Greg Cox - Man of Steel

“On the ground! On the ground, now! Hands behind your back!”

So much for making a discreet exit. She dropped onto the filthy pavement and they surrounded her. Immediately her wrists were cuffed behind her back. Then the agents in suits yanked her to her feet and dragged her toward the waiting vehicle, where a familiar face nodded at her.

Colonel Nathan Hardy, from Ellesmere.

Lois wondered if she would get a bucket this time.

Trinity Lutheran Church was a refuge from the fast-paced streets of Metropolis, a place for prayer and solemn contemplation. Sunlight illuminated the stained-glass windows and cast a heavenly glow on the altar below. Incense flavored the tranquil atmosphere.

But not even the church could escape the impending threat from the heavens. Father Daniel Leone listened anxiously to the radio as he swept the front of the sanctuary. The alarming reports were enough to shake anyone’s faith.

“—the alien ship hovering above Metropolis has remained silent. In response, the President has declared a nationwide state of emergency—”

Father Leone looked up from his work. Evening services were still hours away, so the pews were largely deserted, save for a troubled-looking young man seated in the back. The priest did not recognize the visitor as one of his usual parishioners, but observed that the stranger appeared to be deep in thought.

He wondered if his visitor was as worried as he was.

“Come on! Fight back!”

Ken Braverman shoved Clark backward into a chain-link fence at the edge of the park. His backpack slipped from his shoulder and fell to the ground. Books spilled at his feet. Mocking laughter assailed Clark.

A crowd gathered to witness his latest humiliation.

Another year, another group of bullies.

It was a sunny day in Smallville, and Clark had hoped to get in a little outdoor reading while his dad was picking groceries up in town. But it looked like Braverman and his pals had other ideas. Even after what had happened, they were still tormenting him. It was as if they didn’t believe it—as if they were testing him.

Maybe they were actually starting to forget…

The toughs were fifteen and sixteen—a couple of years older than Clark, but he spotted several of his own classmates among the audience—including Pete Ross who stood sheepishly at the back of the crowd, looking uncomfortable. There were also a fair number of girls watching, which made the embarrassing spectacle a hundred times worse.

“Get up, Kent!” Braverman said.

If only I could fight back, Clark thought, seething in frustration. He wanted nothing more than to punch his tormenters all the way into the next county, show them what he was really capable of. But then he remembered the alien space capsule, hidden on his parents’ farm—and the secret that needed to stay hidden, as well.

No matter what.

Braverman feinted a punch, forcing Clark to flinch like any ordinary person would. The other boys laughed uproariously and, even worse, some of the girls giggled behind their hands. Playing to the crowd, Braverman upended Clark’s backpack, causing the books to tumble out again. He snatched one up at random and scornfully read the title aloud.

“Plato’s The Republic.” He snorted, as though reading Plato—or even just reading—was for losers. “What a fag!”

Like you even know what it’s about, Clark thought, but he bit his tongue. He even grabbed onto a fence post to hold himself back. Maybe Braverman would get bored and leave him alone soon.

No such luck. The other kid got right in Clark’s face, smirking the entire time.

“So that’s it?” he taunted. “That’s all you got?” The bully poked Clark in the chest, but not hard enough to break his finger. “C’mon, Kent…”

Clark’s grip tightened on the steel post. For a second, he was sorely tempted to teach this gang a lesson they would never forget. Ruby fire hid behind his angry eyes. His muscles tensed.

It would almost be worth it.

But instead, he turned his eyes downward, refusing the challenge. The teenage audience, hoping for a fight, groaned in disappointment. Girls tittered loudly enough that Clark could have heard them from a thousand miles away. His cheeks burned hotly.

Braverman just shook his head in disgust. He bounced the book off Clark’s chest, but he still couldn’t get a rise out of his meek, mild-mannered target. So he drew back his fist, this time for real, only to balk when he spotted Jonathan Kent approaching the park, carrying a bag of groceries.

He lowered the fist, apparently thinking twice about beating Clark up right in front of his father.

“Whatever,” he muttered, and he turned away.

Likewise the crowd dispersed, seeking other entertainment. Clark didn’t know whether to be relieved or mortified by his dad’s timely arrival.

I’m thirteen years old, he thought, and I’m not even allowed to stand up for myself.

He let go of the post, which was crimped where he’d grabbed it. His fingers had left deep impressions in the metal. Part of Clark wished that he’d left his mark on Braverman instead, even if that might have led to questions, and investigations, and everything his parents had worked so hard to avoid, all these years.

He bent to pick up his books. To his surprise, Pete Ross came forward to help him. He picked up Plato’s The Republic and handed it back to Clark, still unable to meet his eyes.

Jonathan stopped a short distance away, and waited.

“I wanted to help,” Pete mumbled, “but, you know—”

He had changed since Clark had saved him from drowning. He was less cocky, and more inclined to leave Clark alone.

“It’s okay,” Clark said, and he meant it. He didn’t expect Pete to fight his battles for him. Any small kindness was appreciated. The boy recovered another book, handed it to him, then drifted away.

Clark hoped Pete wouldn’t be too hard on himself for not coming forward. It was enough that he hadn’t joined in the tormenting.

His father waited until Pete was gone before stepping closer.

“Did they hurt you?” he asked.

“You know they can’t,” Clark said bitterly.

“That’s not what I meant,” his dad said. “Are you all right?”

Clark wasn’t sure. He looked into his father’s eyes.

“You want the truth,” he replied. “I hate them. I wanted to hit him so bad —”

“I know you did,” Jonathan said. “Hell, part of me even wanted you to. But then what? Would it make you feel any better? They pick on you because you’re different. That’s what people do. We’re hard-wired that way. You want to hit back. I get it. It’s easy… especially for someone like you.

“But showing mercy?” he added. “That actually takes character. That takes real strength.”

I know, I know, Clark thought. But it still sucks… big time.

His father wasn’t finished. He spoke carefully, making sure Clark was listening.

“You just have to decide what kind of man you want to grow up to be, Clark. Because whoever that man is, good character or bad, he’s going to change the world.”

Right now Clark would have settled for just getting through junior high with a modicum of dignity. But he understood what his father was saying. Like it or not, his special abilities were a burden—and a responsibility—he couldn’t escape. He could either use them the right way, like saving Pete and the others, or he could cause a lot of damage, maybe to people like Ken Braverman.

He just wished the Bravermans of the world didn’t make that choice so tricky sometimes…