Passing the grand gates of Wayne Manor, I found myself standing before the quaint, charming house that served as Alfred's residence. A warm glow spilled from the windows, casting a comforting light on the surrounding darkness. Someone was home. I quickly scanned the house, confirming that Alfred was inside and, thankfully, alone.
Securing Helena's delicate form in one arm, I approached the window of Alfred's room. I gave it a polite but purposeful knock, my heart drumming with anticipation. Muffled sounds of movement resonated from inside. Moments later, the door swung open. Alfred's eyes widened as he took in the sight before him.
"What on earth have you done?" he exclaimed in that posh accent of his, adding a touch of class to his obvious concern.
I held Helena closer, meeting Alfred's gaze. "Hey, I didn't do anything. She's been drugged," I replied, well aware that Alfred had his doubts about me. Figures his suspicious mind would leap to the wrong conclusion.
Alfred's gaze shifted between me and the unconscious Helena, a mix of worry and understanding flickering in his eyes. He gestured for me to enter, a hesitant sign of trust. With cautious steps, I crossed the threshold into his humble abode, a sense of familiarity and safety enveloping me.
As Alfred closed the door behind us, his full attention turned to Helena, still cradled protectively in my arms. His years of caring for Bruce Wayne shone through as he assessed her condition.
"Do you want me to carry her to the cave?" I offered, "I noticed you've got quite the setup there."
Alfred paused for a moment, considering the options. "Let's bring her to the medical facility at the back," he finally suggested, "We have all the tools we need right here."
I nodded in agreement. We made our way to a small, but well-equipped medical room tucked away in Alfred's house—a hidden enclave filled with the scent of antiseptic and the soft hum of life-saving machinery. Carefully, I laid Helena on the medical bed, entrusting her to Alfred's capable hands.
He swiftly sprang into action, launching into a series of tests to evaluate her condition. His skilled hands moved with precision and gentleness, administering oxygen and monitoring her vital signs. Stepping back, I gave him the space he needed, my eyes fixated on Helena's motionless figure.
"Clark, do you know what substance she was drugged with?" Alfred's voice resonated with a calm determination as he checked her pulse.
I took a deep breath, racking my brain for any clue. "Can't say for sure about the exact substance," I admitted, a tinge of frustration coloring my words. "But whatever it was, it packed a punch. She was completely out of it."
"How did this happen?" he inquired, his tone devoid of warmth.
I took a moment to gather my thoughts, searching for the right response. "Tyler, a guy from Gotham A., thought he could take advantage of her," I explained, a protective fire smoldering within me. "I arrived just in the nick of time. He had spiked her drink. I couldn't let him get away with it."
Alfred paused for a moment. "Did you…?"
I understood the unspoken question in Alfred's eyes. Did I get my hands dirty? Did I give Tyler the justice he deserved?
"I did what I had to do to keep Helena safe," I replied, my tone firm yet measured. He's still intact, if that's what's worrying you. But trust me, he won't be causing more trouble anytime soon."
Returning to the dump I called home, weariness clung to me like stubborn cobwebs. Jake sat alone in the living room, nursing a beer bottle and wearing his misery like a shroud. The stench of defeat permeated the room, as if it had seeped into the very fabric of the place.
Ignoring his pitiful state, I made my way to the kitchen, my mind consumed with thoughts of Helena—her vitals had stabilized, and she was in good hands with Alfred.
As I assembled a humble sandwich, the clatter of utensils echoed through the dimly lit room. Taking a bite, I typed out a quick message: "Call me when you wake up."
Mid-chew, I heard Jake's lumbering steps on the worn-out floorboards. His bloodshot eyes locked onto my precious sandwich. "Fix me one of those, would ya?" he slurred, pointing his greasy finger toward my creation.
I sighed inwardly, knowing that denying him would only ignite the powder keg of his anger. I gathered the ingredients, slapping them together with practiced indifference, swiftly assembling a replica. I slid the plate within his grubby reach like a peace offering, hoping it would buy me a moment's reprieve.
Eager to escape the toxic atmosphere, I gobbled down my half-eaten meal. I couldn't flee fast enough, my movements fluid and efficient. I washed my dish in a blur, impatience radiating from my every pore.
"Quit flitting 'round like some damn sideshow freak," Jake grumbled, his words slurring together in a drunken haze. My eyes flickered with annoyance, but I refused to let him get under my skin.
Undeterred by my lack of response, he pressed on. "You really think you're something, don't ya?" he sneered with a bitter edge. "Worthless… huck, burden," he hiccuped.
God, he just didn't know when to quit. It was clear he got a sick thrill out of pushing someone who could likely bench press a tank. He was an adrenaline junkie, addicted to the rush, and I was his dangerous fix. But I knew his game, his desperate need to feel superior. And I had no intention of playing along.
"Lucky for me, I don't need your seal of approval." I shot back, with a nonchalant shrug.
His frustration mounted, realizing that his attempts to rile me up were falling flat. But he couldn't resist taking another jab.
"Nothin' but a waste of money. Ain't nobody gonna give two shits when you're gone," he muttered under his breath.
A chuckle escaped my lips, the irony not lost on me. "Well, Jake, the feeling is mutual. And as for the money, my generous scholarship does a fine job of keeping this place from falling apart."
His face flushed with anger, his fists clenching as he struggled to contain his frustration. He wanted a fight, a clash that would affirm his twisted existence. But I had no interest in dancing to his tune, in granting him the satisfaction he craved.
"Enjoy your sandwich," I tossed over my shoulder as I briskly made my way to the sanctuary of my room, leaving him seething in the kitchen.
I jolted awake, my body spasming as pain surged through every fiber of my being. The room was pitch-black, and it took a moment for my groggy mind to register where I was. Standing before me was Jake, his burly figure bathed in an eerie green glow emanating from his hand. That explained why I felt like all my strength had been sucked out from my very soul.
When Jake's fingers brushed against my skin, the touch of the stone sent waves of agony pulsating through my veins. I winced as he forcefully yanked me out of bed, my weak muscles protesting against the sudden movement.
In a daze, I fought against his hold, my wriggles a futile attempt to free myself from his grip. Sweat glistened on his forehead as he dragged my heavy frame across the room, the floor's coldness biting into my skin.
We stumbled down the stairs, my body crashing against each step like a ragdoll. When we hit the ground floor, Jake wasted no time. He secured that cursed stone to my back, wrapping it with layer upon layer of gray tape.
The damn thing felt like a boulder pressing against my flesh, intensifying the already excruciating ache that radiated through my being. Not content with that, my wrists and ankles received the same cruel treatment.
Satisfied with his handiwork, Jake wiped the sweat from his brow and took a moment to catch his breath. With a final grunt, he shoved me into the back of his beat-up construction van. The air inside was rank, a blend of dust and decay that made me want to gag. I was trapped, confined within the metal prison of his vehicle, as it roared to life and barreled into the night.
The rickety van rattled along the uneven road, each bone-jarring bump jolting me with a fresh wave of agony. I gritted my teeth, my body contorting in pain. Where the bloody hell was this lunatic taking me? Was he planning to dump me in the murky depths of Gotham Harbor, like some kind of twisted mobster?
A flicker of defiance burned within me, urging me to fight back, to break free from this nightmare. I pushed with all my might, muscles straining against the restraints that bound me, but my strength had all but abandoned me. I was as helpless as a newborn. I squinted my eyes, trying to summon the scorching intensity of my gaze, aiming it at the tape that bound my wrists. Yet not even the faintest flicker of flame graced my eyes. Those damn beams, always showing up uninvited, proved to be as helpful as a wet matchstick for once that I actually needed them.
The searing ache in my back grew more unbearable by the minute, threatening to reduce my consciousness to ashes. In the hazy realm between waking and unconsciousness, I heard Jake's voice, dripping with scorn and mockery. Something about not knowing living with a freak would one day pay off handsomely.
And with that thought lingering in the air, darkness enveloped.
I drifted in and out of consciousness, my body being moved and shifted yet again. The world spun in a dizzying blur. Sounds came and went, distant echoes teasing my senses. But amidst the haze, I discerned a voice, familiar yet distant, the very same that had resonated through the phone during Jake's cryptic conversation.
I strained to make sense of the fragments that reached my ears. Another voice joined the symphony, unmistakably Jake's. "Keep that damn stone within arm's reach of the boy, as if your life depends on it... because it just might,"
Through the slits of my heavy eyelids, I caught a glimpse of Jake's figure, his grubby paws clinging possessively to something, something that gleamed under the dim light. A box? No a briefcase... And there it was—the unmistakable look of greed, etched across his face.
As the voices faded in the background, darkness descended once more, swallowing me whole.
I drifted between realms, my mind caught in the relentless dance between awareness and oblivion. The world around me seemed distant and detached, like a fleeting dream.
As I regained a sliver of awareness, a harsh, cold sensation greeted my senses. I lay upon a hard metal surface, paralyzed and trapped within my own body.
The weight of my eyelids seemed insurmountable, but I managed to crack them open, only to be greeted by an overwhelming brightness that seared into my retinas. Blinking away the pain, I sought refuge in the comforting shroud of darkness.
Agonizing pain radiated through every pore. Something metallic dug into my wrists, mercilessly pinning me to the surface that served as my prison. Echoing in the distance, two distinct voices filled the room, their tones carrying a sense of clinical detachment.
"Our priority is the refinement of the inhibitor collar, ensuring a secure attachment to the subject. Once it's ready, we'll summon Gary to handle the installation. We cannot afford any oversights," one voice asserted, its urgency palpable.
"Well, well, Stirling. Looks like we've got ourselves a new project to spice up our workweek," The other voice chimed in, "You might want to take a gander through this microscope. Our little stone friend here seems to defy all the rules of the periodic table. It's as alien as it gets."
As consciousness slipped away from me once more, I was left with the lingering fragments of their conversation, the mere breadcrumbs of understanding in a sea of confusion. Moments later, I stirred back to a hazy awareness, my eyelids too heavy to lift.
Sensations flooded my body. The sting of a needle pierced my skin. My mouth was pried open, and something sharp scraped against the tender flesh of my inner cheek. They probed and swabbed, collecting samples, the intrusion spreading discomfort throughout my weakened form.
"Langley, something isn't quite right with the results. This being, it's not like us. The anomalies in his physiology suggest a non-human origin." one of the scientists voiced, genuine astonishment coloring his words.
"Non-human? That's putting it mildly. Just take a look at that rock. This could win us a Nobel Prize in Physiology, Steve."
"The informant wasn't kidding when he mentioned the lad's unnatural faculties," the other scientist mused, the weight of perplexity evident in their voice. "But these tests... we're dealing with something truly extraordinary. It's as if he's not even from this earth."
A tremor of realization quivered in the other scientist's voice. "Hold on a minute. Remember that crash twenty years ago? The vessel in Section 5.3? The size matches up, doesn't it? It was large enough to accommodate an infant. And this subject, he appears to be in his early twenties. Could it be... could he be connected to that incident? Could this specimen actually be the alien?" The room fell into a stunned silence, the weight of the revelation hanging heavy in the air.
Non-human. Alien. The words reverberated through the fog of my thoughts, but my weary mind struggled to grasp their meaning. Bits and pieces of fragmented understanding floated in the void, eluding my grasp. My hazy thoughts stumbled, like a worn-out engine desperately trying to turn over.
"Unbelievable," one of them finally breathed, their voice a mix of incredulity and excitement. "If this turns out to be true, we're standing on the brink of a scientific breakthrough unlike anything the world has ever seen. The implications... they're mind-boggling."
The world around me blurred as the truth crashed into my consciousness like a relentless tidal wave. Did I hear that right? Could it be true? Was I the alien they spoke of? The questions swirled in a tumultuous storm, each one a lightning bolt of confusion. How? Why? The sheer weight of it all pressed down on me, threatening to suffocate any semblance of understanding. The gears of my mind turned slowly, grinding against the backdrop of uncertainty.
I reached out for clarity, desperately grasping at the fragments of knowledge within my reach. But the pieces of the puzzle slipped through my fingers, playing hide-and-seek with my sanity.
Fear clutched at my heart, squeezing it tight with icy fingers. The prospect of being an outsider, a stranger in a world that had always felt foreign, sent shivers down my spine. I had spent a lifetime grappling with my differences, struggling to fit into a mold that never quite suited me. But to be an actual alien, a monster masquerading as a human... It was like a cosmic joke, a punchline that left me breathless.
Time stretched, each moment an eternity as I grappled with the overwhelming deluge of information. My once-sharp mind now trudged through the thick mud of confusion. And just like that, unconsciousness swooped in, claiming me in its clutches once again.
As awareness returned, a tight and uncomfortable sensation gripped my neck, as if something constricting was digging into my skin. Blinking through the haze, my surroundings gradually came into focus—an austere laboratory room filled with an array of scientific equipment and tools, some stained with crimson. The air carried the sterile scent of disinfectant.
My body throbbed with pain, protesting against its sharp restraints. Two figures materialized before me, their features sharpening as my vision cleared. The first scientist, clad in a pristine white lab coat, exuded an air of tranquility. His silver hair, neatly combed, framed a kind face.
Beside him stood another man. His rumpled lab coat and unkempt hair hinted at a practical nature. My eyes flicked between them, trying to make sense of the situation.
The gray-haired man turned to his companion and spoke in a measured tone, "Let's dial down the intensity of the collar to 70%. We wouldn't want to overwhelm the lad."
The other man responded with a smirk, adjusting his glasses, "Ah, yes, because we don't want to ruin our prized specimen now, do we?"
Approaching me, the calmer man offered a gentle smile. "There, there, welcome back, kid. Don't fret, we're not here to harm you," he said in a reassuring voice.
I strained against the restraints, my muscles burning with exertion as I desperately tried to free my arms from the cold metallic bed. "Shhh, it's okay. It's okay." His soothing voice pierced through the panic, "We just have a few questions for you. I'm Dr. Stirling, and this is Dr. Samuel Langley."
Fear gripped my heart, but I had to gather myself. "What... what are you doing to me?" I grumbled, the words scraping past my parched throat.
"Your guardian made some rather intriguing claims, lad. He mentioned that you possess some remarkable abilities. Care to enlighten us?" Dr. Langley inquired.
My heart raced, panic threatening to consume me. They knew. Jake, that treacherous weasel, had betrayed me, revealing my secret to these vultures in white coats. But no way in hell was I going to let them see my fear. I had to play it cool, keep my cards hidden. The more I revealed, the more they'd see the anomaly I was. And that meant more tests, more probing, and possibly a lifetime behind locked doors.
"What... do you mean abilities?" I managed to croak, my voice weak and hoarse. "I don't understand."
Dr. Stirling's eyebrows shot up, his air of confidence faltering for a split second. Good. Doubt was creeping in, and I'd ride that wave for all it was worth. He glanced at his partner, as if seeking reassurance, before turning back to me.
He reached for his notepad, a flicker of impatience in his movements. "Look, kid, you can cut the act," he snapped, flipping through the pages. "The scans don't lie."
"Dadadada, 6 foot 3," he mumbled, his eyes scanning the lines on the notepad, "Absence of any moles or birthmarks… No, that's not it... Ah, here!" His finger halted, pointing precisely on the page. "Enhanced cellular and bone density," he stated, his voice carrying the weight of irrefutable evidence. "Specialized ducts extending from the core to the ocular region." Dr. Stirling paused. "Furthermore, the results of the tissue tests indicate near-instantaneous wound closure, suggesting rapid cellular regeneration. These findings align perfectly with the informant's claims."
My mind spun with a mix of shock and anger. All this time, I knew I was different, but to hear it from these prying scientists? It hit me like a sledgehammer to the gut. I recalled the whispers I had overheard earlier, or was it yesterday? Damn this stone, it was playing tricks on my sense of time. They seemed to have laced it into a cursed necklace as well. I needed to shift the conversation, extract as much information as possible.
I locked my gaze onto Stirling, my voice dripping with defiance. "You mentioned the 'A' word. Alien. What crash were you talking about? 'Cause last time I checked, I'm as human as the next guy,"
"I understand your confusion, but we have compelling evidence that suggests otherwise," he explained, his tone measured. "The crash I referred to happened two decades ago, and it involved an unidentified vessel, small in size. Our research indicates that you might be connected to that incident."
I leaned back, my mind racing to comprehend the implications. "Connected? How?"
Dr. Langley stepped forward, adjusting his glasses as he joined the conversation. "According to our investigation, the vessel contained an infant at the time of the crash. Considering your approximate age, it's plausible that you could be that child," he explained.
Their words threw me for a loop, a whirlwind of thoughts spinning through my mind.
"But how… how can you be so sure?" I stammered.
"Our analysis of the meteor rock, which seems to exert a profound influence on you, reveals isotopic signatures and unique energy patterns that are consistent with extraterrestrial origins," he explained, his eyes focused on his notepad. "Moreover, the composition of your DNA displays peculiar markers hitherto unseen in the human genome. It strongly suggests an otherworldly connection."
Their findings sent shockwaves through my core, scattering my thoughts in a thousand different directions.
Dr. Langley plucked an apple from his cluttered desk, his action taking me by surprise. "Now, if you want us to proceed, crush this," he issued the rather peculiar command.
I arched an eyebrow, the request catching me off guard. "Crush an apple? Is that some kind of test?"
Dr. Stirling nodded, looking genuinely excited. "Indeed, it is. You see, the informant mentioned your exceptional faculties, and we need to assess and document their extent to conclude our study."
Hell no, I wasn't about to expose myself to these science nutjobs. Playing dumb was my best strategy. "Well, firstly, my hands are restrained to this damn table, so crushing anything is a bit of a challenge. And secondly, even if the green stone grants me unique powers as you claim, how in the world am I supposed to use them with this confining collar locking me down? It just doesn't add up."
Dr. Stirling responded, "We can reduce the collar's energy output by half. Our goal is to gather accurate data without subjecting you to unnecessary discomfort." The red-stained tools on the stainless steel table seemed to tell a different story.
Dr. Langley pressed a button on his remote, and the metallic restraint on my right wrist released with a resounding clank. A glimmer of hope sparked within me. Then, with another button, he dimmed the inhibitor's energy, easing the strain on my body.
As soon as a flicker of strength trickled back, I reached out, determined to tear that accursed collar off and reduce it to a million irreparable pieces. The taste of freedom was within my reach.
Yet, the moment my fingertip made the slightest contact with the collar, an intense green radiance erupted from it, searing through my nerves like a lightning bolt. It was as if a thousand volts of electricity surged through my veins, threatening to consume me whole. I convulsed, my body contorting in agony, and an involuntary cry of anguish escaped my lips as I recoiled. The world faded into darkness as I succumbed to the overwhelming pain.