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A/N: So basically I decided to write about Tess collecting meteor freaks and creating her own "injustice gang" like in the upcoming episode. Although this story does take place in season 8, I have changed a few things. First thing: No Doomsday/Davis. Frankly, Doomsday freaks me out, so I left him out. Also, No Chimmy. They were never engaged/married or dating again. I'm a Chlart shipper. Third: Lana is back and super-power free. This creates tension between Clark and Lois. Fourth: And, you are probably going to hate this, but Chloe is Watchtower and still has her meteor ability and Braniac's genius (not to the extent of braniacs, but her IQ level is pretty high thanks to him. i:e process data quickly, human computer. She has no knowledge about other planets), so she can heal and is supersmart. 
Summary: Tess Mercer is on a mission, and that is to continue the work of Lex Luthor and his fight to create a super-human army, but it proves difficult when she can't capture Chloe Sullivan, and will go to deadly lengths to get her. Meanwhile, Lana's return causes a rift between Lois and Clark, and Clark struggles with his old feelings for Lana and his new feelings for Lois. However, when Clark realizes what Tess has done to Chloe, he relies on Oliver and the Justice League for help when Lois goes in over her head to track Tess down.
__________________________________________________ _________________________
Chapter One
THE COLD DANK air nipped at his face as he quickly ducked into a small café near the outskirts of Metropolis. It had been a long night for him, and much to his dismay, it was hardly over. All he wanted to do was go home and crawl into his warm bed, and forget about the world for 8 hours.
The café shop was small, with a long bar table with 5 stools and a couple of booths nestled against the dirty window. The decor was plain and simple; with the walls painted what he presumed was once white and it was accompanied by red furnishings.
There were a couple of truck drivers chatting amongst themselves, drinking back coffee and stuffing their faces with the pie that was on special. The chef was busy watching the nightly news as he flipped pancakes, and the lone waitress, whose name was ‘Ann’ had dropped the newspaper she was reading, and with a pot of coffee headed toward the booth that he now occupied.
“Coffee?” She asked in a deep voice that was caused by being a lifetime smoker. She looked older then she probably was, with lipstick that was fading, and make-up that made her look more like a street-worker then a waitress.
He nudged the coffee cup toward her as she poured the remainder of the coffee into his small glass.
“What can I get ya’ to eat?” She took her note pad and a dull pencil out, waiting to write something down. He looked up at the menu that was hanging above the open kitchen. He wasn’t really hungry, but he also was in no rush to face the cold night.
“What’s the pie like?” He asked; his voice as gruff as hers.
“Peach cobbler,” she responded, and he knew that would have to do. He watched as she made her way behind the counter, cutting the pie into a decent size. He took a sip of his coffee. It was bitter and cold, and when he received his pie it was stale, and tasted of nothing.
This angered him. Couldn’t people do anything right? He looked over at the two truck drivers—didn’t they care they were paying for utter crap? He then looked over at the waitress who was working on the crossword puzzle, while blowing bubbles with her gum, and the slob of the chef was busy consuming the pancakes that he cooked for himself while watching a repeat of the show COPS.
THUD! CRASH!
They had all turned to look at him. His coffee cup shattered against the floor and his fist aching from slamming it down on the wood table. He could hear his heart beat louder and louder, as his anger level went higher and higher.
“He man, was that necessary?” One of the truck drivers asked.
“You imbeciles,” He replied as calmly as he could. “Now look what you made me do.” Before anyone could react, he had used his meteor-ability to raise the flames on the stove, causing an explosion that took out the chef. Startled, the truck drivers and the waitress tried to escape, but he wouldn’t and couldn’t let that happen. He manipulated the fire, enclosing them in a ring. He watched as they pitifully gasped for breath as the smoke inhalation was cooking them from the inside out. One-by-one he watched them collapse, and when they did he ran back out into the cold night, feeling exhilarated and alive, however he had to get far away from the would-be-crime scene as fast as he could, so he headed North onto the poorly lit street when a black limo, from nowhere, pulled up in front of him.
Stopped in his tracks he watched as the passenger window rolled down.
“Impressive,” A women with a voice that demanded control and attention said. “Can I call you Carl, or do you prefer going by Mr. Janowski?”
“Who are you?” Carl spat.
The women poked her head out of the window. “My name is Tess Mercer,” She responded. “And I have a job offer for you and others like you.”
____________________
A/N: I apologize for the short chapter but, I will write more after. It's just to give you a taste.
Summary: Tess Mercer is on a mission, and that is to continue the work of Lex Luthor and his fight to create a super-human army, but it proves difficult when she can't capture Chloe Sullivan, and will go to deadly lengths to get her. Meanwhile, Lana's return causes a rift between Lois and Clark, and Clark struggles with his old feelings for Lana and his new feelings for Lois. However, when Clark realizes what Tess has done to Chloe, he relies on Oliver and the Justice League for help when Lois goes in over her head to track Tess down.
__________________________________________________ _________________________
Chapter One
THE COLD DANK air nipped at his face as he quickly ducked into a small café near the outskirts of Metropolis. It had been a long night for him, and much to his dismay, it was hardly over. All he wanted to do was go home and crawl into his warm bed, and forget about the world for 8 hours.
The café shop was small, with a long bar table with 5 stools and a couple of booths nestled against the dirty window. The decor was plain and simple; with the walls painted what he presumed was once white and it was accompanied by red furnishings.
There were a couple of truck drivers chatting amongst themselves, drinking back coffee and stuffing their faces with the pie that was on special. The chef was busy watching the nightly news as he flipped pancakes, and the lone waitress, whose name was ‘Ann’ had dropped the newspaper she was reading, and with a pot of coffee headed toward the booth that he now occupied.
“Coffee?” She asked in a deep voice that was caused by being a lifetime smoker. She looked older then she probably was, with lipstick that was fading, and make-up that made her look more like a street-worker then a waitress.
He nudged the coffee cup toward her as she poured the remainder of the coffee into his small glass.
“What can I get ya’ to eat?” She took her note pad and a dull pencil out, waiting to write something down. He looked up at the menu that was hanging above the open kitchen. He wasn’t really hungry, but he also was in no rush to face the cold night.
“What’s the pie like?” He asked; his voice as gruff as hers.
“Peach cobbler,” she responded, and he knew that would have to do. He watched as she made her way behind the counter, cutting the pie into a decent size. He took a sip of his coffee. It was bitter and cold, and when he received his pie it was stale, and tasted of nothing.
This angered him. Couldn’t people do anything right? He looked over at the two truck drivers—didn’t they care they were paying for utter crap? He then looked over at the waitress who was working on the crossword puzzle, while blowing bubbles with her gum, and the slob of the chef was busy consuming the pancakes that he cooked for himself while watching a repeat of the show COPS.
THUD! CRASH!
They had all turned to look at him. His coffee cup shattered against the floor and his fist aching from slamming it down on the wood table. He could hear his heart beat louder and louder, as his anger level went higher and higher.
“He man, was that necessary?” One of the truck drivers asked.
“You imbeciles,” He replied as calmly as he could. “Now look what you made me do.” Before anyone could react, he had used his meteor-ability to raise the flames on the stove, causing an explosion that took out the chef. Startled, the truck drivers and the waitress tried to escape, but he wouldn’t and couldn’t let that happen. He manipulated the fire, enclosing them in a ring. He watched as they pitifully gasped for breath as the smoke inhalation was cooking them from the inside out. One-by-one he watched them collapse, and when they did he ran back out into the cold night, feeling exhilarated and alive, however he had to get far away from the would-be-crime scene as fast as he could, so he headed North onto the poorly lit street when a black limo, from nowhere, pulled up in front of him.
Stopped in his tracks he watched as the passenger window rolled down.
“Impressive,” A women with a voice that demanded control and attention said. “Can I call you Carl, or do you prefer going by Mr. Janowski?”
“Who are you?” Carl spat.
The women poked her head out of the window. “My name is Tess Mercer,” She responded. “And I have a job offer for you and others like you.”
____________________
A/N: I apologize for the short chapter but, I will write more after. It's just to give you a taste.
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