicle wall.

This isn’t a coincidence, she thought. The alien ship had to be responsible for the sudden blackout. But are they doing it on purpose?

And what did they want?

Barely more than a hundred miles above the Earth, a disabled spy satellite drifted out of orbit. The high-tech hardware, pulled into space at an ever-increasing speed, crashed full-tilt against the Black Zero’s dark unyielding hull. It crumpled to pieces, yet the prison ship’s dense plating remained unscratched by the collision.

Far below, the entire continent was going dark, from the eastern seaboard on through to the west…

Clark was in the kitchen, drying dishes while watching a Kansas City Royals game on TV, when the lights went out. Puzzled, he stood in the dark for a moment before he heard his mother cry out in alarm.

“Clark!”

Abandoning the dishes, he raced out onto the front porch of the farmhouse, where his mother was gazing up at the sky with a frightened expression on her face. Moonlight shone down on the farm—despite the unearthly black silhouette drifting between Earth and its satellite. Clark couldn’t believe his eyes.

Another ship?

His eyes narrowed as his vision brought the mysterious vessel into closer focus. It appeared much larger, and was differently configured than the scout ship he’d found in the Arctic, but the bio-organic look of it definitely hinted at Kryptonian origins.

Had someone else survived the destruction of Krypton—and found him at last?

Suddenly he wasn’t sure how he felt about that.

“It’s a ship,” he told his mom.

Before he could say anything more, the TV set in the living room squawked and blinked back on, even though the rest of the house remained dark. Clark and Martha went back inside and cautiously contemplated the glowing TV screen, which provided the only illumination. Electronic snow filled the screen. Then a nameless, faceless voice emerged from the speakers.

“YOU ARE NOT ALONE. YOU ARE NOT ALONE.”

Clark knelt before the TV set and switched from channel to channel. The same visual static—and the same repetitive message—was on every channel.

“YOU ARE NOT ALONE. YOU ARE NOT ALONE.”

A chill ran down his spine. He was an alien, and even he found this creepy. He could only imagine how ordinary men and women were coping with it. Was this the beginning of a new era of extraterrestrial contact—or the end of life as they knew it?

Clark wished he had the answers.

At the Daily Planet , Lois and her colleagues were transfixed by the unprecedented communication. Every monitor was obscured by static. The anonymous voice issued from every speaker.

Lombard had retreated to his cubicle.

“It’s coming over the RSS feeds, too!”

“Same with my phone!” Jenny reported.

Every computer in the office had been hijacked by the ominous message. It was on Twitter, Facebook, YouTube, the message boards, even the Planet’s own interactive web page.

“—NOT ALONE. YOU ARE NOT ALONE.”

Then the message changed, and a voice addressed the world. Somehow it was translated into every language.

“MY NAME IS GENERAL ZOD,” it said.

At NORTHCOM Ops Center, General Swanwick listened warily. He stood with his trusted aide, Captain Carrie Farris, an up-and-comer with short dark hair and a no-nonsense attitude. The static-filled screens of the big board were the only lights in the op center, giving it the dim, nocturnal atmosphere of a submarine’s control room.

Dr. Hamilton stared at the glowing screens, rapt with fascination. He had been waiting his entire life for an encounter like this. The rest of the staff, however, looked more apprehensive than intrigued.

“I COME FROM KRYPTON, A WORLD FAR FROM YOURS.”

The sun was rising in Nepal as nomadic herders flocked around a single jury-rigged television set inside a tent made of hides. Nervous yaks lowed at the moon. The herders listened anxiously as the voice spoke in their native tongue.

“WE HAVE JOURNEYED ACROSS AN OCEAN OF STARS TO REACH YOU.”

Busy pedestrians, shoppers, and commuters froze in the streets of Shinjuku, Tokyo, which was ordinarily a bustling commercial district. They gawked at the many large video screens adorning the skyscrapers, all of which were broadcasting the same message in fluent Japanese. A sunny sky stood in ominous contrast to the frightening announcement.

“THE MESSAGE WE BRING IS ONE OF GREAT URGENCY.”

The sun had not yet risen in Moscow, but the crisis had driven confused and frightened Russians onto the streets. Speechless Muscovites gathered in front of a popular electronics store, staring at the big screen TVs on display in the window. Cyrillic text scrolled across the screens.

“FOR SOME TIME, YOUR WORLD HAS SHELTERED ONE OF OUR CITIZENS.”

Two wide-eyed teenagers sat on a couch in a basement rec room. Their Xbox controls rested forgotten in their sweaty palms as their screen was captured by an unknown controller.

“WE REQUEST THAT YOU RETURN THIS INDIVIDUAL TO OUR CUSTODY.”

At a busy international airport, jetlagged travelers crowded around banks of monitors that no longer displayed the usual departure and arrival times. Instead the screens announced the unexpected arrival of a flight from another world. The pilot of that flight had new instructions for the travelers.

“FOR REASONS UNKNOWN—”

A night game at a crowded football stadium had come to an abrupt halt. Dumbfounded players stood on the field, staring up in unison at the Jumbotron screen now bearing Zod’s message. In the stands, thousands of cell phones received identical communications.

“—HE HAS CHOSEN TO KEEP HIS EXISTENCE A SECRET FROM YOU.”

Locals clustered around a beat-up, secondhand TV in the squalid Nigerian shantytown, while casting nervous glances up at the sky. Plywood homes with corrugated metal roofs, assembled from scrap materials, suddenly seemed more fragile than usual.