Coffee Crisis

The Tractor

Author's Note - I did some research over "the tractor" in this story. It's basically a recreation of this gargantuan farming tractor that weighs 50 TONS (45,00 Kg for any non-Americans). I thought it would be suitable for Supey's training equipment.

Things are building up slowly in this plot, so just hang in there! The next chapter is gold. Hopefully. Probably. Please don't eat me.

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Sweat dripped down Conner's forehead making his eyes sting, and he could taste the faint trace of salt on his lips. Grunting with effort he continued, his concentration directed towards the automated voice being projected from the speakers in the cavernous training room at Mount Justice.

"Four hundred ninety-seven. Four hundred ninety-eight. Four hundred ninety-nine. Five hundred. Training session complete." Conner sighed and with a final heave, tossed the 100,000 pound (45,000 Kg) tractor he had been bench pressing to the ground, its monstrous tires thundering onto the pavement making the whole mountain shake. Conner sat up, relishing the sore, shaky feeling in his upper body after such a difficult workout.

When Conner had first joined the team, the notion of training made him scoff. He was the clone of Superman. Enough said. But, as he learned, training is not an option for any member of the League or the Team.

"You are strong," explained Batman, as he materialized out of the shadows where he had been observing "but, there is always room for improvement, and there will come a time when you will have to rely on skills other than your strength." Conner rolled his eyes and the Bat turned to address a buzzing com-link in his ear.

"Even Superman trains."

Conner raised his eyebrow, how did the Dark Knight read his emotions without even looking at him?

"Because he's Batman," a voice whispered in Conner's ear. Startled Conner jumped, but momentarily forgetting his strength in his current state of exhaustion, he leapt headfirst into the concrete ceiling.

Conner whipped around to give a little bird a well deserved, if not slightly rough, noogie, but his hands grasped thin air. Gleeful cackling resonated from all directions, and Conner turned to see Batman leaving the room, grumbling something about caffeine. Shrugging, Conner scooped up his water bottle and proceeded to follow the caped crusader out of the room. A golf ball sized chunk of concrete fell from the now very damaged ceiling and bounced off of his head as he exited.

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Sorry this chapter is so short!