Fran saw David walking toward him and immediately began struggling with all his strength.
The ropes around his arms and chest cut into his skin, but no matter how hard he twisted or jerked his body, the bindings refused to loosen.
"Help! Help!"
His desperate shouts echoed through the abandoned factory.
The sound carried through the empty building and out into the silent countryside, but nobody would come here. This factory had been deserted for years, far from any road where someone might hear him.
David's footsteps moved closer.
Each step landed with calm, deliberate rhythm.
To Fran, the sound felt like the tolling of a funeral bell. Every footstep struck his nerves harder than the last, sending waves of fear crashing through his chest.
"Listen carefully," Fran said, forcing his voice steady as he swallowed nervously. "Imprisoning and harming a police detective is a federal crime."
David didn't respond immediately.
Fran continued talking quickly, hoping to appeal to whatever rationality remained in the seventeen-year-old boy standing in front of him.
"You're just a high school student. Whatever you're thinking right now is probably an impulsive mistake. You still have time to stop."
Snap.
David calmly positioned the chair more securely and adjusted Fran's head with firm hands so it faced upward. Then he placed a damp towel carefully over the detective's face.
"Since the Middle Ages," David said quietly, "waterboarding has been recognized as one of the cruelest interrogation methods in human history."
His voice remained calm and steady.
The cold tone inside those words made Fran's blood run cold.
"I personally like this technique," David continued. "It's simple, efficient, and doesn't involve much blood."
"No! No!"
Fran instantly realized what was about to happen.
He screamed in panic and tried desperately to shake his head, but David's hand clamped down like iron. No matter how hard Fran struggled, the grip never moved.
Splash.
David lifted a heavy bucket with one hand.
The container weighed dozens of kilograms, yet he held it easily. The water inside poured steadily onto the towel covering Fran's face.
"Save—save—"
Fran tried to beg for mercy.
But the water instantly flooded his mouth and nose.
His cries dissolved into choking sounds.
The soaked towel clung tightly to his face, trapping the liquid and blocking the air. Every attempt to inhale only dragged more water into his throat.
Within thirty seconds the oxygen in his blood began dropping rapidly.
The pain of suffocation arrived like a crushing wave.
The veins in Fran's neck bulged violently as his legs kicked uncontrollably against the floor, twitching like a rabbit caught in a snare.
"Take a deep breath," David said calmly. "The dizziness is normal."
Now the real interrogation had begun.
As oxygen deprivation worsened, Fran's body reacted instinctively. His lungs struggled for air, forcing him to swallow water again and again. Liquid rushed into his stomach, lungs, and bronchial tubes.
The suffocation intensified.
Muffled screams echoed through the empty factory.
"From the Spanish Inquisition to modern intelligence agencies," David continued calmly, "around eighty percent of people subjected to waterboarding eventually confess."
He tilted his head slightly.
"I hope you belong to the remaining twenty percent, Jakes Faran."
There was almost a hint of curiosity in his voice.
"Because the others usually end up as unfortunate victims who are accidentally tortured to death."
"Mm—mm—"
Pain and terror tore through Fran's body.
His willpower, once hardened by years of manipulation and crime, collapsed quickly under the overwhelming sensation of drowning.
Within thirty seconds he already wanted to confess.
But he couldn't speak.
His mouth was covered.
His arms and legs were bound.
Even though his mind screamed for the torture to stop, he could only continue enduring it.
Two long minutes passed.
To Fran, they felt like eternity.
His consciousness began fading as darkness crept across his vision. His limbs twitched violently while his body convulsed in panic.
"That should be enough," David said casually.
"If we continue, the scene might become unpleasant."
He lowered the bucket.
People subjected to waterboarding often lost control of their bodies after prolonged torture.
"Ugh—"
The towel was finally removed.
Fran gasped violently.
Air rushed into his lungs as he coughed and retched like a fish stranded on a beach. For more than ten seconds he could barely focus his eyes.
He had just escaped death.
His face turned pale as his entire body trembled uncontrollably.
When his vision finally cleared, he stared at David with a mixture of terror and disbelief, trying desperately to form words.
"Oh, right."
David raised an eyebrow as if remembering something.
"I forgot to explain earlier how you should signal that you're ready to confess."
There was no sign of genuine realization on his face.
To Fran, the boy in front of him looked like a smiling demon.
Fear flooded his eyes as his teeth chattered.
"Devil… you're a devil!"
"You've already wasted enough of my time," David said slowly while lifting the chair upright again.
"So start telling me what I want to know."
He paused briefly.
"Or would you prefer a second round?"
"I'll talk! I'll talk!"
Fran shouted immediately.
If the ropes hadn't restrained him, he probably would have fallen to his knees and started begging. At that moment he was willing to say anything just to avoid experiencing that nightmare again.
Tap.
David pressed the spacebar on the laptop beside him.
The scheduled email was canceled.
He glanced at the terrified detective and calmly closed the computer.
"Thank you for your cooperation."
"You… you're not normal," Fran stammered.
His arms wrapped tightly around himself as his voice trembled.
"What did you say?" David asked mildly.
"Your hands," Fran continued nervously. "Just now when you grabbed my face, they were like iron clamps. No matter how hard I struggled, I couldn't move at all."
The memory of that crushing pressure returned vividly.
Fran's eyes widened in horror.
Now he understood.
There was only one explanation for Clark's reaction earlier. Clark had agreed to cooperate and then vanished.
"You're worse than your brother," Fran whispered.
"You're a stronger monster."
"I don't like that word."
David stepped forward slowly.
His shadow fell over the trembling detective.
"I simply have a few methods for dealing with Clark."
"What… what are you going to do?" Fran asked desperately.
Fear gripped his heart so tightly that he almost regretted ever approaching the Kent brothers.
"Please," he begged weakly. "Just let me go."
David looked down at him calmly.
"The best way to keep a secret," he said quietly, "is for the person who knows it to die."
His finger flicked forward.
The fifty-cent coin shot through the air like a bullet.
It pierced straight through Fran's forehead and embedded itself deep into the brick wall behind him.
Blood splattered against the bricks.
Fran's eyes remained wide open.
His body tipped backward with the chair, crashing onto the dusty concrete floor.
A cloud of dust rose around him.
"Even though you lost the bet," David said softly, "the fifty cents is still yours."
…
"Did you kill him, David?"
Late that afternoon, Clark stood inside the attic of the old warehouse.
After waking up around noon, he had kicked the kryptonite into a sewer drain and searched the outskirts of town repeatedly. He spent hours looking for Fran but found no trace of the detective.
Finally, after school ended, he stormed into the attic.
David stood near the window, calmly watching the darkening sky outside.
"Yes," he replied.
Clark froze.
"He's a police detective," Clark said slowly, still stunned by how casually his brother admitted it.
"I handled everything cleanly."
David had never followed any rule about refusing to kill.
When he spared other powered individuals before, it was simply because keeping them alive generated more emotional energy.
Fran, however, was nothing special.
Just an ordinary human.
Keeping him alive had no value.
"The body is buried beneath the concrete floor of the abandoned factory," David added calmly. "No one will find it."
Clark's expression turned serious.
"I meant something else," he said quietly.
"That detective might not have committed any serious crimes."
It was unlikely that a man who specialized in blackmailing others was a good police officer.
But Clark also doubted the man had committed anything severe enough to land him in prison. Otherwise, the department would have discovered it long ago.
"Your innocence is almost amusing, brother."
David seemed to have anticipated that reaction.
He shook his head.
Then he turned the laptop sitting on the attic table toward Clark and pressed play.
....
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