Good! Last bit kind of reminds me of James Holden from the Expanse

This is just Percy Jacksons entire damn life.

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Thanks!

I can think of at least 2 anime with this plot

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great pov!

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Thanks! glad you liked it. Maybe Clark knows that the natural calamities that keep hitting US’s prime competitors in technology and warfare, aren’t really NATURAL.

Nice work, I like the Timezone narrative a lot. What did Superman have to say?

Same! You smashed it. My post here is my second ever on WP and my first about Superman so I had a blast. People think he's difficult to characterise, he's not. He's just a good egg from Kansas.

Thanks! Glad you liked it. I love Superman as a character and it's really fun to write about him.

Fantastic, love the first person supes point of view. "Apolegtically" zapping the train ceiling, those are the nice kind of touches that give Clark his character. 10/10 would read again

"The Director will see you now."

Nodding to the receptionist, Agents Clinton and Bush rose from their seats and entered the top-floor corner office for the Director of the Central Intelligence Agency. Beads of sweat rolled down their spine as they made their way into the drab-yet-oranately decorated room. Stood at the end was the Director. Staring out the window, his grey hair and broad shoulders imposed a long shadow over the desk.

"Agents, take a seat." He said calmly, almost a whisper. If ice and stone had a voice, his was it.

He turned to face them, grey haired and balding with a unmistakable belly indicating years of fine wine, rich food and leisurely rounds of golf.

"Status report."

The Agents looked at each other, engaging in game of chicken to see who would speak first whilst making sure they collectively didn't take too long to respond. Bush broke first.

"Our last attempt was unsuccessful sir. Another stroke of unforeseen bad luck."

Agents Clinton and Bush had been having a lot of bad luck lately. Six months they had been trying to assassinate Clark Kent, a prominant journalist at the Daily Planet. Six attempts in six months, each failing more incredulously than the last.

The first attempt was simple. A lethal-yet-untraceable dose of Ricin slipped into Kent's coffee. They watched via video feed as Kent lifted the cup, a big goofy smile on his face. He lifted it to his mouth to drink, taking a big deep inhale to savour the scent. He then appeared to get distracted by something on his screen, placing the cup down awkwardly and spilling it in the process. The second attempt they tried the same again, this time Kent announced to the intern that he was taking a break from coffee, his boy-scout grin disarming as he waved a water flask apologetically.

"Kent's inauspicious switch to a healthier lifestyle is bad luck Agents, this is begining to feel like incompetence." he said, now turning around and fixing them both with the cold, dead eyed stare pre-requisite for a CIA Director.

Bush and Clinton shifted nervously in their chair. After the Ricin they moved the operation to Kent's home for their third attempt. They fixed minature bombs to his car breaks. Detonated remotely and leaving no trace, they were a favourite of the agency. Again they watched in disbelief as Kent climbed inside his car, and then a couple minutes later got out. Bush smashed his mug against the wall in frustration whilst Clinton stared in silence as they watched Kent hold his hand out to the warm sun, go inside the house, and return wearing walking shoes. He had taken public transport ever since.

"But Sir," Bush interjected, "there was no way we could have predicted the mugging failure."

Attempt number four involved a mugger, hired anonymously, to rob and kill Kent down an alleyway. Again, the sounds of broken stationary could be heard after the Agents watched Kent slowly back away with his hands up. The mugger slowly walked towards him, before suddenly slipping up on patch of... seemingly nothing at all, cracking his head on the ground knocking himself unconcious.

"Prior planning prevents piss poor performance Agent Bush. You should have prepared and hired a second mugger."

Agent Clinton let out a snort, realising too late his mistake. The director slammed his fist down hard on the table making even the seasoned Agents collectively and figuartively shit themselves.

"I don't see what you find so funny Agent Clinton. Last time I checked you seemed to have no problem handling a simple boshjob!"

A boshjob was the borrowed colloquial term for a push-and-run, from the UK 'bish bash bosh' job done. By attempt number five the Agents were getting desperate. Keen to finish the job, Agent Clinton studied Kent's subway route, finding a perfect time and location to subtly push him off the platform just before an arriving train. Making his approach, he made one last check to see if the coast was clear. Not that it mattered, his Covert-Issue Shimercamo suit rendered him invisible. As the train arrived, he pushed.

Only, to his surprise, Kent pivoted at the last second, patting his pockets as if he had forgotten something. Clinton's momentum meant he would have been the one kissing the train had Kent not caught him. Kent grabbing his arm had shortcircuited the suit, revealing nothing but the plain suit underneath.

"Gee almost didn't see you there! You okay sir?" Watching the man he had just tried to murder all flustered, fussing over him and patting the non-existent dirt off whilst asking repeatedly if he was alright... it was a feeling he would never forget.

The director went to his drinks cabinet, poured himself a glass of something strong and then took his seat. "Now, what happened with this latest cockup? I've read the report, I want to hear it from you."

Their latest attempt had upped the ante with no result. Desperate, the Agents anonymously hired Intergang - the nationwide organised crime syndicate. Kent was attending a press conference at a banking expo. Intergang were hired to storm, rob, and take hostages. They could keep whatever they could get and would recieve support to escape with high value targets, ensuring they would recieve any ransom they demanded. The one condition was that they killed Kent to show that they were serious. However, Kent was nowhere to be found. Instead they found themselves all unconcious or incapacitated by Superman. Kent was in the bathroom and had missed the whole thing.

"Sir, may I ask.. is it necessary to remove Kent from the equation? We could simply hack his computer and delete all his research into our ties with the upcoming UK election coup."

A vein visably popped in the Directors forehead.

"Agents, in the event that the Democratic-Socialist party comes to power in the UK, do you know why we are staging a coup? It's the same reason why Kent has to die." The Agents had no answer. "If that commie bastard becomes leader it won't just start with Scandinavian-style "centrist policies". No. It's a slippery slope. You give the left an inch, they'll take a mile. First you allow higher taxes and better public services. Then they nationalise transport, utilities, energy. And then before you can say 'Karl Marx' the corporate class are behind bars or in exile, assets seized and hippy cooperatives running the whole goddamn show. The press outlets are worker owned and not the controlled opposition running the narratives that we want, not to mention what they'll do to the British military-industrial complex! Suddenly we've lost our special relationship to America's best simp-state in Europe. That, Agents, is why Clark Kent must die and why we at the CIA need to make sure those limey red fucks NEVER win an election. It's not just about power, it's about about principle... and sending a message."

"Thank you Director, that's all I needed to hear."

Glass shattered as the Directors tumbler hit the floor. The Agents turned around. Floating in the air a foot above the ground was Him. Superman. Their eyes caught the tail-end of their covert-issue Shimercamo flickering off, revealing the crossed arms of the nations most infamous Superhero.

"You have some fantastic gadetry here gentlemen I'll give you that. This CIA invisiblity tech you have here is incredible," he glanced at Agent Clinton, "along with the recording devices I placed in your pockets and the cameras dotted around the room." A pile of papers wooshed into the air as a blue-red blur collected the incriminating evidence. "You should really be careful when trying to murder one of the worlds finest investigative journalists, especially one that has me in his contact list."

"You've just made yourself an enemy of the American state you alien scum." The Director screamed. "What happened to truth, justice, and the American way?"

Superman smiled before melting the glass behind the director. He turned to see the Man of Steel now floating in the air outside above him.

"Who said CIA coups and assassinations were the American way? Think we better let the press and the American people decide that, don't you?"

And before the Director could reply he was gone, leaving nothing but a red-blue blur.

After months of encrypted email exchange, careful assurances, and a few false starts, Clark had finally met the source in a greasy back-alley Chinese joint and was now riding the train back uptown. He had hours of recordings to review. Incredibly, the man had been willing to go on record exposing the CIA's black program on behavior modification - a combination of low dose psychoactive drugs administered secretly in a target's food; modulated subliminal messaging through infiltrated social media, internet, and communication channels; and repeated near-field microwave irradiation of the brain to induce states of mania and suggestibility.

The most damning testimony was that the program had been running a test phase on American citizens for the last 2 years - some of them highly placed business and social personalities like Elon and Ye - and was now entering the Phase 3 trial targeting mid-level US political representatives.

All his travels, all the tragedies he had prevented with his godlike powers, the depravity of humanity he had witnessed again and again as Superman - but it was this program, which he had patiently and painstakingly uncovered as investigative journalist Clark Kent, which horrified him beyond words. His mind wandered darkly as the rhythmic sounds of the train carried him home.

He almost didn't notice the tiny pinprick of a needle trying and failing to enter his upper thigh. By the time he looked up in surprise, his neighbor had stood, discreetly dropped something on the floor, and was making his way to the just-opened exit at 42nd street.

Clark gave no response, but he let his senses follow the man as he left the train and walked down the platform and into a narrow stairwell, losing himself in the crowd. A quick look showed the man carried a wallet whose ID read Michael Johnson, no cell phone - strange - but he had a small radio in his pocket connected to a collar mic. And a concealed gun holstered on his right hip. As the train started to pull away, Clark heard the man talk into his mic: "Negative contact, negative contact. Equipment failure. Return site bravo."

Clark stood and started making his way toward the back of the train, gently but insistently shoving his way through the packed cars. His mind was racing. His heart would be too, if it could. He came to the back of the train, miraculously empty, and with a silent apology he removed his glasses, looked up, and let the unquenchable energies boiling within him briefly escape out through his eyes, where they instantly vaporized a section of the train's ceiling. He had flown up and out before the whistling sound of the hole reached the nearest passenger.

He took a short ballistic arc back downtown, topping out at 3,000 feet and descending meteorically over Chinatown. He scanned a 5 block radius around the restaurant, then 10, then 15 - and that was when he saw the contact. He was lying prone on the street, his arms and legs uselessly splayed, and a crowd was gathering around him. Is there a doctor here? What's wrong with him? Oh god. Someone call 911. Even from the sky Clark could see the man would be dead in seconds.

He landed softly in the middle of the crowd - they immediately withdrew to give him space - knelt and draped his cape over the dying man's torso. He saw a telltale pinprick in the man's upper thigh. He saw the man's heart spasming with each beat, laboring with each pulse of precious lifeblood, failing, fading. He died.

Clark closed his eyes and allowed himself one deep breath, one silent moment. He felt the roar of the energies inside him, the stored sunlight pleading for a purpose, roiling, insisting. He gathered his cape and stood and turned to a woman in the crowd and said, "Please call an ambulance. This man is dead, but he deserves to be seen by a doctor."

As the woman took out her phone she asked, "What about you? What are you going to do?"

He looked at her: a middle aged woman, worn down by the world but not broken, accustomed to loss, saddened by what she'd just seen but not shocked. Well acquainted with tragedy.

Truth, he almost replied. And justice. But he made no response and instead ascended slowly and gently into the air so as not to disturb the cooling corpse, accelerating as he rose, breaking the sound barrier before he'd cleared the 10th story of the nearby buildings, and flew a line as straight and true as a ray of light toward the 42nd street train station.

Thanks Spriggan, glad you liked it. I enjoy the concept that people don't even realise how often they are saved, by new technology or medicine, or others actions.

You too!

Thanks. Lucky I could claim this.
But yes - it`s true too - many life lessons, including becoming a better me - I learned from Sir Samuel .

Thanks! Have a good day.

starting a little bit of writing again. Critiques welcome. Thanks for reading if you did

Virginia 6:50 AM

This has to be it. We have been hunting him for weeks now with nothing to show for it. We have visual confirmation sir, it is him. That's great, we need to clean this mess as soon as possible. Ask delta to move in. Have beta on standby to engage only on delta's call. 

Istanbul 2:55 PM

Alright delta going in the building now. 

Virginia 7:30 AM

They're on the floor now sir, all exits sealed. Waiting for green light. 

Virginia 7:40 AM

Alright, go in now. We need this to be clean no loose ends. 

Istanbul 3:42 PM

Roger Alpha. going in now.

Istanbul 4:00 PM

We tried talking to Superman sir. He came out of nowhere, with the dust we lost sight of the target. There was nothing we could do. We had to pull out quickly. We got two laptops and some documents.

Virginia 8:30 AM

Mr. President, we have secured two laptops and some documents of the deal. But we cannot say if there were any copies. This has become an international incident now with Superman being involved. We had to pull out quickly to avoid media. 

Athens 6 PM, next day

This is Clark Kent, I am recording this because I am in immediate danger from some agencies, and it is important for this information to be public in case anything happens to me. I only have a few minutes. This is about the……….

The irony is not lost on me.

"Your majesty, please understand he most likely perished in battle." I say to her. "No man I know is so resilient as to survive the circumstances he was last seen in."

"No man YOU know." She replies sternly. "Don't forget you have only been hired after he dissapeared. You do not know what he was... Is capable of."

I turn around, my senses sharp from a lifetime of training, to yell "Can't you see the princess is grieving!? Leave her in peace!"

A man who was watching us fell out of a tree and ran off. "All of you..." Two others up and leave as well.

"This charade is exhausting" I say, turning back to her.

"You know why we have to do this." She insists.

"I do." I don't want my abusive parents, barely royalty themselves, to receive any of the royal treasure, so if I want to marry the love of my life, I would have to do it as someone else.

Playing dead was my only option.

"I do, darling."

The irony is not lost on me.

Wow! Amazing how with only a few lines, you made me take a metaphorical blow to the gut when Lucy died.

Well done!

Wow! Amazing story; this type of plot I find so fascinating, how it’s a promise of destruction and death that is yet thwarted by heroic characters!

Really well conceived atmosphere, I pictured everything really well!

Knowing how whacky the CIA can be, they'd probably want to test the Kryptonite they'd just discovered aswell and would nail him with a Krypotian tea.