2012, Sept 25. Under a Bridge {Clark Kent}

A warm night on the eve of autumn such as this might have been considered beautiful. Crime was at an all-time low, thanks to the actions of an as-yet-unnamed (and for many, unseen) vigilante. But even though street crime was quickly facing the threat of the red-and-blue blurred Good Samaritan, this had led to a new sort of crime, one that the city would come to know well in the near future. Aliens and monsters, madmen and psychopaths, these were the new evil that not just New York, but that the Earth itself would come to know, and mankind would be left wishing for the days of muggers and thugs.

One such example of this future would take New York's underground by storm, on that warm near-autumn night. For some reason, a mad scientist thought that it'd be a great idea to unleash mutagenic toxic waste into a soup kitchen for the homeless. Sure, the people would never have found it there, but unfortunately, the hungry homeless population did, and the rest was, as a Time Lord might say, history - flesh-eating history.

The police and the public had no idea of these events, or maybe they just didn't care. Because it wasn't happening on the street, but below their feet, they remained unaware as always. It was something that Clark was used to, taking action from the shadows for so long. Even now, as he punched the jaw off of a former Wall Street tycoon-turned-flesh eating hobo, the red coated hero thought of his visit with the enigmatic Time Lord known as the Time Lord, and how his apparent future would impact the lives of the people of New York.

Following his superhuman hearing, Clark became a blur through the sewer system, his blood red overcoat flapping madly behind him. In the time it took him to get to the next incident, he had plenty of time to continue thinking about the subject. They'd be forced to confront the weirdness that they ignored, but perhaps more importantly, they'd embrace this weirdness, in the form of their "Man of Steel," as the Doctor continuously referred to him. He was supposed to be a big shot hero, right?

In that time span, Sally Sparrow had become busy with her camerawork, although she should have been paying attention to those sounds behind her. Indeed, there was a homeless person, but not just another one. This time, the homeless person was, for lack of a better word, dead. Or undead, to be more precise. Letting out a gut-wrenching moan, the walking corpse extended an arm, placing his hand directly onto Sally's shoulder.

Thankfully, before Sally could become the next meal for the zombie, the Last Son of Krypton arrived in a blur of red and blue. With superhuman strength, the formerly living hobo's arm was completely crushed, relieving Sally of his grip. The rest of his body was tossed into the siding of the bridge, turning it into bone and debris. Clark mentally noted that the mutagen completely destroyed the insides of their victim, leaving them nothing more than a dead husk. He'd find whoever leaked that sludge, but first, he had to tend to the woman he just saved, who he now noticed he had been standing next to for a few seconds, allowing her ample time to see his face. Deciding to put on his best hero act, he continued.

"...you alright?"

Of course, to the unsuspecting woman, the zombie had just appeared to be a run-of-the-mill homeless man. After all, there wasn't much difference between a zombie and a hobo. Bringing his hand up to scratch the back of his head, Clark had no choice but to explain. "He wasn't actually, you know, alive. Maybe at one point, but, uh, long story short, there was a chemical outbreak at a soup kitchen."

The hero in the red coat bent down and picked up the hobo's head, which had been separated from the rest of the gore. Despite being separated from its body, the head continued to move. Boils etched its face, while the tongue that slithered in vain out of its mouth oozed with a hideous green substance. "It's almost like they were never even alive. No heart beat, no breathing, no body heat, and, as you can see, they're still moving despite mortal injury." Slowly, he bent down again, placing the head up against the side of the bridge. "A fate worse than death." Just then, his voice lowered. "I'm sorry. Nobody deserves this." With that said, a blast of pure heat was released from the bright blue eyes of the hero, turning the head into dust and ash.

For a moment, Clark slumped his shoulders, his face towards the ground. Could he really do this for the rest of his life? Facing threats like this, and having to deal with such mindless destruction? One thing was for sure: "Whoever did this, I'm going to find them, and I'm going to make sure they pay." As he spoke, his normally inhumanly blue irises flashed a glowing red, tinged with a bit of orange, indicating that he was holding back the heat that had been unleashed upon the undead head.

Coming out of his own little world, Clark finally paid attention to the words of the woman he'd saved, and an embarrassing sort of smile played on his lips. "Uh, I don't know, really. When I was younger, they called me the 'Super-Boy of Smallville', but of course, nobody ever saw me. Now that you've actually seen my face, I don't know. Call me...I don't know. The Blur?" He thought for a second, and then almost stuck out his tongue. "No, that's terrible. I don't know. Wow, I'm saying that a lot. We'll figure it out."

Suddenly, there was a multitude of groans in the distance, causing the future Man of Steel to whirl around to face the sound. "Although right now, we have more pressing matters, Ms. Sparrow."

"Believe me, I had no idea that the zombie apocalypse was on its way." Ah, there was good ol' naive Clark. Maybe it was his sheltered upbringing, or the fact that kids in Smallville were more into getting high and stupid. Clark lost himself in the world of books as a child, getting away from what most of his other peers were doing, save his close friends - and they became close for that exact reason. All of them were different from the rest of Smallville's youth, though admittedly, Clark was far, far more different than they could have ever imagined.

"I don't think they did it on purpose." Still standing firm as the sound of the groans grew closer, Clark continued. "I think they were planted there by somebody. There were serial numbers on the barrels - something big, like a corporation, maybe even the government. This was a test, to see how something like this would progress. As much as it pains me to say, there are people in this world who view the homeless as beneath them, and they think it gives them the right to use them as guinea pigs." His reporter's instinct had kicked in when he had initially examined the soup kitchen. True, he still had no idea where the barrels had come from, but he'd sure as hell figure it out.

For now, they had more pressing matters. From behind a curtain of nightly fog came a group of similarly garbed monsters. They were dressed in all manner of ragged clothing, from torn beanie caps to ripped jeans. Some had beards, many were decaying, and none had heartbeats. They were dead, just like those that came before.

"I'll have to figure out a catchy little nickname later. Right now, there's work to do." Giving Sally a final glance, it became obvious that the technicolor hero was just as unsettled as she was. Despite the fear that resided behind his glowing blues, Clark put on the strongest of smiles, projecting an image of willpower and hope.

And then he was off, the blur of red and blue slamming into the initial coupling of zombies. Slowing down and revealing himself, the future Man of Steel slammed his fist quite literally through the face of another reanimated corpse. While he was busy with that one, another attempted to come from behind and sink its teeth into his skull, only to lose the lower half of its head as it made contact with the invulnerable flesh of the scalp. Finally, a wave of heat vision was unleashed upon the remaining three, searing their rotting bodies into ash and soot in the same manner as their initial encounter.

Taking a moment to survey the last two bodies, he shook his head before a final blast of heat was directed at them, ensuring that any sort of infection that the dead had wouldn't be unleashed. His job finished, the vigilante made his way back to Sally, his head hanging the entire time.

"I'm not a killer. I never have been. I just don't believe in it. But now, as I stand here...destroying bodies, I can't help but feel like one." His words were full of emotional, almost too strongly, considering the fact that he just met this woman. But at the same time, it showed how unbelievably open the unnamed hero was, not hiding his face or his thoughts.

With a shake of his head, he came out of his thoughts, once more facing the photographer. "We should probably get going. I'm not picking up signs of any more around here. Is there any sort of safe place I can take you to?"