T H E N
Big Harry Stevens and Matty Dallas were bullies, there was no doubt about it. They’d stolen Riley’s bike again. He’d been riding in Centennial Park, as he always did, just minding his own business when they jumped him, pushing him off as if he was nothing but a paperweight. He didn’t know why they picked on him. His Mom said that it was probably because there was something wrong with their home life, maybe an abusive relative, and so they resorted to bullying kids to make themselves feel better, but Riley knew the truth. They picked on him because he was small, and being small made him an easy target. They always made fun of him for his size. He would never hear the end of such original nicknames as “Tiny Riley” and “Puny Rye-Rye”. Pretty early on, Riley had decided that his Mom was wrong. Big Harry Stevens and Matty Dallas weren’t poor souls from broken homes, they were just plain mean, and that was that.
They were playing games with him, he knew. Matty Dallas rode Riley’s bike just fast enough to stay ahead, and Big Harry jogged alongside him, taunting Riley as he desperately tried to get them to stop. His shoes clicked on the park’s paved pathway as he panted behind his tormentors, each of his protests, “Harry, Matty, stop!”s and “Give it back!”s waning in conviction with every step. Eventually Matty Dallas veered a sharp left, cruising down a grassy hill onto one of Centennial Park’s many fields, laughing as Big Harry made to follow him. As Riley caught up to Big Harry, however, the bully, who was rather large in size (Riley’s father had once called him a “tub of lard”, laughing co-conspiratorially with Riley as his mother shook her head in exasperation), dropped down to the ground, tucking himself into a tight ball – or as tight as he could manage, given his extra layers. Riley was running too fast to stop himself, and he tripped over the tub of lard, rolling violently down the hill, coming to a stop at Matty Dallas’ feet.
Matty Dallas was a tall, scrawny kid, with barely any meet on his bones. His face resembled that of a rat, with his two crooked front teeth jutting out among his otherwise straight gnashers, his nose long and twitchy. To most people, he would’ve looked as threatening as a housefly, but to a small kid like Riley, Matty Dallas looked like Darkseid.
Big Harry took his place next to Matty, and together they pulled Riley up to his feet, their grip too tight, nails digging into his flesh.
“This’s been a long time comin’, Rye-Rye,” said Big Harry, sneering in delight.
“Yeah, Riley,” agreed Matty Dallas, raising his fists.
Big Harry grabbed hold of Riley, holding his arms behind his back, keeping him in place. Riley closed his eyes as he struggled against Big Harry. He’d always known that this day might come, that Big Harry and Matty “Rat” Dallas might move on from stealing his bike and making fun of his height to some more painful torments, and now that that time had come he was hoping against all hope that someone might help him, that someone would see he was in trouble and step in before things got rough, but the park was eerily empty this morning and no one was around to help –
– and then there was a powerful gust of wind, and Riley felt Big Harry’s grip loosen, if only slightly. When Matty’s punch never came, Riley dared to open his eyes, his mouth forming a large ‘O’ at what he saw.
Everyone said that he’d disappeared, just like the rest of the Justice League, that he’d vanished and that he hadn’t been seen for over a month, but there he was, standing in front of Riley and Matty Dallas and Big Harry Stevens with his red cape flowing behind him, the big ‘S’ shield gleaming in the sunlight. He smiled at Riley, winking, and right then Riley knew that everything was going to alright. Superman had his back.
“Come on, Harry, let Riley go,” said Superman, his eyes stern, carrying a message along the lines of “I know you’re better than this.”
Riley relaxed as Harry released his arms, breathing a sigh of relief.
Matty, however, still had his fists raised, although perhaps less committedly than before. Superman raised his eyebrows at him.
“Fists down, Matt. There’s no need for any violence.” Matty lowered his hands, uncurling them.
Riley’s tormentors were as awestruck as he was. They stared up at Superman with wonder in their eyes, their mouths agape in stupid smiles. They may have been getting reprimanded, but they were being reprimanded by Superman, and if that wasn’t awesome, Riley didn’t know what was. A part of him was even feeling a little bitter. If Batman was the one reproaching them, Matty and Big Harry might actually have received at least a
little punishment.
“Now Harry, Matt. Why don’t you two apologise to Riley?”“Sorry.”
“Yeah, sorry…” they mumbled, too distracted by who was no doubt their idol to pay Riley any mind.
“It’s okay,” said Riley, beaming at Superman. The Man of Steel smiled back.
“Bullying won’t get you anywhere, boys,” he said,
“Believe me. Putting someone else down might make you feel better, but eventually, that feeling wears off, and all you’re left with is guilt. You’re better off doing something for someone else. Help an elderly lady across the street. Share your lunch with someone who’s sad. Smile at a stranger. It’s little things like that that make a difference. Okay?”Big Harry and Matty Dallas nodded their heads fervently.
“Okay. You should get going, now. I want to speak to Riley alone. Be good.”Entranced, they began to walk away, but not before Matty managed a “Yessir.” Before long, Big Harry Stevens and Matty Dallas disappeared from sight.
“You okay, Riley?” asked Superman, grabbing Riley’s bike, which had been left lying on the grass by Matty. He wheeled it back to Riley, handing it to him and patting him on the back.
“Yes,” said Riley, “Thank you, Superman.”
For some reason, that caused Superman to wince. Riley thought he was used to getting thank yous – in fact, Riley himself was a fan of them. It always felt nice to be validated for the good things you’ve done.
“I, uh… I’m not Superman,” said Superman, which really kind of confused Riley, because there he was in his outfit and cape, with the chiselled jawline his Mom was always fawning over, and yet he was saying that he’s not himself.
“I’m… family of his.”“Oh,” said Riley. “Well, you’re Superman to me.”
Lowering his bike’s stand, he sat down on the grass, crossing his legs. Not Superman seemed lost for words. Riley could almost see the gears in his head, working hard to process his compliment. But Riley had meant it. To him, Not Superman really
was Superman. And anyway, he looked just like him. It was as if he was his son, or something.
Eventually, Not Superman joined him on the grass, arms curled around his knees. His cape wrapped around him like a comfortable red blanket.
“You know, I miss him.”“Who?” asked Riley.
“Superman. He’s been gone for over a month, and I don’t know where he is or what’s happened to him. I’m not any closer to finding out. And I miss him.”At that moment, he looked vulnerable, Riley noticed. His eyes were sad and distant, and he was bringing his knees closer to his chest, as if he was trying to close himself off from the world. It reminded Riley of how his Dad had been after Nana died. It had hurt Riley to see him that sad, just like it was hurting him to see Not Superman like that now.
“Well… I’m sure that wherever he is… he misses you, too.”
“Yeah, I know,” said Not Superman, smiling sadly.
“I just don’t know how I’m supposed to fill in his shoes. What if he’s gone forever? I’m not… I’m not ready to be the next Superman.” He sighed.
“I’m sorry, Riley. I shouldn’t be dumping all of this on you.”“No, it’s okay,” said Riley. “I know how you feel. Mom keeps saying that if something ever happens to her and Dad, I’m going to have to become the man of the house. I have three little sisters. They’re
so annoying. I don’t know if I’m ready to handle that.”
Not Superman chuckled.
“Moms are the worst, am I right?”“You’re telling me,” agreed Riley, and they laughed. “Hey, how’d you know my and Big Harry’s and Matty Dallas’ names?” he asked eventually, once Not Superman had wiped the tears of laughter from his eyes.
Not Superman pointed to his ears.
“Super-hearing. I heard your shouting.”“Oh. Cool.”
And they sat there for what felt like hours, and they talked. And for the first time in his life, Riley felt like he’d found a friend.
N O W
Jonathan Kent had missed the League meeting. A part of himself wanted to blame it on his talk with Riley –
What a great kid, he thought as he flew towards Stryker’s Island – but if he was being completely honest, the only person to blame was himself. His father was the one to have put him on the list, he knew, despite his inexperience with superheroism. Besides the occasional cat in a tree or burning building, Jon had never really used his powers, barring all the times he’d helped Gran around the farm. There
was the time with Bizarro, when his powers had first “activated” (a lucky coincidence, his dad told him later, as his body had likely absorbed just enough solar radiation at that moment) but that was nearly two decades ago, when he was only five. Somehow, he doubted that would count. Compared to Kieran, he was just another civilian – a civilian who happened to have the powers of a Kryptonian, but a civilian no less – so if his adopted brother was invited to the League, he wouldn’t be surprised in the slightest. What he didn’t understand, however, was why his father seemed so convinced that he should be, too. It just didn’t make any sense.
Mom and Dad had always told him that one day, the time would come for him to take on the mantle of Superman, to become the Man of Steel. Jon knew that. He had the blood of the world’s greatest hero running through his veins, and by default, that made him a hero to be, too. It’s why Jon had donned this outfit in the first place, a modernised version of his father’s suit, ready-made for him in the Fortress of Solitude, to no one’s, least of all his, surprise. His family had always expected him to follow in his Dad’s footsteps, and with him gone…
No, just missing, Jon reminded himself… Jon owed it to them and to himself to at least try and do his part for the world. But donning the big ‘S’ was taking its toll on him, and he was beginning to wonder more and more on whether he should be allowed to wear it.
As Stryker’s came into sight, Jon’s vision took in nearly every detail. Guards and heroes alike fought both prisoners and civilians, most of their assailants controlled by purple, starfish-like creatures, what Jon immediately recognised as Starro. He may not have been a Titan, and although he’d only just recently entered the world of capes and tights, Jon had always had an interest in that field, and as such recognised the alien as the same one that both the Titans and the League had fought on previous occasions. Electricity was its main weakness, but it was also vulnerable to the cold, something which Jon could generate without issue.
The Question was fighting Robert DuBois, alias Bloodsport… Jon was sure that the seasoned vigilante had the situation under control, but to fight a gun-toting mercenary with nothing but your wits, some smoke pellets and martial arts was risky, to say the least. Jon would intervene if the situation called for it, but for now, he’d let Question do his thing.
Above the prison, a Starro-controlled Captain Comet was engaged in a telekinetic battle with none other than Manchester Black, an old enemy of Jon’s father’s. He could see the telekinetic energy warping around them, one of the perks of Kryptonian vision – and an arrow smoothly sailed those energies, on a direct course to the star on Comet’s face. Jon looked down to see Red Arrow keenly watching the conflict, backed up by an eccentric-looking woman, appearing as if she’d sprung out of some twisted version of Lewis Carroll’s works, who he had never heard of or seen before. He nearly intervened when he saw her plunge two syringes into a prisoner’s neck, thinking she was killing the man – but on listening to the prisoner’s heartbeat and breathing, he realised that she’d injected him with some sort of sedative, tiring him while inducing a state of unnatural happiness.
Comforted knowing that no one was dying – yet – Jon continued to sweep the prison when he caught sight of something that made his blood boil. Julian Luthor, the son of Lex Luthor – wearing the insignia of the House of El. The crest of Jon’s family. Julian was someone Jon might have considered a friend, but not even friendship could prevent the anger he was feeling at this moment. Shrapnel, Julian’s opponent of choice, was honing in on the young Luthor, looking about as pissed as Jon felt. Flying towards the metal man at breakneck speed, Jon smashed Shrapnel into the ground, creating a crater in the shape of the criminal’s form. Ignoring the pain in his hands – hitting Shrapnel at such speeds had
hurt – Jon turned towards Julian. It was all he could do to keep his eyes from blazing red.
“Julian,” he growled,
“You’d better hope you’re not calling yourself Superman, too. No one gave you the right to wear that crest.”Shrapnel made to get up, and Jon punched him once more, sending him back down. A dull ache numbed his hands. Taking a deep breath, he reigned in the majority of his anger.
“But we’ll deal with that later. For now, we need to form a plan. We won’t accomplish anything as we are now.”He floated into the air, once again taking in his surroundings, watching for any developments. If there was ever a time where his training with Batman, however minimal it was, would come in handy, it was now.
Member
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Supermaxx,
Morden Man,
An Outsider,
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