“Ugh,” Clark grunted as the world slowly drifted back to him.
The sounds were the first thing to return as reality coalesced around him. Low voices. The scrape of a metal chair on a tile floor. Televisions, all tuned to various news stations. The relentless thrum of some air conditioning or air filtration unit. The whirr and beeps of a fax machine. The harsh ringing of a phone, just before someone picked it up to answer. The light tapping on a computer’s keyboard.
All of it seemed too loud for his aching head.
After a few moments, he cracked one eye partly open. His vision was still fuzzy, but it too seemed to be swirling back into some semblance of normalcy. He risked opening the other, blinking in the too bright and too artificial light of the fluorescent tubes in the ceiling.
“Ugh,” he groaned again, unsure if he should be glad to be alive or to rue that fact.
Gingerly, he pushed himself up off the hard cot he’d be laying on so that he could sit and take stock of his new surroundings. A few details jumped out at him immediately. The first was that he was still in one piece. A quick examination of his body showed that he’d suffered no injuries other than a black eye and a split lip from the punch Bruce had thrown. Somehow, luckily, his nose remained unbroken. The next thing he realized was that he still wore the Kryptonite-filled collar around his neck. It felt heavier than usual and Clark was suddenly compelled to try all of his powers.
Nothing.
Crap, he thought as a cold ripple of fear ran up his spine and he had to take a moment to fight down the bubble of panic that was rising in his chest.
What else can I learn? He forced himself to stop and focus on the rest of his surroundings.
He was in a cage, that much was obvious. And someone – probably Bruce, he figured – had relieved him of the body cam and earpiece he’d been wearing. His hidden blade was missing too. Clark absently rubbed the place on his wrist where the gauntlet should have resided. He felt oddly naked without it, being in this hostile new location. Even if he never got the chance to fight his way out, the weight and presence of the blade would have set his mind at ease, and he wondered where it had been taken to. Funny, how he missed it now, when all it had ever done was remind him of his immoral job and of mistakes he’d made.
The cell itself was fairly Spartan. A hard cot to sleep on, the mattress thin and covered in clean white sheets, over which a course brown blanket had been draped. The pillow was almost as hard as the bed, but Clark supposed it could have been worse. He could have been forced to sleep on the cold, hard floor. An exposed toilet to his right as he sat on the bed. A stainless-steel sink bolted to the wall directly next to the toilet. Across from him, stood a small plastic desk and a rolling computer chair – as basic as they came. Someone had left a tray of food there. Clark saw a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on the plate, an apple, a banana, and a bottle of water. Beads of condensation on the plastic told him the water was still cold, which meant someone had delivered the food to his cell recently.
He wondered how long he’d been knocked out for. There were no windows anywhere that he could see. And no clocks - at least, none in his line of sight, though he figured there had to be some somewhere if the time couldn’t be judged by looking out of the window. He couldn’t tell based on his own body – it didn’t give off the same cues as a normal person’s body would have. He was neither hungry nor was he not hungry. He had no urge to use the toilet. The Kryptonite induced pain in his body had subsided, but his head still throbbed from the force of Bruce’s punch, though it was a dull ache, and not as acutely sharp as it otherwise might have been.
All in all, he decided his fate at the moment could have been worse. He was still alive and the vents in his collar were firmly sealed shut. That meant Bruce had to have control over the signal. If Lex still had control, Clark knew he’d be dead and rotting somewhere. Of course, he didn’t know what Bruce’s intentions with him were, but at least for right now they didn’t seem to include a dead alien assassin. And his prison cell, sparse and uncomfortable as it was, afforded him at least the basics. Sure, it wasn’t the luxury he’d known at Lex Tower – relative luxury at any rate, he reminded himself, knowing that Lex provided him with the cheapest finery he could get his hands on – but it would be enough. Just being away from Lex Tower was a luxury Clark had never dared to hope for.
What’s wrong with you? his mind asked. You seem almost glad to be a prisoner.
Not glad, he corrected himself as he allowed his eyes to move past his cell bars and out into the area beyond – a large community area from the looks of it. Not glad. Just…relieved to be beyond Lex’s reach for the moment.
Bruce will kill you, his mind sneered back.
That might be a blessing in disguise, Clark acknowledged back.
Deciding not to let the offering of food go to waste, and wanting to seem a little appreciative of the gesture, Clark gingerly rose from the cot and sat at the tiny desk. He sniffed the sandwich suspiciously, but without the aid of his super abilities, he couldn’t detect if there was any poison in the meal. He took a bite regardless of that fact, figuring that his life was forfeit anyway. If he stayed here, unable to escape, Bruce would likely kill him, or have him killed. And if he did escape, he’d never have a life. Lex would hunt him down and kill him. But the sandwich didn’t cause Clark to double over in pain, vomit blood, or foam at the mouth, so he took another bite. He ate without interest and without gusto. He did it mechanically, first swallowing down the sandwich, then the banana. The only thing he did finish with enthusiasm was the water. The cold liquid felt good in his throat and he downed it in five large gulps. He set the apple aside, figuring he could eat it later to give himself something to do.
“So, you’ve decided to rejoin the living,” Bruce’s stern voice said from behind Clark.
Clark stood and spun toward the threat reflexively, taking a defensive stance.
“No need for all of that,” Bruce said, waving his hand in dismissal. He appeared to notice the apple Clark had put to the side. “Go ahead. Eat up. There’s plenty more where that came from. You won’t starve here. I know what was left for you probably didn’t seem like much, but I was told it would be better if you ate lightly once you awoke.”
Bruce clasped his arms behind his back, in a relaxed, yet attentive manner as he studied Clark.
“You aren’t what I expected,” he confessed after a few moments.
Clark gave him a questioning look, not trusting Bruce enough to speak just yet.
“No, that’s not an insult,” Bruce amended. “I’m actually a little impressed. You haven’t yelled or raged inside your cell. You haven’t cursed me out. You ate, rather than throw your meal in anger. It’s…not often I…hear of such complacent prisoners.”
“There’s no point in it,” Clark allowed himself to say. “It’s a waste of time and energy, and accomplishes nothing.”
Bruce nodded thoughtfully. “Agreed.”
“Where am I?” Clark demanded to know. “What is this place? What did you do to this thing?” he continued, pulling gently on the steel collar around his neck. “What do you want from me? To kill me? Then do it!” he challenged. He stepped out from around the desk and went to the bars, gripping them as tightly as he could. He didn’t reach for Bruce. That would have been pointless.
“I’m afraid there’s a lot I can’t tell you,” Bruce said, unfazed by Clark’s outburst. “But, I will say this. You’re in a very, very secure underground facility, from which, there is no escaping. So don’t get any ideas. Every inch of this place is covered with closed-circuit video recorders. As for the collar? I jammed the incoming signal. Whoever was controlling it before can’t access it anymore. I can access it at any time, however. So, again, don’t get any ideas.”
“You want to kill me with it,” Clark accused in a dead, cold voice.
“Not if I don’t have to,” Bruce countered amicably. “You see, I’m not like you. I don’t kill people.”
Clark snorted. “You know absolutely nothing.”
“Then tell me,” Bruce challenged.
“Nice try,” Clark shot back. “But I’ve got no reason to trust you.”
“I stopped whoever was controlling that collar from killing you,” Bruce pointed out, his voice hardening in the slightest degree
.
“Yes, how generous of you,” Clark replied, the sarcasm dripping from his tongue, thick as honey. “You want me to trust you? Take this off of me. If you overrode the signal, then you have the power to open this thing up and take it from me.”
Bruce smirked. “Nice try,” he said, echoing Clark’s earlier tone, smirking. “For the time being, it’s in my best interest that you remain wearing it. In the future…? Who knows.”
Clark snorted again. “I’ll believe that when pigs start to fly.”
“Suit yourself,” Bruce said with a shrug. “Let’s talk about other things, shall we?”
Clark set his jaw in a hard line. “Actually, I’m a bit tired of talking. In the future…? Who knows,” he said, deliberating using Bruce’s own words against him.
Bruce clenched his jaw tightly. Clark could see the muscle ticking there. One hand curled into a fist. “That’s only fair,” he replied, but his words sounded forced. “I’ll be back later.”
“Take your time,” Clark coldly retorted.
As Bruce’s back stiffened and he strode confidently away from Clark’s cell, Clark watched, his knuckles turning white from how hard he was gripping the bars. He wished with all his might that his strength would return. He longed to feel the steel buckle and bend beneath the pressure of his fingers like sticks of softened butter, but he was no more powerful than a normal man, and the metal retained its shape. After Bruce disappeared from his sight, Clark retreated back to his cot. All around him, people moved to and fro, rushing off to whatever tasks demanded their attention. None paid him any mind. Even the armed guards stationed about the large communal room ignored the man in the cell, their eyes sweeping the area constantly for real threats, unlike the caged alien in their midst.
Clark laid back on his pauper’s bed and folded his hands behind his head. He sighed heavily. If what Bruce had said was true, that they were in an underground facility, it was possible that his powers might never return. He knew, from experience, that his abilities needed sunlight to in order to recharge. And that sunlight was never more crucial to him as it was after being exposed to Kryptonite. While his health would – and had, for the most part – return in full, his powers would remain missing until he could charge them by soaking up the sun.
I’ve exchanged one prison cell for another, he thought miserably. And I’m not sure which one is worse. A luxury cell in a penthouse, controlled by a madman, or a tiny hole in the wall, deep below ground with barely serviceable amenities, and under the whim of a man I’ve tried to kill twice now. At least Bruce doesn’t appear to be insane. I guess that’s at least one positive. But I know only too well how quickly things can change.
***
Bruce wasn’t lying when he’d told Clark there would be plenty more food. Three times a day – or at least Clark assumed the meals were coming at normal mealtimes within twenty-four-hour periods – meals were brought to him. They were nothing to brag about, in terms of how basic they were, but they were flavorful and filling, and Clark couldn’t care less that they weren’t the extravagant meals he’d been afforded back in Lex Tower. He didn’t need cocktail shrimp or filet mignon. He didn’t need lobster ravioli or gelato imported from Italy. He didn’t need specialty teas or sodas. He barely even needed food at all, at least, not when he had regular access to sunshine. But down in this underground area which had never known natural light, Clark needed whatever food he could get to maintain his energy and not starve to death. So he gratefully accepted the bagels, scrambled eggs, toast, bland tea, sandwiches, hamburgers, bottles of water, bags of chips, overcooked vegetables, tepid soups, and whatever else was given to him. He ate every bite at every meal, wasting nothing, even when the food was less than enjoyable.
He didn’t see Bruce again for days. Or, he assumed it was days. It might have been as much as two weeks. At first, Clark had tried to gauge the passage of time by the meals he was given, but it all soon began to blur into one never-ending, timeless existence. He could have been there a year and it all would have felt the same to him. Sporadically, he was let out of his cell, shackled, and led off to another area to shower, change clothing, and be shaved of the stubble that cropped up on his cheeks and chin. In the beginning, it had felt dehumanizing and humiliating to have someone watch as he cleansed himself and then be robbed of his ability to even shave. But, gradually, he learned to look forward to those precious moments where he was free of his cage, even if the freedom was no more than an illusion.
As time passed, he found himself going almost stir crazy from the sheer boredom of hours upon hours, days upon days with nothing to occupy his mind and time with. He would have cut off his left arm for even a single book to read. But more than that, he wanted human interaction and conversation again. The men and women who brought his meals and escorted him to the shower never spoke a word to him. Clark figured they were under strict orders not to interact with the prisoner more than they absolutely needed to. Bruce’s idea, probably, he’d come to surmise. He knew the billionaire wasn’t stupid. He would want to break Clark’s mind and spirit so that Clark would be more cooperative when Bruce finally rematerialized to ask him questions.
Clark tried to thwart that plan. While he dutifully cooperated with all that was demanded of him – not resisting his shackles, making no move to attempt escape when let out of his cell, handing over his empty food trays whenever someone came by to collect them – he always tried speaking with whoever showed up at his cell. He’d attempt to make small talk, to ask questions, to make observations, to make requests for a different type of fruit at his next meal, or a book to read, or a new roll of toilet paper. But each attempt failed. Not a single one of them so much as nodded in acknowledgment, let alone spoke a single audible word to him.
This is worse than being in Lex Tower, he would sometimes decide. At least there people acted like I existed. Kind of. At least…I existed to Lex and Mrs. Cox and Nigel, if not to the world at large. Here though? I’m almost a ghost.
He slept a lot, in order to combat the oppressive boredom that he felt and to try to retain his sanity. But he simply didn’t need as much sleep as a regular person, and he couldn’t force himself to burn as many idle hours as he would have liked in this manner. He spent some of his time doing pushups and sit-ups, simply to keep his muscles toned. Of course, his attempts weren’t perfect. His strength and muscles had never been something he’d needed to work on. All of it had been naturally gifted to him through his powers. So he stumbled his way through the limited exercises he could do in his cramped little cell. But at least it gave him the sense that he was doing something mildly productive.
And still, Bruce did not come to see him.
Clark was beginning to give up all hope that the billionaire would ever reappear. Perhaps his fate was to grow old and die in that cell, forgotten by the world. Not that the world had ever known he’d existed. He’d left no lasting impact on the world. He’d never touched a life in a positive way. He’d been nothing more than a Shade of Death, flitting in and out of the shadows, bringing the gift – or curse – of oblivion to all he came across. No one would remember him, outside of three people. Four, if he counted Bruce, but he wasn’t sure he could. It almost felt like he’d been completely forgotten as he rotted away in his cell, though he knew, logically, that wasn’t the case. And yet, Clark refused to ask for the man. Of all the things he tried asking his jailors for, he never once asked to see Bruce. He wouldn’t give the billionaire the satisfaction of that. When Bruce was ready to come to him, Clark would be ready and waiting.
It happened one afternoon – Clark assumed it was the afternoon since a lunch styled meal had been served to him. He’d just gotten back from a typical shower and shave. His hair hadn’t even fully dried yet. He heard footsteps coming toward him as he sat on the cot, his head hanging down to study the floor, chin resting on his chest. That was odd. Typically, he was left completely alone after a trip to the shower, at least until someone got around to bringing him his dinner. But, as curious as he was to know who was approaching, he waited until the footsteps stopped before he looked up. And when he did, he did it slowly, feigning disinterest.
“Perhaps you’re ready to talk now?” Bruce Wayne asked, standing in a relaxed way, his hands behind his back.
It felt so surreal to have someone speaking to him that for a moment, Clark felt like he was in some kind of dream. He almost nodded in enthusiasm, but he held himself in check at the last possible moment.
“H…how long have I been in here?” Clark asked, his tongue heavy with disuse. For all that he’d tried to speak with his guards, he’d long since stopped really trying to get an answer out of them.
“Not quite two months,” Bruce replied, his voice giving away no emotion.
Two months?! Clark’s mind screeched. How can that be?
He didn’t know whether to feel like two months was too long of a time to have been down below the Earth’s surface or if two months was too short. In some ways, it felt like one nightmarishly unending day that he’d been in his cell. And in other ways, he felt like years should have passed by while he paced his tiny prison and suffered almost complete isolation.
“You don’t believe me,” Bruce offered after a moment, during which, he’d appeared to be studying the confusion Clark knew was showing on his face.
“I’m…not sure,” Clark admitted.
“This will help,” Bruce said, producing a rolled copy of The Daily Planet from behind his back. He crossed the distance and slid the newspaper through the cell bars. “Go on, take it. Check the date.”
Clark warily did as he was bid and cautiously accepted the paper. He unrolled it and read the date on the front page. Bruce wasn’t joking. It was just shy of two months since he’d left Lex Tower on his mission to find and assassinate Bruce. He made a move to hand the paper back, but Bruce shook his head.
“Keep it,” the man told him with a wave of his hand, almost like a shooing motion. “It must be getting awfully boring in there.”
Clark wanted to make a retort more than he’d ever wanted anything in his life. But he bit his tongue and swallowed down the sarcastic reply that was dancing in his throat.
“I’ve managed so far,” he said instead.
Bruce nodded. “Indeed. Still, it might do you some good to read about what’s going on up there, above us.” He pointed to the ceiling, indicating whatever it was that lay above ground level.
Clark looked at the paper, then set it aside on the desk, careful to maintain a neutral expression. He refused to let on to Bruce how thrilled he was to have something – anything¬ – to read. For a couple of seconds, he even debated if he should thank the man for the paper at all.
“What do you want with me?” he finally decided on instead.
“To talk.”
“We’re already doing that,” Clark pointed out sarcastically. “Or am I imagining this conversation?”
Bruce smirked in a way that Clark didn’t like. “Sit,” he commanded his prisoner.
Clark didn’t budge, but Bruce disappeared for a moment, only to return with a rolling computer chair – this one much plusher and more comfortable than the one Clark’s cell had been so generously furnished with. Bruce pulled it up to the cell, leaving a four or five-foot gap between his body and the bars. Then he sat down.
“Sit,” he told Clark again.
“I’d rather stand,” Clark replied hostilely.
Bruce shrugged as if it didn’t bother him either way. “Suit yourself.”
“What do you want with me?” Clark repeated, his voice stony.
“Information,” Bruce answered after a moment.
“Take off the collar first,” Clark volleyed back.
Bruce shook his head. “Now why would I do that? I have no reason to trust you.”
“And I have no reason to trust you,” Clark replied sharply, “but yet you want me to give you exactly what you want.”
“Touché,” Bruce allowed. “But you forget that I’m not the one in the cage. Now, unless you fancy a year or more of absolute silence before I allow anyone to speak with you again, you’ll drop the attitude and talk to me.”
“Yes, you’re so tough,” Clark shot back. “You think I can’t see through the façade you’re wearing? You think I can’t see under that mask? You’re scared of me. Of whatever connections I might have on the surface. You know an attempt was made on your life – twice now. You don’t know who else is lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike. And you’re scared. You don’t give a flying rat’s…”
“Ah, ah, ah,” Bruce cautioned, wagging his finger at Clark. “Remember which of us can access the vents on that collar of yours.”
“You wouldn’t dare. You won’t kill me so long as I have the answers to your questions. Without me, you’re back to square one, aren’t you? Don’t deny it,” Clark challenged.
“You sure are cocky for a man at the mercy of his jailors,” Bruce replied with calm collectedness. “How willing are you to test your theory, really?” He reached into his pocket and pulled out a small, slender device.
Despite his show of bravado, Clark involuntarily flinched at the sight of the remote. Bruce grinned in a grave manner and nodded his head slightly.
“I thought so,” he continued, seeing Clark’s reaction. “So why don’t you knock off the attitude with me.” It wasn’t a question, nor was it a request.
“You lock me up for two months,” Clark began, ticking off his points on his fingers. “You refuse to allow anyone to speak to me. You wouldn’t even allow me so much as a comic book to read. And you insist on keeping this damn collar on me!” Clark hit one of the cell bars hard with the palm of his hand. “But you want me to be your meek and willing prisoner?” he scoffed in disbelief.
“Tell me,” Bruce said without rising to Clark’s challenge. “If you were in my position, with a dangerous assassin in your custody, how would you proceed?”
“I…” Clark paused, at a loss. “I don’t…” he stammered.
Bruce shrugged nonchalantly. “I see.”
Clark forced himself to take a calming breath. “Okay, fine. I see your point. But that doesn’t mean I’m suddenly okay with being forced to wear this collar, like I’m a damned animal!”
Bruce shrugged again. “In time, we’ll see about that. But for now, we have more important things to discuss.” His eyes narrowed and a flintiness came into them. “Who are you? Who sent you to kill me?”
Clark ignored the questions. “Take the collar off me first!” he insisted.
“No!”
Bruce didn’t quite yell the word, but it was loud and forceful enough to sound like a gunshot. All around them, the underground world came to standstill. People stopped what they were doing and looked at the two men. It lasted only a few heartbeats before everything seemed to lurch back into motion.
“Then you’re no better than…” Clark swallowed down Lex’s name, unwilling to reveal his master, not out of loyalty to his brother but through the uncertainty of how much of a madman Bruce Wayne might well turn out to be. “My employer,” he finished lamely.
“Who is your employer?”
Again, Clark ignored the question. “Ten years now. Ten years I’ve been forced to wear a collar that can be used to execute me whenever the mood strikes the master of the remote. Ten years I’ve borne this weight around my neck and on my mind. Ever since I botched that attempt on your life the first time.”
“When you murdered my friend, Jason,” Bruce nearly sneered.
“He wasn’t meant to die!” Clark swiftly defended himself. He looked away from Bruce, still feeling the shame of his mistake, still hating himself for stealing away the wrong life that night. “I was too quick, too sure of myself, and I struck without double checking my target. I’ve regretted that night every single day since it happened. I’m…I’m truly sorry for what I did that night.”
“Why don’t I believe you?” Bruce shot back, his voice hard and unyielding as stone.
“I don’t expect that you would,” Clark replied in a quiet voice. “But it is the truth. When I was sent to kill you, I was told only you and your butler would be in the house. Instead, I waited for hours until those kids were gone. I had no idea one of them stayed behind.”
“Jason wasn’t one of the kids from the party,” Bruce growled through gritted teeth. “He was living there, at the house. He…he was my partner.”
“He was a little young to be your lover, don’t you think?” Clark taunted. “Was he even of legal age? Tsk tsk! We had no idea your tastes ran so…fresh and young.”
“My business partner,” Bruce snapped.
There was honesty in Bruce’s words and written across his face. Clark found himself believing the billionaire.
“Sorry,” he apologized, without entirely meaning it.
Bruce’s demeanor softened by the most minuscule of degrees. He nodded once. But the moment passed like a summer sun-shower, and the man’s face soon became stormy again.
“Who is your employer?” he demanded again.
“I…can’t. I won’t give him up.”
“Your loyalty is misplaced,” Bruce warned him.
Clark laughed, hard. “Loyalty? You think loyalty has anything to do with this? Loyalty to a man who collared me like a dog, threatened my life repeatedly, and subjected me to the sto…contents of this collar on more occasions than I care to admit? Loyalty? Pah!” He spit the words out like poison.
“Then why are you protecting him?” Bruce demanded.
“Protecting him? No. Protecting myself,” Clark clarified. “As soon as you get what you want from me, you’ll kill me. You don’t think I’m smart enough to know that?”
“I have no interest in killing you,” Bruce replied, leaning back in his chair.
Clark snorted. “Of course you do. You’ll deem me too dangerous to be allowed to live and you’ll open the vents on my collar or take out that box of yours, and let the Kryptonite do its job.”
“Kryptonite? You mean the piece of meteor my source discovered.”
Mentally, Clark kicked himself. He’d let that slip too easily. He’d have to be more guarded in the future. But, for now, maybe giving away the name of the rock wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Perhaps he could use it to gather his own information.
“Yes,” he admitted, taking pains to make it look like he was ashamed of himself for letting the information slip. “At least, that’s what we’ve been calling it since we discovered that it can hurt me.”
Bruce nodded. “My source…he claims it’s a space rock. Something never before seen on Earth.”
“How does he know, for sure?” Clark pried.
Bruce hesitated, clearly aware of Clark’s game, but choosing to play it after a moment. “He’s a government man, special ops. He’s been involved in all things extraterrestrial for years. Alien abduction stories. UFO sightings. Examining any reported meteorite crashes.”
“Sounds like a nutcase,” Clark replied smugly.
“Not really,” Bruce said with a shrug. He spread his hands. “I’ve known Trask for years. He’s about as bright as they come.” He studied Clark for a long moment. “That rock. It’s radioactive.”
“I know.”
“And you’re the only person it’s been known to affect,” Bruce continued. “You aren’t from Earth, are you?”
Clark looked away, as though if he didn’t look at Bruce, the billionaire would cease to see him in return. “I don’t know,” he settled on as a response. “I’ve been told that I’m not.” Shame burned him to admit that he wasn’t human. He wasn’t even sure why he was admitting it at all.
“Of course you aren’t human,” Bruce mused, almost to himself. “I watched you fly.”
Clark nodded. “Yeah,” was all he could offer.
“Kryptonite? Krypton…ite,” Bruce said, pondering the word. “Krypton. That’s where you’re from?”
Clark took a deep breath before replying. “Supposedly.”
“I see.” Bruce frowned. “Are there more of you out there? More alien assassins, ready to prey on unsuspecting humans?”
Clark flinched at Bruce’s emphasis on humans versus aliens. He’d always known he wasn’t an Earthling, but he’d rarely viewed himself as alien, save for at his darkest moments. His powers aside, he didn’t feel like he was all that different from regular human beings.
“It’s just me. And trust me, that’s more than enough,” Clark responded, finding his spirit again and wanting to fight.
“Clearly,” Bruce said, a hint of amusement in his voice as he gestured to the bars that imprisoned Clark. He stood up and paced a little before the cage. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves though. You know who I am, but you still have yet to extend the same courtesy to me. Who are you?”
“Does it matter?” Clark replied with disgust. “When you kill me, are you going to erect a headstone with my name on it?” He sneered. “You’ll throw me into some shallow, unmarked grave just the same as my employer would have.”
Bruce frowned. “Perhaps two months of isolation wasn’t enough.” He made to move off. “We’ll try again when you’re in more of a mood to have a civil conversation.”
“Fine. Go. Run away,” Clark growled.
He would have said more, but a set of hurried footsteps caught his attention. From around a corner, a woman emerged, moving quickly, making a beeline for Bruce. Clark blinked, wondering if he was seeing a vision, and his breath caught in his throat. He pressed himself up against the bars, trying in vain to get a closer look at her face.
“Bruce! Jimmy needs you for something,” she called out as she got closer.
Bruce nodded as he turned to her. “Thanks, Lois. I’ll be right there. It seems our guest needs some time to reflect on how much he wants to continue to rage against us and what the consequences are.”
“He says it’s urgent,” she countered.
“It’s always urgent with him,” Bruce chuckled.
The woman shrugged. “You know he’s risking a lot, helping you with things. If Perry found out he was ditching his responsibilities at the Planet…”
“Not so different from you,” Bruce pointed out gently.
The woman huffed. “If Perry had his way, I’d be wrapped in bubble wrap and fitted for a bulletproof vest every time I got out to chase a story. That’s why I didn’t tell him anything about what’s really going on with us.”
“He still thinks you’re just covering Bruce Wayne, presidential candidate, huh?” he asked, his eyes twinkling in amusement.
She shrugged. “Better than admitting that I’m helping said presidential candidate with his amateur investigation into an assassination attempt.”
“Good point. Okay, let’s go find Jimmy,” Bruce offered, and they both started away.
“Wait!” Clark called out, unable to stop himself. He reached out toward the woman.
Both she and Bruce stopped and turned back to look at Clark.
“Yes?” they asked together.
“Who are you?” he asked, his eyes locked on Lois.
“The woman who brought down the man who tried to assassinate the next President of the United States,” she said disdainfully.
“You were there, that night?” Clark asked in disbelief. He vaguely remembered a woman’s voice through the blinding, blistering pain of the Kryptonite poisoning.
“Who do you think set the whole thing up?” she shot back. “The Easter Bunny?”
“I…I…just assumed…Bruce…” Clark stammered, taken aback. “What’s your name?”
“Lois Lane,” she declared with obvious pride. “I’d say you’ll read all about how I’ll win the Pulitzer for my eventual expose on you, but, well, tomorrow is never guaranteed,” she said in a dangerous tone that sent a lance of fear tearing through Clark.
“What? Are you going to be the one to kill me?” Clark asked with a snort.
“No. Unlike you, I don’t believe in murdering people. And while Bruce may have other plans for you, I’ll be happy to cover your trial, conviction, and execution in a court of law,” she replied icily.
“You think I like killing? Oh, if only you knew,” Clark chuckled darkly as he rolled his head back to look up at the ceiling.
“We’d know more if you’d simply talk to us,” Bruce countered stonily.
“Lois Lane,” Clark said, testing the name on his tongue. He shook his head. “I can’t believe you’re alive.”
“What do you mean?” Lois asked in a guarded way. “Did you screw up a hit on me too?”
“Not…exactly,” Clark admitted. “But, I do know you,” Clark breathed, tamping down his relief at seeing the woman. “Oh yes, I know you.”
“I doubt that,” Lois replied.
“It’s true,” Clark insisted.
“What did you mean just now, that you’re surprised to see me alive?” Lois asked, dragging the conversation back to where she wanted it. “Answer me!”
“I…know there was a car accident, back in the spring,” he confessed, deliberately keeping his words vague.
“So what?” Lois snapped. “Everyone knows that. It was on the news and in the papers, despite me telling Perry to keep it under wraps,” she added as a grumbled aside meant for Bruce. “But so was the fact that I survived.”
“My…master…didn’t allow the news to reach me,” Clark explained. “He controlled what came into…the place where he held me captive. He even soundproofed the place, so unless I was out on the balcony, I couldn’t hear anything from the outside world. I guess I never thought to use my….” He clamped his mouth shut.
“Your what?” Bruce asked threateningly, clenching the remote that controlled Clark’s collar.
A bead of sweat popped up on Clark’s brow and cold terror ran down his spine. He’d decided that Bruce might just be insane enough to use the Kryptonite to punish him.
“Let’s just say flight isn’t my only inhuman ability,” he spat. “There are others. Among them, super hearing.”
Bruce’s grip on the remote relaxed slightly. “How many more?” he demanded.
Clark sighed heavily. “A lot more.”
“You will disclose them all to me,” Bruce warned him.
“Later,” Lois said, securitizing Clark so thoroughly that he felt naked before her gaze. “You said no news was allowed into wherever it was that you were at the time. So how did you know about the crash?”
Clark squirmed under her intense gaze. “I just…do.”
“Bull,” Lois shot back, crossing her arms. “Your ‘super hearing?’” she scoffed, her voice making air quotes around the words super hearing. “I’m not buying it. How did you know?” she pressed again.
“Because…I was there,” he relented, wishing she would just leave him alone.
“No one was there, that night,” she retorted. “Just some guy named Steve, who happened across the wreck and called 911. And I met him. You’re not Steve. So, again, how did you know?”
Clark gulped and found himself pressed up against the metaphorical wall. He didn’t know what to say that could get him out of the corner he was in. No lie he could think of made sense, but if he owned up to his part in the crash, what would happen to him?
“I’ve had enough of this,” Bruce growled in frustration. With a flick of his finger, the vents on the Kryptonite collar slid open.
Instantly, Clark was hobbled to his knees, gripping the bars of his cell so tightly that his knuckles were white. He threw his head back and cried out in agony, his howl echoing in the vast underground space.
“Answer Lois’ question!” Bruce commanded.
“I was there!” Clark bellowed through his pain, ready to do anything that would end his suffering. “I was there! I’m the one who caused the crash!”
To Be Continued…
