“There you are, Clark!” Lex crooned dangerously as he approached the cell where Clark was being held against his will. He glanced over his shoulder at the five massive brutes behind him. “Kill them all.”
The biggest one, a man with biceps that made even Clark feel puny by comparison, nodded and grunted in response. He made a few hand signals and the others went their separate ways. Half a minute later, he heard screams as Bruce’s guards were slaughtered. Clark winced and cringed as he heard the gun shots and soft thunks as knives stabbed into fresh bodies. The meaty brute leading the rest reemerged with Lois in his monstrous hands. She looked so small and helpless in his grasp, though she was struggling mightily to escape.
“Hey, boss!” the big man said in a voice that sounded like granite being dragged along a concrete floor. “What do you want with her?”
“I said ‘kill them all,’ or are you too stupid to handle that?” Lex snarled.
The brute shrugged, then, as easily as he would snap a pencil, he broke Lois’ neck. Clark cried out in horror as her body went limp. The brute tossed her aside like a piece of trash before joining Lex at his side. Together, the two men approached Clark’s cell.
How they’d gotten ahold of the key, Clark didn’t know. All he knew was mind-numbing fear as the thug entered his cell. With steel-like strength, the man grabbed Clark and wrenched his arms behind his back, rendering Clark helpless to escape. Lex came at him with measured steps. When he was mere inches from Clark, he pulled a syringe out of the inner pocket of his suit jacket. Clark’s heart nearly froze in terror as he caught sight of the glowing green liquid inside, ready to be injected into his bloodstream.
“Goodbye, traitor,” Lex whispered in his ear.
Then, without any further ado, he plunged the needle deep into Clark’s neck, into the artery there, and depressed the syringe. Liquid Kryptonite flooded his system and Clark instantly felt his death coming for him. The brute released Clark as his body lost the ability to stand upright. Clark crumbled to the floor in a fetal position, screaming in the greatest agony of his life, while Lex and his goon left the cell and locked the door behind them, leaving Clark to pray for death to finally put an end to his suffering.
Clark screamed out as he woke, uncertain if it had been his nightmare that had roused him from his sleep or if some other external noise had done the job. He rubbed his eyes against the sudden onslaught of light. Locked in his cage, Clark hadn’t seen darkness since before his capture. Here, it was always bright with the flood of artificial light, robbing his body of its internal clock that knew if it was day or night, despite not having seen the sun, stars, or a puff of cloud in months, though he felt like it was probably the middle of the night.
“Bad dream?” Lois as smugly as she watched him struggle to finally break free of the last gossamer remnants of his dreams.
Clark scowled at her. “What do you want?”
“To talk.”
“You know,” he said, sitting up and dangling his feet over the side of the cot, though he did not make an effort to stand, “this is the second time you’ve visited me in what I can only guess is the middle of the night.” He waggled his eyebrows at her. “If you’re that in need of company at night, all you need to do is ask one of the guards to let you in here. I’ll make sure you aren’t…neglected.”
Lois rolled her eyes. “In your dreams.”
“I wish that were true,” he replied with a lustful smile.
“Sorry to burst your bubble, but I’ve got…bigger things on my mind. Like what you said earlier.”
Clark scratched his chin, which was rough with a fine layer of stubble. He was almost looking forward to being shackled and shaved once again. “And what was it that I said? Our chats are so riveting after all.” He tried to stifle and yawn and lost.
She ignored his needling. “You said Kal Luthor was a murder and arson suspect, so he was hidden away by Lex Luthor.”
Clark put up his hand to halt her. “You still don’t get it, do you? I’m not lying when I say I am Kal Luthor. Or was, once upon a time.”
“Fine, for argument’s sake, let’s say you really are Kal,” came Bruce’s voice, coming up from behind Lois.
“Used to be,” Clark stressed, balling up his fists.
“Fine. Used to be,” Bruce humored him.
“You lied again,” Lois continued. “Kal Luthor was never suspected of plotting to kill his family.”
“You’re wrong,” he said, hopping to his feet. “Lex told me everything. He told me if I was discovered alive, I’d be carted off to jail, tried, found guilty, and likely executed.”
“That’s not what these say,” Lois retorted, walking briskly to his bars. She dropped a pile of printed sheets of paper on his desk.
“What are those?” he asked warily, eying her every movement.
“See for yourself,” she replied.
Haltingly, suspecting a trap, he crossed the few steps to his desk and picked up the pile of papers. He shifted through the stack quickly. It was a selection of old archived newspapers. Some were the front page, others had been further into the paper. Clark could see the page numbers and the headers announcing which paper they had come from. And he could see the date. On every single one, he could see the date. The day after the fire had claimed his parents’ lives and devoured his childhood home.
He skimmed the headlines. Each article that Lois had left for him was about the fire. He looked up questioningly.
“Read them,” Bruce gently commanded, in a tone of voice that Clark hadn’t heard from the other man before.
“What…” he started to ask.
“Just read them,” Bruce repeated softly.
What other choice did he have? He started to read them. One by one, he read them all, while Bruce and Lois watched from a distance. And as he read, he felt his entire life come crashing down. The fire in his gut died. His ego deflated. His heart ached. His mind spun as the words in the articles repeated in a loop in his brain.
City Mourns The Loss Of The Luthor Family
Arson Ruled Out In Luthor Family Blaze
Accidental Fire Claims Luthor Family
Sole Survivor: Alexander Luthor
A Tragic Loss: Accidental Fire Kills Three At Luthor Family Estate
What’s Next For Alexander Luthor After Accidental Fire Kills Family
Memorial Service Planned For Luthor Family After Accidental Blaze Claims Parents, Young Son
Officials Call Luthor Estate Fire a “Tragic Accident”
Fire At Luthor Family Home Brings Fire Safety In Sharp Focus
Candles Blamed For Tragic Fire
He’d never been accused of killing his parents. There was no charge of arson. Every investigation pointed to the fire being an accident. Warnings had been printed not to leave exposed flames unattended. There was an underlying sadness to the reports about the fire, not anger or revenge against any kind of suspect, let alone the mere child Clark had been at the time.
“These…” Clark choked out, his mouth gone dry and his stomach heaving as though he might vomit again as a sense of vertigo hit him. “These…are…real?” He had to force every last syllable out, with the greatest effort he’d ever known.
Lois simply nodded.
“I…I…” Clark stammered, speaking without knowing what he wanted to say.
“You believe us now?” Bruce asked.
Lois turned to the billionaire, a funny look on her face that Clark couldn’t quite place. “He believes us. He…he truly didn’t know. Did you?” she asked softly, turning back to Clark.
“No…” His voice shook with the power of having the last bit of his reality being torn down to reveal that everything he’d ever been told was a lie. The entire basis of his life and trust in Lex had been a sham. He shook his head. “No. Lex…I had no reason to question what he told me. I was so young…”
“I believe you.”
Lois’ words stopped Clark’s heart for a moment. His tattered spirit rallied for just a moment. He looked into her warm brown eyes, trying to judge if she was messing with him or not. But he found no evidence that she was humoring him. She really did believe what he was saying. For the first time in his life, he saw a hint of compassion in someone’s eyes when they looked at him.
“Th…thank you,” he stammered, his heart speeding up now, his pulse skyrocketing, his world still reeling.
“I think you’d better start at the beginning. The very beginning,” Bruce prompted him, striding across the room and pulling over two rolling chairs.
Clark watched as the billionaire and the reporter sat down. He nervously raked his fingers through his hair and paced, arguing with himself. He’d planned to make Bruce and Lois fight for every shred of information he gave them. But he was tired. Not from being awoken in the middle of the night. He was tired of fighting. Tired of his cage. Tired of the collar around his neck. Tired of hiding Lex’s misdeeds simply because he wanted to play mind games with the people who’d captured him. He just wanted to be free of all the guilt, shame, and terror that he had inside. He may not have understood how to let himself lose his sharp, jaded mindset and personality, but he was exhausted from carrying so much vehemence inside.
“I…I’m not sure where to start,” he finally said, the words tumbling from his lips without a conscious decision to speak them. “I was an orphaned infant that the Luthors adopted. Err…well…I guess that’s not completely accurate. They found me. In a field. In a wrecked spaceship. It didn’t matter. Lionel and Letitia raised me as their own son. But Lex…I don’t know why. He told me awful things about them. About how they hated me. How they pitied the squalling alien baby. How I was nothing more to them than a prop, used to gain the public’s adoration and cement them as philanthropists.” He sighed heavily, leaning his entire right side against the cold steel bars.
“Then, one night, Lex woke me up to play catch. I was too young to question why. I just…I went along with it. He’d groomed me to trust him implicitly. Before I knew it, a candle got knocked over and the fire happened. As I said before, he told me that we had to change my identity and fake my death so that the police couldn’t charge me with arson and murder. I was young, but I understood what would happen if that happened. I was scared almost to the point of being unable to function. So, I listened to him.”
“Go on,” Bruce urged.
“I…” Clark paused. “I’m not even sure why I’m telling you any of this, if we’re being completely honest here.”
“Because you have nothing left to lose?” Bruce asked with cool indifference.
“I still don’t know that I can trust you not to kill me once you have your information,” he pointed out.
“No, you don’t,” Lois conceded. “But has he threatened to kill you yet?”
“Not in so many words,” Clark admitted. “Unlike you.” His usual sharp barb was missing this time, making his words more gently teasing.
Lois didn’t even flinch. “Let’s not forget that you earned those threats.” She crossed her arms and settled back into the chair.
“And when Bruce tortured me, using the Kryptonite?” Clark asked, raising an eyebrow, crossing his own arms, daring them to respond.
“You needed to learn your place,” Bruce said, his voice flat, his volume unchanging.
“You know something? You not only act like Lex, using that stone to ‘punish’ me, but you’re also you’re starting to sound a lot like him too. I think we’re done here for the night.”
“No, we aren’t,” the billionaire replied firmly, his lines drawn into a tight line. The muscle in his jaw ticked and Clark could see the effort it was taking him not to be drawn into another verbal sparring match.
“What guarantee do I have, huh?” Clark goaded him. “I’m still locked up. I still have my collar. I still haven’t been given so much as one lungful of fresh air or a single minute of real sunlight. I’m still being treated as something less than human.” He gestured broadly. “How long have I been down here?”
“Four and a half months,” Lois supplied when it appeared that Bruce wasn’t going to answer.”
“Four and a half…” Clark muttered in disbelief. “You’re going to make this place my tomb, aren’t you?” he said, this time louder, letting them know the words were intended for them.
“That depends on you,” Bruce countered without batting an eyelash.
“Not for nothing,” Clark interrupted, holding his hand up, palm outward, like a crossing guard calling for traffic to stop, “but you keep demanding that I blindly trust you. And you haven’t given me a single reason why I should do that.”
“You’ve been provided for,” the other man answered.
“Kept prisoner and treated like a child!”
“The Kryptonite has only been used once,” Bruce offered.
“You still used it to take what you wanted from me!”
“We’ve provided you with something you said you never really had,” Lois calmly cut in.
“Oh?”
She nodded. “A regular and reliable source of news.” She gestured to the paper laying on his desk.
“A limited source of news, regardless of how reliable,” he said instead. “From what I understand, the Daily Planet publishes both a morning and an evening edition. You’ve been giving me only half the news, Lois. Tsk, tsk!” He wagged a finger at her in a chastising manner.
“That’s Miss Lane to you,” Bruce said, coming to Lois defense, stressing her name.
“Oh, Bruce, we’re long past the stage of formalities, wouldn’t you agree? After all, we’ve had more than four months of illegal imprisonment under our belts,” Clark threw back easily, getting a thrill when he saw the other man bristle slightly.
“It’s fine, Bruce,” Lois said irritably. “I don’t care if he calls me Darth Vader. It isn’t important.” She fixed her unwavering gaze on Clark. “You said Lex convinced you that you were a murder suspect at a young age. What happened next?’
“You know what? I’m suddenly getting a little too tired to talk.” He deliberately yawned as loudly and widely as he could.
“You can sleep after you finish your story,” Bruce growled.
“No. You want answers so badly? You need to earn them,” Clark snarled. He thought about flipping the billionaire off but restrained himself at the last moment. He’d already seen that Bruce could be pushed too far, making him use the Kryptonite embedded within Clark’s collar.
“You want to play hardball?” Bruce asked with a calm voice that made Clark’s hackles rise. “Bring it on.”
***
When Clark’s breakfast was delivered the following morning, he was surprised to see a steaming mug of coffee on his tray, along with an egg, bacon, and cheese bagel. A bowl of fresh strawberries was with his meal, as well as a tall glass of orange juice. Up until that moment, water was the only thing he’d been given to drink. He’d almost forgotten the sweet caffeine rush from a good cup of coffee. And to have orange juice too? It seemed a veritable royal feast!
His stomach growled and he dug into the breakfast sandwich first, devouring it swiftly. Then he made quick work of the strawberries. He couldn’t even force himself to stop and savor their bright, sweet flavor. He took a sip of his orange juice, this time finally able to slow down a little. He swished the sweet, sticky juice around in his mouth for a moment, appraising it like he would have appraised a fine wine. He took four tiny sips, then turned his attention to the coffee.
He cradled the hot mug in both hands, in near worship of the drink. That long-deprived, simple pleasure made him smile a little. It was funny, how much something small like that could bring back a little sense of normalcy, even while he was still locked up against his will. He brought the mug close to his face and inhaled the intoxicating scent of the brew. But what was this? The coffee was black and the tray housed neither milk, nor sugar, nor creamer. He frowned. What kind of barbarians were these people?
Still, he wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth. Bitter as the coffee was without his usual heavy-handed additions of milk and sugar, he drank down every last drop, nearly scalding his mouth and throat as he did so. He knew he should take it slower, but it had been too long since his last taste of coffee, and he was eager to have that wonderful rush of caffeine in his system. He washed down the lingering bitter taste on his tongue with the remainder of his orange juice, then focused on the morning’s paper.
He was done reading and contemplating what to do next when Bruce appeared. He gestured to Clark’s now empty desk; someone had been by not long before to take the empty tray and used dishes away.
“How was breakfast?” he smirked.
What Clark wouldn’t have given to be able to slap that self-satisfied look off Bruce’s face. “Not quite the luxury meals of Lex Tower, but it will do. The coffee was interesting. Your chef forgot the milk and sugar though,” he said, making the criticism seem casual.
Bruce’s smirk got impossibly bigger. “Oh? Didn’t anyone tell you? You want amenities? You have to earn them.”
Then he turned on his heel and strode away.
Touché, whispered a small voice in Clark’s mind.
***
By the end of that week – or close enough, as Clark could keep track of time in that dungeon of eternal, phony brightness – he was deliberately messing with Bruce. Every time they would ask a question, he would spoon feed them very limited, but specific, information. He was being mildly compliant with their demands and requests, and in turn, he was receiving slight compensations. Soon enough, he’d secured a second pillow, soft drinks, coffee and tea with milk and sugar, the morning and evening editions of the Daily Planet, a couple of pencils to do the crossword puzzles with, an extra blanket, even extra food at his once meager meals.
What was more, was that he was enjoying gaming the system Bruce had set up. It made him feel superior to his captor. But, as much fun as he was having, he knew that, at some point, he would run out of information to trade. And then Bruce’s true colors would be shown. Clark would be either executed in private by the deadly green piece of his birth world, or Bruce would hand him over to the authorities with tales of how mentally unstable Clark was to discredit the claims Clark would make about being held against his will for so long.
And, Clark had to admit to himself, there were still some things he was just too ashamed to own up to. Chief among them, how many deaths he was responsible for.
“Okay,” Bruce said one afternoon, as he settled into his customary chair. “Let’s talk about Lex today, shall we?”
“I’m rather not,” was Clark’s immediate response.
“Aww, too bad,” Bruce goaded him, but the jab was lacking the venom of their previous encounters. “Let’s bring it back to where we were the other night. You said Lex forced you to take a new name, to bury the identity of Kal Luthor in the ashes of the house.”
“Yeah…” Clark haltingly and warily confirmed.
“What happened next?”
“What do you mean?”
“Well,” Bruce said, leaning back and crossing his left leg over his right so that the left ankle rested on his right knee. He steepled his fingers in a relaxed way. “What did he do next? Did he threaten you? Lock you in a cage? Shower you with toys? I mean, you were quite young when it happened.”
“None of that. Lex…he’s a bit more…subtle, than you, Bruce,” Clark said, taking satisfaction in throwing his situation in the billionaire’s face again. He thought for a moment, taking a deep breath and blowing it out slowly again. “He…almost acted like nothing had changed. He kept me indoors, inside Lex Tower, at all times, reminding me that no one could see me and know I was alive. He…everything he did…it was a slow, deliberate brainwash that I was too young to pick up on. And by the time I was old enough to understand what he was doing, it was too late. He had me too mentally entrapped. I was under his control, completely. Maybe I argued with him occasionally about a job, but…” he shrugged.
“When did he start making you kill for him? Was I the first assignment? Was Jason’s death nothing more than the sloppy work of the…inexperienced?”
Clark laughed bitterly. “If only that was the case.”
“Explain,” Bruce prompted when Clark failed to continue.
“I was…I dunno. Fifteen? Sixteen? When he sent me on my first job.”
“You’ve been killing since you were fifteen?” Bruce asked incredulously.
“You look surprised,” Clark neutrally observed.
“Luthor sent a child to go kill people?” Bruce asked as if needing clarification.
Clark shrugged. “It made sense, to him. If anyone caught sight of me, I’d appear to be nothing more than young kid. Not that anyone ever did. By then, I was able to move so quickly that I would be no more than a blur and an out of place breeze.”
“You sound proud of that,” Bruce pointed out with a frown.
“In a weird way, I was. I was the best assassin the world had never even seen.” He shrugged again, casting his gaze up to the ceiling.
Bruce’s frown deepened and his brow furrowed in concern. “Oh?” was all he asked.
“I didn’t love it. Err…not the killing, mind you. But the praise Lex would give me, each time an assignment was done well. It was the one time he showed real emotion around me. Joy. Joy and pride.”
“So, you kept killing because he patted you on the shoulder once in a while and said ‘Good job?’ I’m not buying that,” Bruce said, shaking his head.
“I kept killing because I thought I owed him my life! Are you that dense, Bruce?” Clark snapped irately. He started to pace. “Do you know what it is, to go through life, and have the only people who know you exist despise you because you are gifted with incredible powers? Do you know what it’s like, to be brainwashed? Even now, I’m struggling. I know Lex is evil. I know he’s the Devil Incarnate. But there’s a part of me that still can’t bring myself to disobey him. If he walked right in this room and told me to snap your neck like a brittle twig, I’m not sure I’d be able to defy him.” Subconsciously, he tugged at the ring of metal around his neck.
“That’s not loyalty,” Bruce said calmly as he observed the movement. “That’s instilled fear. Like when a dog’s been beaten so many times he cowers when someone tries to pet him. He put that collar around your neck to control you, to hold your death over your head, but not anymore.”
“You’re right. He doesn’t. For now,” Clark argued pointedly. “Until he figures out a way to reclaim the signal used to open the vents and take back control. What then?”
“That will never happen. You don’t need to worry about that,” Bruce assured him.
Clark stopped pacing and gave him a wild-eyed, disbelieving look. “Bruce, I have spent the last ten years of my life worrying about the moment he’s pushed too far and ends me. And yeah,” he spat venomously, “I probably deserve to die. I’ve killed more people than I care to recall. And I’ve felt absolutely nothing as I’ve watched them die.”
Bruce appraised him for a long time before he spoke again. “I don’t believe you. I can see it in your eyes.”
“Then you need glasses,” Clark hurled back sharply. But, as he looked at Bruce, he could see that the other man truly didn’t understand. “But I guess it makes sense. You’ve never wanted for anything, have you? Everything in your life has been handed to you on a diamond-encrusted platter, hasn’t it? You’ve never struggled. You’ve never had a gun to your head, an axe hanging over you, a debt so heavy you can never repay it.”
Bruce started to protest, blinking in disbelief at Clark’s accusations. But Clark would not be interrupted. He steamrolled right over the other man, almost as though ignoring that Bruce was even there.
“Oh, poor little rich boy, lost his parents at a young age,” Clark sneered. “I get that part. So did I. But the difference? You weren’t mentally twisted into the image your butler wanted you to be. You were his master, not the other way around. You never had to deal with him reminding you of how much you owed him. How you wouldn’t be alive if not for him.”
Clark ran a hand through his hair as he fought back his inner demons; all of them clamoring to be let out in a futile tirade against the billionaire. He tried not to pay any mind to the hard set to Bruce’s features, giving silent voice to the argument Clark knew was brewing on his tongue. And yet, a vague part of Clark was mildly impressed that Bruce was holding his tongue. But he was too wrapped up in his own thoughts to acknowledge any of that properly.
“Assume what you will, Bruce. But I trained myself not to feel anything at all. It was too dangerous. I never felt anything but numb or indifferent when I took a life. Not pride in getting the job done. Not relief that the assignment was over. Not remorse for having stolen a life. Not pity for the poor fool who’d wound up in Lex’s crosshairs. Not disgust for getting blood on my hands, both literally and figuratively speaking…as much as I used my powers to aid me, my hidden blade wasn’t just for fun. I felt nothing.”
“And now?” Bruce asked peacefully, no emotion showing in his features as his withheld argument appeared to die in his throat.
“Now?” Clark chuckled darkly, shaking his head. “Now I wish that fire really had killed me, like everyone thought it did. It would have been a kinder fate than being Lex’s personal slave. Especially once he sent me after you.”
“Let’s talk about that, shall we?” Bruce asked, crossing his arms casually. “The kid I saw in my house that night, looking at Jason’s body…he didn’t seem numb to me. Horrified, more like it.” He used one hand to scratch at the light stubble in his chin.
Clark closed his eyes against the images that sprung, unbidden and unwelcome, to mind. He sighed heavily and squashed down the lump forming in his throat. “I…He was never supposed to die. Lex wanted you and your butler dead. Don’t ask why. You can probably figure it out on your own. How much of a business rival and threat you were to him…still are. When I thought Jason was you…when I realized the mistake I’d made…” He let his voice trail off.
“What?” Bruce prompted, a sour look on his face.
“I’d never killed an innocent person before,” Clark finished lamely.
“From what I gather, all of your assassinations were committed against innocent people,” Bruce said, his voice harsh and unyielding as granite. He set his lips in a thin, hard line.
“They were different,” Clark insisted, leaning a hip against his cell bars and crossing his arms in a mockery of Bruce’s stance.
“I fail to see a difference.”
Clark sighed again, looking away from Bruce and ransacking his brain for the right words that would make the other man understand the gray line of distinction in his mind. “The rest…I was told to kill them. I was told they presented a threat. I was made to believe I was serving some kind of greater good by killing them. Jason…was none of those things. He was blameless and I was reckless. And I’ve never forgiven myself for acting without checking that night. Not that it makes any difference to you, I suppose.”
He brought his piercing gaze back to Bruce and unfolded his arms once again. He gestured vaguely, knowing it wouldn’t help Bruce to see the past the way he could. “When I went to escape, I discovered I could fly. Lex’s response was to collar me and tether me to Lex Tower with invisible chains.” He tugged on his collar for emphasis. “For the first time, I realized how much of a threat I could be to him if I just up and left. It’s no surprise he clipped my wings, so to speak.” He grinned darkly at Bruce. “Since then, it’s been one miserable existence consisting of being Lex’s slave. Of ‘kill or be killed.’ Of never having more than a day in between reminders of how he can murder me with the flick of a button. Of being tortured with that damn green rock – sometimes for daring to speak up against him, sometimes for not doing a job to his standard of perfection, sometimes just so he can have a laugh.”
He gestured to Bruce. “The same power you now wield. Not much has changed for me, I guess. A smaller, less comfortable cell, but a prison with my personal death hanging around my neck just the same.”
“A power I haven’t used,” Bruce pointedly reminded him, sweeping a hand before him, palm up, as though smoothing over his transgressions.
“Yes, you have,” Clark corrected him, rolling his eyes. “Not as often as Lex did, but you used it to torture information out of me.” He fixed Bruce with a look of hatred mixed with sarcasm. “Yeah, you’re a true gentleman, Bruce.”
“If you’re going to get petulant about it…” Bruce began, but Clark cut him off.
“Petulant? Here’s a thought, Bruce.” He launched himself away from the bars so that he no longer leaned against them. Then he gripped the bars in both hands and pressed his face into the space in between them. He leveled a rage-filled gaze at Bruce, locking eyes with him. “Go hang a loaded gun around your neck. Rig it up so that you never know if it’s going to go off and kill you at any moment. Walk around like that for a good ten years or so. Then come back and let me know what your mental state and attitude are like.”
For a long moment, Bruce just frowned at him. Then, blessedly, he rose from his seat and walked off without a word. But, to Clark, it seemed like perhaps his words had made some kind of an impact. Bruce appeared to be deep in thought. At least, Clark wanted to believe that.
To Be Continued…
