So I'm kind of in love with my own story. I still can't determine if that is a good thing or a bad thing. I started this chapter right after I finished writing chapter 2. But I can never imagine as one of those people who updates everyday (no matter how much I love them). So, here you guys go. This chapter kind of revolves around Superman and will involve graphic torture (that means VERY descriptive torture. And my family is in town this weekend, so you can bet your ass that I'll be writing this instead of actually catching up with them. So, enjoy!

WARNING!- THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS MAJOR USE OF DISCRIPTIVE TORTURE (or it could be nothing depended on how dark I am). YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

CHAPTER THREE – Superman Finds out He's a Deadbeat

It couldn't have been longer than a couple minutes after he had closed his eyes that the door to his cells banged open. He flinched slightly, praying that it was not those men in white coats, taking him back to the white sterile room to have more painful tests done on him. But when he saw who it was, he wished it was the scientists, come to take him away. Lex Luthor stood there in all his bald glory, staring at Superman like a predator that had finally caught his pray after a long chase. Superman cringed again when he saw the cart that was being rolled behind Lex as he entered the room. The cart carried all sorts of devices, ranging from the sickest knives, to a blowtorch and brander. But the worse had had to be the very sharp looking piece of kryptonite lying there amongst the mechanisms, looking innocent.

"Hello, Superman." Lex purred, and Superman could only think that if his smile got any bigger it would crack his face, Superman had grown long used to Lex's little visits in the months he had been here, and he learned that it was best to ignore him. "So it's going to be quit game again, huh? We always play that, why can't we play one of my games!" Lex whined like a petulant child. He shooed his helper away, and the man quickly left. The solitary made it much more personal, and sometimes Clark wished the man had stayed.

"I have a way to lure you out of your little game." Lex soothed, running his hand against Superman's bare chest, making shivers run down his back. Lex quickly turned around to the cart and Clark prepared himself for the pain that would surely come, but it never came. Instead, Lex held a picture up for Clark to see. It was of a teen lying in a pod wearing a white solar suit. He looked exactly like Clark did in high school, and he seemed to be sleeping. "Do you like him?" Lex asked, unable to grin any wider, "I mean, you should, he is your son."

Superman's eyes widened, his mind running a million miles an hour. He could never have kids, his Kryptonian DNA could never intertwine with a humans. But, the boy looked just like him, spitting image. "Don't hurt him!" Superman croaked, his voice soar from disuse. There was a brief spark in Lex's eye before he chuckled, saying "There we go, finally responding. Now we can get to the real fun."

"Lex, please, no. Don't hurt him Lex! Do whatever you want to me, just don't hurt the boy! Lex-" a conveniently placed gag rendered the rest of Superman's begging silent. Shudders ran down The Man of Steels' entire body at the mere thought of anything happening to his son, especially because of him! He was caught out of his turmoil by the well place stab to his gut. He gasped for air, but it was even hard to breathe through Lex's gag. "Listen to me, Clark! If you don't do everything I ask of you, the boy will suffer. If you disobey me, or try to escape, the boy will be killed. Slowly. Do you understand?" When Clark did not answer him immediately Lex twisted the knife in his gut. "Do we?" Clark slowly nodded his head.

"Good," Lex replied, looking honestly pleased. "Now let's test it." He reached up and undid Clark's shackles, making The Man of Steel fall to his knees, weak. "Bow to your master, Clark. Hmm, Master, I like that. Call me master from now on." Lex delivered a kick to Clark's ribcage when he did not comply immediately. "Kneel, now." So Clark did, for the boy, for his boy. He found that the gag was soon released and fingers intertwined in his hair to yank up his head. "What do you call me Clark?" Lex said, his temper becoming short. Clark grinded his teeth and forced it out "Master," he hissed reluctantly.

Lex appeared to find his insubordinates amusing, and Clark, whose head still remained downwards, heard the sound of the blowtorch. He winced, and prepared himself for whatever was about to happen. He would face it, for his boy.

He was unprepared for the sudden burning of his flesh or the rancid smell that came along with it. He screamed, the pain was far too much for the man who had never met his match. When it was over, blood oozed from the horrible burn on his back. Clark's arms almost gave out from under him, but do to some unknown adrenaline he had pulsing through him, they stayed stable. Then, Lex, who had been giggling at his pain, decided to make it worse. He ran his still bloody knife over the brand on his back, leaving deep cuts wherever the sharp knife touched. Clark screamed and cried with every cut. Always hoping it would be the last, but it never was. Only when his wound was a mess of shreds did his arms give out. Lex was not pleased and pushed him against the wall, back first. It was agonizingly painful, but Lex gave him no break. His knife was immediately back against Clark's skin, cutting, tearing, and stabbing all parts of his chests.

After what seemed like forever and many days, Lex put the knife back on the cart. He laughed, and exclaimed giddily, "Well it doesn't look like you'll be going anywhere anytime soon. But just for good measure," He jabbed down a steel-toed booted foot and caught one of Clark's legs. The bone shattered, and Clark screeched in agony, and it was quickly repeated to his other leg. He could not help the sob that escaped his lips. "What do we say Clark?" Lex questioned with newfound glee. Clark responded through teeth gritted in pain, "Th-Thank you, M-M-Master." With a final pat to the head, Lex left the cell, taking the cart with him.

Now that Clark had been left to his own devices once again, he was able to think of the boy who was his son. He slept in a pod, which meant scientists, which meant experiments. On his poor boy most likely. He hoped to whatever deity was listening that his son was safe. Little did he know, Conner, he named him in his head, was already safe, and looking for him.

THERE! This chapter felt a lot shorter than the others, but I liked it. And fear not, there will be more and worse Clark torturing later on, and a happy ending! I'm thinking of doing six to seven more chapters before ending this story. Maybe with a sequel, we'll see. Anyway, double post! Merry Christmas! And all I want in return is reviews. Now excuse me while I go to sleep!