Tonnage

Cops and Thugs and Reporters, Oh My.

>>

It's Friday, and Tom is making his way to the clinic for his checkup. But once that's done he needs to get back to the yard quickly. It sounds like Lois Lane has moved up her interview to this afternoon because something went viral. And she's bringing her husband for some reason? He'd heard a lot of people had watched the video, but the way they sounded on the phone was a little crazy.

Last week, the Doc told him that if things looked good this time, she was prepared to cut the visits to once a month. Apparently, he is out of the 'mutagenic danger zone' where it is assumed that his body actually knows what it's doing.

He's getting a lot of looks on his way. Trudging along with his monstrous bag over his shoulder. On the plus side, Uncle Lou had made him practice until he could get everything on and ready in less than twelve seconds from grabbing the zipper. On the negative side, Lou had made him continue to practice until he could consistently manage that time. Which took something like an eternity as far as Tom is concerned.

Opening the door to the clinic, he is treated to a bit of a scene. There is a raggedy-looking man who is bellowing at one of Thompkins' nurses. Most of it isn't easily understood, but he is obviously looking for some kind of pain medication or drugs that the nurse either can't give him or has chosen not to.

When Tom ducks to get into the building, most of the people stare in shock which is slowly devolving into horror. Leslie, who was walking in from her office in the back, picks up her pace when she realizes what might transpire.

Tom steps up behind the man and stops. Just stands there. This continues for at least a full minute, with the man finally starting to realize that things have gone off script some time ago towards the end of the minute. Slowly. Almost comically, the man turns around, sees Tom, and screams. The rest of the room shifts nervously. Not knowing what to expect.

“Are you done with the nurse? I need to check in for my appointment if you are.”

This man finds himself looking up, and up. And up some more, as Tom had gotten to a respectful three feet behind the man before stopping 'in line.'

“Yes... Yes, I'm done.” Then he steps sideways, always keeping Tom in view. Once he can, he sprints for and through the door.

Tom shrugs, unconcerned with the individual at this point. “Hey, Doc. Here for my appointment.”

Leslie breaks into a light chuckle. “We'll have to put you on speed dial, that was the easiest we've ever gotten rid of that man.”

Tom shrugs, and the rattling from his bag makes the other patients stare in awe. This, to their minds, is a superhero. One that doesn't play patty-cakes with criminals, this is one that brings the pain to the ones that torment them and steal anything they can. That addict their children to vile substances, and shoot people when they're bored.

This is a hero more real than most, and he's right there in front of them with no fear or shame. Not hiding his face. And in supreme control, it would seem, or that man would have been a bloody red smear.

“If you want. But unless he actually hurts somebody that's about all I'm gonna do. I'd have called the police on him if it were me. Whatever he's on, a couple of days in the tank might clean enough out to get his head on straight. Maybe.”

Leslie shakes her head in amusement as she leads him back. “Follow me, Tom. Let's get you back on the road before something shows up you have to hurt.”

She and Tom chuckle their way towards the back. The rest of the people there aren't nearly as amused, but oddly none of them look afraid anymore either.

Half an hour later, Leslie Thompkins is holding back a snarl of irritation as she maintains her smile and waves goodbye to Tom on his way out the door.

Immediately after that, she does something that is pretty rare for her unless she is contacted herself. She uses the chat.

>>

Doc: Oracle, somebody has been into my computer system in the clinic. I know it isn't you because I noticed the issue. They were digging around in Tom's file. I want to know who did it, and I want them stopped.

Oracle: Leave your computer on and I'll take a look during my break in twenty minutes or so. No idea who it could be?

Doc: After that reporter outed him online to the entire world, I am afraid we are spoiled for choices. But whoever they are, they copied everything and didn't know or care that all transactions are logged at the server. So either a poor hacker I assume, or somebody with enough clout that they don't feel the need to worry about the consequences.

Oracle: So somebody good at their job, or somebody that isn't. That doesn't narrow it down much, Doc.

Doc: I put people back together. You find the bad guys.

Oracle: I suppose that's fair.

>>

When Tom makes it back to the yard he heads back to his shack and gets ready to get to this interview thing. But he gets sidelined by a text from his uncle while he's changing into his work clothes. He's half expecting he'll need the suit for the interview anyway, so it doesn't matter what he has on under it.

>>

Louis: You back yet Tom? I got some people here trying to get me to sign a bunch of crap for the government involving you and some kind of program for violent metas.

Tom: Yeah I'm here. Just got back. Do we need a lawyer or something?

Louis: Not sure, but I have an idea.

>>

Tom can't help the smirk as he takes his uncle's suggestion on his way to the yard office, where he can see his uncle and a couple of men in suits stepping out. They both have smiles that show no teeth. They both carry briefcases, and Lou is pawing through a folder as he takes the steps.

“Hey, Lou. What's up?”

“These people claim to be feds and they seem to think it would be a good idea to haul you off and stick you with a bunch of 'other' violent meta-humans until you've paid your debt to society. They don't seem to be keen on explaining why they need you though. Since the cops already know about everything and they don't seem to have a problem I'm honestly not sure why they are even here.”

They both look at Lou, one looks like he's getting ready to say something and Lou talks over him. “If the local police had a problem with Tom, they'd have said something instead of offering training with the local firefighters.”

“He tore off a man's arm and has been solely responsible for more than three hundred broken bones in the last two months. He needs training we can provide to become less of a menace before somebody dies, you know that. We told you inside.”

“I know that you came in and spouted dark-themed word salad for an hour. You never did get around to listing any charges.”

The two look at each other. “We aren't here to arrest the... Tom. We are just trying to get him signed up for the program before somebody has to lock him up.”

“Why would they have to? I've asked you clowns that at least thirty times. Never did get a clear answer. Claiming he's violent isn't an answer without a charge. Chihuahuas are far more violent than Tom. You signing them up too?”

“Look, old man. It isn't a choice. He can come with us or he can deal with it when the team shows up to collect him. He needs to go there, for his own sake.”

Tom shrugs. “No. I don't think so. But thanks anyway. I think we're done here. You should leave.”

The two look at each other, and the slightly taller one of them steps forward. “Tom, My name is Agent Stillwell. I have paperwork that says you need to come with me. It's signed and notarized by a government agency that deals with situations like this. You need to sign and come with us before something bad happens. To you or somebody you care about, because of you.”

“Did you just threaten my uncle?”

“I'm just telling you what will happen if you don't get in the van.”

Tom looks over and sure enough, there's a white panel van in the lot. The silence stretches for nearly a minute as they wait for Tom to respond.

Finally, Lou has had enough. “Kid, he's lying. If he had shit on you, he wouldn't need any signatures. I'm not sure what your game is, but I am asking you both now to get off my property. You aren't customers and you're harassing my employee.”

The slightly shorter one snorts. “That isn't a smart idea. The agency we work for tends to get what it wants in the end.”

Lou shakes his head. “I am going to ask you again to get off the property.”

The first talker speaks up again. “We aren't done here.”

Tom shakes his head. “Are you sure?” He is now looking over their heads and they can see another car pulling into the lot. It looks like a rental.

Lois Lane gets out of the passenger side, and for some reason the driver gets out as well. Then a van pulls up behind them that has the stereotypical equipment on it for broadcasting.

Finally, three police cruisers pull up and chirp their siren once each so people know they are there.

Once all that is done, he brings his hands up to his bib overalls and pulls his currently transmitting tablet phone out of his pocket. Jim Gordon is the name on the screen, and a moment later the name vanishes and is replaced by a face.

“Don't worry Tom. You are not in any trouble that I know about, and I am damn sure I know it all at this point. We'll figure out what the hell is going on here and let you know, but don't sign anything without checking with somebody well-versed in law for a while.”

The two men are now looking very concerned, but one rallies gamely. “We haven't broken any laws. You can't arrest us. What's the charge?”

Jim glowers at the men as his officers come up behind them. They are looking like they might try to make a break for it, reporters and cops be damned. When something that sounds like a bag of shotgun shells cooking off in less than a second is heard.

All eyes go to Tom. He has his hands put together in that 'I just cracked these' pose with his fingers towards him and palms out. He has a half smirk on his face and his voice is pitched low in volume and deep enough to be barely understandable. Yet somehow undeniably clear in his intentions.

“I think you are under arrest. Anybody that is fighting police or hurting people I have clearance to pacify. Are you fighting police or hurting people today?” As he speaks he takes five large steps. Closing the fifteen-foot gap far faster than anybody could have suspected from a standing start. When he stops, he is leaning over and looking down from about a foot away. “If so, speak up now. I'd hate to have to come back.”

Jim's amused voice comes through the tablet again. “I'm sure they'll be fine, Tom. These gentlemen were just about to get in the back of two separate patrol cars for trespassing after being asked to leave the property. The boys in blue there will divest them of anything metal with more mass than a zipper. Including their briefcases and their vehicle.”

One of them pulls out something from inside his jacket and then stops. Very carefully, as three things happen. First, Tom's hand goes around his neck. He doesn't squeeze. He doesn't try to hurt him. But it is obvious to all that he is going nowhere unless Tom allows it. A gun pokes directly into his back from one of the officers, who during all this is yelling for the rest of the officers to frisk them. Lastly, Lois Lane steps a little closer to the action than Tom is really comfortable with and shoves a microphone into the man's face.

“Hello, Agent Stillwell. Assuming that is your name, I am Lois Lane from the Daily Planet, currently working with Channel Four news here in Gotham as well. Would you like to explain why you came here under false pretenses to attempt to browbeat a child into what sounds like some kind of government-sanctioned concentration camp for meta-humans?”

The two clam up at this point, looking very nervous as their faces are captured by high-definition cameras carried by the news crew.

As they are about to get put into the cars, the one who introduced himself turns to Tom one last time. “Who all was on that party line?”

Tom shrugs. “Anybody that picked up. I called my friends list and anybody on the chat I use. Most of them are heroes, policemen, and firefighters. I figured between the lot of them somebody would know or could figure out what you were up to. Deciding to make your move when we had reporters coming though, that was all you. Thanks for that, by the way. Should make whatever problem you represent go away before I have to take off the kid's gloves.” Tom has a grin that stretches wide enough to chomp a double burger in a single bite. “After all, I wouldn't want to tear them up, and as a kid, any gloves I take off should qualify.”

Within minutes the police and their trespassers are gone, having collected everything these people had brought with them. Lois then looks at Tom with a smirk of her own. “That was fun! We'll need a place with decent light and at least an hour for the interview, but Tom.” Her smirk falls into a frown as she continues. “I think I can guess why they were here, and in all honestly it's probably my fault in a way. Tom, the video of you at Arkham has gone viral. Insanely viral. Everybody on the planet with an internet connection knows you by your first name now, and so things like this are probably going to keep happening. I am sorry, truly. If I'd known it would get picked up like this I'd never have done it.”

Tom ponders for a minute. “So how much goes to the charity?”

She shakes her head as if having a hard time believing that was his question. “I have no idea, Tom. It's in the millions though. It's really rare to get a video as good, violent, or lengthy as that fight was without somebody dying, which really makes posting it dicey. I think it found a home in the gaming community as well. The first-person nature of the videos really appealed to the mob.”

Tom shrugs, then nods. “So a lot of people are going to get a bunch of help they need, and all I need to do is read things before I sign them? I'm supposed to do that anyway. So we're getting millions to help people here and I just live my life?” He glances behind him. “You want the rest of my videos? I'll cut the same deal for all of 'em. Copies don't cost me anything.”

Lois' eyes sparkle. “If you're sure, Tom. I'd love a chance to see them at least. Maybe we could watch them together with Clark and my cameraman, you can give us your recollection of events as we go?”

Tom nods, grinning. “Sure.” Then he frowns. “I don't have the one from Gotham Point though, Commissioner Gordon gave my copy to the Firefighters so they could... Help me. With some of what I saw there.” He looks at her directly, his face carrying a hint of sorrow. “I honestly don't think it would be appropriate to put that one online anyway. I really, really don't.”

Clark speaks for the first time when Lois looks like she's trying to fight coming up with arguments of why she should see it.

“We understand, Tom. We wouldn't post something like that online anyway. What are the other ones?”

Tom turns and starts leading them back to his shack. “Oh, the one from the Gala is pretty good, except I took off the cameras toward the end so it isn't complete. And then there's the one where I had to dive and save some friends from the Fathom's Deep explosion. I have most of that one on two cameras, but one got damaged towards the end. Sorry about that.”

Lois nods. “That will be fine Tom. And thanks for being understanding about this.”

“I don't really want to be famous, but I have it on good authority from a lot of people that I don't have a choice there. So if it has to happen, I'd rather people that like me were doing the writing. You know?”

Clark smirks. “Yes, Tom. I think we know exactly what you're talking about. And we'll do our best.”