The Super Killer

Ch.1

Superman was at the end of a brick-lined alley. He was dead, and his chest was cut open and hollowed like the inside of a pumpkin on Halloween. The removal of his organs was meticulous; the same was true of the extraction of his blood and urine. All were preserved in large mason jars, which lined the walls bordering the alley.

Super Investigator Palmer of the Super Crime Unit looked over the dead body while trying his best to keep his eyes open. It was early in the morning, with a slight breeze, and his brain was working at half its normal speed. He could see the corpse before him, but in his mind, he sat with Clark at the state dinner. He thought to himself, I just saw you last week.

A Metro PD officer approached Palmer. He was young, and his broad shoulders were ridged and tense as he trembled with fear. He said, "The hands of a fucking surgeon."

Palmer disagreed. "Then how do you explain his lower half?"

The victim's lower body from his waist to the inside of his thighs and genitals were not so much emasculated as they were obliterated. Palmer had never seen so much anger and hatred in his life. He turned away from the corpse and examined the alley around him. There were no signs of a struggle. No footprints from anyone other than the officers who found the body. Palmer thought to himself, Where did you get the time to do all this?

Above Palmer an early morning sky chased away what remained of night. The killer most likely flew or teleported to the scene. With morning came the threat of heat and the attention of a nearby raven. It was preening itself on a ledge while never taking its eyes off Superman. Supervillains usually claim their kills. The raven cawed and swooped at Palmer, leaving a white blob of shit on his black Bally shoes. The bird dipped, rose, then landed neatly on Superman's head. There will be more.

A rat scurried past Palmer right as his phone buzzed from an incoming call. He checked the ID; it was Commissioner Corporon of Metropolis. He answered the call and said, "I was about to call you. Superman's dead." He paused as the commissioner spoke. "It's a curse to be right all the time. I'll see you soon."

An SCU agent ran to Palmer. He was out of breath as he spoke. "Sir, I think we found the murder weapon. At least one of them."

"It doesn't matter," Palmer said with a cold shiver, "I'm needed elsewhere."

"But, sir, I think you need to see this."

"I said it doesn't matter."

"What about Superman?"

"He's dead. There's nothing more I can do here. Map the scene and send me your report in an hour. I'll need it for my meeting with Commissioner Gordon."

"Of Gotham? What's going on?"

Palmer lit a cigarette while staring at the shit on his shoe. He blew a plume of smoke into the morning air. "Superman wasn't our only victim."