Lex slammed down the phone in frustration. The man tailing his father had come up empty yet again. His father was being extra covert it seemed, even for him. He found nothing at the address Charlotte had given him. His father had rented a space on the top floor for one day, and then was never seen again, according to the doorman. After much insistence and some monetary persuasion, he'd been allowed upstairs. There was no trace of anything, just a suite of empty rooms. Confronting his father directly would be both dangerous for Clark and pointless for him. Lex leaned back in his leather chair, weighing his options. The shrill of his desk phone snapped him out of his thoughts.

"I asked not to be disturbed."

"I'm sorry Mr. Luthor, but the woman on the phone says its urgent, its concerning a friend of yours."

"Put her through." He hoped it wasn't Charlotte. He didn't think she could be of any more use to him.

"Mr. Luthor?"

"Yes, who is this?"

"This is Dr. Allen. I was working with your father, and…well your friend, Clark asked me to contact you…"

"Wait!..don't say another word."

Lex put her on hold and transferred her call to his secure line.

"Dr. Allen? Meet me at the bar across the street from my office in ten minutes. Can you do that?"

"Yes..so you'll help?"

"I'll do what I can. Clark is very important to me. I'll see you in ten minutes."

Dr. Allen had no idea if Lex could be trusted, but she felt she had to try and do something for Clark. She hadn't slept since the night she left him there, looking so despondent in his tiny room. Luthorcorp was just two blocks from where she called. She started walking.

Lex glanced around the small, dark bar, looking for any sign of a woman who could possibly be Dr. Allen. He'd been delayed a few minutes by an unexpected call from his father, he hoped she'd waited. The bar was the typical businessman bar, full of dark mahogany and overstated brass. He settled himself in a back booth and motioned the waiter over. The waiter saw him, and indicated he'd right over, ducking behind the bar to retrieve something. He made his way over to Lex and handed him a thin white envelope.

"What is this?"

"A woman asked me to give this to you, with her apologies, she couldn't stay."

"Did she leave a lone?"

"I believe so..though there was a man waiting for her outside the door."

Lex sighed, clutching the envelope in his hand. He rose dropping a twenty dollar bill on the table. "Thank you."

He walked out the door, glancing up the street. He knew he wouldn't see anyone, and he knew he'd never hear from Dr. Allen again.

Everyone had strict instructions not to bother Clark for one week. The actual command was "do not interfere with the project". Clark was a project now. He noticed a decisive change in attitude towards him. There was no longer any pretense of his intelligence. The guards treated him according to whatever guidelines they'd been given. They didn't talk to him anymore, not even to taunt him. The doctors were no different. They checked on his wound without so much of a glance at his face; they'd just make notations and leave the room quietly. Clark assumed that after you sliced open and tortured someone, your mind had to find a way to deal with any lingering guilt, so it was better to pretend your "subject" is an unthinking, unfeeling being. Without the benefit of sunlight, Clark's body was taking its time to heal. Only now, after almost a week, could he sit up in bed without excruciating pain, and the constant burning and itching was driving him crazy.

He picked up the pen and paper he'd be given on the third day. He made the request to a silent doctor, and a notebook appeared the next morning. The intent was to write letters to his family and friends, hoping that if he didn't make it out of there alive, someone would be kind enough to send them the letters. But instead, he made various sketches of what he remembered from the night of the failed escape. Fortunately, his memory was photographic, and even in the chaos and he found that his brain recorded most of the room. He knew there were two windows, and he tried desperately to scribble what he saw there. He still didn't know what he would do with the information, but it gave him hope. Hope had been in low supply the first couple of days. For the first time in his life, Clark seriously thought about death. He wished for it in moments of extreme pain before, but this was different. His body and mind were so completely drained and so tired of fighting, he felt ready to give in. He simply didn't see a way out. Dr. Allen's visit was hard for him. Though he behaved coldly towards her; the truth was, he didn't want her to go. Though he couldn't forgive her for being part of all this, she was the only one to show some compassion towards him. Her leaving meant he was left completely alone.

Clark sighed and put the notebook down. He pulled the soft blanket tighter around his body, more for comfort than warmth. His regular clothes had been replaced with a white shirt and pants that resembled hospital scrubs after the operation, and he hated the feeling of the rough cloth against his skin. His entire body seemed to be more sensitive to anything touching his it, but that could very well be psychological. He simply no longer liked to be touched—anywhere. Having to endure the doctors examining his wound was a new form of torture. The minute he felt a hand against his skin, anger rose in him so quickly he had to concentrate hard to quell it. He leaned back against the propped up pillows, laying his latest drawing beside him. His eyes felt heavy, and they burned with fatigue. He couldn't sleep—sleep meant never-ending nightmares, where the pain was relentless, and death was always a certainly. He often woke up screaming. But no one ever came. He didn't know if anyone heard him, he doubted they'd come even if they did. For that he was grateful. Any sign of being out of control frightened them, and when animals are frightened their first instinct is to lash out. Leaving him alone was the best thing they could do.

He didn't look up when the door lock clicked; he assumed it was just another guard bringing him a meal, or a doctor. Clark drew the blanket tighter around him. He didn't care what he had to do; no one was touching him today. He shouldn't of been surprised when he saw who it was, but he hadn't seen him since the day his shadowy figure watched him get dissected, safely from the observation room. His natural instinct was to turn away, but he faced Lionel, refusing to let him see his fear.

Lionel glanced around Clark's bare room.

"Not bad, not bad…of course, not as comfortable as what you're used to I'm sure. I always admired the warmth of that tiny little farm house."

Clark watched him closely as he walked over to the bed and picked up one of the drawings.

"Planning another escape Mr. Kent?" He dropped the drawing at Clark's feet. "Well I can't imagine you'll have anymore luck this time, but you're certainly welcome to try."

Clark said nothing. He was fighting to control the anger welling up inside of him at the very sight of Lionel. He knew he was capable of destroying Lionel in this moment, but he didn't want to do that. He refused to turn into a monster. Clark clutched the blanket tightly in his hand, he could hear the fabric ripping, but he didn't let go.

"Whats wrong Clark, are you in pain?" Lionel reached to remove the blanket from him, but Clark jerked away, shoving Lionel's hand a bit harder than he intended.

Lionel smiled and rubbed his wrist.

"I see we're regaining our strength, good."

"What do you want Lionel?"

"I just came to check on my favorite specimen. Even I was amazed at how your tissue growth exceeded even our expectations. We were able to re-grow whole organs out of the samples we harvested from you. Do you have any idea what this will mean to organ transplants in the future? Of course we don't yet know how compatible your unique genetic makeup is with other humans, but its very promising."

"And this is supposed to make me happy?"

"You're the one with the hero complex. Aren't you interested in helping mankind."

Clark sat up in bed, pushing the blanket aside. "If I truly thought that's what you were doing; maybe. But I know you don't have an ounce of humanity in you. You're either going to sell them on some black market, or you're helping yourself somehow. Either way, being tortured isn't worth any of it."

" I see, I always underestimate you Mr. Kent, or perhaps this time I overestimated you. I always imagined you to be this highly selfless being."

"I'd never willingly help you."

"Well fortunately your will is of no consequence to me. Since you are healing so nicely. We'll let you rest up for a couple more days before we attempt to get new samples."

Clark stood up and walked towards Lionel. He no longer cared about controlling himself.

"You're not going to touch me again!" He grabbed Lionel's collar and twisted, lifting him slightly.

Lionel somehow remained perfectly calm, almost pleased with Clark's display of raw anger.

"I advise you to let go Mr. Kent. So far your life has been mercifully meteor—rock free. I wouldn't want to have to introduce that element back into your life."

Clark slowly regained control of himself and shoved Lionel into the wall, releasing him.

Lionel straightened his tie, and looked at him. Clark saw the smallest flicker of fear in his eyes, before he turned to go without another word.