The steady drone of the sedan's engine filled the cabin, a dull backdrop to the tension simmering inside. Outside, the City blurred by in streaks of neon and shadow. Serling's hands clenched tight around the wheel, knuckles white, jaw set. Every few seconds her eyes darted to the rearview mirror, like she expected black Cadmus vans to materialize from the traffic at any moment.
Finally, she exhaled sharply. "I don't get it," she muttered, voice low and taut. "When I pulled that tracker out of you, I ran every diagnostic I had. Nothing came up. No trace of a meta-gene. You were… baseline. Just a regular guy. So tell me, Zane—how the hell did you do what you just did back there?"
Zane leaned back in the seat, letting the leather groan under his weight. A crooked smirk tugged at his lips. "Would you believe me if I said I'm a late bloomer?"
Artemis arched a brow, shooting him a sidelong glare. "Cute. Real cute. But seriously—what the hell was that? I've sparred with you before, Zane. You had… I don't know, instincts. A freaky sense for where an attack was coming from. But that was a complete transformation! That was—" She hesitated, shaking her head. "That was something else."
"It's a pretty recent development, honestly." Zane shrugged, his tone light but his eyes fixed on the blur of streetlights rushing past the window. "I don't really understand it either. But come on—you gotta admit it's pretty cool, huh?"
Neither woman was laughing.
Serling's grip on the wheel tightened until the leather creaked. "Cool? Zane, you don't get it. Power isn't… it's not some neat party trick. It's a target painted on your back. The moment someone like you shows up on a scanner, there are people—whole organizations—who start asking who you belong to. And if the answer is no one? Then they decide you don't get to belong to yourself either."
Zane leaned forward, resting an elbow casually on the seat in front of him, his smirk turning sharper. "Go on, Doc. Don't leave me hanging. I know this dance already. The government doesn't like individuals they can't control. Doesn't matter if you're a meta, an alien, or some guy who can do parlor tricks with clocks. If you don't toe the line, they'll either put you on a leash…" His grin widened, dark humor bleeding through. "…or put you in the ground."
Artemis shifted uncomfortably in her seat, arms crossed. "You're enjoying this way too much."
"Better to laugh than scream," Zane said lightly, though his grin never reached his eyes. "People are already on the lookout for me, just keep adding to the list."
Serling glanced at him in the mirror, her expression caught between warning and pity. " You don't understand the history here, Zane. The world doesn't trust power it can't measure. Metas get conscripted. Aliens get dissected. And people like you? People who fall through the cracks?" She paused, her voice dropping into something heavy. "They vanish. No press release. No funeral. Just… gone."
The cabin went quiet again, the hum of the engine filling the space like static.
Zane broke it with a low chuckle, though there was no warmth in it. "Guess I should be flattered, huh? Makes me feel all important."
"Hopefully not too Important," Serling said flatly.
Artemis threw up her hands. "You've always been a pain with those freaky instincts—like you've got some built-in early warning system the rest of us don't. But now? Now you're pulling off moves that make metas look clumsy, and you're sitting there smirking like it's a joke. It's not. Cadmus doesn't let people like you walk free, and the government's even worse. And the League?" She exhaled sharply, shaking her head. "They won't kill you, but they'll sure as hell want you on a leash. And if you don't play along… they'll keep you under lock and key until you do."
Zane's smirk faltered, his gaze sliding to her reflection in the window. "...Didn't know you cared that much." His tone still carried its playful edge, but there was a flicker of sincerity beneath it. Then, almost as quickly, his grin sharpened again. "But if the best plan they've got is a cage, they'd better make it one hell of a cage."
---
The wreckage of Cadmus still smoldered, smoke curling into the night. Then the sky split with a streak of red and blue. Superman descended in a blur, cape rippling before slowing to a hover over the shattered streets. His boots touched down with a heavy thud, eyes narrowing as he surveyed the destruction—crushed asphalt, twisted steel, gouged craters in the ground.
This was a battlefield.
"What happened here, Batman?" he said into the silence.
The communicator crackled. Batman's voice, steady as ever: "With Desmond in custody, we've confirmed Cadmus has been running human experimentation. The League is dismantling the site now—every subject we find is being freed, relocated, stabilized." A beat. "That includes one you need to see for yourself."
Superman's brow furrowed. "You could just tell me, Bruce."
But he was already scanning. First for survivors. No civilians were in immediate danger. Then deeper. Through smoke and concrete, until his gaze fixed on a lone figure standing in the rubble.
A boy. Bruised, bloodied, fists clenched. Yet upright, defiant.
And on his chest—tattered but unmistakable—the S. His family crest. His symbol of hope.
Superman froze. His breath caught as his vision shifted—x-ray, then microscopic. What he saw made his chest tighten. Kryptonian DNA, intertwined with strands of human code. Every cell screamed of him, but… altered. Engineered.
"No," he whispered. "That's… impossible."
Connor stepped forward at the sound of his voice, chest heaving, but his expression softened the instant their eyes met.
For the first time since leaving Cadmus, something like hope flickered inside him. His whole life had been a cage, a weapon for Cadmus, a tool. Always confined inside those walls, until today when he finally got the chance to go outside.
Which is why he tried so hard not to fail his first Proper Mission.
But what he didnt expect was for him to meet someone he's always been told about, the man whose blood made him… was standing before him.
"Superman," he said, almost reverently. His voice wavered, awkward but full of something raw.
He's been locked up since he could remember, but the one consistent things he been told since birth....was that he would one day surpass this man before him!!
Superman!! Symbol of Hope!!Symbol of Peace!!
His blood 'Father'!
But Superman's gaze was rigid, almost pained. "You're… a clone."
The word landed like a blow.
Connor's hands curled into fists. He forced himself not to look away, but the disappointment in Superman's eyes carved into him. This wasn't the reaction he dreamed of. No recognition. No warmth. Just… dismay.
"Yes, I'm a Clone...I'm Yours," Connor said bitterly.
Superman didn't answer. He didn't have to. His silence was louder than words.
Batman's voice cut through the comm again. "Clark. The League will handle Cadmus. The victims there—including him—are not to be treated as weapons. But this is your call."
Superman exhaled slowly, fists flexing at his sides. He looked at Connor—at the mirrored face, the emblem he hadn't given, the life created without his consent. "This can't be ignored," he said at last. His voice was low, final. "You're coming with me. Until we know exactly what Cadmus did to you."
Connor stiffened. His gut twisted. It sounded less like an invitation and more like a sentence.
He shook his head once, stubborn. "I'm not going back. Not to them. Not to that cage." His voice cracked with anger and something more fragile beneath it. "When I fought here…no...when I saved people… I didn't feel like their experiment. I felt…" He swallowed, struggling for the word. "…human. I'm not giving that up. Not even for you."
For a moment, silence hung heavy between them. Superman's cape billowed in the wind, his shadow stretching long over Connor's smaller frame.
Finally, Superman's expression soffened, but there was something conflicted buried deep in his eyes. "Then you'll have to prove it."
.....
Patreaon
/Williamstewart