Alone, lonely, isolated, friendless, solitary.

Those words never held much meaning for me. I may have been the last of my race, but I was never alone, lonely, or without friends and family. I was never isolated or abandoned. Of course, that was then. Countless years have passed since.

I've been alone for a long time.

I don't remember how old I am. I can't even remember the last time I celebrated my birthday. I don't know how much time has passed since I last laughed or how many rescues ago I stopped caring.

I save people because I must. I'm driven in ways that have nothing to do with heroism and everything to do with biological necessity. I make no connection with the ones I save. I've even begun to see them as something separate from myself. Humans rather than people.

I've become the one thing I always feared. More Jor-El than Jonathan. More alien than human.

The only weakness I have, if you can call it that, is Lex. Or rather Lex's son, Julian. Lex died long ago, years, I'm pretty sure, decades maybe. But Julian carries on the Luthor legacy.

We rarely talk, Julian and I. We're just two strangers connected by this unbreakable and invisible thread. Julian knows who I am, as both Clark and Superman, which didn't surprise me as much as I thought it should. Of course Lex figured it out and of course he told his son. It's only fitting. Sort of like passing the torch.

Sometimes I wish that Lex and I hadn't grown to hate each other so much. It would have been nice to have someone to confide in after my parents died. I never did hear from Pete after he moved away with his mom. Which only reinforced my belief that my secret should stay just that.

"Clark."

I turn at the sound, my cape whispering around my legs. I'm surprised, but then again not, at seeing Julian walking towards me.

Something in me has been waiting for this for days.

I didn't hear the roof door open or shut but I've been focused so internally that all outside noises have ceased to exist. Yet my given name spoke in a voice so like his father's...

I nod in greeting and go back to contemplating the Metropolis skyline at sunset. Truly a spectacular sight. Glass and steel reflecting the reddish gold glow of a seeing sun. There was a time in the past when such a view would have taken my breath away. Now I can only appreciate that I once knew it to be beautiful.

I'm dead inside. Hollow. A mere shell of who I used to be. I rescue helpless humans at night, sleep in rooms carved from glaciers during the day, and occasionally spend hours on top of the LexCorp building for no reason I can fathom. I have no one. I have nothing. Death is no different than life. If God, or whomever, wished to strike me down at this exact moment I would feel no regret, no sorrow but no relief or joy. I'm living but dead. Maybe dying would feel like being alive.

"So, he was right." The words come from a position on my left, spoken in a soft, musical voice. It's very familiarity sends shivers through me. Because except for the reddish brown hair and hazel eyes, Julian is the spitting image of his father.

"I didn't believe him. I had to see for myself." He glances at me quickly. "You are defeated, aren't you?" He seems to find this puzzling and upsetting. "You know, I used to imagine what you would look like, conquered and at feet of whichever enemy finally bested you. Whether it would be one of the villains hell-bent on ruling Metropolis or the government or even the very people you save everyday. I always thought it would be like victory, to see you fallen." He pauses and then moves to stand in front of me. "I was wrong."

A small flare of emotion flutters in my gut. It never occurred to me that Julian might hate me so much. I guess Lex regaled him with enough tales of his arch nemesis to warrant that response.

"I kneel at the feet of no one." My voice is harsh from disuse.

"Maybe not, but you are defeated, a fallen hero, no more the wondrous Superman everyone was in awe of."

I feel a slight tug of regret but it fades quickly. "I haven't been that in many, many years. That stopped even before your father died."

"True," he concedes, "but this I think is worse. Downed by your own hand." He pauses and frowns, looking at his hands. "Though by mine, too."

I snort softly and cross my arms over my chest, unconsciously adopting the old Superman pose. "Please, Julian. This is the longest conversation we've ever had. I doubt there's anything you've done to contribute to my so called demise."

"You'd be surprised." That softness is in his voice again, tugging at feelings better left buried. "Julian did the one thing guaranteed to break you."

"Really," I drawl, giving him an incredulous look, "Julian did? And what might that be?" I wonder why he's suddenly referring to himself in the third person.

He doesn't answer, just rubs his upper lip in an odd way. Almost like he's rubbing away something. When his hand falls my eyes are drawn to his mouth. And to the small scar bisecting his upper lip.

"He made you believe I was dead."