Author's Note: Just to avoid any possible accusations of plagiarism I better point out that this story was first posted on the KryptonSite site under, appropriately enough, my other alias of subminimal.

Disclaimer: All characters in this story are copyright their respective owners.

Alias

Smallville. An apt name. Little town full of little people, every day like the one before. Sure the roads are a lot safer than back home, but nothing happens and it's driving me crazy. I'm used to the big city: New York, home of The Giants - The Avengers, Fantastic Four, Spider-Man, all the usual suspects. Smallville doesn't have any superheroes. Not yet. And I'm here to make sure it stays that way. The name's Jones. Jessica Jones. I'm a reporter.

Of course, none of this is my fault - I'm just here for a story. I got asked to help by Scott Lang, my ex-boyfriend and the latest Ant-Man. Of course, none of this is his fault either. He blames Hank Pym, the original Ant-Man. Of course, none of this is his fault either. He blames the keyboard manufacturer. All it took was a faulty R key, and he ended up e-mailing MsLang, rather than MrSLang, all the schematics for his super-duper new improved Ant-Man costume.

It turned out that MsLang was one Lana Lang of Smallville, Kansas. So Scott diligently set out to Smallville to retrieve the schematics from Lana, but ended up helping her build her own Ant-Man costume.

"She was like The Purple Man. I couldn't resist her," he claimed in his defense. Men!

So, that's why I'm here. Scott's asked me to talk Lana out of becoming a super-heroine. And, of course, I intend to. I was a super-heroine once, and I wouldn't wish that life on anyone.

I first encounter Lana in the Talon. Big eyes, never-ending smile, no evidence of brain activity. A bit like her friend Clark, who, like Scott, also seems unable to resist Lana. Then there's Chloe, who I instantly take a liking to, mainly because she's read my Bugle column. Lana's apparently got another friend called Pete, but I never actually get to meet him.

And then there's Lex, who's drooling all over me like a fanboy, just because I used to be a super-heroine. Apparently he collects Warrior Angel comics, but amazingly he's the only guy on the planet who can make comic collecting look cool. Wonder if he's a mutant? Anyway, he's full of all sorts of weird questions, like am I an alien. I ask you, what self-respecting alien would give themselves a dull name like Jones?

On the other hand, Chloe thinks my alliterative name's cool.

"That's why I stole my cousin's name Lois Lane as my pen name. Clark Kent, Lana Lang, Lex & Lionel Luthor - they all had cool alliterative names. I couldn't resist."

"Wow, all those alliterative names. That's freaky," I observe.

Suddenly, Lana hands me the phone. "Jessica Jones, there's a J. Jonah Jameson on the line for you."

"Hi, Jonah," I say. "Don't worry. With my powers of persuasion I should be able to wrap this all up tonight."

It's a week later and I still haven't persuaded Lana to give up the Ant-Man costume. She's as stubborn as a mule, but I've started to like her.

Like me, our parents both died in horrific accidents. I discovered that on the Sunday when I was expecting her to go to church (like all god-fearing smalltown folk), Instead she went horse-riding. Apparently she still hasn't forgiven God for throwing a rock at her parents.

Also, to my horror, she's already used the modified Ant-Man costume on numerous occasions. Turns out that she puts the idiot act on on purpose, just so that none of her friends will discover her secret. It's also the reason she can't let Clark get too close to her - she doesn't want to put him in danger.

Of course I try to make her give up. I tell her about how my costumed career ended. I tell her that for every famous microscopic hero you read about, there's another hundred unsung ones lining the soles of supervillains' boots. But she won't be dissuaded. She loves her secret life, and she loves the ants. Apparently, they really do talk like Woody Allen.

So, heaven help me, I end up helping her. Super-heroing 101.

First, I tell her to get rid of her animal sidekick. What self-respecting superhero has a super-pet. She's reluctant to go into action without "My Little Pony" but she agrees to it.

And then I look at the costume she's thrown together. It's awful, like some mutated yellow cheerleader outfit. And what are those letters on the chest. Are they supposed to be ironic?

"They're my initials," she explains.

"No superhero puts their initials on their chest. It's a fashion no-no."

"There's Daredevil," she counters.

"Yeah, but he's got an excuse."

Reluctantly, she agrees to replace the letters with an insect symbol - as if she needed to draw any more attention there.

And I ask you - what sort of name is Insect Queen?

THE END