Bab 10: Fate of Your Planet
Fury opened the doors with force as he entered the command center of the Triskelion, his black coat swaying behind him, Alexander Pierce following him closely. The room full of computers was abuzz with movement, people running everywhere, the place almost pulsating with worry.
He walked with firm steps to the man staring at the gigantic screen on the back of the room, Jasper Sitwell.
"What am I looking at?" he asked, didn't even looking at him.
No, his eye was, like the eyes of most people in the room, glued to the big screen on the back of the room. Staring without blinking at the images of the satellite.
"Asteroid?" asked Pierce, nervously cleaning his glasses to have a better view. "Comet?"
"Comets don't make course corrections, sir," answered Sharon Carter, standing close to where they were, also looking at the screen with concern; with Rogers on New York, she didn't have anyone to watch, Fury imagined.
Sitwell made a sign to her and she typed fast. The images on the big screen changed, showing, clearly, a big ship floating in front of the moon; the only reason Fury didn't swear like Pierce did was because his voice seemed to have disappeared completely at the sight of that.
"The ship appears to have inserted itself into a lunar synchronous orbit, though we have no idea why, sir," said agent Carter, pointing at the ship.
They were all in silence for a while, just watching the images, no one knowing exactly what to say. Fury felt as if a hand was pressing his throat; he didn't know what that thing was, he didn't know who was in that thing, but he had a very, very bad feeling about it.
"Have you tried… communicating with it?" asked Pierce, looking at Sitwell.
"They haven't responded, sir," he answered, very tense. "Not yet, at least."
And Fury didn't think they would. Or, if they did, that they wouldn't like what they had to say in the least. The ship wanted to be seen just where it was; their satellites didn't catch view of that ship because they were good, they did it because the ship allowed them to do it. But why?
"I think that whoever is at the helm of that thing is looking to make a dramatic entrance," Fury stated, his eye still fixed at the screen.
And just as he said this, the lights in the room turned off; which, naturally, was supposed to be impossible, since the Triskelion had backup generators and a separated power grid given the importance of the place. Every computer screen in the room filled with static, including the big screen at the back, where they were watching the ship. The people in the room typed desperately, trying to get control of their computers back.
"It's on my phone too!" exclaimed Sharon, picking her cellphone to see the screen just like the rest of the computers; her fellow agents were doing the same, their faces taken with fear.
Again, not something that just happened; someone was doing this and they had a pretty good idea who.
Then, suddenly, a form appeared on every screen; the shadow of a face.
"My name is General Zod."
A drop of sweat rolled down from Fury's temple, as the words Romanoff had said to him replayed on his mind: "Every single important being out there knows about the power of the Infinity Stones and we broadcasted to the universe that we had one. Someone definitely noticed."
They had called; someone in the deep darkness of the universe answered.
Steve Rogers left the party more tired than he felt in a long while. Maybe not physically tired, it took a lot to make him sweat since he became Captain America, but mentally drained. He meant it when he said he appreciated Tony and Pepper's efforts in making him feel more at ease with the party by making it a 1940's theme. In fact, he really appreciated the whole team efforts about trying to make him acclimatize.
But getting out of the elevator to face a room just like the parties he used to go with Bucky and Peggy, seeing the aged faces of some of the men he served with, hearing the music he used to hear on his old home in Brooklyn… Well, nothing there helped him feel more familiarized, it just made him miss his old life that much more.
Except there really was no point. No matter how much he missed them, no one would come back. Time, unfortunately, only moved forward; he would never be able to have that date with Peggy. He needed to accept that. Sooner rather than later.
It was for that reason he left the Avengers Tower by the end of the party, even if the plan was to spend the night there and fly back to Washington, D.C on the next day. He would come back, of course, he had nowhere to sleep, but for now he needed to go somewhere else. He needed a shock, a splash of cold water to the face, a dose of harsh reality; no better place to go than the first place that gave him that feeling since he woke up: Times Square.
At the junction of Broadway and Seventh Avenue, stretching from West 42nd to West 47th Streets, Times Square was like a Christmas tree of pure light on the night. Packed full of people even at that hour, it was that place that smacked Steve right in the face on the first time he awoke and ran away from SHIELD's fake hospital; it was just so different from anything he had ever seen, that for a moment there he thought he was hallucinating.
That place, of all others he'd been since then, became the symbol of his situation; and a symbol of fear. Even if he had been on places even more futuristic than Times Square, like the Helicarrier for example, it was that one place that became the personification of living on a new time. So he avoided it. In the hopes that, maybe, if he never stepped there, he could keep dreaming.
Well, it was time to wake up. For real now.
So there he went, walking slowly, avoiding the crowds, until he got to the middle of Times Square. Giant neon signs surrounded him, the huge screens glowing bright with advertisements, the sounds of the people talking happily… Steve soaked all that in, his mind numbing for a moment, the noise lowering, until he could almost see himself back in time, Bucky and Peggy and the Howling Commandos all around him.
Then he opened his eyes; the dream was over.
Steve breathed deeply, trying to crush the feeling of pure anguish inside his chest. It was done. Time to move on. Time to accept that the world had changed. Because no matter how different it was, Steve still thought it would need him, the same way it had back on the War.
It was exactly when those thoughts crossed his mind that the lights died all around him. The bright screens on Times Square became blurred with static, a terrible screeching noise making the hair on the back of his neck stand up. The people there stopped, silenced, unsure of what was happening, looking around for clues.
And then a face appeared on the screens, visible only as a shadow on the static, and it began to talk.
"…I come from a world far from yours."
Steve toned down the voice of the man on the screen, as the familiar fire of the adrenalin burned on his veins. The people surrounding him were frozen in place, fear clear in their eyes, the children holding their parents legs as hard as they could. He knew that reaction pretty well, from the War. Soon, there would be panic.
He didn't panic, not with his experience, but he was apprehensive. They had barely managed to defeat the Chitauri; it was more of a luck shot than anything else. And now, it seemed, another enemy had their eyes on them. Could they win this time?
Whatever the answer to that question was, he was right about one thing: the world still needed Captain America.
Natasha's night had been unusually good. The party, surprisingly enough, had been enjoyable. She would have to admit, Pepper was good at what she did. Not only the party had been a success, but no one got hurt and there wasn't any damage at all; Stark's parties weren't exactly known for their safety.
She left the Avengers Tower together with Clint when the guests started to go home, both of them refusing the offer to stay there that night. They didn't have anything against it, but Clint had a "date" set with his wife and, given that he kept the existence of his family a secret, being on a tower managed by an A.I wasn't a good call.
So out they went, to one of Natasha's many safe houses in New York, a very confortable apartment close by that had a breathtaking view of the city. Clint hadn't even taken out his shoes when he opened the notebook over the bed, more than a little anxious to talk to Laura again.
Natasha smiled. It was love like the one Clint had for his family that gave her a reason to fight for the "good guys". She had done a lot of bad things. Things she would feel guilty for the rest of her life. Her ledger was dripping, it was gushing red, as Loki had put it. She didn't deserve nor had any reason to expect any kindness from anyone; and yet, even when ordered to kill her, Clint had chosen to give her a chance.
That, by itself, would already make her indebted to him, but he went well beyond. Not only he spared her life, he also gave her a reason to live. He became a friend, the only one she had. He was the only one to trust her, on a time that no one would ever make that mistake. At one point she thought it was just a trick, one that she had used lots of times to make people feel secure when they really shouldn't.
And then he introduced her to Laura and his kids.
To Natasha, that had been no more than a weapon to her superiors all her life, that was the greatest gift one could give her: trust. Clint was putting the safety of the people he loved more than anything on her hands, not because he didn't have a choice, but because she was his friend. That had been the happiest day of her life.
Seeing him talk to Laura was always a guilty pleasure. Hearing the love on their words, seeing the smiles, the glow in their eyes… Once upon a time she had believed that love was for children, innocent and gullible; Clint had shown her otherwise.
She sat down on Clint's side to talk to Laura and the kids, feeling warmth when their genuine smiles turned to her. It was all shaping up to be an excellent night, that she would end by the side of the people she cared the most in this world.
Or it would, had the world been a perfect place.
When the lights of the apartment went off, she picked her pistol immediately; Laura and the kid's faces disappeared from the notebook, replaced by static. Clint got up and went to the window, confirming that the blackout was on the whole city. He took out his cell to find out what the hell was happening, only to be surprised by the sight of static on its screen too.
It was at that moment that a face appeared, giving an ominous speech; and she felt her blood turn to ice when he said:
"I have journeyed across an ocean of stars to reach you. For some time, your world has sheltered one of my citizens. I request that you return this individual to my custody. For reasons unknown, he has chosen to keep his existence a secret from you. He will have made efforts to blend in. He will look like you, but he is NOT one of you."
She knew, right then, without needing to hear the rest of the speech, of who General Zod was speaking. But that was impossible. Clark had said he was the last one, the last Kryptonian alive. Did he lie?
No, he hadn't lied, Natasha was sure of it. He didn't know. General Zod, according to Clark, was the general of his people, the one who had attempted a coup; the one who had killed Clark's father. And now he was looking for Clark. Whatever Zod wanted with him, it couldn't be anything good.
And now they had a ship full of incredibly powerful aliens floating just outside of Earth. Without meaning too, Natasha looked at Clint; that horrible, hopeless feeling he was probably experiencing right now, about not being able to know what this new threat meant to the safety of his family? She understood it now.
Natasha didn't like that one bit.
"To those of you who may know of his current location: the fate of your planet rests in your hands."
No, no, no… Tony Stark couldn't believe this. He was seeing, he was listening, but his mind was having trouble believing it. How could this be happening again? They had done it. They won. Loki and the Chitauri were defeated. Shouldn't this be the happy ending they deserved?
Bruce, Pepper, Happy, Rhodes and Hill were by his side, paralyzed, eyes staring at the orange hologram of Jarvis; except it wasn't Jarvis anymore. The floating, spiraling, orange ball of code that he had designed as a visual "body" for Jarvis wasn't there at all. In its place, formed by the corruption of the strands of orange code, was the silhouette of a face, resembling more a human skull than anything else.
And the voice... Jarvis British voice wasn't there, replaced by the voice of this General Zod, giving his speech using the mouth of his own A.I.
It wasn't just Jarvis, of course. All the TV's, the computer screens, the tablets, the cellphones… Everything was blurred with static and showing that face. His entire tower was taken over. And for a man who prided himself in his high-tech creations… Well, to say that Tony wasn't taking that well was an understatement. It was more than a violation of his work and home, it was an insult against everything he had applied himself to learn and build over the course of his entire life.
For a moment there, Tony's eyes stopped seeing and his ears stopped hearing; all he could experience was the dark, cold void of space where he almost suffocated, the alien army flying in his direction, to Earth. Almost every night since the Battle of New York, Tony had visited that place in his dreams. Since the Mandarin, though, he thought himself healed; and now, there he was again, gasping for air in the middle of his own house.
Would he be strong enough this time? Would the Avengers? Not for the first time, Tony imagined how it would be to put a suit of armor around the world. With the way things were going, they would need it.
Clark's eyes were fixed on the TV, staring non-stop at the shadow of the face there.
"To Kal-El, I say this: surrender within 24 hours… Or watch this world suffer the consequences."
As he said that, the image was cut off; the lights in the apartment turned on again, the power surge blowing up one of the light bulbs and making Trish jump and yelp, grabbing his arm. He didn't move, though; he couldn't. All he could do was keep staring at the TV, his mind replaying what Zod had said.
How could he be alive? His father told him he was the only one left. The last son of Krypton. Did he lie? Or he didn't know either? And how did he know that he was on Earth?
Clark didn't have the answers to any of those questions, but it wasn't that fact that was filling him with dread. No, he was afraid because he couldn't know what Zod wanted with Earth. And with him. Whatever it was, he had threatened the whole planet and the mere possibility of a war of those proportions inside of Earth made Clark's chest hurt.
"Jesus," Jessica whispered, still frozen in place. She turned and looked at him and Trish, her face the very example of what they were all feeling. She opened her mouth to speak, but there was no sound, so she tried again. "What the fuck was that?"
She got up and walked closer to them.
"Oh my god," Trish said too, looking at her sister, fear clear on her face.
"I can't believe this shit. Again?!" Jessica said. "Who the hell does this guy thinks he is, threatening us?"
"This can't happen again, Jes," Trish said, holding her sister.
Jessica squeezed her hand.
"Maybe it won't. I mean, this Zod guy is looking for someone, right?" she said, and Clark felt as if a knife was piercing him. "Maybe if he find this 'Kal-El' dude there won't be any need for a war." She looked at Clark. "What do you think?"
Clark couldn't look at her nor could he open his mouth. All he could do was lower his head, completely overwhelmed by what was happening. He didn't know what to do. He didn't have a clue of how to act.
Maybe it was the silence or maybe it was his tense posture, but Jessica's eyes focused in him for a moment, only to turn to the TV again; she was also frozen on spot.
"Jesus Christ…" she whispered, to Trish's confusion; she looked back at Clark, her face a mix of shock and pain. "It's you, isn't it? He is looking for you."
He looked at her for a moment, incapable of staring at her eyes. Trish, finally realizing what was happening, put her hand in front of her mouth.
"I…" Clark started, his throat feeling like sandpaper. "I need to go."
Before he could even turn, however, Jessica's hand grabbed his arm.
"Oh, you fucking won't! Not before giving me an answer!"
She didn't have nearly enough strength to hold him, but at that moment it didn't really matter. Clark looked at her once again, meeting her eyes; he nodded reluctantly.
"It's me," he whispered.
There was only silence. He didn't say anything else, Jessica didn't answer and Trish, apparently, had lost her voice. And yet, Jessica's hand didn't let him go for even a second.
"How many of what you told me was a lie?" Jessica asked, finally, her voice unusually hard.
It was so strange, that Clark looked at her again.
"I never lied to you."
She approached fast, her other hand grabbing his shirt.
"Don't! I want the truth!"
For a moment, Clark's face was the very picture of confusion, as he tried to understand from where this anger was coming from; and his eyebrows shot up when he realized what was happening. Jessica didn't care he was an alien. She didn't particularly care about Zod's threat. But she did care very much about the possibility of her friendship with him being a lie.
Slowly, he held her hand.
"Everything I told you was true," and before she could interrupt, he continued: "I come from a planet called Krypton, but I left when I was just a baby. I didn't even know I wasn't human for most of my life. My parents sent me here because the planet died. My parents, my human parents, found me and adopted me."
He stared at her eyes, trying to convey every bit of his sincerity.
"I did not lie to you. I omitted some things, but I swear I didn't lie."
She held his stare for a moment and nodded.
"Okay. Okay… So my neighbor is an alien, then…"
"Jes," Trish said "calm down."
"How the fuck are you calm?!" she exclaimed, suddenly. "Clark is an alien, another fucking alien just threatened the world so someone would find him and there is probably going to be another fucking Incident! How am I supposed to calm down?!"
Trish, apparently, didn't have a good answer, so she just turned to Clark.
"Are you really an alien?" she asked.
Despite the situation, he chuckled.
"I really am."
As if in a trance, she got closer from him, touching his chest softly. Clark didn't move, just watching as she moved her hand to his face, squeezing his cheek, her green eyes wide. She tried to pull his hair for a moment.
"It's not going to come off, you know," he said, surprising her; she blushed. "This is how I look. There is no 'little green man' inside a human costume."
"You look very human," she whispered, after a moment.
"No, you look Kryptonian. My race is older," he joked, smiling. "There are all kinds of different aliens out there, but some do look like each other. Humans, Kryptonians, Asgardians… At least on the outside we look alike."
"And on the inside?" asked Jessica. "Those gifts of yours, every Kryptonian can do that?"
He sighed.
"When we absorb the light of a young sun, yeah, we can."
She snorted.
"You're telling me your people are basically solar panels?"
"Well, when you put it like that…"
"How very 'green energy' of you."
He smiled and they quiet down for a few minutes, thinking about what had happened; only to be brought out from their thoughts by Jessica clapping her hands.
"Okay, then, how are we going to do this?" she asked, abruptly.
Trish and Clark looked at her, clueless.
"Do what?" he asked.
"This Zod guy. You can't just turn yourself in. You don't know what the guy wants. So, I ask again, how are we going to do this?"
"I agree, this guy doesn't sound nice at all" Trish added.
Clark was speechless; and more heartened than he felt in a long time.
"Jessica, I…"
"No!" she interrupted, getting closer again. "You can't just surrender yourself. That's stupid!"
"Maybe. But if I don't, he may start killing people. I can't let that happen."
She fixed her eyes on his for a second, fiercely, and then lowered her head again. She opened her mouth and then closed it again, as if in difficulty to speak.
"You… You are the first friend I have since my sister," she said, in a very low voice, never looking at him. "I can't… I won't let some space asshole kill you."
Before she could step back, Clark hugged her; she froze for a second, but didn't move.
"You're my friend too. And I won't let some 'space asshole' kill me or threaten my friends. You have my word."
And then he let her go.
"But I have to know what's happening. I'm going to have a talk with my father first, then I'll see what to do."
"Didn't you say your father…" Trish began.
"He is dead, yes, but I have an A.I programmed with his personality and memories."
Both of them stared owlish at him.
"Right… Alien stuff. Do you have a spaceship too?" Jessica questioned, sarcastically.
He smiled.
"Where do you think he is?"
Clark walked over to Trish; and, just as quick and sudden as she did earlier, he gave her a kiss.
"For good luck," he said, smiling at her blush.
He turned and approached Jessica; only to be stopped by a raised hand.
"I will give you a 'good luck punch in the mouth' if you step any closer."
Clark laughed and touched her shoulder for a moment, turning to the apartment's door.
"I gotta go now. I'll keep you both updated. Be careful."
And with that, he disappeared in a blur.
Maria Hill typed furiously as she moved around on her improvised command center in the Avengers Tower. Whatever happened with Jarvis and the rest of the electronics in the tower had apparently happened everywhere; every single TV, computer and cellphone in every country in the whole world. Different languages, perhaps, but the same message.
The most advanced systems in the planet were bypassed by the alien ship without offering any resistance at all. SHIELD was hacked, NSA was hacked, KGB, CIA, the armies across the globe, spy agencies… Well, if Jarvis had been taken over, probably the most advanced A.I ever created, there was little reason to believe any other computer would resist.
That, of course, had sent the entire world into a frenzy. Governments everywhere were in panic, troops were being deployed, the National Guard and the police were in place; they were behaving as if another "Incident" was about to happen and Maria couldn't really blame them for thinking that, because the thought had occurred to her as well.
And of course, there were the civilians. Maria sincerely didn't know how exactly mass panic still hadn't happened. An alien general had threatened Earth and, after Loki, that would usually be enough to send people running. Problem was, nobody knew where to run; Zod hadn't threatened a country or a city, he had threatened the entire globe. There was nowhere to run.
Inside the tower, things weren't that much different. Stark and Banner were running around, trying to repair Jarvis; Pepper was on the phone, getting updates from Happy and the security team; James Rhodes had left to get his orders from his superiors. Captain Rogers, Romanoff and Barton still hadn't come back, but they were on their way.
Her phone rang for a moment, before she hastily accepted the call.
"Hill speaking," she answered. "What is the situation, sir?"
"Brink of panic" came Fury's voice. "We are coordinating with the armies around the world, preparing the field, so to speak. The ship didn't move."
"Well, General Zod gave us 24 hours to find this 'Kal-El," Maria said. "I can order a search…"
"Forget about Kal-El, Romanoff already knows where he is," Fury answered.
Maria raised her eyebrows, surprised.
"Does she have him?" she asked.
"She said he will meet us tomorrow," Fury said.
That was weird, but she trusted Fury and Romanoff; if they thought the situation was handled, she wouldn't argue.
"What are my orders then, sir?"
"Assemble the Avengers. We are going airborne."
The doors of the Kryptonian ship opened to allow his entrance, almost invisible due to the massive blizzard. Clark got in, closing the door, the sounds of the storm dying immediately.
"Dad?" he yelled, too worried to be patient. "Dad?!"
"I'm part of the ship's systems, you don't have to yell," Jor-El said with a smile, appearing behind him.
Clark turned to him.
"Did you hear what happened?" he asked, in no mood for jokes.
Jor-El's smile disappeared as he nodded.
"Did you know Zod was alive?" Clark asked, getting closer.
"No. That was not an outcome I imagined possible."
"What do you mean?"
"Zod assassinated a member of the Council. He organized a coup. And he killed me. There was only one possible sentence for those crimes: the Phantom Zone."
Clark's face must have shown his confusion, because Jor-El continued.
"The Phantom Zone is a subspace plane of existence," he explained. "Another dimension. The Kryptonian people have been using it as a form of containment for criminals for thousands of years. Zod and his people were sentenced to it, after his failed coup."
Clark's eyes lost focus as he thought about what he said.
"But then, how is he here?"
Jor-El shrugged.
"Krypton's explosion probably released him somehow." He walked a few steps, hands behind his back. "That, however, would not be enough to guarantee his survival."
"How so?"
"Krypton was far away from Earth, Kal. Approximately 27.1 light years," his father answered. "Without fuel, food, water… It would be impossible to get here. And that, of course, if they began to travel here just as soon as they were released, which is highly unlikely."
"Then…?"
"The only possibility worth mentioning is that they somehow managed to retrofit the Phantom Zone Projector – the 'gate' that we used to reach the Phantom Zone – into a Phantom Drive." Jor-El looked at Clark. "That is the name I gave to the hyperdrive that I created to power the ship that brought you here. It works, in layman's terms, by bending space; it opens a tear into space, making the ship cross through the Phantom Zone, only to exit in another destination."
"A wormhole," said Clark.
"Yes. Zod's crew must have somehow managed to replicate what I did. It's the only possible way for them to make their way here."
He considered the words for a moment, and approached his father's hologram.
"And now that he is here, what does that mean to us?" he asked.
Jor-El didn't answer immediately. He searched his thoughts, trying to weight the possibilities, attempting to predict Zod's actions; he looked at Clark.
"I don't know," he said, finally.
Clark widened his eyes.
"What do you mean, you don't know?! How much of a threat is he?"
"Kal, I can't answer this precisely. There is much I don't know."
"He killed you! Doesn't that automatically mean he is bad news?"
"But he was also, once, my best friend," Jor-El retorted. "The greatest general Krypton ever had. The sword and shield of our people, that protected us from hundreds of threats, both from inside and outside. A man I once called brother."
Clark couldn't believe this. He didn't come here to ponder if Zod was a bad guy or not; he came here to know how to deal with a threat. And now his father was in doubt if he would even consider him a threat at all.
"So you think he isn't a threat?" Clark questioned, trying to understand.
"I think, son, that you have to decide for yourself after meeting him."
He laughed nervously.
"And if he kills me the same way he killed you? And if after that he decides to destroy Earth 'just because'? What do I do then?"
His father eyed him seriously for a moment; and then, his eyes opened in surprised.
"You are afraid," he concluded, as if amazed by the concept.
Clark laughed even more, almost hysterically.
"Of course I'm afraid!" he pretty much yelled. "There is a general orbiting Earth right now threatening my home! My mother, my friends, they are all at risk here and you are surprised that I'm afraid?!"
Apparently he was surprised, because he didn't answer immediately.
"I am sorry, Kal, I haven't… I didn't consider your feelings about this." He approached and looked at his son in the eyes. "Let me tell you this, however: you do not have to fear anything. You are my son, a member of the House of El, and you are more powerful then you can even imagine. When you realize this, you'll see that you don't need to be afraid of anything ever again."
Clark was so surprised by that answer that he didn't say anything back.
"Follow me, I have a gift for you," said his father, starting to walk.
Numbly, he followed him to another room, where there was a small floating robot.
"This is Kelex," Jor-El said, gesturing to the robot. "Back in Krypton, Kelex was the service robot of the House of El. I uploaded 'her' memories to the command key that I gave you but only now I thought of giving 'her' a body again."
"It is a pleasure to see you grown up, sir," Kelex said, proving the 'her' designation with a woman's voice.
"The pleasure is mine," he answered, almost by reflex.
Jor-El looked at him.
"Raise your left arm, please."
He did so, but almost jumped back when Kelex disintegrated into millions of little metal particles, only to reassemble herself around his arm, taking the form of a gray watch.
"That's… incredible!" he exclaimed, forgetting his problems for a second.
"I'm glad you think so, sir," answered Kelex, the voice vibrating his watch.
Clark gave a little laugh and looked at his father, who was smiling at him. Jor-El got close and raised his arms; if he could, Clark was sure he would've been touching his shoulders. He looked deep into his eyes.
"Son, I am proud of the man you have become. Lara would be too and my only regret is that Zod's coup robbed us the time it would take to load her memories and personality as well," he paused, still looking at Clark without blinking. "Whatever you choose to do, go to Zod or not, you will have my full support. But I want you to know, that if you choose to go, you won't be alone. Kelex, and myself, will be there with you the whole time."
He could almost feel his father's hands on his shoulders, his words filling him with warmth.
"I want you to remember, always: don't be afraid. You are now the head of the House of El and the symbol of the House of El means 'Hope'. Never forget this."
Clark sat at the church's bench, appreciating for a second the emptiness of the place. It was a beautiful church, full of statues and religious decorations, a big crucifix on the altar at the end. The morning sun didn't enter the place, so the lighting was provided by the lit candles and the weak lights on the ceiling.
He was never religious, but the possibility of some peace and quiet was too much to pass right now. Clark needed somewhere to sit down and sort out his thoughts and that little church on Hell's Kitchen seemed like a good place for that.
After talking with Jor-El, Clark went to Smallville; as much as he trusted his biological father's advice, he wanted to hear what his mother had to say. Apparently, great minds did think alike, because she told him something very close to what Jor-El said: to trust himself, and that whatever decision he made, she would support it.
It made him happy to know they would stand with him no matter what, but it didn't help him decide what to do in the least. Should he just go to Zod? Was that a good idea? Or should he try to talk with "humanity" – meaning Natasha Romanoff and SHIELD – and try something else, another plan? Was that a good idea?
"You look troubled, son."
Surprised, Clark looked up; he was deeper in his thoughts than he imagined, to let someone get so close without listening to them. It was a priest, an older man, with gray short hair, dressed in black clothes.
"I'm Father Lantom," he introduced himself with a deep voice, sitting on a bench opposite to his.
"Clark," he said, nodding.
He didn't say anything for a while, looking at the altar.
"I'm surprised the church is this empty today," he noted. "Usually it's the first place people run to when there is a problem."
Clark smiled.
"Only when there is a problem?" he asked.
"Well, you know how it is, there are no atheists on a falling plane," Father Lantom smiled.
He chuckled.
"I think the people of Hell's Kitchen are just more scared about aliens than others," Clark said. "But they are probably praying from home."
"I hope so," the priest said. "I'm afraid we are going to need all the help we can get if this turns ugly like last time."
Father Lantom closed his eyes for a moment, as if praying too, in silence. Clark didn't interrupt, he just kept pondering about what he would do.
"So…" began the priest, opening his eyes and looking at him again. "What ails you, son? Would you like to talk about it?"
Clark looked at the priest.
"I'm not religious, father."
"But I am. And my religion compels me to aid anyone who needs it. So I ask again, what ails you, son?"
Clark sighed, looking down for a moment, deciding; then he turned to the priest again.
"That ship that appeared last night?" he began. "I'm the one they are looking for."
Whatever Father Lantom was expecting, it obviously hadn't been this. His eyes widened and his eyebrows shot up. Clark smiled, sadly; he shouldn't have said anything.
"Do you know… why they want you?" asked Father Lantom after a few seconds.
He shook his head.
"No, but it's probably nothing good," he answered, looking at him. "But… But if there is a chance that I can prevent a war by turning myself in… Even if it's just a chance, shouldn't I take it?"
Father Lantom watched him without saying anything.
"What does your gut tell you?" he asked, finally.
"That Zod can't be trusted," Clark answered, fast. "That he won't keep his promise." He stopped and looked down, sighing. "But I'm not sure the people of Earth can be either."
No answer came from Father Lantom, even after a minute. Clark smiled sadly and got up, turning to the exit.
"Have you ever heard about the crucifixion of Jesus?" Father Lantom's asked, before he could get out.
Clark stopped, turning back to the priest again.
"Of course."
"Let me tell you what I think about this story," he said, getting up with a groan and approaching Clark. "Now, you may not be religious, but you most likely heard about the story of Jesus. Him being the son of God and all that?" Clark confirmed with a nod. "Good. That should save us some time."
He stopped for a moment, gathering his words.
"Most people think that Jesus was a paragon of goodness. The greatest example to follow. A man that never doubted himself and his mission and his faith," he looked at Clark. "In my opinion, they are wrong. I do think that he really is the greatest example to follow and a paragon of goodness too, but not because he never doubted; but because he did."
Father Lantom leaned over a bench.
"You see, the Bible tells that Jesus gathered apostles to spread his teachings. It was the great plan of God, written down since before he was born. And one of those apostles was named Judas. A name that you probably know too."
"The traitor," Clark said.
"Yes. But the thing is, Jesus always knew Judas would betray him. As I said, it was already bound to happen. He knew that even as they sat together to have a last meal. He knew that before he even chose Judas as a disciple; so the question is: knowing this, why did he? Why did he keep Judas as an apostle if he knew he would condemn him to unimaginable suffering and death?"
Clark didn't have an answer.
"Why?" he asked.
"The Bible doesn't say," Father Lantom answered, to Clark's incredulity. "But, I have a theory. I think – and that is my personal opinion - that Jesus did that to give him a chance. A chance to not betray him."
"But he did betray him anyway," Clark retorted after a second. "And Jesus died horribly because of it."
"Well, yes, but Jesus gave him every chance to not do that."
Clark opened his arms, confused; Father Lantom sighed.
"You are looking at it the wrong way. You are looking at it from Judas's point of view; Judas was always going to betray him. It was already written. God knew, Jesus knew. And yet, to try to save him, Jesus still gave him a chance." He looked at Clark. "Even knowing he would be tortured, even knowing he would die, Jesus chose to give Judas a chance. It was a leap of faith, a tiny bit of hope that maybe, just maybe, he would redeem himself."
The symbol of the House of El means 'Hope'. Embodied within that hope is the fundamental belief in the potential of every person to be a force for good. That's what you can bring them.
"Hope…" Clark whispered, the words his father said to him crossing his thoughts.
"Yes, hope," agreed Father Lantom. "Judas, sadly, didn't prove himself to be the man Jesus knew he could be. To Judas, in the end, it made no difference; but to Jesus, it made all the difference in the world. He gave him a chance. That's the important thing."
Clark didn't say anything for a long minute, thinking about what Father Lantom said. Then, he looked at the priest and nodded.
"Thank you."
And he turned to leave, a decision already forming in his mind. When he reached the door, however, Father Lantom's voice echoed in the church.
"That said, Jesus also knew he would rise again on the third day," he mentioned, as Clark looked back. "So, if you are not able to do that and if you are sure that this general is a bad guy, might I point you to yet another story, more of a mythological one… Have you ever heard of the story of the 'Trojan Horse'?"
Natasha looked around, studying the layout of the Helicarrier. SHIELD agents were running around, moving weapons, searching for information, preparing the Quinjets and the helicopters to be launched; Stark was making last minute improvements to his suit, probably trying to shield Jarvis from another cyber-attack; Captain Rogers was looking outside, more than likely forming strategies on his very military brain; Banner was sitting down, introspective, as if controlling himself and, more importantly, the Big Guy; and Clint, as always, had located a high "nest" so he could observe everything from afar.
All in all, it reminded her very much of when Loki appeared, they all together inside a Helicarrier, getting ready to fight an alien threat; because she did think it would come to a fight. No one with peaceful intentions threatened an entire world and simply left after that.
"Romanoff," Fury's voice made itself heard; she turned to see him and Maria Hill approaching. "Where is he?"
Clark Kent. Kal-El. The man both the world and General Zod were looking for. Natasha, however, knew that looking for him was a waste of time. The only places she could find him were his mother's home and his apartment in Hell's Kitchen; and he would only be there to be found if he wanted to. There was also the small fact that they couldn't take him by force even they tried.
Luckily, she didn't think they would have to try. By what she saw of him, he would show up rather than let this man threaten the world.
"He will show up, sir," she said, simply.
Fury sighed, irritated.
"Romanoff, did you even talk to him?" he asked.
"No," and before he or Hill could interrupt, she added: "But there is no need to. He will come, don't worry."
"I am worried! I…"
But before he could finish what he was about to say, an alarm began to sound. Agents and soldiers began to run, rifles prepared; the Avengers got up, running there as well. Without waiting for Fury, she also got up, going to the outside of the Helicarrier, running through the gigantic cannons and turrets that were aiming at something in the sky. And that's when she looked up and saw him.
Floating in the air, a long red cape swaying with the wind, Clark Kent looked down, clad on a form fitting blue suit with a red "S" on the chest. He completely ignored the soldiers and the Helicarrier weapons aiming at him, as if they weren't any threat, and then said, very calmly:
"I would like to speak to Natasha Romanoff."
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