Clark idly flipped through the television stations, dismissing each and every movie and show that appeared on the screen in his boredom. He wanted to be out in the world, doing things that normal people did. Maybe go to the movies. Maybe grab a bite to eat at one of the dive diners that were all the rage lately. Maybe stroll through the park, just enjoying the night. Maybe even meet some people he could consider as friends.
He sighed at the idea. He would never have those opportunities. Not while he wore a collar of Kryptonite around his neck. Not while Lex was lord and master of the remote that operated the collar. Not while he was nothing more than an assassin slave with no say in his future. He would never amount to anything more than a soulless killer.
Soulless? his mind whispered wonderingly. You tried to save the life of that young woman a few months ago.
Yeah, from a crash I caused, he dismissively snorted to himself.
True. But you still defied Lex’s orders. Maybe there’s more to you than you think.
Mentally, Clark shrugged. That was months ago. Yeah, I tried to save her. But I have no idea if I succeeded.
But his inner voice wasn’t so easily silenced.
Does it matter? The intent to save her life was there.
Yes, he realized with a start. Yes, it matters. I don’t know why. But it matters.
He tried not to think about the crash that had killed Sam and Ellen Lane if he could avoid it. But the night still haunted him. He still had nightmares about Lex finding out that he’d tried to call for help so that the young woman in the backseat had a chance to survive her injuries. Of course, he hoped that he’d succeeded in doing so. Though he’d lost all signs of life in her as he’d departed, he’d managed to make that silent 911 call, which had, in turn, been backed up by the driver of the other vehicle that had come across the crash. There was a chance, however slight it might have been, that she had pulled through. He wanted that to be the case. He couldn’t get her beauty out of his mind. Not that he would ever see her again, unless she’d lived and Lex sent him to finish the job.
A part of him – a deep, deep part he tried not to acknowledge much for fear that Lex would find out – dreamed of what it would be like if he could only break free from his penthouse prison. He was the most powerful man on Earth. He could do anything he wanted. He could start a whole new life somewhere else. He could have friends. Maybe he could even find someone who loved him – really loved him, his strengths and flaws alike. Perhaps he could even – as so many of his dreams showed him in vivid detail – find that mysterious young woman. While he knew, logically, that he would never have a chance with her, her exquisite beauty refused to leave his mind and filled his dreams with longing and desire.
But for all he tried to block out the memories of that night, his mind kept circling back to it, especially in the cold, dark hours of the night when he was alone in his room, floating above his bed, his mind left to wander where it would. He knew it wasn’t the killing that tormented his mind. He was well past feeling anything for the lives he took, because remorse would make him look weak in Lex’s eyes. And weakness would cost him his life. It was that woman. He wanted to know more about her. Her name, for instance. He’d heard the two women being called Lois and Lucy, but he had no way to know which name belonged to the woman he’d stuck his neck out for. Lex had said that one of them had been a reporter. What if she’d lived? Did she know or suspect that there was more to the crash than met the eye, if indeed she’d survived? Would she investigate the crash? What if she discovered his role in things?
The fleeting pride he had in doing the one good deed in his entire murderous career died in his heart. What if it came back to haunt him in a more tangible way? What if she had survived and figured out that Lex had sent his personal assassin to do the job? If Lex found out that he was the subject of an investigation, Clark knew his life would be forfeit right then and there.
I should have left things alone, he berated himself. I never should have stuck my neck out for her. I don’t even know her and I put my life on the line for her. Why? She won’t ever know who I am. She won’t ever know the risk I took for her. And even if she did find out all I did, what would she even think of me? The trained, enslaved killer who executed her entire family with barely any effort? The man who was crazy enough to defy his master to try to save her for no discernible reason at all?
As a result, he kept to himself, only interacting with Lex when it was absolutely necessary. He didn’t want to somehow betray his thoughts and actions to his former brother. If Lex knew that Clark had tried to call for help, he knew he would be sentenced to death – no trial, no jury, no appeals. Just the Kryptonite and its poisonous assault.
Of course, Clark’s self-isolation was nothing new. Ever since Lex had crafted and implemented the collar Clark wore, Clark had kept to himself. Where he’d once regularly spoken to the man he’d called “brother,” now Clark almost never spoke to Lex until the man called for him or addressed him in passing as Clark paced the walls of his lavish tower prison. And, as Lex was away more and more on business and with his presidential campaign, it had become almost too easy to avoid Lex. Clark had even been tempted on more than one occasion to use the times when Lex was away to try and break free from his miserable existence. But Mrs. Cox or Nigel were always around, almost like full-time babysitters. Clark would have to kill them to keep their mouths closed, but he just didn’t have the heart to kill if he didn’t need to. Besides, it would be in vain. Lex had added a feature to the second version of the collar – as soon as he got outside of a ten-foot radius of the tower, an alarm would be sent directly to Lex and the vents in the collar would open, even without Lex giving the command, unless of course, Lex disabled the feature when sending Clark out on a kill.
“Clark? Would you so good as to run an errand for me this evening?” Lex asked coming into the room, a mug of steaming coffee in his hands, his poise casual and relaxed, though Clark knew better for the flintiness in his “brother’s” eyes.
Clark sighed and turned off the television, then tossed the remote to the side. “Yes, Lex?” he asked with a tired sigh. “Who’s the mark this time?”
“Someone from your past,” Lex said cryptically as he led Clark to his office.
Clark wasn’t in the mood for guessing games. “I don’t have a past, Lex,” he sighed irritably as he followed the other man’s footsteps.
But Lex wasn’t paying him any mind. “Tonight, you’re getting a second chance to correct a mistake you made years ago.”
My entire life is a mistake, Clark thought with bitter hatred.
“What mistake would that be?” he forced himself to ask instead as Lex sat behind his massive desk.
“Bruce Wayne.”
“What?” Clark gasped, despite himself.
Lex nodded calmly. “It seems he’s finally come out from wherever he’s been hiding these past ten years since you botched the attempt on his life.”
Clark furrowed his brow, ignoring the deliberate barb. “Why? And why now?” he wondered.
Lex shifted in his seat, leaned forward, rested his elbows on his desk, and steepled his fingers. “It seems he’s taken my presidential bid as a challenge. He’s thrown his hat into the ring as well…of course on the same side of the political fence.”
“He’d have a lot of support,” Clark said, thinking aloud. “That is, if his disappearance for the last ten years hasn’t shaken people’s trust in him. If the people rally around him…”
“I’d be shut out of running at all,” Lex finished for him. “No doubt which he intends for.”
Clark nodded thoughtfully. “You think he stands a chance? I mean, you’re just as well known and…trusted,” he said, forcing the word out, “as he is. And you didn’t take off to parts unknown for a decade. Even if he was still managing his businesses from wherever he was.”
Lex appeared to ponder the question for a moment. “Unfortunately, people like him,” he allowed. “So we’re going to deny them the chance to flock to his campaign.”
Clark’s shoulders dropped. “I’ll go get changed,” he offered in submission.
“Do hurry,” Lex said with a satisfied grin. “I’ll give you the details of his whereabouts when you come back.”
***
An uneasy chill crept along Clark’s spine as he rocketed through the cloudless sky, a dark silhouette swiftly blotting out the stars, so quickly no one would be able to see him. Something felt wrong about this. And not in an “I shouldn’t be trying to kill Bruce Wayne” kind of way. He couldn’t place his finger on exactly what it was that was making Klaxon alarms ring in his mind. Maybe it wasn’t just one thing, he mused as dread coiled in his stomach. Maybe there was more than one thing that had him feeling so nervous.
“You sure he’s there?” Clark asked uncertainly, as he flew through the dark midnight sky.
“My source is good,” Lex said flatly.
“It’s just…if it were me, I’d be hesitant to go back to the place where someone already attempted to kill me,” Clark insisted over the headset. “Even a decade later.”
“He’s there,” Lex replied evenly.
Clark couldn’t help but to wonder why, all of a sudden, Bruce Wayne had stepped back out of the shadows. He’d been a ghost ever since the night Clark had been sent to kill the billionaire, but had, instead, killed an innocent teenager and then discovered that he could, of all things, fly. Did Bruce think that he was safe now? Did he think that, since ten years had passed since the last attempt on his life, now he was miraculously safe from the forces that were bound – in one way or another – to kill him? Did Bruce think that now, a decade later, he would be free to continue on as though the intervening years had never happened – that people would just accept he’d decided to reappear and act like it didn’t matter? Had Lex’s bid for the presidency really hit such a sensitive note that Bruce thought it was in his – and everyone else’s – best interest to emerge from his hiding spot?
Or was there some other, more sinister, explanation?
Every atom of Clark’s body believed it to be the latter. Every frantic, terrified beat of his heat screamed that he was flying into a trap.
So? he forcibly asked himself. He can’t hurt me. Trap or no trap, I’ve got the advantage. I have super powers, he doesn’t.
Or!
Clark stopped in midair as a new thought struck him out of thin air.
Why hadn’t he thought of that before now? The implications of such a notion made him tremble as though he’d been slapped across the face with a piece of Kryptonite.
Could it be that I’ve been set up? he wondered, forcing himself to give voice to the thought, if only internally. Could Lex be sending me, head first, into a trap?
He swallowed hard against the thought. He shook his head as if that would knock loose the idea and send it tumbling out of his mind.
Why? Why would he do that? he asked himself. There’s no reason for him to send me into a trap. If he wants me dead, all he has to do it press a button on that damn remote of his. There’s no need to get others involved in my execution. Unless…maybe they’re the ones he wants to dispose of my body?
“You’ve stopped moving,” Lex observed, his voice startling Clark out of his dark pondering. “Why?” he demanded.
“Lex…I’m not sure about this assignment,” he said carefully.
“What’s the problem this time?” Lex asked in a taunting tone.
“It doesn’t feel right,” Clark allowed.
He could practically hear Lex’s eye roll. “You and your flimsy new-found morals,” he muttered with disgust. He laughed derisively. “As if an assassin with as many confirmed kills as you could ever have the right to claim to have morals!”
“I’m making no such claim,” Clark replied stoically. “It’s just…all of this seems rather…convenient, don’t you think? Bruce Wayne, suddenly reappearing after all this time, now that you’ve formally thrown your hat into the presidential candidate ring.”
“I think it’s our missed opportunity come back to give us a second chance,” Lex replied, and Clark could envision the hungry gleam in Lex’s eyes as he imagined his imminent victory over his life-long business foe.
That, more than anything, convinced Clark that Lex didn’t have a gang of thugs waiting at Wayne Manor to kill him and bury his body in parts unknown.
He began to fly again. “It’s just weird to me,” Clark insisted. “He saw me last time, Lex. He saw me fly away. He knows it wasn’t a regular nutcase looking to kill him for his fifteen minutes of fame. And now he’s just…waiting around at his home, making it known publicly that he’s back? The whole scenario stinks, Lex. And I’m, quite frankly, surprised you don’t see it.”
“Let’s play a game and pretend you’re not entirely wrong,” Lex said after a few contemplative moments of silence. “You’re leaving out the main factor. Only I know your weakness. He can’t harm you. So why you’re crying about this errand like a weak little infant is beyond me. Do your job.”
Clark sighed audibly. “Yes, Lex.”
He hated how compliant he was forced to be. Especially now, when every fiber of his being was crying out for him to stop and flee.
He got to Wayne Manor a minute later. He stopped directly above the center of the impressive manor, remembering a night long ago when he’d hovered above the house, tucked away in a cloud, watching as snow fell on the rooftop like a white blanket of innocence to cover the dead body of a boy no older than Clark himself had been. He remembered how heavy his heart had been back then. Instead of being elated to discover that he could fly, his guilt had weighed him down so heavily that it was a wonder it didn’t pull him back down toward the ground, clipping his invisible wings.
There was no snow now. Instead, the night was hot and muggy and the trace scent of a rainstorm was in the air, though it was still far enough off that Clark gauged it would be midmorning before the first raindrops would hit the streets of Gotham. It would thunder and lightning too, Clark knew, from the way the fine hairs on his arms stood at attention in the air’s electricity. A fat bead of sweat rolled down his back, but it wasn’t from the oppressive heat or humidity.
“What’s the holdup?” Lex called over the headset.
Clark swallowed down the protest he wanted to make. “Just taking stock of things.” He zoomed in with his telescopic vision, sweeping his gaze over the estate grounds. “No guards on the grounds,” he reported back, without needing to be told to do so. He moved on to the manor itself, then blinked in surprise.
“Lex?” he half said, half asked, drawing the word out in warning. “He’s here.”
“What are you waiting for then?” was the impatient response.
“Something’s not right, Lex. He’s out in the open. Alone. Almost like he’s…waiting,” Clark replied. “He’s standing out on his balcony. Just…looking at the sky.”
Lex laughed, deeply and hard, and that alone was enough to convey to Clark just how stupid he thought his private assassin was. “A man can’t enjoy the fresh air without making the strongest, most invulnerable man on the planet shake in his boots?” Lex asked as he let out a fresh laugh.
“It’s not like that!” Clark said, wishing he had a way to show Lex the look on Bruce’s face. How determined he was. How deep the lines of concentration cut his features. How his stance was rigid and ready for whatever might come, a far cry from the relaxed liquid movements of a man out taking the air and looking at the stars. “He looks like…”
“I don’t care what he looks like!” Lex said, cutting him off in a low roar. “Get down there now and kill him!”
“I…fine,” Clark said as the weight of the collar around his neck reminded him of the danger of arguing too hard with Lex. “A slip and fall off the balcony would do it, I suppose.”
“Yes,” Lex said in agreement. “But, Clark?”
“Yes, Lex?” he said, forcing the words out.
“Do it slowly. I want to savor his death.”
Clark squeezed his eyes shut for a span of five rapid heartbeats, then he dropped into a descent, keeping his speed quick enough to avoid detection, but not so fast as to be anywhere near to breaking the sound barrier. He landed behind Bruce on the massive balcony, his feet touching down with whisper-softness. But Bruce appeared to have anticipated the move. Without turning, he spoke.
“It’s about time you showed up,” he said neutrally, his voice betraying none of his inner thoughts. “I was starting to wonder if I should go back inside and try this another night.”
Clark crossed his arms and nodded, more for his own benefit than Bruce’s. “You know why I’m here then,” he replied, his own tone giving away nothing.
“Of course,” Bruce replied, still staring off into the night sky. Perhaps he wanted his last view to be of the stars, rather than his killer, Clark mused darkly. “You’re here to kill me, just like you tried to do ten years ago.”
“Yes,” Clark admitted, his voice firm. He took one confident step closer. “You knew I was there that night for you?”
“Who else?” Bruce asked in turn. “Come now, what are you waiting for?”
Clark knew Bruce’s words echoed what Lex had to be thinking. But it was new and oddly intriguing to confront and speak with his target. None of them had ever known he was there, lurking in the shadows until it was too late. But Bruce knew, and Clark couldn’t bring himself to make a swift strike and end it so quickly. He took three more steps forward.
“I know you’ve killed before,” Bruce said. “Jason, for example. Don’t tell me you’re afraid now.”
“No,” Clark responded with a slight shake of his head. “You won’t be the first. Or the last.”
“How will you do it?” Bruce wondered. “Snap my neck? Stab me? Push me over the balcony railing? Slit my throat? Choke the air from me?”
Why is he asking these questions? Clark’s mind shouted in panic. Something’s not right about this! Fly! Fly away! Before it’s too late!
But Lex would open the vents and expose the Kryptonite the moment Clark’s feet left the balcony if he tried, so Clark swallowed down his misgivings and stayed rooted to the spot.
“Does it matter?” he asked in a gentler tone. “We both know how tonight will end.”
“On the contrary,” Bruce countered smoothly, “you don’t have the faintest idea of how things will pan out.”
Clark realized then that Bruce had had his hands in his pants pockets the entire time. Before he could fully react to the situation, Bruce brought out a small box, no larger than a ring box, and flipped open the lid. Clark felt the effects of the Kryptonite before he saw the shard of glowing green stone. His hands flew up to his head as pain exploded there, blinding him as it unexpectedly tore through his brain like a flaming hot poker. He cried out involuntarily and he fought to remain upright and standing. He failed. His knees gave way and he crashed to the ground, throwing his hands out before him to ensure that he didn’t smash his face as he fell.
Bruce turned to him only then, when Clark was on his hands and knees, struggling not to succumb any further, but losing that battle by the second. The billionaire had a blank look about him, like he was neither horrified by Clark’s agony nor pleased by the way he’d laid low the threat to his life. Clark found that unreadable expression terrifying in a vague, undefinable way. If he hadn’t been in such excruciating pain, he might have recognized his fear as stemming from the fact that he had no idea what fresh torment might lay ahead for him, now that Bruce, somehow, knew about Kryptonite’s power over him.
In his earpiece, Lex was ranting, but his voice was distorted by the cacophony of pain smashing through Clark’s tortured brain. He grunted against the sensation – it felt like he was being torn apart, cell by cell, atom by atom. Vaguely, he was aware that he cried out the word “No!” once or twice, but he did not notice when Lex opened the vents on the collar, until he saw Bruce close the ring box and the pain failed to alleviate. Then his arm muscles gave out and he crumpled fully to the ground. He did not see the frown of confusion on Bruce’s face; he was too busy feebly trying to tear the collar from his throat.
“Help me!” he wheezed out, to no one in particular, fully aware that he deserved no one’s intervention to save his life. But the pain made him desperate enough to make the plea anyway. “Please.”
His eyes squeezed shut as he gave it his every effort to try to stay conscious. He dared not slip into the void. If he did, he knew it was likely he’d never come back. The radioactivity would claim his life, worthless and bloody and miserable as it was. He didn’t want to die. He wasn’t ready to face whatever judgment might await him on the other side of death.
“What’s going on?” Clark heard a female voice call out.
“I’m not sure. I closed the box,” Bruce replied, his voice grave and concerned.
“Sir? What’s that?” Clark had a hazy impression of an older gentleman pointing at him.
“Quick! Alfred! Give me the…”
“Already on it, Sir!”
“Thanks.”
Clark was losing the battle against the darkness. Every part of him felt like it was aflame and all his body wanted to do was to close his eyes and let his life bleed away. But Clark’s will was stronger than the desires of his body. He stayed awake and watched what was happening, though his vision was blurred and his head was swimming with pain. The older man – Alfred, Clark guessed – handed Bruce a small electronic device. Bruce, in turn, fiddled with it for a moment, then pressed it against the collar Clark wore. If Clark had had even a fraction of his strength, he could have reached up and snapped Bruce’s neck to finish the job, so close was his target. But his strength had long since bled out of him, and Clark was weaker than a newborn baby. With the device pressed to the collar, Bruce tapped furiously at the screen, entering what had to be codes.
Then, to Clark’s everlasting wonderment, the pain disappeared. The vents in the collar slid noiselessly shut, locking the evil stone away again. The tension he’d held in his body went slack and his breathing came easier, though he felt tired and weak and very, very sore still. He knew, from experience, it would lessen in time, though he wished the sun was up so that he could recharge his aching body faster. No matter. He was a patient man. He tried to stand, but found it still not possible.
“That should do it,” he heard Bruce say to his companions.
“Brother?” Clark whispered in a barely-there voice, while Bruce and the others spoke quietly.
But there was no response. Clark frowned. He should have been able to hear Lex – yelling, screaming, ranting, swearing, telling him how worthless he was for screwing up yet another assassination. Instead, the silence was chilling.
“We have to move quickly,” Bruce said to the woman. “I’ve overridden the signal on that collar and headset of his, but whoever he’s been talking to knows his last position.”
The woman nodded. “Agreed. Let’s get out of here.”
“Where to?” Alfred asked, by way of agreement.
Bruce smirked. “I know just the place.” Then he punched Clark square in the face, and the world went dark.
To Be Continued…
