What happened

Five-thirty-five. Bruce Wayne was in the elevator, going down.

So the City had seen fit to pull Arkham into the walls of itself.
The City had seen fit to pull Harvey Dent into itself as well.
There were kids running around in the Batcave.
Barbara Gordon was in a wheelchair.
He hadn't seen Dick yet.

His lips thinned. The small display of emotion was lost to all but the elevator doors.

Barbara was the key. Trust was almost impossible for him, but she had shown herself to be worthy of it the day of the explosions - the day Arkham appeared. He would go to her. Feel her out. See if she could be trusted to know that he had no idea who was with them that day in the Batcave. See if she knew anything about Harvey Dent in the City yet.

The muted ding of the elevator bell heralded the slide of the doors. Bruce stepped out, reaching for his cell phone as he did, and shouldered the door to the building open. It was doubtful that he had her number in his cell phone, but that was the first thing to check, just in case the City was being 'accomodating' again. He flipped through the Recent Dialed list, and was surprised to find 'Barbara Gordon' listed three entries back. When had he called her? Never. Not here, in the City. Have I? His steps mechanically took him out onto the sidewalk.

In that rare moment of distraction, he didn't watch where he was going. Purely by accident, he ran into ---

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The first thought Kyle had when he felt the earth shake was, 'Damn. There aren't any signs up about how to handle earthquakes. We never had earthquake drills'. Then he looked at his light board which had fallen off of his desk smashed to the floor, and thought, 'Fuck.'

Then he saw the smoke.

That was when he finally thought to stand up and look away from his desk. How were his coworkers handling the impromptu earthquake. Or whatever it was. They weren't handling it very well at all, actually. For all he could see, they were running through the resulting smoke like chickens with their heads cut off. Kyle couldn't really blame them; they probably weren't used to stuff like this. Hell, he wasn't even completely used to stuff like this.

The art department for The City's newspaper was on one of the lower floors, so when Kyle finally got his wits together and started yelling and ushering people out of the doors, he could at least have some comfort in knowing they all had a good chance of getting out safely. No one seemed to notice when he backed away from the stairwell and ran back into the main area of the floor where all the artists had their desks set up.

He moved slowly through the smoke, making sure no one else was trapped in the room and once he was relatively sure, he raised his hand. A green gas mask covered his face, and Kyle took a deep breath, hoping that he hadn't already inhaled too much smoke. Next he created a lantern, which shined brightly through the smoke, allowing him to move quickly to the large windows.

Where was the smoke coming from? Kyle wasn't immediately sure, but he was definitely leaning more towards an explosion now. He just didn't know from where. Looking out of the windows, he could see smoke pouring from some of the lowers floors as well, and a slightly grey tinge in the air above make him think that something had to going on on the higher floors as well. Across the street people were pouring out of another office building and onto the street, pointing up at both buildings. Grey smoke was pouring from their windows as well.

The building shook again, and this time Kyle could hear an explosion coming from upstairs. It was time to get out.

Kyle backed away from the window, back into the smoke where he was sure no one would be able to see him as a green glow engulfed his body. When it died down, he was suited up completely, mask included. He had to help somehow.

Though, as he started breaking through the window so that he could fly out, Kyle couldn't help but hope that some of the other heroes in this place had heard the explosions. Because he was pretty damn sure that alone he wasn't going to be much good.

OOC: Just a note, as stated before, everyone can participate in this, whether your character wants to be a bystander or wants to try to rescue people or even wants to try and make the situation worse. Any of those options is cool! NPCs may even come and interact with your characters.

Don't worry. Something will come of this. So yes. Post!

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Forward dated-the night after the meeting with Peter.

Summary: Lois catches a movie.



So far, there were no new leads in the Mayor story. Lois' attempts at gaining an interview had been stopped short by the Mayor's secretary, and all attempts at researching the history of Mayor Wilkins III fell flat. The information available all seemed to check out and support the Mayor's political history to a tee. She had a theory that the City had somehow conspired to make it appear this way, but there was no way to prove that theory, especially not to the many citizens who were natives of this strange place and couldn't possibly understand just how odd it was to exist in a place that somehow drew people in from other universes and other times and had buildings and streets and landmarks that were constantly in motion.

Not to mention a City that lacked a proper name.

Regardless, she had hit a dead end, and for tonight there was nowhere further to go in her research.

Which meant that a break was in order. She had a hard time remembering to take breaks from work, but she had come up against several walls and was beginning to get extremely cranky.

Not to mention that she had been in this City for months now and there was still no sign of anyone she knew-no Clark, Jimmy, Perry, and no Superman. Or rather, he'd been briefly sighted but not by her, and if he actually were here, wouldn't he have tracked her down by now?

She truly hoped so, though a small part of her feared that maybe he wouldn't have. After all, he was Superman to her, but she was just... Lois Lane. There were days when she wasn't entirely certain she registered on his radar, even if there were those brief moments when she was around him and they just... connected.

She began walking purposefully, remembering that on her way to work she had passed a movie theater that appeared to only show the classics. Or, if it was going to be one of those days, the Affair to Remember showings promised on the marquee were remnants of a building that had been out of use since that movie had been new.

Her steps quickened, as though getting there quicker would ensure that the theater would a) still be there and b) be in operation. As she turned the corner onto a side street, a sharp breeze hit her, and she pulled her tan camel jacket tighter around herself, shivering slightly as she did so, and not thinking about what it might be like to have someone to go to the movie with-someone who might put his arm around her and keep her warm as they made their way to the old theater.

Lois Lane was certainly a romantic. Those who knew her and had listened to her when she spoke about Superman knew it. But she still liked to think she hid it beneathe a tough as nails exterior.

Oh how blind even the smartest of people could be.

Of course, there was no one even remotely familiar here to catch her in the act, and so she was safe giving in to her more romantic, girlish side. And so, her face lit up as she spotted a lone person behind the glass ticket window. Signs of life were always good.

She approached and requested one ticket to An Affair to Remember, already anticipating settling into a nice evening of romance like none that existed in today's fast-paced and careless dating world.

Peter Parker stared at the two buildings that faced one another. Across the intersection of Main and Tenth, there were identical buildings with identical displays signifying the same specials in the windows. If The City was a consolidation of separate worlds then this was Lucifer’s domain. He was staring at two independent STARBUCKS.

”YOU GOT TO BE KIDDING ME – where do I go?”

These moments almost never happened in his normal life. No, these were moments for Spidey. Do we defuse the bomb or try to save the children? Parker counted to ten. At the end of ten? He didn’t have an answer. He decided to go to the one on the right and wait because he was right-handed. No mystical reason. No divine intervention. He had no idea how Lois Lane looked but he took a seat by the window. He imagined she would be dressed professional.

”NOTHING IN MY LIFE IS EVER SIMPLE,” he said into his hand.

[ Lane ]

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Lois had squatted on that rooftop for hours before finally making her way home, completely in shock. When she finally made it home, she'd leaned against her doorway and tried to calm her nerves as she tried to wrap her mind around what she'd just seen.

What she did know was that next time, there would be proof.

And yes, she could very well just bring her own camera around, but the pictures would be so much better with a professional. She needed Jimmy.

Unfortunately, Jimmy wasn't here.

And so, she needed to find the next best thing. Someone who was willing to follow her around in pursuit of this story. Someone who wouldn't be completely skeptical when she explained why she was following the Mayor around. Someone who worked cheaply.

The question was... who fit that bill?

She had scanned through all the staff photographers for the City Voice, even interviewed a few of them. She couldn't see herself working with a single one of them.

Finally, she'd come across a list of photographers who had at one time freelanced for the Voice.

After wading through several wrong numbers for the photographers on the list, she came to a Peter Parker.

Picking up the number, she dialed, praying that this would be it. She was losing time on the story with all this time she'd put into finding a photographer.

"Hello?" Lois cringed as a very old woman answered the phone. Most likely another false number. What was it with freelancers?

"Hello. This is Lois Lane. I'm looking for Peter Parker?" she couldn't keep the question out of her voice.

"Peter? Oh. I'm not sure if he's home. Let me check for you Ms-"

"Lane," Lois supplied, inwardly sighing a breath of relief as she heard the woman set down the phone and call for Peter.

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It was amazing how easy it was for Lois to lose track of time in the City. For some reason, it seemed even easier than it had been in Metropolis. Of course, there she'd had Perry, Jimmy, and Clark to remind her when she was working too late. Here, there was nobody to notice or even care if she got engrossed in a story.

Sure, that sounded fatalistic, but on some level it was true. For all those times Lois had just wanted them to leave her alone when she was on a roll, she would gladly trade that for the freedom she had now.

On this particular evening, she had worked entirely too late. The offices of the Voice had been all but shut down, save for the one reading lamp still lit on Lois' desk. On finally finishing her story and suppressing a yawn as the exhaustion from the day truly sank in, Lois stood, only now registering just how late it had managed to get.

Sighing, she stood and shrugged into her coat, turning off the lamp and allowing her eyes a second to adjust to the dark before reaching for her purse and keys and heading towards the front doors.

As she let herself out onto the street, taking a moment to gain her bearings and determine the right direction to head into the ever-changing City, a little voice at the back of her mind questioned the intelligence of venturing out into the night on her own. But an even louder, more determined voice insisted that she was more than capable of seeing herself home. After all, she wasn't exactly helpless, now was she? And who ever said a female wasn't just as capable as a male of walking home alone at night... in a strange City where the streets happened to change and the crime rate was through the roof.

Okay, so not exactly the most intelligent decision, but she wasn't about to call Lex, and she didn't have money in her purse for a cab, having spent her last seven dollars on a bran muffin and triple mocha latte on her way to work. Both of which were no longer existent in her system, given the growling protests of her stomach and the lack of energy she was feeling at the moment as she turned down a side street, taking what she hoped was a shortcut to her apartment-which had turned up a few weeks ago, shortly after the uncomfortable confrontation with Lana Lang-make that Lana Luthor. At least, it had been a shortcut the other day.

As she turned down the narrowed street, she realized with a sinking feeling that it was definitely not the same shortcut. And looking back, the Main street seemed to have disappeared as well.

She was just beginning to run through possible courses of action when she heard a low snarling behind her. She turned around, and then shrieked, turning promptly back the other way and taking off as quickly as she could in her pumps.


Feel free to jump in as either the attacker, or the hero. Whichever :)

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It was odd, beyond odd, stepping into an apartment for which she didn't have the keys, but which she knew like the back of her hand. At first glance, everything in the Luthor Penthouse seemed familiar. Lana nodded to the attendant who'd led her up from the ground floor and would most likely be waiting outside the door for the hour or so she'd been permitted to come gather her belongings.

As the door closed, she took a closer look around. There was a picture or two in the wrong place. Some art she'd never seen before. One or two pieces of technology she didn't recognize. But those were small things.

She walked over to a bookcase and began to peruse the titles. Lana nodded to herself. Here were the true differences. None of her books were here. And the general tone seemed historical. Warfare historical. She supposed that said a lot about a Lex who'd been pushed towards businesses. And she firmly believed it was a push. A strong push.

She'd never realized before how well she knew her husband and how much it meant that they'd been best friends before they were married. But it meant that there were things she noticed, tells. And this Lex carried them, but they were all triggered by the wrong things.

Turning away from the bookcase, she headed across the greatroom to the hallway with the bedrooms and stopped short. Was that a woman's pump ? Lana turned and looked at the room again, things seemed a little messier than she would have expected, but there were no other signs of a female guest. On the other hand, she didn't recognize the shoe.

Cautious, Lana walked down the hall to the master bedroom, but stopped at one of the guest rooms. The door was a bit ajar. She pushed it open.

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Lois had just finished securing herself a job with The City Voice. The editor was no Perry, but he seemed to be fairly straight-to-the-point and no-bullshit, so she had a feeling they would get along just fine. He'd been hesitant to give her an assignment beyond writing some sixth-page level stories on recent City social events, given that she was a newcomer to town and could not provide samples of her work. Somehow, he hadn't even heard of the Daily Planet or Metropolis.

Well, as much as she resented losing everything she'd worked for over the years and starting over from scratch, she was confident she'd prove herself soon enough. And it sure as hell beat sitting around and accepting the younger Lex's charity without giving anything in return.

Stuffing the palmtop she'd been given to help her complete her current assignment into her purse, she walked through the glass doors, stopping as she heard a shower of gunfire. Reacting quickly, she ducked around the side of the building, climbing up the fire escape, attempting to get a better view of the events. Did she pause, for even a split-second to consider taking cover?

No, of course not. When Lois Lane smelled a story, she dove in headfirst, without stopping to consider her own personal safety.

And so, adrenaline pumping and mind on getting the scoop before anyone else did, she continued her climb up the fire escape, focusing on getting to the top of the building as quickly as possible.

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The streets of small towns in Kansas were not supposed to be poisonous silver-grey even beneath heavy, dismal rain clouds. Lex was sure of that. Smallville had never looked quite so unwelcoming as it did just at that moment, as he stepped into the alleyway around behind the Talon. He wanted to talk to Lana about some paperwork, and get some business cleared away before settling down with one of her (surprisingly good) mochas. His pleasant plans were slowly being infected with a viral, creeping nervousness, and Lex shoved his hands deeper in his pockets as though to ward off chill.

His hand rested on the handle of the service entrance lightly, afraid, suddenly, that something was going to happen-- that the knob would shock him, that someone would step outside at that moment. And around Lex everything darkened and squeezed as though the world had shut its eyes for a moment to sneeze.

Lex stumbled, the doorknob his hand was resting on suddenly no longer existing. In fact, the door no longer existed-- it was a blank, slate gray wall. He could see a Starbucks sign just around the corner, where the Talon's sign should have been. Lex sucked in a shuddering gasp, stumbling out of the alley and glancing around frantically. This was definately not Smallville. And, while he was used to really strange things happening in and around Smallville and Metropolis, this wasn't Metropolis either (although he recognized the highrise his penthouse was situated in).

"At the risk of sounding cliche," he said to no one in particular, half-hysterical laughter teasing the edges of his voice, "I don't think we're in Kansas anymore."

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The bus came to a stop with the definite feeling that it wasn't going to move again, and he looked up. Pale blue eyes met those of the driver, reflected in the mirror above the wheel, and silently asked the question.

"Last stop," was the brief explanation, the words in joual-accented English.

He glanced outside, at the buildings and the streets, and didn't recognize any of it. Actually, the only thing he did recognize was the interior of the bus. No landmarks, or even familiar shapes, were outside. Puzzled, he stood up and made his way to the front of the empty bus.

Odd. He could've sworn there'd been more people, but then, he didn't pay much attention to the general populace while riding a bus.

"Where are we?"

The driver shrugged. "End of the line, sir."

That told him absolutely nothing, and he rolled his eyes up towards the ceiling before muttering an insincere thank you and heading down the stairs to the sidewalk with exaggerated footfalls. As soon as he was out, the doors hissed shut and the bus rolled away. Its absence revealed more unfamiliar architecture.

Jean-Paul didn't think he knew all of Ottawa, but he'd certainly spent enough time there to know that this was no street that he'd heard of, or seen – whether from the ground, or from the air. Grumbling to himself, he stalked off down the street, turning the high collar of his coat up against the weather and the unsettling feeling that he was completely and utterly lost.

He made it a few blocks, still without seeing anything, or anyone familiar. He didn't see many people at all, actually, aside from the odd lurking shadow. Sometime after crossing the fourth street, his patience ran out. There was no one watching who mattered, and it was going to take him forever to search the streets this way. It was better to just –

Zip.

– and then he was slowing to a walk again, only a second later, but with half a dozen non-descript, unrecognized blocks visited. It figured that the one time he'd been willing to swallow his pride to ask Jeanne-Marie for some sort of forgiveness, he would never even make it to her. If she'd checked her message machine and actually listened to his message, and was expecting him, she'd think him immature, now, or spiteful.

"Wonderful," he muttered to himself, the word slipping into French. If he didn't have to use English, he wouldn't, and since there was no one around him that he was actually talking to, he didn't.

There was still flight, and maybe, if he could get up high enough he'd be able to see a place he recognized. Maybe he'd ended up in a completely different city, though that was next to impossible. Continuing the search would be better than standing around and waiting for someone to find him, though. He'd feel better for at least trying. His head tilted back, eyes studying the rooftops calculatingly. Eh. Why bother with the extra thinking when he knew he would end up there regardless of how appealing the roofs were as landing pads? He could land wherever he wanted. His glance turned to the sky, briefly, and then he was airborne. Then he was above the rooftops, and able to see... nothing. A wall, mostly. A little higher, and he could see treetops. Nothing but treetops, for miles and miles.

What. The. Hell.

Jean-Paul tried not to look as frustrated as he felt, and dropped onto a rooftop, arms crossed tightly over his chest. It would've been nice to have received some warning about a weird teleporter/reality-shifter/what-have-you running around Canada. Maybe he would've paid more attention to things. Maybe he wouldn't have landed himself in a city in the middle of a giant forest.

Maybe he would've reconciled with his sister. Maybe not.

Maybe hypothetical situations, hindsight and sarcastic suggestions about how things should've gone wouldn't help him figure out where he was.

Maybe.

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