Chapter 1
Clark Kent stared at the glittering lights of Metropolis.
The sun was gone, and the sky was an expanse of black, stretching out as far as the eye could see. Against the backdrop of a full moon, the city seemed to shimmer, skyscrapers jutting out of the horizon, like uneven fingers reaching out to the heavens.
Solar-powered streetlights bathed the never-ending maze of roads, their rays merging with headlamps to paint the tarmac an unnatural yellow. Traffic lights flashed, dictating the rhythm of traffic, and brake lights pulsed as tired drivers fought to make their way home.
Even this far away from the city centre, he could hear the muttered curses, the blare of horns and the static of radios, as on-air personalities tried to buoy their audiences through the night.
His attention was pulled from the shining cityscape, and he looked over his shoulder to see Bruce Wayne stepping out from behind a large oak tree, closing the distance between them.
The Dark Knight was clad in his midnight suit, tight and splayed on his limbs, revealing the body of a disciplined man. A tactical belt girded his hips, arrayed with a variety of weapons and gadgets. The large cowl Clark had seldom seen him without covered the top half of his face, shoulders, and fanned out around his figure, swaying slightly in the evening breeze.
For all his super senses, Clark was unsure if he’d actually heard the man move or if the intensity Bruce seemed to radiate had alerted Clark to his presence.
And Bruce Wayne was an intense man.
Over a few metres, their eyes met, Bruce’s grey eyes hard with intent. With a nod of acknowledgement, the Dark Knight slid past him until he stopped at the edge of the outcropping. Down in the valley, in the shadow of the forest, a cluster of abandoned warehouse buildings stood.
Metropolis city records held the cluster to be a remnant of a now-defunct glass factory, scheduled to be demolished whenever the stagnant wheels carrying the chariot of bureaucracy arrived.
“This is the last known location of the shipment,” Batman said, brandishing a small device. On its screen was a map of Metropolis with a small red dot at the edge, blinking intermittently. “The container is here.”
Clark took a step, standing side-by-side with the masked man, glancing briefly at the hand-held tracking device. He was a few inches taller and broader at the shoulders, but Batman seemed to make up for the physical difference with sheer intimidation.
“What can you see?” Bruce asked, head turning ever so slightly to gaze at Clark.
Kent focused on the largest warehouse, peering past the peeling walls and rusted bolted doors.
Packed in the centre of the large, barren space was a trailer truck with a container hooked to it. In the container, vats of an oily liquid were stacked atop each other in neat rows and columns. The driver of the trailer stood a few feet away from the vehicle, tapping his feet anxiously while staring at a mobile phone in his hand.
A brief survey of the surrounding buildings revealed that they were all empty.
He narrated his findings to Bruce.
“No surveillance cameras,” he concluded his report with, watching as the other man’s jaw worked, the only sign of his disquiet.
“We have to go in,” Bruce finally said.
“You don’t seem too happy about that,” Clark replied, arching a brow. “Think it’s a trap?”
Bruce gave a sharp nod. “I’ve been tracking these deliveries for the past two months, and this is the first time a hand-off has been delayed.”
“Do you think they may be unto us?” Clark asked.
“It’s a possibility,” Bruce replied, another muscle in his jaw firing.
Clark took in Wayne’s apprehension, frowning as he recalled Bruce’s call a week ago. Kent had just left a gala he’d been covering on behalf of the Daily Planet when his phone buzzed with the call. Without hesitation, he’d shed his reporter clothes and persona, flying to meet Bruce at the Fortress of Solitude.
Batman had stood at the entrance of the Fortress, despite knowing the code to enter and having his own dedicated room within, arms folded and unreadable eyes tracking Clark’s approach.
Kent had been pleasantly surprised by the call and even more satisfied when he’d realised that Bruce needed his help. The establishment of the Justice League ushered in a new era of collaboration and peace. Very few problems still plagued humankind on a global scale, and when they cropped up, these issues were swiftly dispatched by a coalition of League members. Heroes still called the shots in their individual cities, but it was not unusual to find two League members collaborating to nip a problem in the bud.
What was surprising was that Bruce reached out to him. Out of all the other members of the Justice League, Bruce had called him. And just him.
It had been two years since the Justice League was established, and it had been two years since Batman last contacted him to team up. Whenever the Caped Crusader needed assistance in policing Gotham’s unruly streets, he’d always reached out to other heroes. The Flash, Wonder Woman, and Aquaman, sometimes going as far as intergalactic communication, to reach Hal.
Clark tried not to read any meaning into it, but that proved to be a Herculean task. He couldn’t exactly pinpoint when their relationship soured; when calls went unanswered, replies to messages came slower, and their schedules became intractable. But something had changed.
He knew he’d always have a trustworthy partner in Bruce and would doubtlessly trust him with his life. But he wasn’t sure he had a friend in Wayne anymore. Not for the first time this evening, he wondered if he’d have gotten the call if this issue had not crossed into Metropolis’ borders.
Speaking of which…
“You’ve been tracking them for months. You said that this is the first time you’ve been able to follow a shipment successfully.” Clark inclined his head towards Batman. “Because of that, you think it’s a trap?”
“Hand-offs are usually very quick. The contents are offloaded at once and transferred into multiple smaller trucks heading in multiple directions. That’s why it has been such a hassle to track down these shipments.” Batman squinted, studying the cluster of buildings in the distance. “This is highly unusual.”
Clark nodded. “The driver seems to agree. He seems unnerved.”
“That settles it. We’ll approach this as a trap.” With that, Bruce sprang forward, diving off the outcropping and into the valley below.
Clark followed, keeping the Dark Knight in sight as he did. The area around the abandoned factory was silent, no sound, human or otherwise, to be heard. The silence lent further credence to Bruce’s suspicion of this being a trap because if there was a fleet of trucks on their way to pick up this delivery, they were seriously late.
Now, the question was: Who is the target of this trap? Superman or Batman?
That would depend on when the miscreants discovered they were being tracked.
Bruce had informed him that he had noticed a flurry of suspicious cargo at Gotham’s ports imported by a company, Luck & Co. and had begun tracking where the shipments were sent. Most of the containers were being transported around Gotham, where, once they arrived at their initial location, all tracking and storage information promptly disappeared. But Bruce had begun to see a couple of containers cross city lines, with a majority of shipments heading to Metropolis.
From Robin’s recon, the contents of the containers varied greatly, from machinery to raw chemicals. Someone was building something, something illegal. And if tonight was a trap, the plan would be to eradicate the interference.
If Bruce had been found out in Gotham, he might be the sole target of tonight’s trap. If the perpetrators thought Superman was involved, they might have planned to take Clark out as well.
Clark was impervious to almost any form of attack, with the nasty exception of Kryptonite. As the crystal was rare on his home planet and not found naturally on Earth, he had little concern about being cornered by whatever these crooks had prepared.
But Bruce…
Batman was a capable fighter, the strongest human warrior he had ever seen. But Batman was just that, a human.
As they neared the central warehouse, Clark briefly glanced at the masked man, knowing that if his partner could read his thoughts, Bruce would be highly affronted.
Shaking his head to clear the unnecessary thoughts, he focused on the building ahead. Inside, the driver had gone from tapping his foot anxiously to pacing alongside the trailer.
Something was clearly off.
A soft whistle drew his attention from the factory to Bruce, who, in a series of sharp hand signals, indicated that he would approach from the left of the building. Clark nodded, veering to the right.
He avoided the main entrance, stepping over the deep tyre grooves made by the truck and crept towards the side of the building. He was not too used to espionage—his powers granted him leave to approach any situation frontally. But this time, he deferred to Bruce’s preferences and studied the area to the right.
Like he’d previously noted, there were no cameras alongside the building. The wall was bare, its paint peeling after years of enduring rain, wind, and neglect. There was a small service window close to the roof. He floated upwards until the window was at eye level. The trailer truck entered his line of sight, parked in the centre of the building. The driver continued pacing on the other side of the truck, his murmured expletives filling the otherwise quiet space.
Clark entered through the window, descending quietly so as not to alert the man to his presence. On the opposite side of the warehouse, he could see Bruce descending silently via a hole in the roof. So far, everything seemed fine.
He glanced around the space once more and gave the Caped Crusader a shake of the head. There were no signs of an ambush or even any other person. Batman acknowledged the information with a nod and, after a few moments, restrained the driver.
“There is no one here,” Clark said as he came around the trailer truck. “I can’t hear anyone or anything. Cameras, machinery or tech. It’s a dead space.”
“My scans are coming up negative as well,” Bruce said. Turning to the handcuffed driver whom he had deposited on the dusty floor, he added, “Maybe he can provide us with more information.”
The driver wriggled in his restraints, his upper lip glistening with sweat. “I don’t know anything, I swear. I don’t. Leave me alone,” he gasped.
The man was close to hysterics. The anxiety of the delayed hand-off, combined with being suddenly cuffed by the silent midnight suit-clad Batman, seemed to be too much to bear. His eyes darted around, pinging between Clark and Bruce and the very empty space, searching for help that was not coming.
“Who do you work for?” Bruce began in a voice as dark as his suit.
“I’m just a driver. I don’t know anything.” Sputtering, the man tried to shuffle backwards, but Bruce’s hand shot out, circling the driver’s upper arm.
Giving the man a rough shake, he repeated his question. “Who do you work for? Who sent you here, and who were you to meet here?”
Bruce…
Swallowing a sigh, Superman squatted, dropping to meet the eyes of the frightened man. “It’s okay,” he said, raising both hands, palms facing forward. “We are not going to hurt you. We just want more information about this delivery. Where did you pick up this shipment, and what were the instructions given to you for the drop-off?”
Clark’s gentle voice and open palms seemed to have done the trick. The man’s heart rate dropped ever so slightly, and it was in a more controlled voice that he answered.
“I picked up the container at Gotham City dock.” He shot a dark glance at Batman but swallowed and continued. “I was not the original driver. The other driver suddenly called out of work, and I was the only one who could replace him. They gave me a phone, a manifest and a location.” He paused and took a small breath. “They were supposed to be waiting for me here to offload the items. I’ve been waiting, and no one has come. No one has even picked up the phone.”
At that, Bruce leaned forward, his arm brushing against Clark’s in a way the reporter tried not to notice and retrieved the phone from the driver’s front pocket. It was an old flip phone, and Bruce flipped it open to see the last three calls to a number. He tried dialling, but the line rang out with no response.
“Where is the manifest?” Bruce asked, tucking the device away.
The man gestured to the driver’s seat of the truck, and Bruce straightened and walked towards the truck door.
“You had no idea who you were supposed to meet here?” Clark asked.
The man shook his head. “No idea. I was told that further communication will be done via phone call.”
Clark nodded, rising as Bruce returned with a list of documents, wordlessly passing them over. Clark studied the letterhead on the manifest. Luck & Co.
“Well, at least we can confirm that we have the right container,” Clark said, shrugging.
Bruce arched a brow. “That was never in doubt.”
Clark gave him a wry smile. “You know what I mean.” Returning his attention to the papers, he studied the list of materials. Complex chemical names filled the sheet, and after a thorough glance to make sure he did not understand any of the words, he handed the manifest back to Bruce.
“Seems to be a list of chemicals. In line with Robin’s intel. They are building something,” Clark said, walking to the back of the trailer. “Find anything in the front?”
“Nothing else,” Batman replied, joining him.
The container doors were wrapped with chains, a thick padlock securing the ends of the chains. A quick blast of Clark’s heat vision took care of that, and Bruce reached out to open the doors.
Just as Clark had noted on the outcropping, the container was filled with neatly stacked vats. But what Clark hadn’t seen was a block of lead, perfectly hidden between two rows of chemical vats.
A beeping sound filled Clark’s ears, and he froze, heartbeat racing.
“Clark,” Bruce started. The beeping sound was loud enough for both of them to hear, seemingly triggered by the container’s doors opening. “Is that…?”
Kent did not wait to respond. With a flash of speed, he grabbed Bruce, raced alongside the trailer to fetch the driver and shot out of the rotting roof. Five seconds later, the quiet night erupted with a powerful explosion, sending a column of red-hot flames into the black sky.
The force of the explosion raced after them, even as they escaped the flames, rippling through the air and propelling the debris of the destroyed warehouse.
Clark felt the blast pressure push into them, pressing into his ears, and he picked up speed, shooting higher into the night sky.
Once he’d cleared the danger zone, he returned them to the outcropping from where he and Bruce had originally observed the abandoned factory. The heat was oppressive even this far out. The trees and shrubbery that had enclosed the warehouses were now blackened and burnt, rapidly turning into ashes as the flames swept through the forest.
Bruce straightened, grey eyes fixed on the growing inferno as it consumed all the buildings, turning the entire area into a ball of fire and smoke. “Damn,” he whispered.
“Damn, indeed.”
Thanks for reading.
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