This is why I think people saying "Superman is a boring character" are incredibly wrong. He's not boring. He's very, very interesting and nuanced. Because he's both Clark and Superman. He has vulnerabilities, just not those that are immediately obvious. He also must be creative, more than people realize, in solving problems.

Your story is fantastic and I'd love to see more like this.

There's even an episode of the 90's animated series where he uncovers a conspiracy but does so as Clark, not Supermam. So Clark is the target. It's a pretty good episode and a lot darker than expected.

Ah, re-reading I understand better, Virginia is where the CIA Headquarters are, not where a second operation is taking place at the same time.

Ergo, Clark Kent is in Istanbul and is the sole target, instead of potentially being at his family farm in Virginia (I don't know where the Kent homestead is supposed to be)

I thought that (given my initial impression of two operation sites) this may reference past cases where journalists were targeted by government entities.

Fantastic read. Enjoyed the twist.

I NEED MORE

Isn't there a comic series with essentially this premise?

How quickly did people turn on Dr. Fauci? Despite decades of service for both parties, despite doing his best to save lives, suddenly he's public enemy #1 for a lot of people.

Do you remember when a lot of right-wing pundits decided to make Mr. Rodgers their target? Apparently teaching children good moral, Christian values (he was a Presbyterian minister) was enough to make him hated in some circles.

And if we're making the Superman = Moses connection, in the story in Exodus, it didn't take long for the people to say "To Hell with Moses, let's worship a golden calf." Despite being the guy who literally led them to freedom, it didn't take long to turn on him.

That's human nature. Too many people want to listen to the proverbial devils on their shoulders. Or the real devils on television, radio, and the internet. And if those devils say it's time to turn against the hero, they turn against the hero.

In all fairness, there are those, like myself, who would have never noticed the prompt otherwise, having missed the first one.

To: Director of Operations

From: Director of Science and Technology

Date: Mar. 12, 2016

Subject: Kent

It has been discovered that Mr. Kent has obtained documents related to the ongoing project Two Spoon. This is seen as a threat to the security and future of the project if such documentation where released into the public domain. I strongly recommend action be taken to correct this issue as outlined by PBSUCCESS, section 23, subparagraph 7.

​

* * *

​

To: Director of Science and Operations

From: Director of Operations

Date: Apr. 22, 2016

Subject: Kent/Pillow Talk

Operation Pillow Talk has been initiated. Team designation is Tripod. Notification upon completion will be transmitted however all documentation and communication during operation will be internal to the Directorate of Operations. Available only on authorized request.

​

* * *

​

To: Director of Operations

From: Office of Requisitions

Date: May 3, 2016

Subject: PKG 1023/Pillow Talk

Please attach authorization. Tripod Actual has requested standard EP Pkg with redundancies that flagged this for divisional authorization. Thank you.

* * *

To: Director of Operations

From: Office of Requisitions

Date: May 29, 2016

Subject: PKG 572, PKG 327a/Pillow Talk

Please attach authorization. Tripod Actual has requested P-EP Pkg 572 with additional sub pkg 327 (kit alpha) for ongoing operation Pillow Talk. Please note that all further requests from Tripod are now flagged with review notation under internal document Hephaestus (section 3, subsection 1.3.8, paragraph 12). In addition to this notation, fiscal review of operational budget allowance for Tripod may be requested per the Office of Requisitions under that notation.

* * *

To: Director of Operations

From: Office of Requisitions

Date: June 13, 2016

Subject: PKG 52, PKG 73, PKG 110/Pillow Talk

Please be advised. Fiscal review of Operation Pillow Talk has been scheduled for June 20, 2016 0900 before the Operational council.

ATTENTION: PKG 73 is a type 5 P countermeasure, designation flamebird

Please attach authorization. Current payload is ready for deployment.

* * *

To: Director of Science and Technology

From: Director of Operations

Date: June 20, 2016

Subject: Pillow Talk

For reasons outlined in Operational Council Meeting this date: Operation Pillow Talk is suspended until further notice. Please take internal measures to minimize potential damage related to exposure of documentation on project: two spoon

Please audit attached audio file. Contents are last intercepted message received from Tripod Actual.

* * *

[excerpt 12]

"What? Say again Tripod 2, say again."

"Tripod Actual, bogey inbound bogey inbound! Confirmed: Superman...I repeat, its Superman!"

"WHAT!!! You got to be $#!^ me!! He just showed up again!!!"

I did like the Bush and Clinton reference. I just assumed those were fake names the agents used to conceal their real identities. Kind of like how Sam and Dean got creative with their fake names on Supernatural.

Overall this is a great story and perfectly in character for Clark/Superman. Perfectly playing the innocent, Kansas farmboy while working the long game.

"No? What do you mean no!?" She asked, the woman having raised her voice. Looking at the hero who stood in front of her desk.

Savior people called him, a man wielding the power of fury. But as time went on he grew tired. Tired of sacrificing so much for people who weren't even bothered to be half grateful. Just because 'he'll just save us again.' But they were wrong.

"Are you blind or something? I nearly died! Four times because of following your orders!" He said, raising his voice like she had done. The only difference was that he sounded fed up, sad and desperate almost for an out to this torment.

"But I can't- can I?... I can't die..." His voice shook slightly. Taking a shaky breath, before he pushed himself to continue-

"It doesn't matter, how many times I save people. Or how many times I do the right thing... Because you don't care if I leave the scene on a stretcher half dead."

"Savior please- of course I care. I've cared since you walked through that door!"

"Oh really? Then I'm sure you'll care when I leave-"

With that said Savior turned his back on her, heading for the office door.

"Savior! If you walk out that door-" She said, walking around her desk to try meet him.

"For the last time...It's. Sebastian!!" Taking his chance to leave as the door slammed behind him.

It was like she had forgotten; he was human at the end of the day. That he had an actual name and better things to do then play hero. That he too had people he cared about, but he wouldn't put himself through it if it meant they would be worried.

He stripped himself of his hero costume when he walked into an empty bathroom stall. Putting on civilian attire and dumping the costume into the trash. Not looking back as he left the building.

[removed]

Reflections of Neon

​

Al's Disco Dive was, by all modern standards, an oddity - something which sat just outside downtown, seemingly unburdened by the pressures of time. The cool pink hue of its neon sign played off the damp street and cut paths of rose colored light through the fog. It was a beacon of sorts.

Gene strode through the darkness, his wingtip shoes smacking evenly against the pavement. As he approached the doors he adjusted his wide brim glasses one last time and ran a hand over his quaffed hair. Show time.

Gene didn't really enter rooms so much as take them over. Pushing open the heavy wooden doors, he flowed into the building, hips and feet moving as if they had a special agreement with gravity. He was unstoppable and untamed - he was electric. He was a man out of time.

As he boogied through the venue towards the bar, his ice blue eyes picked through the dancers. There were the regulars, of course. They swung and danced in the shimmering lights of the disco balls and other timed lighting fixtures. While beautiful in their own right, it wasn't what Gene was after. As he finally reached the bar, though, he spotted it. His purpose and his treasure.

A younger man, maybe twenty, danced alone. Whether or not he came that way or was summarily abandoned by his party was a mystery. One that didn't really matter to Gene. What mattered was the here and now.

He stuck his hand up to the barkeep. Two - my regular. Shortly thereafter two double whiskeys slid across the bar, their dark brown liquid refracting the brilliance of that soulful haven. Gene collected them and began moving towards the man, dancing through the crowd in a way that almost made one wonder if the room was simply moving around him.

"Hey there," Gene shouted over the din of the music, "first time?"

The young man blushed slightly. "Uh - well. Yeah. I came with some friends, but..." his eyes quickly flicked around the crowded room, knowing full well they would not find the party he had accompanied.

Gene shushed him, and proffered forward one of the glasses he held.

"I don't know..." the young man laughed nervously. "I'm not even - "

The raised eye brow Gene expressed seem to shut down his protest. He had that effect on people. The young man took the glass hesitantly, then downed its contents, coughing raucously.

Gene laughed lightly, and twirled himself around. As he finished his maneuver, he deftly tossed his full glass onto the top of his other hand and brought it to his mouth. He downed the glass in a deep draw, arching his whole body in a limbo-like move.

"You wanna learn?" Gene smiled.

The young man looked unsure.

"Got a name?"

"Trevor. Uh, well.. yeah. Just Trevor. And well.. I'm not sure. I've never really liked dancing, honestly. It was their idea to come here."

Gene rolled his eyes dramatically at this. "Well, just Trevor, history is nothing more than a tableau of crimes and misfortunes. Big ones, little ones, all the same. Is your dancing a crime? Is it a misfortune? If so, I doubt it's big enough to make the books. Hell, most people here won't even remember." Gene pulled him closer as he finished. "People are embarrassed by untamed passion, but I love it."

Trevor blushed again, deeper. Yet, he began to look to Gene. So they began to dance. Under the warm neon and twinkling light cast out by the disco balls, they moved with passion. Anxiety fell away as a shroud, replaced only by warmth and self expression. It was pure and simple and beautiful.

The pair did this after most of the patrons left. They did it until the workers kicked them out, past closing. So, with no effort to hide it, they sighed in all the disappointment of waking from a sweet dream as they were cast out into the cold night.

"Can I get your number?" Trevor asked. Gene smiled at this. Far from the timid boy he was only a few hours ago.

Trevor pulled out his phone, a sleek new smartphone all wrapped in a carbon black case. Gene's eyes shifted and he frowned slightly.

"Tsk. Smartphones. Call me old fashioned," he paused and gestured at the disco establishment behind him, laughing, "but I always found them distracting."

Trevor laughed, half paying attention as he unlocked his phone and began opening up a new contact template. For that reason he never saw Gene's knife as it plunged deeply into his neck. It grated on the spinal column, paralyzing him instantly. The red blood mixed with the rosy neon to create a mural of warmth, both comforting and sickening.

Gene was, at his core, a man of passion.

​

[WC: 799]

Thanks for the kind words! “The light is gone from my life,” is a derivation of what Teddy Roosevelt wrote in his diary on the day that both his mother and wife died. I’ve always found that phrase and context to be so devastating.

The flames of the castle danced in my eyes, jumping and skipping, running from building to building all the whilst frolicking over the stone walls. It reminded me of children, joyful children in a field, a field of green grass and pure white flowers. I inhaled deeply only to be met with the thick odor of wood and flesh burning. It wasn't as refreshing as the air up in the low hill prairies, right before the mountains, but I would take it over the normal stench of any town. Before me thousands of years of history was being erased, but all I could think of was a single hour not more than a month ago.

It was after the battle that marked the freeing of Duon-Kel, the last of the Black Emperors conquests in the 2 year war. We'd drank and roused until 11 at night when I finally stumbled from the pub and towards my room. Three different women had tried to throw themselves upon me, no charge as thanks, but each only gave me a pang of loneliness. I laid in the bed for an hour, thinking of what that pang reminded me of. I left before dawn, my pack across my back, they hadn't ever to bother even giving their hero a horse to call his own or even enough gold to buy one.

For a week I rode on whatever trading wagon I could find, payment coming from a showing of the kings sigil. Finally I made it to the foothills of the Zartacks, finally I breathed air that wasn't tainted with blood, sweat, filth, finally I felt at home. For two days I walked though the countryside, eating only when my pistol fell a bird, drinking only when I stumbled upon a cold mountain stream. At dawn on the third day I reached the cabin. It was barely 5 meters by 4, the smoke that curled out of the top hinted at a fire that wasn't being fed enough, but too me it was the most beautiful sight I'd ever laid eyes upon.

Slowly I let my pack fall to the ground beside the smokehouse, the thump of its impact ringing in my ears. My back had hardly straightened from relief before a cry that put even the most delicate songbird to shame rang through the hills. It was her, she was still here, and as she slammed into me I knew that she still loved me. We ate breakfast and lunch with her parents in the quaint cabin, catching up, reminiscing. But once lunch had settled we set out for a walk alone, a walk that only lasted until we found a meadow amongst a grove of pines.

As we laid together I talked of the future, only for once it didn't involve where we could camp 10,000 men or how to hold a town. When we got back I would take her dads axe and cut more wood for the fire so that it burned proper, then with the rifle I had left I would try for a deer for steaks tonight and jerky in the coming winter, once winter was over her father could plant twice the ground with me here, raise enough to sell, maybe even enough for two bands of gold and a donation of gratitude to the church. "What about the war", she asked, "what about your duties, doesn't the Black Emperor still live".

For a second I paused, she was right the Black Emperor and his slave kingdom still reigned over the East but... "My duty is done", I finally said, "we've reclaimed what was ours". I carefully rested my hand against her chin, "it would cost too many lives to do more, it would cost me too much.". I had left her twice before for the war, I was surprised each time that she took me back. I wouldn't let it take me away a third time, that would be too much pain for either of us.

For a blissful hour we had laid in that field, just the two of us yet I felt less lonely then I ever had amongst thousands. "Hoy camp", the shout startled me and my hand flew for my gun where it had fallen with my belt. My blood ran cold, I had let my guard down, I had finally let my knife edge dull, now someone was upon us. "Damn, get your clothes on hero". I half expected to see her father when I turned around, but no, it was someone far far worse than an embarrassed parent.

"We need you back on the front hero", Sir Barthlows messenger said once we had collected ourselves, "now is not the time for a sabbatical, we must push on".

"Why, we've retaken our lands, lets sue for peace. The Black Emperor has offered it before I know as I was privy to it. Now that we have all that we lost there's no sense in further bloodshed."

"Nonsense", he yelled, "we must vanquish the great evil of the land. Is that not your prophecy, not our grand army's prophecy. There's still slaves in black lands, we must not rest until they too are freed."

"Its a noble mission but we've done enough, freedom for others is not worth thousands more widows and orphans", I pulled her closer to me protectively, "Tell the lord this is no sabbatical, I've retired to marry and work the land. He and the king may continue their war but it will be without my gun and blade".

"Freedom is never too high a price", he was screaming now, almost red in the face, "too leave your post and duty for some whore, I've never seen such..."

The cocking of my revolver silenced him, its barrel already level with his head. "I've never seen a freed slave you now, workers who suffered as they do under any new ruler but never a beaten slave. And if you dare to call her anything but a lady again I will send you to hell. Now leave, and tell Barthlow and the king both they're hero is done fighting and I advise them to do the same." Wordlessly and with hands balled into white fists around their horses reigns, they turned and left.

"It shan't go well", she said, "the king won't take no easily and...". My kiss silenced her as we fell back down to the grass.

​

They murdered her and her family when I went to the village for supplies a week later. Of course they didn't dirty their own hands, that wouldn't have accomplished anything. No they hired a gang of rovers, survivors of the Black Emperors army posing as guerillas. They thought I would go back to them, they thought I would make their enemy burn with the help of those that followed the old ways. But I was the deadliest and smartest, and I didn't let anyone do my dirty work. When I killed the gangs leader he told me they had been hired, I would've thought it a lie to save his own skin if not for the kings mark, a kings mark just like the one I had.

I lead the followers of the old ways just like they thought I would, only now I told of every injustice I had silenced in my own mind. Every lie and excuse for our actions I had once made I now used to make everyone see what I did, that the prophecy's true target was the war mongering king himself. Now as they drag Sir Barthlow from the fire I smile, the king I had let burn to death but he, he would suffer for what I had lost. I kneel beside him and let the fire reflect in my eyes, "the prophecy has been fulfilled, just as you wanted".

Would love to read a part 2 please.

Thanks, I'm glad you enjoyed it.

Pork Cake?

Pork Cake!

Hey, thanks for reading. i think i might have missed something but not sure. Can you please elaborate?

THAT was a darned good read!

A large segment of the American population immediately flipped pro Russia anti Europe when the news told them to. Don’t worry about decades of memories, Oceania has always been at war with East Asia.

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Is there some context I'm missing here?

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