This chapter should answer yet more questions. (Especially as to whom Clark was talking to in the flashback in the last chapter.)

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Clark watched the fields whipping by as the truck zipped along. The air felt very good on his face and feverish skin, and even the cough and his blood were subsiding, for which he was very thankful.

Knowing he couldn't avoid it, he forced himself to touch the brand on his back. He could actually feel the curved and straight lines in his skin. That made him shiver so he craned his head over his shoulder, and when he did he was sickened to see the darkened indentations in his skin. Sure, he'd seen it on others in the last few hours, but seeing it on himself was something entirely different.

He let his fingers drop, being simply unable to believe it. His mind was spinning in a thousand different directions, but if finally settled on a memory of another conversation.

"What will happen if we loose, Clark?"

Clark rolled over in bed, shifting closer to her and pulling her into his arms. "We aren't going to loose, Chlo."

"Clark-"

"We won't win, but we won't loose."

"You saw what I saw today: Chicago going up in flames. That's going to take some major repair. We were very lucky, and you know that. But next time we might not be."

"It's not luck, Chloe. We survive by our wits and by what we've learned."

She snuggled closer against him, tucking her head under his chin. Skin rubbed against skin and he sighed, stroking her back gently. "Do you ever wish that, you know, you'd chosen the other option?"

She sighed against him and then answered, "No." There was a pause and then she asked, "Is that question brought on from having seen him again today?"

"I-yes. He was-he stood right there and helped them destroy-helped them capture his own race. I've got to wonder if he'd help them destroy me if it came right down to it."

"No, Clark, he'd never do that. You two-he'd never hurt you."

Clark had only sighed and kissed the top of her head. A few minutes later they'd fallen into slumber, curled tightly against each other..

The scenery behind the truck was beginning to change, and Clark was no longer sure what state he was in. It wasn't Kansas, or at least he didn't think so. The land was becoming hilly and as the truck went up everyone in it shifted to adjust themselves.

The ride had to have been at least five hours, and eventually exhaustion got to Clark and he felt his head falling against the chain link. A few minute later he dozed off.

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Clark was awakened by the truck hitting a bump, causing his head to slam into the chain link. His eyes instantly flashed to the outside of the truck. He'd broken his golden rule of never fall into an actual state of slumber, and he felt a blush heat his cheeks as he realized that. How stupid.

A quick glance back told him that it was a speed bump that had created the jolt and a glance forward told him that the thing existed because they were entering a city. The buildings rose up to kiss the sky like corporate mountains.

Clark breathed in the air deeply, causing the smell of hot asphalt hit his nostrils. It grew stronger as they went deeper towards the heart of the city. The buildings, already enormous, because closer, seemingly growing in size as they did so.

Clark felt rather degraded and embarrassed when he saw how many of the people on the sidewalk stopped to observe the progress of the truck. A few looked sympathetic, a handful looked smug, but the vast majority looked at them vacantly and without emotion. It almost seemed to Clark that they were thinking about how if they put a toe out of line that it would be them in the truck with the brand on their back.

Maybe they were smart. Maybe not. Clark knew he was smart, but he was still in the truck.

The truck went up and down several more streets until it reached an area that was fairly open, surrounded by buildings. Clark had known that this moment would come from the time he'd been caught. He'd seen things like this, but he hadn't wanted to think that it could happen to him. Although if it could happen to Pete, Chloe, and Lana it could certainly happen to him, and he knew that he'd have to soon face that.

And it appeared that soon had just become now.

The truck pulled up to the open area and aliens approached it, unbolting the back and opening the door. The people clumped again, but the aliens came onto the truck and promptly grabbed them, hauling them down. Clark was grabbed as well, but against all his rules, he fought.

He wasn't sure what had made him do it, other than he didn't want to be someone's slave or butt boy for the rest of his life. Of course, struggling was practically a death sentence in itself.

The alien's eyes burned with fury as he hauled Clark down off the ramp. Rage burning in his very posture, he slammed Clark into the side of the truck and then punched him hard in the gut.

Clark tried to stand and the alien 'helped' him by hauling him to his feet, and Clark teetered dangerously as he was pulled forward towards another pen. He was seriously starting to hate pens.

The alien that had been towing him picked him up and tossed him across the pen. The pen was set up so that three sides were the same chain link metal that had been back at the camp, but the forth was the side of a building. Clark flew straight into the side of the building.

The breath was knocked from his lungs and he fell flat, gasping for breath. His cough resurfaced and clumps of blood were spattered on the ground when he coughed. He felt as though his insides were being torn up. The world swam before his eyes and then, mercifully, he thought, darkness encompassed his vision.

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Clark wasn't sure when he woke up next. The only thing he knew was that a boot was poking him in the side. He shifted, more out of habit than anything. "He's alive," an alien's voice said in its native language. The poking went away and Clark opened his eyes.

At first the world was blurry, but after a few moments of rapid blinking it began to come back into view. He realized suddenly that the pen was in the middle of a market place, and that was why the ground had been flat and open. A quick glance at it showed him that it was now filled with stands.

He'd lived-hidden-in the city long enough to know this was how some people made their money. They'd pack up their stands, which sold various things, every night and bring them back in the morning. He was in a marketplace and he was part of the merchandise.

Clark was very aware that he was still lying flat on his stomach. He just didn't have the energy to get up. When he looked down he saw that the ground was splattered with blood-his own blood. There was also crust around his mouth that, when tasted, proved to be dried blood as well as saliva. He was seriously sick and he knew it.

A spasm overtook his body as he coughed again. His vision flickered, but he fought desperately and was just barely able to keep his hold on consciousness. The spasm finally stopped and he was disgusted by the blood and spit on his chin.

He used what was left of his reserves to keep his head up and scan the area quickly. Once he was sure no one was trying to hurt him he laid it back down. It was always best to be alert, not to mention prepared, and he hadn't given up on life quite yet.

He was about to lay his head back down on the ground, dirt and blood be damned, when a large commotion prompted him to keep it up. Even those also in the pen seemed interested, although their interest translated into fear and apprehension.

The gate was opening but he didn't care to see who it was. It really didn't matter; they were probably just a rich alien with lots of power looking for a slave. The dieing man in the corner wouldn't catch their eye.

"Yes, thank you." Clark hadn't heard the start of the conversation, but that didn't matter. And, suddenly, who had just entered the pen was paramount.

He immediately forced his head back up, although he was nearly out of strength to do so. This wasn't what he wanted. This couldn't be happening. Maybe it was only delusion talking, but he knew that voice.

A sharp look confirmed that it wasn't his delusion talking, because standing there, talking to one of the aliens overseeing the sales, was the last person he wanted to allow to see what had become of him. Apparently, he wasn't even allowed to die with his dignity in tact-not that he was ready to die yet.

"Depends on what you want. Stronger ones are in the back. Well, as a rule anyway. There was one who got tossed back there. It still amazes me that there are some who are dumb enough to struggle."

A soft chuckle. "There will always be that few."

His voice was so cold, so uncaring. Would he even care? Did Clark even want him to? Was his pride or his life more important?

"Here, follow me, I'll show you them."

The footsteps were coming closer. If there was one thing Clark knew to do, it was to meet things like this head on. He would get the element of surprise, though he didn't suspect it would really matter. With all the strength he had left, he kept up his head and looked up at Lex Luthor and the alien who were coming towards him.