I got a lot of reviews expressing confusion. That's good.  At this point you're supposed to be confused. I promise that in the next few chapters things such as why Clark is powerless, where he is, and why he is there—they will all become much more clear.

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"Get up."

Clark struggled to open his eyes. His muscles screamed their protest, but he didn't have a choice. He looked up at the one before him.

"On your feet."

Clark could see the others around him being hustled to their feet as well. He struggled to rise and the one standing over him finally grabbed his arm and simply hauled him to his feet as though he were a bale of hay.

He didn't protest. There were others who were. "Shut up!" he heard one of them say before slapping their captive. It was the woman whose child had been killed the day before, and now she began to sob uncontrollably.

"You killed my child!" she screamed. "You're monsters!"

A look of pure rage came over the face of the one who was carrying her. She didn't even have a moment to draw a breath before it snapped her neck.

Clark learned from other's mistakes. He allowed himself to be moved and was quiet about it.

Once they were outside again they were pulled across the yard. Clark hadn't noticed it the day before, but the area was surrounded with a chain link fence. There would be no escape from this place. But if the rumors were true he wouldn't be long for it anyway.

The creature holding him pulled him over to the side of the yard and shoved him under the water spout that was there. Clark's hair, as well as what was left of his clothing, immediately became soaked as the water cascaded through it.

His white T-shirt was in tatters, as were the uncomfortable brown pants that he'd had for so long. Underwear had long ago become a luxury and one that he couldn't afford.

It ceased to matter because it simply ripped all the clothing off of him. Clark tried not to grimace. They were aliens-not Kryptonian but aliens non-the-less. They'd taken earth with absurd ease. They had Clark's strength. They hadn't had his ability to heal or his x-ray vision, but they had his heat vision as well. Strength and heat vision were just as known to them as they'd been to Clark. But, unlike Clark, they weren't using their powers for good.

He was naked under a water spout for all who cared to see. Not that anyone looked anymore-or maybe they did. He didn't know. He was still well built, but he'd lost so much weight. Apparently even Kryptonians needed to eat.

The alien pulled him out from under the water and forced him over to a pile of clothing in the yard. It selected a pair of dark brown pants for him and then gave Clark the option of putting on the clothing that was handed to him himself. After a quick look around the yard to see how you were forcefully dressed if you didn't, he quickly took the option. The alien smiled in approval.

"This one will be good," the alien said to another standing nearby. Clark at least knew enough of their language to translate that. He shivered. The rumors were not true, he chided himself again.

"Move," it told him. There was no compassion in its voice at all. He was a rebel-a renegade-a threat to their regime. He'd been captured and was to be punished for it. It didn't matter if he was good and did what they said because it was an expectation and not a cause for praise.

He let it push him forward until his legs collapsed and he was lifted by his arms and half-dragged. His heart nearly stopped when he saw where he was going.

In front of him was a little hut and inside it, visible through the windows, was the glow of a fire. For the first time he struggled.

The alien holding him chuckled. "So you've heard rumors?" he asked. "Yes, they are correct."

Clark forced himself to calm his breathing as he was bodily picked up and hauled through the door. In the center of the room was a large four-sided brick oven. It was much like one you might find in an old blacksmith's shop, only it had a large opening on each side and its chimney went through the roof. Around the oven were chairs and in them Clark could see many people who had already been strapped down to them. The fear in their eyes was terrible.

"Please," Clark begged.

The alien's eyes sparkled with delight. He reached his hands up and touched Clark's face gently. "You will make a fine slave, pretty human," he muttered.

Clark flinched away from him. It wasn't happening. It wasn't happening.

"But you're going to receive the mark first," the man whispered, his mouth inches from Clark's ear.

"No!" Clark protested, but the man only laughed again and forced him over to an open chair.

Clark fought as best he could, but another coughing fit seized him and blood trickled from his mouth again. His momentary loss of control gave the alien time to snap the metal cuffs about his wrists.

"No!" he screamed again. The chair was a horrible device. Its back went up to just below his shoulder blades before stopping. On its arms were manacles to hold one's wrists down and on the left arm there was a strap that the alien was currently pulling around Clark's chest and over his right shoulder before fastening it to the hook on the top right side of the chair. The whole contraption made sure that he could neither move forward or backward, but that his left shoulder was unhindered.

He heard the moans and shrieks of others around him. It was not happening.

"You will be like cattle; you will be branded and be made to work."

The alien turned towards the fire and from it pulled a glowing hot brand. The coals snapped and crackled when it was pulled from the fire and the iron glowed a furious, fiery hot red and orange.

Clark got a good look at it for the alien held it up for his viewing. "Nice, isn't it? The 'rachla' designed it himself and the council approved it. This is the symbol for prisoners who oppose the new regime. There are different symbols for different crimes, but yours is undoubtedly the most severe." Gee, that was surprising, especially considering he'd had a huge hand in destroying Chicago, Clark thought to him self sarcastically.

Clark tried to ease his breathing as he looked at the thing. Though it was the mirror image of how it would appear on his skin, he could see that it was of circular shape with small triangles adorning the outside of the circle-it was in the shape of a sun. The circle was only about three inches by three inches, but the triangles, or rays, around it reached an inch more. The only reason that it didn't directly resemble a sun was that the tips of the triangles were connected with straight lines, making the whole thing seem like a very strange looking wheel.

Inside the circle were four lines, each dissecting the others at their midpoints so that they crossed like a stick figure star, or like two x's laid on top of each other. Around the intersection of the lines was a small circle.

Clark shivered. It was a frightening symbol and one of the many that were now well known, though he'd never actually seen one burned on.

Clark fought to hold back the stream of noises that threatened to come from his throat as the alien moved behind him and out of his line of sight. When its cool hand touched his left shoulder a second later he jumped, having expected the iron. He began to desperately strain against the restraints holding him to the chair.

"Your flesh will look pretty with such a mark on it," the alien commented, its voice soft and mocking. It gave a slight brush to Clark's skin, as though to get off any dirt or remaining condensation from his 'bath'. Clark continued to pull against his bindings futilely.

He'd steeled himself against the pain that he'd known was impending, but it still took him by surprise. Every nerve of his shoulder seemed to protest as the hot iron was pushed firmly against him. He screamed, long and loud, but no louder than any of the others receiving the mark. The pain began to wane once the nerve endings were burned off, but the scent of the burning flesh-his burning flesh-was still enough to make him scream for mercy.

As quickly as it had started it was over and he was left in the chair, panting. His shoulder burned in protest.

The cold compress that was forced on his shoulder took him by storm and shocked him. He was confused to find that it hurt. Such a violent mixture of heat and cold clearly wasn't supposed to happen. His only relief came when the cold compress toned down the heat and his shoulder was soothed.

His pants had subsided to deep, desperate breaths for air by that time. He was all too aware that he was shaking. When the alien brought its hand to his shoulder and touched the brand he gagged and then gave up to the heaving of his stomach. He hadn't been fed since two days before so all that came out was a bit of bile and far too much blood for his peace of mind.

The alien simply laughed a little and unchained him from the chair, shoving him to the floor. "I was right; it does look good on you."

Clark didn't get up, but kept his head down and his neck exposed to the alien. These were the little tricks he'd observed over the years-observed and learned but never had to use until now.

"Get up," the alien commanded, grabbing him roughly by the seat of his pants and hauling him up. Clark stumbled with the rough jerk.

Even the muggy air that hit him when he was shoved out the door was a welcome release to the terrible heat and stench of flesh in the furnace room. The alien had let go of him to shove him out the door and he landed on his hands and knees. His cough resumed and blood spilled down his chin and bare chest as well as the ground when the alien picked him up again.

He was pushed back across the yard and towards a gate in the fence. On the other side of the gate was another fenced in enclosure with more people standing in it, all of them terrifying to look at. Some of their faces were gaunt and even those that looked physically healthy looked terrible. Their eyes looked so dead and haunted. Was that how he looked?

They barely even looked up as Clark was forced inside and the gate was locked behind him. The alien gave him a shark-like smile before turning and leaving. Clark was given no explanation-not that he'd expected one.