![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
[continued from here]
Metropolis was an incredibly large city, true to it's name, and that meant that things that happened in one part could be entirely unnoticed by another part. It was one of the saving graces of the mess that had been made by the Kryptonians in the downtown area: a lot was lost and a lot of it was important, but the city continued running and thriving.
Even in the lives of those intricately tied together, the same is true.
In one place, the man now going as James William Rogers was finishing up the heavy work on his latest construction project after weeks of extensive physical labor. His phone buzzed as soon as it turned from 4:59 to 5:00 pm.
In the offices of the Daily Planet, Lois Lane was receiving a package that had been sent by one Clint Barton, which contained a variety of paperwork which had been assembled to make Jim Rodgers a real person in the eyes of the government and whatever financial institutions were required.
And lastly, having been rather unpleasantly pranked by some of his co-workers, Clark Kent was sitting in the wrong restaurant waiting for people to show up. Except that his ears picked up the sound of an explosion and he was shooting out of his seat a moment later, money left for what food he'd eaten as he tugged his clothes away and changed into Superman.
The bridge to New Troy had been attacked, by what Clark couldn't figure out, and he struggled to stablize the suspension wires manually while the bridge was evacuated when a shot came seemingly out of nowhere and hit him in the gut with what felt like the force of a mack truck and a woozy sickness that fluttered against his memory to a certain day and a certain night and a terible terrible accident. But that was secondary to what he had to do, namely get the innocent people to safety, even if they were staring at him a little timidly over the fact that he seemed to look ill. And was wobbling.
He didn't care, he'd get it done. He'd save them.
But aftewards? After he melted the suspension wires back together and after he got the people off of the bridge, and after he managed to find himself an alley to be sick in and a dumpster to curl up behind, Clark pulled up his phone and dialed his roommate's number.
Jim. Alley off of Falstaff and Sullivan. Please come pick me up. Need help.
Which was when he finally let himself pass out.
Metropolis was an incredibly large city, true to it's name, and that meant that things that happened in one part could be entirely unnoticed by another part. It was one of the saving graces of the mess that had been made by the Kryptonians in the downtown area: a lot was lost and a lot of it was important, but the city continued running and thriving.
Even in the lives of those intricately tied together, the same is true.
In one place, the man now going as James William Rogers was finishing up the heavy work on his latest construction project after weeks of extensive physical labor. His phone buzzed as soon as it turned from 4:59 to 5:00 pm.
In the offices of the Daily Planet, Lois Lane was receiving a package that had been sent by one Clint Barton, which contained a variety of paperwork which had been assembled to make Jim Rodgers a real person in the eyes of the government and whatever financial institutions were required.
And lastly, having been rather unpleasantly pranked by some of his co-workers, Clark Kent was sitting in the wrong restaurant waiting for people to show up. Except that his ears picked up the sound of an explosion and he was shooting out of his seat a moment later, money left for what food he'd eaten as he tugged his clothes away and changed into Superman.
The bridge to New Troy had been attacked, by what Clark couldn't figure out, and he struggled to stablize the suspension wires manually while the bridge was evacuated when a shot came seemingly out of nowhere and hit him in the gut with what felt like the force of a mack truck and a woozy sickness that fluttered against his memory to a certain day and a certain night and a terible terrible accident. But that was secondary to what he had to do, namely get the innocent people to safety, even if they were staring at him a little timidly over the fact that he seemed to look ill. And was wobbling.
He didn't care, he'd get it done. He'd save them.
But aftewards? After he melted the suspension wires back together and after he got the people off of the bridge, and after he managed to find himself an alley to be sick in and a dumpster to curl up behind, Clark pulled up his phone and dialed his roommate's number.
Jim. Alley off of Falstaff and Sullivan. Please come pick me up. Need help.
Which was when he finally let himself pass out.
