Keywords: AU, h/c, slave!fic, cliche!fic, mild non-con, some scenes could be considered bdsm.

Word Count: 89,650

Spoilers: None

Summary: The power over life and death should never rest with an emotionally stunted alien -- especially an alien that fancies himself Overlord.

_Author's Notes_: This is what happens when you're obsessing over Ai no Kusabi, and you have Pamela Rose's Arabian Nights drift into your thoughts at the same time. Throw in a bit of CLex, and, well... The story was supposed to be a small PWP, but somehow, it just wouldn't stop growing. Over two hundred pages later, and this is the result.

Thank you to my beta readers: fishsanwitt, talitha78, mecurtin, chasethecat, minaloush, elychari, rose_etta, and Terri. I've had different people help me throughout this story, but fishwantii and talitha78 helped me through most of it. fishwantii is a grammar extraordinaire -- she stuck with me even when she was having computer, job and family problems! I can't imagine how many misplaced commas would have ended up in this without her. grin talitha78 helped me tremendously with characterization. Many scenes were added due to her insightful comments, and many scenes and parts were changed for the better or removed because she made me realize what I was doing wrong. Any other errors are entirely my own.

Rough Draft Completed: May, 2005

Final Draft Completed: March, 2006.

I would recommend reading this at (http://members.shaw.ca/hrd02ca/adsf.html), or at least checking it out, because there are manips and drawings there that help illustrate the story.

Kal-El hated his first full memory.

He remembered waking up in a panic. He had a vague recollection of being confined and feeling as though he couldn't breathe.

A bright light appeared, a yellow ball so big and radiant that it hurt his eyes. Looking around, he could see that he was surrounded by open space and green stalks. The stalks loomed over him, their leaves immense -- almost as if they were reaching out to him. Everything was quiet. Kal-El just sat and stared. He didn't know how long he stayed like that, taking in his surroundings. He did remember feeling scared.

A sound broke the quiet. At first, it was a rustling noise, and then a garbled jumble of sounds. In the quiet, it seemed abnormally loud. Kal-El was paralyzed with fear when a lady with bright red hair approached, speaking to him in an incomprehensible language. She stopped in front of Kal-El and looked at him with a patient expression. Kal-El stared up at her in puzzlement. Then, her face broke into a brilliant smile and she picked him up. Kal-El was warmed by her smile, which seemed to take all his fears away. He touched her bright red hair and her smile got even bigger.

"Clark," she said softly, and her voice didn't sound garbled at all anymore. Kal-El smiled. She touched her chest and said, "Martha." She put him down and, holding his hand, urged him to come with her.

Suddenly, everything happened at once. There was a loud noise, and the lady glanced up at the sky with a worried look. Great black monstrous beasts were flying directly towards them, with a "whoosh, whoosh, whoosh" sound. The lady grabbed his hand and dragged him behind her, urging him to go faster, while he stared behind in amazement at the great beasts.

They ran through the green stalks, but the beasts followed them. The same strange language that came from the lady also seemed to come from the beasts, but the lady didn't acknowledge any kinship. They were getting farther from them, and Kal-El thought they were going to make it, but a loud crack sounded through the air and the lady jerked and fell to the ground, letting go of Kal-El's hand.

Kal-El automatically ran for a few steps, then stopped and moved back towards her. She lay on her back, staring up at the big bright yellow ball. When he touched her arm, she focused on his face. She looked as though she was having trouble breathing, red liquid was coming out of her mouth, and she was no longer smiling.

"Clark," she whispered, and more of the strange language followed. Kal-El didn't know what she was saying. She lifted her arm and pointed behind him, but there were just more green stalks. She was shouting, "Clark, run!" and Kal-El finally knew that she wanted him to flee, but he couldn't leave her. Her breath expelled with her last shout and then, she was still.

Kal-El gazed at her in bewilderment, and the "whoosh, whoosh, whoosh" noise got louder and louder. He didn't understand why she wouldn't look at him anymore, or why she wouldn't move. He tugged at her arm, crying and urging her to get up. But her eyes just stared sightlessly and unseeingly up at the sky.

And then, all Kal-El knew was blackness.

Part I: Beginnings

The researchers stood behind the one-way mirror, observing the alien's room. It had a bed in the corner, a desk with a lamp, and a small enjoining bathroom, with a sink and toilet. Currently, the alien was sitting at the desk, playing with a geometrical puzzle.

Dr. Yvres stood at the front of the observation room, studying the new researchers, and watching the alien out of the corner of his eye. "Subject 01 has been with us for two months now. It arrived here with no understanding of any human dialect. In the course of a few days, it began to pick up common words. Within a week, it could speak in halting sentences. By the time a month had passed, it could speak clearly and without any problems. This is a being that has, as far as we know, never been in contact with humans. Two months ago was the first time it breathed our oxygen. I'm sure you all appreciate what the rapid development of Subject 01 could mean for the human race."

There were murmurs of agreement throughout the room.

It was a remarkable discovery. The confirmation that life existed outside of Earth was extraordinary on its own; however, the discovery of what shape that life appeared in was a breakthrough of completely different proportions. It was now obvious to the researchers that the Aliens were intellectually advanced, and had technology that was far superior to Earth's. How else could they create a scout that so resembled a human child? They were all itching to find out what was really under that skin.

Dr. Yvres continued. "In addition to the subject's intellectual abilities, we have observed astonishing physical strengths. The alien is able to lift approximately ten times the weight of a human child his size. Currently, he is stronger than an adult human male. While trying to take blood samples, we also discovered that his skin is remarkably resistant to penetration. Although we are able to break his skin, it takes a force much stronger and sharper than an ordinary knife.

"More importantly, however, was the discovery of what effect the meteor rock has on the subject. We have determined--"

"Meteor rock, sir?"

Dr. Yvres replied, somewhat irritated, "Yes, we found one piece of meteor rock near the alien's pod. An element previously undiscovered, it should provide excellent new extraterrestrial information. Unfortunately, we were able to find only the one rock. We continue to look for more pieces, but after two months, we have almost given up hope of finding additional samples.

"However, the meteor rock is essential for our research, primarily for one reason: the effect it has on the alien. It appears that when the rock is near the subject, the alien experiences intense discomfort. If the rock is applied directly to its skin, it appears to cause intense pain.

"Therefore, what this rock does, ladies and gentlemen, is weaken the alien. You can see how this is going to be a distinct help in our research."

The researchers nodded.

"I am sure that each and every one of you will provide us with ample research material. I know you will all be important contributors to our study. You were selected from the best institutions, and you each graduated at the top of your class. It is through you that the true discoveries will be made. However, I must once again remind you that confidentiality is essential. I am sure that, by now, you have all read through your contracts, and know the penalty for breach of said contracts?"

There was a murmur of agreement from the researchers.

"Good. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to attend an important meeting. I regret my hasty departure, but I leave you in Dr. Garner's very capable hands." Dr. Yvres nodded at the researchers and left.

Back in the alien's room, the subject had rather abruptly abandoned its puzzle and walked towards the one-way mirror. The researchers observed this peculiar behavior with curiosity.

The alien acted as if it could see them, which was impossible, of course. The glass allowed the researchers to see the alien, but the alien should only be able to see its reflection.

Suddenly it said, "What happened to the nice lady with red hair?"

The researchers jumped and looked amongst themselves. 'Nice lady with red hair?'

"What have you done with her?" it demanded.

"Do you think it's delusional?" one researcher asked another.

"It's quite possible. We don't know what kind of environment it's used to. The subject's body could still be reacting negatively to our climate, which could produce mental instability."

Dr. Garner, who had stayed at the back of the room, letting the other researchers have their look at Subject 01, spoke up. "I assure you that it is quite adjusted to our environment. It has, after all, been here for more than two months.

"The alien's 'nice lady' is, in fact, Martha Kent. She was exposed to Subject 01 shortly before we arrived at the original pod-landing sight. It became remarkably attached to the woman, and often asks about her. Mrs. Kent even managed to name our little alien, and it's got it into its head that it's a person now. Thinks its name is Clark, if you can believe it."

"I was under the impression that there was never any human contact."

"The contact with Mrs. Kent was extremely short. The two were in proximity for no more than a few minutes, and yet, Mrs. Kent made a lasting impression."

One of the researchers, a young woman with short brown hair and a bookish appearance, walked closer to the window and lay her hand over the mirrored image of the alien's palm, set against the glass. "Remarkable," she said, awe in her voice. "It looks exactly like a human child, and even acts like one. I agree with Dr. Yvres. If the aliens have found a way to send scouts out in the bodies of human-like children, they must be very technologically advanced."

Another researcher spoke up. "Whatever happened to Mrs. Kent, Dr. Garner?"

"She was shot," he said curtly. "She refused to obey our commands to release the alien."

Back in the room, the alien was becoming increasingly agitated. It paced in front of the one-way mirror and screamed, "I want the lady!"

"The subject can become very demanding if you don't put it in its place. Wait here." Dr. Garner disappeared around the corner. Shortly afterwards, he could be seen entering the subject's room.

As soon as the alien became aware of the doctor's presence, it stopped pacing and hesitantly approached.

"Hello there. I understand you have some complaints?"

It rubbed its eyes and whined, "I want the nice lady."

Dr. Garner appeared sympathetic. "Well, Clark. Clark is the name you wish us to use, correct?"

Hesitantly, "I guess."

"The 'nice lady', as you put it, is dead. Do you know what 'dead' means, Clark?"

It whispered, "I'm not going to get to see her again?"

"You are partially correct. You are never going to see Martha Kent, your 'nice lady', again. Death means an end. An end to seeing, and the smiling that we were so interested in observing. You see, Clark, Martha Kent died because she was a human and you, well -- you're an alien. If you had left her alone, she would be alive today, no doubt smiling at another real human little boy. If Martha Kent had known your true nature, I'm sure she would never have smiled or associated with you in any way.

"Do you understand me? You are an alien. Alien freaks do not get smiling ladies to coddle them." The doctor stared coldly at the subject. "And don't bother with those tears. No one's going to fall for that little display."

Back in the observation room, the researchers were impressed with the handling of the alien. But they were just as impressed with the alien's performance. As Dr. Garner left, tears continued to fall down the child-alien's face.

For the first time since he had been brought to the facility, they were letting him outside. All right, it wasn't exactly outside -- it was only the courtyard -- but it was a hundred times better than his small room. The sky was clear blue and the sun was bright and shiny. Clark instantly felt rejuvenated.

Dr. Garner led him to the center of the courtyard, where another little boy was playing with sand. He was a strange-looking boy -- Clark had never seen anyone with that color of skin before -- and he consequently felt an immediate kinship.

Dr. Garner stopped and Clark waited. He had long since learned that you didn't interrupt or hurry Dr. Garner.

"Clark, you can have the afternoon to," a curl of the lip, "play. I'll come back for you in a few hours."

Clark couldn't believe it! This was too good to be true. He was hardly ever left alone. There was always someone wanting to observe him or question or poke him with sharp things. This had to be a trick.

But Dr. Garner turned around and left. Clark was left alone with the other boy. After nervously looking around, fearing that other doctors would appear to tell him how bad he was, he finally realized that he really had been left alone. Wow.

He hesitantly approached the other boy, who was pushing sand into a pile, smoothing it with his hands and putting little holes in the top.

"Um, hello?" Clark whispered.

The other boy looked up and smiled. "Hi! Do you want to help me build my castle?"

Clark said shyly, "Okay. What do I do?"

The boy rolled his eyes. "Come here and start gathering some sand."

Clark felt stupid. He supposed most boys knew all about building castles.

He got down on his knees beside the other boy and used his arms to gather up a huge amount of sand, pushing it towards the makeshift castle.

"My name is Pete. What's yours?"

Uh-oh. The doctors never told him he could tell other people the Clark name. They said he could call himself that because it amused them -- whatever that meant -- but Clark knew his official name was "It". But they never said he couldn't use Clark with others.

"My name is Clark," he loudly declared.

Pete looked at him funnily.

Clark stared down at the sand, embarrassed. He nervously pushed more sand towards Pete and watched his brown hands for a minute. "So, you're different too?"

"Huh?"

He looked around furtively. "You know," he whispered. "Not from around here? It's nice to know that I'm not the only one. But I feel a bit sorry for you. They must not have made you very well. I bet it's kind of hard to blend in when you look like that."

Pete looked confused. "Like what?"

"A different color. You must have had crappy designers. The doctors always tell me that our people are really smart, but they were pretty stupid with you. At least they could have made you an interesting color. If they had made you purple or green, you could have pretended to be the Swamp Man. I read about him in a comic book. Lots of humans believe in him. If you looked more like him, I'd bet you'd have gotten away with it."

Pete looked angry. Oh no. Maybe Clark shouldn't have insulted his designers. But then his face broke out into a smile and he giggled. "Clark, you're weird."

Now he was confused. "I guess."

They worked together, pushing more sand into a big pile.

"Do you live here too?" Clark asked.

Pete looked up at him. "No. I live in an orphanage in town. A guy -- I guess he's from here -- told me that I could come visit and he'd give me a bunch of candy and let me play sandcastles. I haven't gotten a lot of candy yet, but the sand has been fun so far."

That sounded weird. Why would another alien be in an orphanage?

Pete was looking for something in his pocket. "The guy did give me a couple of pieces of bubble gum, though. Do you want a piece?"

Pete held out a small square, wrapped in paper. Wow, Clark had never tried bubble gum before. He reached out to take it, but Pete clutched the piece and put it behind his back.

"Too slow! Sucker!" Pete was grinning in glee.

Clark started to get angry. He'd read that you weren't supposed to offer someone something and then take it back! "That's not fair! Give it here!"

He reached behind Pete and tried to force his fist open. Pete started giggling. He gripped harder, trying to pry Pete's fingers open, one at a time.

There was a sickening crack and -- oh God -- Pete shrieked in pain. "Get away from me!" he screamed. Tears ran down his face as he frantically tried to get away.

Clark backed up in fear. He hadn't meant to hurt Pete. Other aliens were supposed to be strong too!

Then suddenly, Dr. Garner and the other researchers rushed into the courtyard. Dr. Yvres grabbed Pete, and he writhed in his grip, screaming that he was in pain, but the doctor ignored him.

Clark looked up at Dr Garner, who was standing in front of him with a mean expression. "Clark, I gave you a special treat, and told you that you could have time alone. So why were you playing with Pete in the sandbox? Shouldn't you know by now that humans and aliens don't mix?"

Clark gasped. "But I was playing with Pete! I wasn't with any humans!"

Dr. Garner seemed amazed, and then amused. "I'm sorry to break it to you -- well, no, I'm not sorry -- but Pete is as human as a human can be. The only freak I see around here is you. And now look what you've done." He gestured to Pete, who was still crying in pain.

"I suppose you even thought you were making friends. As if an alien and a human could ever be friends! You remember the last time you got friendly with a human! Your precious 'nice lady' ended up dead. Everything you touch, you destroy. And now Pete's going to suffer the same fate."

"No! He's hurt, not dead! Fix him!"

Dr. Garner frowned. "I'm afraid it's too late for that. If you had left him alone, everything would have been fine. But we can't let anyone know about you, Clark. You're very," he smiled, "special to us."

"Dr. Yvres, if you'll do the honors?"

Dr. Yvres grimaced, but continued to hold the crying boy with one hand. He reached into his pocket with his other and pulled out a metal object. The object was shiny and pointy -- and -- Clark realized, too late, what it was. The doctor held the gun to Pete's head and pulled the trigger.

"No!" Clark screamed.

The researchers surrounding them took careful notes.

Clark sat at his desk reading, The Second World War: A Complete History.

He was allowed two books every week. He wasn't allowed to pick his own books, but he didn't mind what they gave him. He loved anything that allowed him to escape reality. His favorite time was when they let him have a half hour to himself. The half hour was allowed every day, and he did nothing but consume books in his allotted time.

The only books he ever received were history texts. When he was younger, the doctors had given him comic books, but anything fun had long since been taken away. Now his books were always full of history and violent events -- never anything positive. He often wondered if they were trying to tell him something, perhaps suggesting that Clark, as an alien, would appreciate violence. But they never said anything overtly.

He had once been treated to a rarity when a new researcher had delivered his books. A Guide to Human Biology had been brought, along with a book about the South African War. Clark had refused to take the books when they were handed to him, certain that it was a trick. However, the researcher had seemed oblivious to his panic, and had just set them down on his desk, even though Clark knew that anything about the functioning of human bodies was forbidden.

When the researcher had left, Clark had consumed the Human Biology book as fast as he could -- racing through it in the half hour he had. Engrossed, he'd never even noticed Dr. Garner entering. When he'd finally become aware of the doctor's presence, he'd slammed the text shut and tried to hide it under the South African book. He was never good at fooling Dr. Garner, though.

Dr. Garner had forced Clark to show what he was hiding, and when he did, he'd become enraged. He'd demanded to know where Clark had found it. Dr. Garner had gotten really quiet when Clark told him about the new researcher.

Dr. Garner had then asked him if he had learned anything from the book. Clark had replied cautiously that he hadn't had much time, but what he had learned was interesting.

The doctor hadn't done anything but stare at him for a long time. Then he'd turned his back and left.

He had returned shortly, but this time he'd brought the green rock. Clark didn't know what he had done wrong. Dr. Garner had said that since Clark had learned so much about humans from that book, it was only fair that Dr. Garner got to learn the same about aliens from Clark.

He had been forced out of his room and into the hallway. Dr. Garner had pushed him into another room, which was empty except for a metal table.

Pushing the rock ever closer to Clark, Dr. Garner had forced him to strip, and lie down on the table. Another doctor had entered the room and handed Dr. Garner something. Then Clark knew a pain like none before. The doctors had repeatedly demanded to know when the other aliens were coming. Clark, of course, had had no answer.

That had been the first time in hell for Clark. He had learned and accepted many things that day.

Most importantly, that he hated humans. But he hated Dr. Garner most of all.

The war books just confirmed that humans were unfeeling, stupid and petty. They espoused peace, but, in reality, they just made the same mistakes over and over again. Clark believed that they enjoyed war, since they were constantly fighting each other.

And he realized that he had been very naive until recently. He felt so stupid when he thought of Pete. The human biology book had described the different varieties of human appearances, including the many different colors of skin. Pete hadn't been an alien. He'd just been a stupid human who had tried to trick Clark.

He knew that he was truly alone. Dr. Garner always asked Clark when the rest of his people would invade Earth. Well, he didn't know where the rest of the people like him were, or if they were coming to Earth, but he couldn't wait for them to arrive.

If other aliens, like him, came to Earth, they would soon show the humans.

But, in the back of his mind, he couldn't help remembering a lady with a nice smile. A lady who had called him 'Clark', with a warmth he secretly yearned for.

Dr. Garner walked into the observation room, whistling, a bounce in his step.

From the alien's room, there was a crash and the sound of tearing metal. Dr. Yvres looked up from his notes and sighed. "The subject is getting more violent. That's the third bed thrown against the wall in a week."

"Perhaps it's time for another session," Dr. Garner said, with a grin.

Dr. Yvres grimaced. "I think you enjoy that far too much. I can't even stomach watching the tapes."

"That's why you leave the hard jobs to me." Dr. Garner walked over to the chair next to the other doctor and sat down with a groan. "You would think this place could afford some comfortable chairs."

They both watched the subject. He was currently throwing his bed against the wall repeatedly, until the bed broke into smaller and smaller pieces. This destruction was occurring despite the presence of the meteor rock.

The alien had grown a great deal since its arrival fourteen years ago. It could no longer pass as a human child, and in fact towered over both doctors at 6'3". It had also grown into a body with a musculature that seemed to suit its strength.

Ever since the death of the orphan boy named Pete Ross, the alien's personality had continued to progress to what both Dr. Yvres and Dr. Garner privately believed to be its true nature.

Yvres glanced over at Dr. Garner. He seemed relaxed, and he was currently enjoying what Yvres secretly thought his favourite activity, alien-watching. There would probably never be a better time. Except, perhaps, after Dr. Garner had finished with yet another turn at the scalpel, but that didn't bear dwelling on. "Have you given any thought to what we discussed?"

Dr. Garner pushed his chair back so that it leaned against the wall, its front legs up. Yvres could tell by his expression that Dr. Garner still wasn't enthusiastic. He tried coaxing. "It might be our only chance to understand what that pod can do. You know research has been practically impossible. How can we understand the pod when we can't even open it?"

"And why do you believe the alien can open it?"

Yvres became excited. Dr. Garner had asked the exact same question the last time they discussed it, and he knew Yvres's answer. Perhaps he was starting to warm to the idea. "It came to Earth in that pod. It obviously had to get out of the thing, and it's therefore logical that it should be able to open it the same way."

"The alien claims it doesn't remember anything about its pod."

Yvres sneered. "Yes, well, I know how much stock you put into that thing's word."

Dr. Garner grunted.

"It would be a perfectly safe experiment. We can hang the meteor rock around its neck for added protection. You know as well as I do that with such close proximity to the rock, the alien will be totally reliant on us."

Dr. Garner was frowning. "I'm still not certain it's a good idea. You get so obsessed with the artifacts and technical details that you fail to realize that what's important is right in front of us." Dr. Garner gestured to the alien.

"We'll see what the Department has to say about your decision," Yvres threatened.

"By all means, appeal to the powers-that-be. I shall forever respect their decision. But, if you don't mind, I think that's my cue." The alien had just broken the desk lamp and was now starting in on the desk.

Annoyed, Yvres watched Dr. Garner leave the room. Shortly thereafter, he could be seen through the one-way mirror, approaching the subject.

Yvres almost felt sorry for the alien.

Almost.

Dr. Garner loved this part of his research more than any other. To be able to put the alien in its place was a power trip stronger than drugs. The subject had been nothing but trouble of late, providing Garner with even more opportunities to do his experiments.

Garner walked into the room at the same time Subject 01 threw one of its books at the door. Garner just managed to duck in time. Oh yes, the alien was asking for it.

They were keeping the meteor rock in the room at all times now. It was placed on the wall by the door, so the alien would be deterred from ripping it off its hinges. This had happened once already, and the doctors were no longer taking any chances. Having only one rock was sometimes a problem, but they had managed to control the subject with the threat of more pain.

While the meteor fragment was present in the room, the alien became weaker; unfortunately, it was still strong enough to tear its furniture to pieces.

Subject 01 stood in the middle of the room, breathing hard, sweat running down its forehead. Normally the alien could exert itself with virtually no physical signs. When the glowing rock was in its proximity, however, it tired and sweated much like a normal human.

"Clark, what have we told you? The furniture is to remain intact. You must know you'll be punished for this."

Garner opened the special case attached to the wall. It had been made specifically to hold the meteor rock. The case allowed for its maximum exposure, but still protected it from harm. The strong sidings of the case acted as insulation, stopping errant lamps or desk legs from doing any damage.

Garner reached into the case and quickly attached an iron chain to the welded fastenings on the rock, which effectively made it into a necklace.

"Fucking human, I could care less about your stupid furniture."

"Yes, well, I'm sure by the time our session is over, you'll care very much."

It swallowed, yet still glared at Garner. It seemed to have worked itself into a particular rage this day.

Garner held the necklace outstretched and approached. You could physically see the impact on the alien. It winced and began to back away.

"Come now, Clark. You might as well just cooperate." He continued to edge forward. By now the subject was shuddering, green marks becoming visible on its body. Garner always found this part fascinating.

Garner touched the base of the necklace briefly to the alien's skin, in warning. It swallowed a couple of times, shuddered, and moaned in pain. Garner knew that it was now totally in his power.

"Well, get going. Out the door," he said impatiently. The 'sessions' were so common by now that it should know the procedure, and already be on its way to Garner's room.

The subject went out the door, and started walking down the hallway. Garner followed. It picked up its pace, no doubt hoping to get farther away from the rock, but Garner was wise to this tactic. He just increased his own pace, and pushed the glowing green necklace closer to the alien's back.

When they reached the research room, it paused in front of the closed door, waiting for Garner to open it. It seemed resigned to its fate.

Inside was a sterile room, heavily illuminated with fluorescent lights. In the middle of the room was an aluminum autopsy table, with a small tray beside it, full of medical instruments.

Dr. Helen Bryce, one of the new researchers, was set to assist this day. She was a pretty woman, who had a voracious enthusiasm for the research they were conducting on the alien. She was currently washing her hands, before putting on surgical gloves.

She looked up when they entered. "Dr. Garner, everything is set for the session. And may I tell you how much I appreciate your letting me assist you today? I hoped, but never believed that I would ever get this opportunity."

"Yes, very well."

She wasn't done. "The other researchers have all described you in such glowing terms. They say you're brilliant, and that you do miracles in this room. I personally believe it must be true. Dr. Garner, you're going to do great things. I can feel it."

Garner grunted. "Let's get on with it, shall we?" He was always uncomfortable with fawning females.

After washing his own hands and putting on gloves, he pushed the meteor rock closer to the alien. "Clark, get on the table. Face up, you know the drill."

The alien seemed defeated, and didn't protest.

Once it was lying down, Garner set the meteor rock temporarily on the side of the autopsy table and began cutting away the alien's clothes with a scalpel. He wasn't careful, and there were a few small cuts when he was finished. Garner could have asked the alien to remove its clothes prior to getting on the table, but he got excited cutting away its clothes, allowing glorious alien skin to be revealed before his eyes, inch by inch.

He had Dr. Bryce assist him when he turned the alien on its side, allowing the body block to be positioned under its back. The block effectively allowed the subject's chest to be raised, while enabling the head and neck to rest in a slightly downward position. This position also allowed for a much more efficient dissection.

Finally, Garner placed the necklace around the alien's neck. He carefully positioned the meteor rock so it rested just above its chest. As soon as it touched the alien's skin, it groaned and shuddered in response.

"Now, Clark, since you were such a bad alien today, I've decided to give you a special treat. I know how much you enjoy them."

Garner felt his excitement and arousal building up. His favorite part was seeing the expression on the alien's face just before he made his first incision.

"Dr. Bryce, hand me the large scalpel, please."

Dr. Bryce handed it over reverently.

Cutting into the alien's chest, against all odds, was always easy. With the meteor rock present, the alien's skin was as vulnerable as a human's.

He began the Y-shaped incision by cutting into the alien's chest, under the breastbone. The blade went into the skin easily, and blood poured out from the cut.

When Garner had first done this, he had been secretly amused to find out the alien's blood was a human red, instead of green. He had been chagrined to learn, however, that the alien's body was remarkably similar to a human's. Even now, Garner believed that the alien must be hiding something under all of its perfectly human-looking skin. Its body couldn't be like a normal human's and yet still be an alien's.

The blood was beginning to get out of hand. "Swab this, Dr. Bryce."

Tears were running down the alien's face. He was staring straight ahead, no doubt withdrawing into his own private world. Dr. Garner couldn't have that.

"Clark, look at me." Tear-filled eyes focused on his face. "This is your fault, you know. If you had just behaved, this wouldn't be happening." He dug particularly deep with the scalpel. "I do hope you leave your furniture alone from now on."

"Dr. Bryce, rib spreader, please."

The doctor handed Garner the instrument, and Garner carefully inserted it and started retracting the ribs. The alien whimpered in pain, and Garner smiled, satisfied.

"Dr. Bryce, I need more swabs."

The alien's lungs were now visible, and Garner carefully moved the left lung out of the way. The mediastinal pleura, a membrane that enclosed the heart, was revealed.

"Scissors, please."

Using the scissors, Garner gently made an incision in the membrane, which allowed him a clear view of the alien's heart. This was now the tricky part. Garner grew more aroused, as he realized the full impact of what he was about to do.

"Small scalpel," he commanded, voice tight. He had to do this fast. It was important to withdraw quickly, allowing the alien time to heal so it didn't bleed out. The Department would be unhappy, to say the least, if he managed to kill it.

Using the scalpel, he carefully cut a small section of tissue from the alien's heart. The alien began screaming uncontrollably, writhing in pain. This was somewhat unfortunate, and allowed for a very messy chest wound. Dr. Bryce had to hold its arms down.

Dr. Garner managed to collect his sample, however. He carefully put it in a storage container, and then returned to his patient. He positioned the lung in the correct position, and removed the rib spreader. The alien's healing would do the rest. The meteor rock was removed, and Garner told Dr. Bryce to release its arms.

Both Garner and Dr. Bryce watched in fascination as the gaping wound healed. Within an instant, the incisions in its chest were closing, tissue knitting. By the time a minute had passed, there was no evidence of any marks on the alien's chest.

The alien was breathing deeply, its eyes closed, seemingly out cold.

Dr. Bryce was animated. "Dr. Garner, that was amazing. Never in all my years as a doctor have I experienced anything like it. And you were absolutely brilliant!"

Garner grimaced, and turned his back on the woman. He walked over to the sink and washed the blood away.

"The tissue sample we acquired will no doubt provide years of medical breakthroughs. I am extremely honored to be a part--" Dr. Bryce broke off, screeching.

Dr. Garner turned around in alarm. The alien was sitting up on the table, a fierce expression on its face. In a split second, it had grabbed the doctor by the throat. Dr. Bryce struggled to breathe, and scrabbled at the alien's hands, trying to get it to release her. But the alien was immovable, and Dr. Bryce was clutching at skin like stone. She frantically tried to free herself, scratching her own neck and drawing blood in her agitation. But all her efforts were fruitless.

With a malicious smile at Dr. Garner, the alien snapped her neck.

Clark looked up from his book, startled when his door opened. He was in the corner of his room, as far from the glowing green rock as he could get. He had abandoned his desk years ago, since it was positioned too close to the meteor case.

It was his reading time, and only about ten minutes had passed. The doctors usually didn't interrupt him, unless Dr. Garner was feeling particularly malevolent.

The human that entered the room didn't look like a doctor, however. She was a small woman, with unkempt blonde hair, and an unhealthy look to her face. She was wearing what could only be described as a robe, and Clark could clearly see the outline of her breasts underneath the thin fabric.

She raised timid eyes to his face. "Hello."

The humans thought they had found a new way to get to him, obviously. But he couldn't begin to speculate what they expected from him with this girl. And he could gain no insight by x-raying into the next room. Previously, he had been able to observe the doctors by looking through the one-way mirror, but they had figured out a way to deter him from even that by dusting the mirror with lead.

"What do you want?" Clark demanded of the girl, wary.

The girl raised bloodshot eyes to his face. "I'm Clarissa. I'm supposed to show you a good time."

The comment passed right over his head. He tried to put all the distain he felt into his voice. "I've still got twenty minutes. So, fuck off, human."

The girl flinched, and tried to avoid his eyes. She gazed about his room in a distracted way, looking everywhere but at Clark. She gazed at his desk with the two books, his bed, and finally focused on him again.

"I wasn't told anything about a time limit. They've given me some good cash, man. I don't care if you need five minutes or an hour."

"An hour? Wouldn't that be a novelty," Clark said, amusement and irony in his voice. He had never been allowed more than thirty minutes with his books.

The girl's smile wobbled. "That's the spirit." And, with another nervous look around the room, she dropped her robe.

Clark swallowed, shocked. He'd been right. The human wasn't wearing anything underneath her robe. He had never seen a naked woman before. She was pale, and spotted bruises were all over her body. Although she was extremely thin, she had large breasts, with pointy little nipples. The sight of them sent a tingly feeling through him.

"Don't you want to touch me?" she asked, imploringly. She touched her breasts, fondled her nipples, and squeezed.

Clark's cock grew hard.

He had long since discovered the pleasure that could be found with his own hand. At night, he would lie on his side, facing the wall, with his blanket tucked up to his chin. Keeping very still, he would touch his cock, and try to work up a good fantasy. But he didn't seem to have a good imagination. All he had to look at were the doctors, and the occasional photograph in his history books. He inevitably ended up jerking off to someone faceless, with long limbs and a hard body. Clark refused to acknowledge that the faceless person was inevitably human. The fantasy was never great, but the pleasure was usually gratifying.

He was always careful to face away from the cameras and make no noise, but now he had to wonder if they had seen him. Had they brought this girl here as punishment? If they had, they were far off the mark. The girl had done nothing but give him a dirty thrill.

The girl moved towards him, her breasts bobbing as she walked. Clark was rooted to the spot.

She reached up and touched his chest, outlining his nipples through the fabric of his shirt. She seemed all confidence now.

Clark trembled when her hand went lower, just above the top of his pants. With a coy look up at him, she cupped him in her hand. He groaned.

"You're hot for it, aren't you," she stated eagerly. She caressed his cock through his pants a few times, and then put her hands on his thighs, bracing herself. She knelt on the floor in front of him, her breasts swaying as she moved.

She then reached for his fly.

He whimpered. "What are you doing?" Clark had never heard his own voice sound so breathless.

The girl looked up to him, smiling. "I'm giving you a good time." His zipper seemed to make an abnormally loud noise as it opened. She grabbed the waistband of his pants and pulled, taking his boxers with them.

His cock sprang free, bobbing in the air.

The girl made an appreciative noise, and ran her hands caressingly up and down his upper thighs. She licked her lips coyly. "You'll love this," she said, and then swallowed him whole. Clark bit his lip, hard.

Any worry that this was a trick immediately evaporated. He didn't even care if the doctors were watching in the next room.

She deep-throated his cock, and Clark thrust up and down into her mouth. He grabbed the back of her head and held onto a fistful of her hair. He was able to control it for a few strokes, but the girl didn't seem to like that. She pulled away with a slurp, abandoning him.

His cock bobbed up and down in the air, saliva slick on it.

The girl looked at him warningly and Clark got the message.

He nodded. The girl accepted that -- and lowered her head, taking him in her mouth again. She looked up at him as she tongued the tip, gripping the base with her hand. Then she did something unbelievable. She grabbed her breasts, pushed them together, and used them as a grip for his cock. He went up and down between her breasts, making slick noises as he thrust. Oh God, it felt so good.

Clark didn't last long. He came with a cry, shooting come onto her chest, while the girl looked up at him, smiling.

After, Clark collapsed in a heap on the floor. As he lay there in a sprawled heap, exhausted, he couldn't help feeling that he had done something wrong. His orgasm had been undeniably good, but the whole experience felt strange and unreal.

The girl had already gotten up and walked over to his bed. She used the edge of the blanket to wipe her chest off and then, walking back to him, urged him up.

Holding his hand, she pulled him toward the bed, and lay down. Clark assumed she wanted him to join her. He was starting to think that not all humans were bad, after all. Some of them were good for sex, at least.

Clark had completely forgotten about the doctors.

Back in the observation room, Dr. Garner tried to strategically place his folder in front of his pants, to hide the visible bulge. "Did we get that all on tape?"

Dr Yvres looked at him in amusement. "Everything was recorded."

"Well," Dr. Garner cleared his throat, "that was unexpected. I didn't notice any abnormal sexual behavior. Did you, Dr. Yvres?"

"The subject appeared to have the sexual proclivities of an ordinary male. Of course, we will be unable to truly judge that until we've examined the girl's body."

"Yes, there is that to consider."

Dr. Garner studied the alien. It was lying on its bed, spooned up behind the girl, lazily stroking her breasts. It could only be described as cuddling. "The subject was gentler during sexual arousal than I expected. And look at the alien on the bed. He looks almost affectionate towards the whore." Dr. Garner considered. "Hmm. Well, we can't have that. That's quite enough of that ludicrous domestic tranquility. Dr. Yvres, have the whore's body brought to the research room for dissection."

Dr. Yvres raised tired eyes to his. "Dissection? In case you hadn't noticed, the girl is still alive."

"You don't have to state the obvious. We all thought that the alien would finish her off for us, but since it didn't, we'll improvise."

"Improvise?"

"Yes, kill her yourself. Or have someone else do it for you, if you're too squeamish." Garner made to leave, but paused in the doorway. "Oh, and Dr. Yvres? Do it in front of the alien."

Oh God, Dr. Garner again. For the past week, Clark had experienced session after session, and each time he returned to his room, he felt weaker. The fucking humans really were trying to drive him crazy. He didn't think he could handle a session so soon after the last one. Clark knew that Dr. Garner couldn't blame these sessions on 'punishment'. For days, he had been too exhausted to touch or hurt anything.

This time, however, something was unusual. Dr. Garner was accompanied by Dr. Yvres, and Dr. Yvres never came to Clark's sessions.

Dr. Garner removed the green rock from its case, and attached the chain. Clark was sitting on his bed, with his legs over the side and his arms hugging his stomach. He tried to work up the required distain, but felt far too weak.

Dr. Garner found no resistance when he hung the necklace around Clark's neck.

It would be a particularly painful session, then. The doctor never put it on Clark until after he was on the table. Clark always found it hard to walk when it was directly in contact with his skin.

"Are you certain this is what you want to do?" Dr. Garner asked.

"For God's sake, you're still worried about this, aren't you? Nothing is going to happen. Perhaps, just perhaps, we'll learn something useful for once."

Dr. Garner stiffened. "Are you implying something?"

"Of course not, Dr. Garner. We all know that your little torture sessions bring in perfectly pertinent data."

Dr. Garner pushed him forward, and Clark stumbled and thought he was going to fall, but Dr. Yvres grabbed his arm.

Both the doctors led him down the hallway, and, in his pain, everything passed by in a numb blur. But when the walk to the session room seemed to take an abnormally long time, Clark lifted his head in confusion.

They were walking down a hallway that he couldn't ever remember being in before. It grew darker and descended downwards as they walked, Clark half-dragging his feet.

Dr. Garner said, "I think our alien is starting to realize that something is up. You're in for a particular treat today, Clark."

Clark cringed. Treats were always terrible.

They had to stop at a double door, and Dr. Yvres placed his thumb on a security pad. The door opened with a swish, and a feminine voice announced, "Security level five. Dr. Yvres, imprint recognized."

He had to hang on to both of the doctors' arms now. He was practically being dragged down the hallway.

"Pick up your feet there, Clark. You weigh a ton."

He tried to take more of his weight, but it felt like someone had reached into his chest, squeezed his heart, and tried to tear it out. They continued to descend and passed more and more doors, each with their own security pad.

After what seemed like an eternity, they finally stopped at a big door at the end of a hallway. Dr. Yvres had to imprint his thumb once again, and the door opened, this time without a voice.

They entered into a flurry of activity. Doctors in lab coats were swarming over an area in the center of the room. The room itself was illuminated with fluorescent lights, and spotlights were set up in the ceiling, shining directly down onto something in the middle of all the activity. Other doctors were positioned at computers, set up in a ring around the object.

Clark was pushed towards the center of the room, and the other doctors became quiet.

Dr. Yvres spoke. "Ladies and gentlemen, what we have hoped for has finally been made possible. After years of futile results, the Department has given us the go ahead for in-person contact testing. If what we believe is correct, today we will finally be able to view the inside of the pod.

"You may safely approach the alien if you wish. The meteor rock is in direct contact with its skin, and consequently, it has been weakened drastically. While it will be no danger to us, it should still be able to interact with the pod sufficiently that we will achieve the expected results."

Clark began to understand. This was the pod that Dr. Yvres was always asking him about. He had told the doctor that he couldn't remember it, or how to open it, but the doctor had never believed him. Clark had been telling the truth. He didn't remember anything about it.

As the two doctors pushed him closer to the small vessel, Clark started to feel weaker and weaker. Being strong enough to stand had never been an issue before.

Dr. Yvres and Dr. Garner positioned him in front of the pod. The other doctors, each at their own computer, began typing frantically.

"Go ahead, Clark. Open it," Dr. Yvres urged.

Clark swallowed. "I don't know how," he croaked.

Dr. Garner looked at the other doctor in amusement. "You were prepared for this eventuality?"

Dr. Yvres appeared agitated. "Yes, of course. The alien has always maintained that it couldn't remember how to open the vessel. We'll just have to improvise."

"Clark, touch the pod."

Dr. Garner seemed concerned. "What?"

"It should react to the alien's presence. We'll just have Clark here touch it, to give it a heads up."

Dr. Garner was amazed. "Dr. Yvres, you're starting to act like you believe the pod is a cognizant being."

"And this should concern me? It is my belief that the vessel is totally cognizant. I'm assuming that it hasn't opened yet because the alien was never present. It should be able to sense the alien now, and consequently, the result that we have been hoping for all these years."

"Well, Clark. You heard Dr. Yvres. Touch it." Dr. Garner pushed Clark. The other doctors typed even more rapidly.

Clark was feeling physically ill, but now, he also despaired emotionally. He was afraid to speculate what Dr. Garner would do to him when he touched the pod and nothing happened.

Dr. Garner pushed him again and both doctors finally let go of his arms. Clark stumbled, and tried to stay upright, but he was too weak. He fell to his knees and braced himself with his hands. Dr. Garner kicked him in the back. "Go on! Touch it, freak!"

Clark crawled forward until he could finally reach the pod with his outstretched hand. He touched it, spreading his palm along the surface. Nothing happened.

"Well -- that was a letdown. It looks as though you're out of luck, Dr. Yvres."

"Dr. Garner, will you please be silent! Clark, touch it again."

Clark wished it would do -- something -- if only so the doctors would leave him alone. He felt as if he couldn't take much more of the rock. Please, please open, he pleaded silently, while once again reaching out. He thought wildly that the doctors probably wouldn't be amused if he started demanding, "open sesame".

But this time, when he touched it, there was a marked difference. The pod felt warm, and seemed to be vibrating silently.

Outwardly, it appeared unchanged. The doctors appeared to believe that as well.

"Suggestions, Dr. Yvres?" Dr. Garner asked.

But Clark knew that something was different. He withdrew his hand and began crawling backwards, edging away.

The doctors abruptly grew silent as the pod made a sound, and air rushed out of the bottom. Lights materialized, flashing, and it slowly rose into the air. The lights rotated around the room, and then, suddenly, focused on Clark. He felt as though someone had brushed against him, and a warm feeling passed through his body. The pain from the necklace was fading, and Clark realized that the light was now focused solely on the green meteor rock around his neck.

There was shouting from behind him and he felt one of the doctors trying to push him out of the way of the light. But Clark was rooted to the spot. The light continued to pour into the necklace and then, gradually, the rock began to lose its green color. Finally, with a boom, the light released Clark from its hold, the necklace transformed into a harmless white stone, and the pod, as well as Clark, collapsed to the ground.

He immediately felt rejuvenated. The pain was gone, and the weakness and nausea had all but disappeared.

All around the room, the doctors were running around in a panic. Dr. Garner began backing away from him, in fear.

Before Clark could begin to understand what had happened, the pod once again became active. It rose, then spun in mid-air at a rapid rate, and then it paused. Another beam of light focused directly on Clark's forehead and a pain, even worse than that from the meteor rock, seized him. He was lifted up, the beam seemingly directing Clark's upward climb. His surroundings were fading, and all he could focus on was the beam drumming directly into his skull.

Then the pain faded.

"Kal-El," a deep voice boomed.

Clark looked around, confused. He was standing in a huge, opulent room, the floor lined with marble tiles and the walls decorated with elaborate murals, each depicting strange scenes of ritual sacrifice. When he looked up at the ceiling, though, there was... nothing. Only open space, with a bright light shining directly onto him. It was all very surreal.

Even stranger, though, was the far end of the room. When Clark tried to look there, the wall kept veering away from his vision. Try as he might, he couldn't focus on anything farther than a few feet in front of him, before everything seemed to blur together.

He heard the deep voice again.

"Kal-El."

Accompanying the voice was a form that was materializing from within the blur. When Clark was able to fully focus, he could see that it was a middle-aged man. His dark hair was peppered with gray, and he was about Clark's height, but with a slighter build. The man was wearing a long white tunic, with an elaborate pattern on the front. He looked quite harmless.

He smiled at Clark.

"You do not remember your true name, my son?"

"Who are you?" Clark asked, terrified and excited at the same time.

"I am Jor-El, your father."

"What?"

"More accurately, I am a counter-script program of your father, created to interact with you. I am your father's mind, and the hologram of his body."

Clark couldn't believe this. "My father?" he said incredulously.

"Yes, Kal-El. It is hard to believe, but it is the truth."

"But... you said you're not really my father, my true father, and yet, I'm still talking to him?"

"In a sense, Kal-El."

Clark stared into deep gray eyes. "Why do you keep calling me that?"

"That is your true Kryptonian name. 'Clark' is not worthy of a Kryptonian, let alone a male from the house of El."

Clark gazed at Jor-El in surprise. He could vaguely remember being called a different name before he had met the human named Martha. But he hadn't thought about that in years.

"I don't understand how I'm suddenly able to talk to you. What happened to the room with the doctors?"

"You are still present in that room. Your pod has the ability to activate my program when you are in need, projecting my image directly to you. You do not have to worry about those pathetic humans. They cannot hear us."

"I don't see why a projection is necessary. Why can't you just come here?"

Jor-El appeared greatly saddened. "Kal-El, I am sorry, but that is not possible. Our planet -- Krypton -- was destroyed. Your mother and I sent you to this planet before the rest of Krypton perished in the explosion. We believed that you would be able to thrive on Earth."

Clark whispered, heartbroken, "You mean I'm the only one left?"

"I am afraid so, Kal-El. But do not despair. You have many advantages over the humans. Now that your pod has neutralized the meteor rock, no human will be able to stop you."

"Stop me? From what?"

"You did not think we would send you to a planet where you would be vulnerable? The effects of the meteor rock have been a drawback, I admit, but it can no longer harm you. You are far superior to humans, Kal-El, and have extraordinary powers. They are physically and intellectually weak. You are a god among them.

"Kal-El, it was your destiny to arrive on Earth and take your rightful place. Crush the humans. Conquer Earth. Become the ruler that your family meant you to be."

Clark stared at Jor-El in disbelief. "You sent me here to be a god?"

"You hate the humans, do you not? Think of what they have done to you. After all that, do you not think they deserve to be put in their place?"

Clark did hate them. When he thought of what the doctors had done to him, he wanted to hurt and kill. They should pay for what they had done. But he would still be alone.

"And if I don't want to be a god?"

Jor-El seemed amazed. "How could you not?" He raised his arms, gesturing with agitated hand movements. "You've experienced, firsthand, humanity's stupidity and cruelty. They need a Kryptonian to rule them, to show them the right, correct way of running their daily lives. They need to be enlightened, Kal-El. They will never change, not unless you force them to see the error of their ways."

His father did have a point. And Clark could see the possibilities. All that the history books had done was to prove to him that humans would never end their destructive, warlike cycle. Clark could help them, while teaching them a lesson at the same time.

He would just have to take solace in his own presence.

Jor-El gazed at Clark, satisfied. "I see you understand, my son. Now, I give you a gift. You will receive the tools that will help you on your quest."

A lifetime of information was inputted directly into his skull.

When he opened his eyes, he knew himself as Kal-El. He was once again in the room with the pod, and it appeared that only seconds had passed.

He was staring into the eyes of Dr. Garner.

Kal-El smiled. He was going to have a lot of fun.

Part II: Metropolis

Lex finally started to feel that luck was going his way. After a year of what had seemed like unbearable poverty, he believed he had found a way to make back his fortune.

He hadn't always been poor. He had grown up privileged, in a wealthy and somewhat infamous family. His father had been a millionaire when Lex was born and, throughout his childhood, he'd never had to worry about money. He had lived a relatively normal life (for a son of a millionaire) up until the time he'd returned home from boarding school, at the age of ten.

Then, his life had changed.

Accompanying his father on a business trip to Smallville, he had witnessed, firsthand, what had become known as the "mythical 1989 Smallville meteor shower". He had been right at Ground Zero, as the large meteor had crashed to the ground, and he had seen the fire in the sky.

His father had found him, unconscious, on the ground, hours later. When Lex had woken up, he had been in the hospital, suffering from severe shock, and, strangely, the loss of all his body hair. The doctors hadn't been able to find the cause of his illness, and when Lex had told them of the fire in the sky, they had looked skeptical, and called Lionel. When he'd told him about the meteors, Lex had received a tongue-lashing, the likes of which he'd never received before. His father had wanted to know why he couldn't just tell the truth. Lex had replied that he had.

Later, he learned that the meteor shower had become a crackpot tale that old farmers told others in Smallville. His father had claimed that he had never seen anything fall from the sky. But Lionel had still had people search Smallville, looking for evidence of the meteor's impact. They had returned empty-handed.

His father never treated him the same again. Shortly after his accident, his mother died, and his life became almost unbearable. He had never had a close relationship with his father, but after the meteor shower, Lionel Luthor grew cold towards his son. They never talked about Lex's claims and secretly, Lex knew that his father believed that he had lost part of his mind, along with his body hair.

The Luthor fortune continued to grow, and Lex continued to stay at boarding schools. To the outside world, it looked as though he was being groomed as the LuthorCorp heir, but Lex wasn't certain his father would let him near the company while he was viewed as the 'unbalanced' son.

It was around his 21st birthday that Lex's life, and the world, became even more unbearable.

The alien, known as Kal-El, first exploded into the world on July 4th. Lex supposed the alien found it funny to begin taking over the world on Independence Day. He began by killing the President of the United States, while he was speaking to the U.S. in a live televised broadcast. The first shock, to many, was the sight of the alien appearing behind the President, the President's sudden slump, and then his collapse onto his desk. People saw the Secret Service reacting, in panic, throughout the room, followed by the sudden loss of the broadcast signal.

The media then reported the burning of the White House, the destruction of the House of Commons in London, and the assassination of leaders in China, Russia, India, Japan, and Canada. There were reports of CIA and NSA destruction, and the annihilation of other elite organizations. The world was in chaos.

The news channels repeatedly showed the blur of the alien flying through the sky, burning more and more state structures on his path of destruction. Reporters theorized that the alien would continue his rampage until all government officials were dead, and they urged senators and congressmen to take cover. Officials had long since tried to hide, but the alien had superman-like powers, and no one could stay hidden for long.

The U.S. military tried everything they could to destroy the alien, and the world offered as much military assistance as it could. Nuclear weapons were eventually tried, to great human catastrophe. But the alien was impervious to everything that the military threw at it.

The third world countries were the first to fall to what the alien called his new "autocracy". Crazed followers of the alien, despite all logic, gathered in the industrialized nations, calling for the alien to be their ruler. Heavily populated cities all over the world, however, continued to resist.

Metropolis was one of those cities, and Lionel Luthor became the main supporter of the city's resistance. He employed thousands of scientists, all searching for a way to kill the alien. What they came up with was passed on to the remains of the U.S. government, but these research "breakthroughs" always failed. When the mayor of Metropolis was killed, Lionel took an even more central role. He began by urging the people of Metropolis to form resistance armies.

Ultimately, Lionel's involvement was his downfall. The city managed to hold out longer than any other, not because of his skill, but because the alien was occupied elsewhere. Lionel Luthor thought that his wealth would save the city, but he shortly learned that money couldn't buy everything.

The alien had no morals, and he killed indiscriminately. Rebel armies in other cities were suppressed brutally and the alien took no prisoners. He killed people by the thousands. Cities gave in, not because they were defeated, but because the people began to fear for their lives. Reports were given, in gory detail, of the deaths of rebels throughout the world. People knew the alien was willing to go to impossible lengths to conquer the human race. They feared that they would be next.

The people of Metropolis were scared, but, at the time, Lionel Luthor was still leading a large citywide resistance, and people felt temporarily reassured when they listened to his adamant statements that victory would eventually be won. Lionel believed that the human race was ultimately insuperable and the alien, fundamentally, had to lose. Even as the word was heard that the nuclear attack had been unsuccessful, and refugees started to pour in from the northern states, people were determined to carry on with their resistance.

Lionel Luthor and the people of Metropolis were ultimately wrong. Lionel was killed during a full-scale attack on the city. With the loss of the city's leader, the resistance armies lost their confidence. The city held out for six months before surrendering, an admirable length of time, considering most areas had fallen within a month.

At the time of the city's fall, Lex had been on the sidelines. His father, believing him incompetent and more of a liability than an asset, had refused to let him lead any of the resistance groups. He had been just another soldier among the thousands of other Metropolis fighters. Ironically, his father's paranoia probably saved his life. The alien targeted his father for his name, his role as a resistance leader, and his wealth. Lex was his little-known son.

The human race formally surrendered a paltry seven months after the start of the war. It was estimated that the Alien War resulted in ten million deaths, the destruction of thirty percent of the world's buildings and infrastructure, and the decimation of fifty percent of the world's food supply. There was starvation and sickness throughout the Third World, and many people in industrialized nations died, due to limited medical access. At the end of the war, the world was dying; the only option was to surrender basic rights and freedoms to stay alive.

The alien immediately set up an autocratic government, with himself as Overlord. It soon became apparent, however, that he was more interested in indulging himself than attending to the problems on Earth. His first command was the superfluous requirement that he be addressed in all matters as the "Supreme Overlord of Earth, Kal-El, of the House of El". A week followed with no other commands, and the world held its breath, waiting for the Overlord to hand down a decision that would affect their entire lives. And yet, no other commands were issued because the Overlord was becoming annoyed -- each day, more representatives bothered him, demanding audiences, and taking away from his precious free time.

Kal-El ignored the problems of the human race, and concentrated on what was important to him: palaces. He chose sites, in various parts of the world, for the construction of huge palaces, each in a baroque style. And of course, he had to have the best of everything. While the rest of the world was starving from lack of food, the Overlord was setting up his court.

When rebellions started to appear, and it became apparent that the alien could no longer ignore the world, he finally compromised. The Overlord allowed each world state or province a dignitary, and that dignitary was given free rein, as long as an annual tribute was given to Kal-El. This system was totally impossible however, since he chose each dignitary on a whim and the populace had no input. Consequently, a state would be assigned a dignitary who knew nothing about its people, resulting in horrifying exploitation and abuse.

Most shocking of all was the introduction of a slave system. Humans could now be enslaved for minor infractions and brought to work in the Overlord's palaces. The dignitaries had free rein to pick and choose those they believed deserving of punishment. There were tales of physical torture and slave maltreatment. The alien's depravities continued to amaze and appall the people of Earth.

As for Lex, he struggled along with the rest of Metropolis at the time of the surrender. Much of the Luthor assets had been destroyed after the death of his father, but he soon lost the rest with the introduction of Kansas's new dignitary. The dignitary, one Iago Sanchez, decided, that for "the good of the city", the rest of the Luthor assets had to be seized. All the property that hadn't been destroyed, along with any money and assets that remained, was put into Sanchez's pockets. Lex's protests were ignored, and he was threatened with dire consequences if he continued to pursue the issue.

It was about this time that Lex, destitute, decided to become the son his father never thought existed.

With the loss of fifty percent of the world's food supply, foodstuffs had become a valuable commodity. Much of the food and supplies in Metropolis had been hoarded at the beginning of the war, and any food importation had been prevented when roads and infrastructure were destroyed. By the end of the war, Metropolitans were eating anything they could get their hands on. Lex knew there was a way to take advantage of this.

For the first time in his life, the mysterious meteor shower worked to his advantage. Smallville was permanently entrenched in his mind, and he would always remember his accident. He remembered the farm he had been exploring just before the meteor hit, and he knew that he had been standing in a cornfield. Smallville had farms, and farms had food.

The small town had been cut off from Metropolis shortly after the start of the war. The one road leading in had been destroyed, and there had been tales of people leaving and never returning, when Metropolitans tried to reach it by other routes.

But Lex knew that if the farms in Smallville were still viable, there could potentially be a lot of food available to the people of Metropolis. He called in a few favors and managed to borrow an off-road vehicle.

What he found was more than he'd ever expected. The town had been largely untouched by the war, and many of the farms had just continued as if it was business as usual.

Using the closed road to his advantage, Lex told the farmers stories of the war, and let them know of the huge food shortage in Metropolis. The farmers couldn't get enough news from the outside world, and were easily persuaded to enter into a business deal. They allowed him to take their food, free of charge, and distribute it in Metropolis. Lex would come back with the sales every week. In return, he asked for a small percentage of the profits. With only the off-road vehicle as transport, it was a pathetically small enterprise; by his father's standards, Lex's efforts would have gotten a laugh -- but Lex knew that all businesses started small.

When the road to Smallville was re-opened, Lex had already made agreements with most of the farmers to be their sole distributor. With the lucrative transactions he had already made, he was able to finance the beginning of a successful business. Food was this post-war world's gold, and he was one of the only providers of affordable, high quality food in Metropolis.

Lex's brief stint with poverty became a forgotten memory. He was nowhere near his father's success, but he was on his way up.

"Mr. Luthor, a Mr. Sanchez is here to see you," his secretary announced.

Lex grimaced. He could guess what it was about.

"Send him in, Brenda."

Lex had met Iago Sanchez once before -- a thoroughly unpleasant encounter. The Metropolis dignitary seemed to take a sick pleasure in making Lex squirm. What had been taken "for the good of Metropolis" had actually been put into the pocket of Sanchez. The man got away with murder, all because he reported to the alien.

Sanchez entered arrogantly, waving his cane around theatrically. He was in his late 30s, overweight, and generally repulsive to look at. Like Lex, he was bald, but unlike Lex, his baldness was a result of thinning hair. His portly body was decked in an old-fashioned three-piece suit, complete with suspenders. The man thought he looked dignified, but to Lex, he just looked ridiculous.

"Lex Luthor," he drawled. "I never thought I would see you in an office. I assumed you'd be selling your ass on Yellow Street by now. Ah, well, I've always said the world is an unpredictable place.

"But I have to give you credit. You've done remarkably well for yourself. Lionel Luthor's son -- purportedly unstable, a millionaire in less than a year? Your father would have been proud. Well, no, probably not. Your father was never much for familial love, now, was he?"

Lex faced the man, tense. "I wasn't aware that you knew my father."

"Well, you were quite the oblivious little shit, weren't you? For your information, Luthor, I worked for your father before the war. I often helped him wipe his ass while you were coming home from yet another disaster abroad. But he wasn't very grateful for my extensive help, so imagine my glee when I managed to lay my hands on all of his money. From a Luthor flunky to a respected dignitary -- quite the accomplishment, if I do say so myself. And now--"

"Sanchez, can you get to the point? What do you want?"

"Want? Well, many things, Luthor, but for now, an adequate and plausible explanation will do."

"About what?" Lex asked, but he knew what was coming.

Sanchez smiled. "Luthor, you've ignored my directive to stop distribution to East Metropolis. The Overlord has a very nasty rebellion there and he was most unimpressed when he learned that they were still receiving supplies. Supplies mean lively people; lively people mean more rebellion. The Overlord does not want lively people, and you," he grinned," are giving them the supplies they need to keep going."

Was this moronic speech supposed to impress him? "Sanchez, I was aware of your command, but I'm also aware that the people of East Metropolis aren't just rebels. There are women and children there that are just trying to have normal lives. They need food to survive, and I can't, in all conscience, deprive them of that."

Sanchez seemed overjoyed. "You're stating that you knowingly ignored my directive?"

"Yes."

"And you have no intention of obeying the Overlord?"

Lex hesitated. "In this specific case, no."

"Luthor, I think you're as arrogant as your father was. Luthors are not above the law, especially the Overlord's law. I'm going to enjoy your millions."

Sanchez walked over to Lex's office door and opened it. "I'm ready for you, boys," he announced.

"Sanchez, what --"

"Luthor, according to article 221 of the Supreme Overlord of Earth, Kal-El, of the House of El's Earth Edict, you have directly disobeyed the Overlord. Consequently, you are now the property of the Overlord. Your funds and assets are seized, effective immediately. Quite conveniently, assets of the offender are automatically awarded to the dignitary of the offender's state, which happens to be me."

The man was crazy. "You've got to be kidding me. I'm not giving you a cent! You know the command's unreasonable."

"Even if I do believe that the command is unreasonable -- which I do not -- you'd still be punished. The law is the law."

Three large men, each wearing black leather jackets, entered Lex's office.

"Allow me to introduce Officers Right, Elton, and Ramon."

Two of them seized his arms, and held him immobile while he struggled to get away.

Sanchez grinned madly. "Lex Luthor, it gives me great pleasure to tell you that you are now the Overlord's slave."

The third goon was holding shackles, and moving towards Lex. Lex struggled wildly, but he couldn't get free of the two men. He managed a few kicks at the third goon, but it hardly affected the man.

"Don't I have any rights?" he shouted.

"Slaves don't have rights, Luthor."

Lex had manacles on both his legs and arms, and each manacle had a chain, which restricted his movements. To walk, he had to hobble, humiliatingly shuffling along while the chains clanked between his legs.

Lex was enraged. He glared at Sanchez even as he was dragged out of the room. "You'll never get away with this, you bastard."

Sanchez was animated, twirling his cane. "Luthor, I already have."

As the goons shut Lex's office door in his face, he could see Sanchez seating himself in Lex's chair, leaning backwards, and rubbing his hands up and down the leather armrests.

Lex was forced to turn around, the goons dragging him forward. His secretary gasped when she saw him. "Mr. Luthor! What's happening? Should I call the police?"

"These are the police, Brenda," he choked out.

Lex was dragged out of his building, while his employees gazed on in disbelief.

People on the street stared, but did nothing as Lex was pushed towards a van, his shackles clinking together. He was manhandled into the back of the windowless vehicle. There were no seats, and he had to sit awkwardly on the dirty floor. The doors slammed shut with a boom, leaving him in darkness.

To say that Lex was in a severe state of shock would be an understatement.

About five hours later, Lex was forced out of the van, and put in a specially-made bus, with seats equipped with fastenings for shackles. The flunky manhandled him into a seat, and his chains were attached to the back of the seat in front of him. The man didn't seem to notice that the chains were much too short. This meant that Lex was forced to sit forward in his chair, his butt on the edge of the seat, his arms outstretched in front of him, and his ankles bracing his weight.

The bus was crowded with a variety of people, all with frightened looks on their faces. There were boys and girls in their teens, women of all ages, and quite a few men, most of them bigger than Lex. Astonishingly, there were even some children. This, more than anything else, outraged Lex. What could a child possibly have done to deserve to be enslaved? For that matter, why had he never heard about this barbaric practice? Humans had reluctantly accepted the creation of a slave system, but they had always assumed it would be for adults -- and adults only.

They drove for hours, the scenery passing by rapidly. Having nothing else to do but stare out the window, Lex occupied himself with sightseeing.

Evidence of construction was everywhere. Buildings that were destroyed during the war were now being put back together, and the bus frequently had to stop, due to road construction. It appeared that humans were finally getting on with their lives. Construction was always a sign of a healthy economy; obviously, the alien's reign wasn't an impediment to development. But of course, one didn't always see the rot hidden beneath the system. Lex was a testament to that fact.

The ride lasted through the night, the driver never stopping. Lex and the thirty or so other slaves remained chained to their seats, unable to use the bathroom or have something to eat or drink. He had no idea where they were going, but if this was an example of how they were going to be treated, he wasn't looking forward to their arrival. As the drive progressed, he noticed frost appearing on the ground near the road. The temperature in the bus also lowered progressively, but the driver didn't seem inclined to turn on the heat.

Early in the morning, they finally pulled into an out-of-the-way dirt drive. They continued on for about five minutes, passing through dense green forest, and then pulled into a clearing. What was revealed was impressive: a huge faux-Roman palace, with what looked like at least a hundred rooms. There was also a large courtyard, with a stable off to one side. The whole estate was surrounded by the forest, which gave it an isolated feeling. It was twice the size of his father's mansion in Smallville.

The bus finally stopped at the end of the driveway and the driver got off, while Lex and the rest of the slaves waited. Soon, people dressed in black uniforms got on the bus. They removed the chains, and pushed everyone off, one at a time.

When Lex stood up for the first time, he thought his legs were going to buckle. They had gone numb long before from bracing himself on his ankles. He managed to follow the man in the uniform with only a few stumbles, however, dragging his feet between his shackles.

They were all herded single file into a building connected to the side of the palace. It appeared to be constructed in a shoddier manner than the rest of the palace; the ceilings were low, and nothing had been done to decorate the sparse beige walls. The hallway was dimly lit, and the empty room they were forced into was equally bare and dark.

They all bunched together in fear and Lex tried, vainly, to separate from a particularly clingy female.

A group of slaves, all men of different ages, entered the room and stood in front of the new arrivals, with varying degrees of threatening expressions. But the man at the center of the group was the one that grabbed Lex's attention. He was old, and his gray hair went down to his shoulders. His face was lined with deep wrinkles, and discolored splotches could be seen on his skin. Most shocking of all, however, was his lack of clothing. He was wearing nothing but a ratty loincloth. The effect was quite grotesque; he had nothing with which to hide his bulbous gut. The rest of the slaves were equally scantily dressed, but the old man had a presence that commanded attention, and the other slaves seemed insignificant by comparison.

The man surveyed them, a look of disdain on his face.

"You have now reached the Overlord's palace in the upper states. I am the slave foreman, and it will be to me that you report.

"Each and every one of you is here because you deserve to be here. You have all disobeyed the Overlord. This is your punishment.

"You are now the lowest of the low. The rest of the human race will look on you with contempt. Some of you will find that your stay here will be easy, while others will find themselves living in a new hell.

"Patrick, step forward." The so-called slave was also wearing nothing but a loincloth. But unlike the foreman, he was fairly handsome. He was in his early 20s, with a slight build, and brown hair down to his shoulders. His tanned skin was peppered with bruises.

"This is Patrick. Patrick has been working in the Overlord's household for a year now. He presently works in the kitchen, and one day, perhaps, will move on to a better position. But for now, he obeys his masters, does his work, and doesn't make trouble.

"If you wish to survive, you should all aspire to be like Patrick."

The foreman grabbed Patrick by his chin and held his face up. "Notice that Patrick and the other slaves wear neck and wrist manacles. These are controlling devices. You'll learn that escape attempts will be dealt with harshly. If you look on the wall behind us, you'll see a fastening system. It is present throughout the palace. Any rebellious behavior, disrespect to members of his Overlord's Court, or oversteps, will be punished using these wall fastenings. I'm sure you'll all agree that the Overlord has created an ingenious system. A slave's wrist manacles can be attached to the wall instantly, with the use of a magnetic force.

"As for those of you considering escape, the neck manacle is also rigged to the Overlord's system. A slave that flees will be able to cross into the forest, but any attempt to go further will result in death. And how will you die, you wonder? If you go past a certain point, a poison will be injected into your system. Disobedient slaves can make it to the forest, but are unable to pass through. The Overlord frequently makes a sport of hunting these slaves down. So be warned: while you might escape, with the illusion of freedom, you'll not be alive long enough to enjoy it.

"Now that you have been warned, let's start making you feel more at home."

The foreman motioned to a couple of slaves and they began walking around the room, removing the shackles.

"All slaves -- remove your clothes, and place them on the floor. The faster you leave your previous life behind, the faster you'll accept your new life."

The slaves stared at the foreman, unsure.

The foreman nodded to a large slave behind him. The slave walked up to a particularly frightened woman close to Lex and struck her in the face. The woman staggered and fell. "Undress," he commanded. The woman stared up at him, stunned. "I said, undress!" And, holding her by her hair, he proceeded to rip her blouse off, exposing her breasts, her pants soon following.

The slave then backed away and surveyed Lex and the rest of the crowd. "Undress!" he bellowed. Everyone quickly began to comply.

Lex was the last to follow, and he watched as the rest of the people, shocked, removed their clothes. He then noticed the intimidating stare of the burly slave, and started slowly removing his shirt. He wasn't ready to be struck by that monster just to prove a point.

Once everyone was nude, most of the men furtively tried to hide their genitals while the women covered their breasts. Lex remained standing with his hands at his sides, determined not to show any physical nervousness.

They were all doused with a stinging cleaning powder, and then each person was handed a loincloth.

The foreman spoke up again. "It's the Overlord's decree that no slave will have clothing in the palace. A loincloth is required instead. The Overlord has also decreed that all slaves must maintain shoulder-length hair -- so you'll not be cutting your hair anytime soon." With a brief amused look at Lex, he added, "If you have hair to cut."

The men were now at least somewhat covered; the women, however, had only the loincloth, and nothing with which to cover their breasts.

Another group of slaves entered the room, carrying manacles.

Lex couldn't take anymore. He would not willingly allow those things on him. When the slave tried to attach the manacle to his neck, he snapped. He struck the slave, pushing him back, and made a dash out of the room. He didn't get very far. Two of the larger slaves, previously waiting silently behind the foreman, grabbed him and knocked him to the ground.

"You fuckers! Let me go! I'm not a fucking slave!" His cries had no effect, however. One slave pinned him to the ground, using his knees on Lex's back. The second one grabbed his arms, pulled them behind his back, and allowed the first slave to attach the manacles to his wrists. Lex tried to bite them as his head was held, to no effect. The other manacle was soon fastened around his neck.

As the metal tightened, Lex could feel the coldness against his skin. Already, he was feeling constricted. He screamed in frustration.

The slave struck him hard on the head, stunning him, and the one on his back slapped his ass as he stood up, leaving Lex on the floor.

In the end, his struggle was futile. The manacles were attached, and he was left covered in bruises, while the two slaves didn't even seem winded.

"You will find that behavior like this will get you nothing but a bloody back."

The foreman nodded to the burly slaves. Lex was lifted up, and forced over to one of the fastenings on the wall. His wrists were lifted above his head, and the magnetic force grabbed hold of his manacles. He was facing the wall, with his naked back accessible to the rest of the room.

He couldn't see what the slave was doing, but he could hear a rustle as something was brought out. The first strike of the whip stunned him.

He could hear the foreman's voice saying, "Punishments will be dealt with harshly, immediately, and at no inconvenience to your masters. The wall fastenings allow punishment to occur anywhere in the palace, so don't think that a situation will necessitate a laxer environment just because you're serving or running palace errands."

The beating continued, lash after lash, and the pain was excruciating. Each time the whip hit, it was on another area of his back, leaving new welts. He didn't know how long it went on, but it felt endless, with his back on fire. Finally, the slave stopped, with a particularly powerful strike.

The magnetic force disappeared and Lex collapsed to the floor. If he'd been anyone else, he would have been writhing in pain, probably unconscious. But, he knew that by morning, his welts would be gone and his back would be unmarked.

He was once again forced to his feet, and he stood on trembling legs while one of the slaves held him up. The foreman examined him. "Perhaps you'll think twice before acting out again, son."

The slave abandoned him, and Lex was left to hold himself up. He managed, with a few wobbles.

The foreman went back to regarding the group of slaves, and Lex was forgotten.

A slave handed the foreman a stack of papers. "I'm sure you're all anxious to find out what your place will be in this household. I won't leave you in suspense much longer. When I call your name, step forward."

He proceeded to read a list. Most of the large men were assigned to labor duty, the teens were put on serving duty, a few men were assigned to scribe work, and two particularly beautiful women were sent to the Overlord's harem. The children were assigned to the stables.

When it was Lex's turn, he stepped forward with only a brief tremble, and waited for his assigned area.

The foreman said, "Lex Luthor, you'll be assigned to the diplomatic section, and --"

"Sir?" interrupted another slave.

The foreman replied, clearly annoyed, "What?"

"There is a note specifying instructions for this slave."

"Really?" he replied, sarcastically. "Well, don't just stand there. Hand it over." The slave complied, and the foreman read the note in silence.

"You're nothing but trouble for me today, Luthor. It seems that someone has it in for you. This note requires me to assign you to labor work, but I'm not doing that; you'll be dead within the week. So, I suppose that leaves the kitchen."

The foreman peered at Lex, a malicious gleam in his eye. "You'll love it there, Luthor. And I heard you were a rich man in your previous life!" He laughed.

He studied the rest of the slaves. "As for the rest of you, welcome to your new home."

After the foreman left, the group of slaves gradually grew smaller as someone came to show them where to go.

As the room emptied, Lex began to feel increasingly alone. Perhaps he was being snubbed, a pariah after his punishment. Finally, when he thought he'd been abandoned, the slave from the demonstration approached.

He approached Lex warily, a guarded look on his face. "We're supposed to help the new slaves figure out what to do. I work in the kitchen, so I can show you the way."

Lex put gratitude in his voice. "Thank you. I'd appreciate that."

The boy shrugged and walked towards the door. He looked back at Lex to see if he was following, and then quickly turned around.

"Patrick, right?"

The boy's shoulders tensed an infinitesimal amount. "Yes."

"I'm Lex."

"I know."

They passed through the hallway and went outside. It was cold, and with only a loincloth to cover his body, Lex was soon shivering.

"How do you stand wearing these skimpy things every day? You must freeze."

Patrick didn't pause, and he walked in an obvious hurry. "The palace is very warm, and we don't have to go outside very often. When we do, it's only from the palace to the sleeping quarters. About the only advantage of working in the kitchen is the warmth."

Lex made a noncommittal noise.

He figured he should try to make at least one friend. It was always useful to have allies. "Patrick, if you wouldn't mind, I'm sure it would help if you could give me a brief rundown of what we do in the kitchen."

The boy looked back at him, annoyed. "You'll find out in a minute." Well, that stopped that.

They went behind the shabby building, and began walking around the palace. They passed the courtyard, Lex's bare feet stinging with each step on the gravel. The grass was covered with frost, and he had to be careful not to step on any ice. The walk seemed to take ages, and just when he thought his feet couldn't take anymore, they reached an unremarkable doorway in the back.

Patrick pressed a buzzer and, after a moment, they were let in to blessed warmth.

There was a flurry of activity inside. Everywhere he looked were pots and pans, people carrying trays of food, and the crash of dishes against dishes.

All the slaves were in loincloths, and yet they were working at hot stoves and preparing food. Presumably, the alien didn't care if his food was unsanitary.

Lex followed Patrick as he maneuvered his way through the tables and slaves, eventually approaching a slim slave who was yelling directions at the others.

"Sir?" Patrick prompted tentatively.

The boy was treated to a scathing look. "What do you want? You're supposed to be helping the foreman."

"Yes, sir. But I'm back now, and I brought a new slave to the kitchen."

"A new slave to the kitchen?" he exclaimed. "You mean that stupid foreman actually listened to me for once? I've been trying to get additional help for ages." He wiped his hands on a cloth and then looked at Lex. "Well, is this him?"

"Yes, sir. This is Lex Luthor," answered Patrick. "Lex, this is the head chef, Aaron."

Lex didn't have time to reply before the other man demanded, "Well, what can you do? Do you cook?"

Lex just looked at him in answer, letting the man know the absurdity of the question from his expression.

"Prepare food?"

Lex sighed. "I don't know anything about cooking."

Aaron became enraged. "Nothing about cooking!" he bellowed. "Why the hell did they send you here if you don't know how to cook?"

"Sir," said Lex condescendingly, "I didn't exactly ask to be here. It's beyond me why the moron that runs--"

Patrick interrupted him somewhat frantically. "Lex was supposed to be assigned labor work, sir, but the foreman thought it was too much. He was sent here as a compromise."

The chef paused. He took in the marks on Lex's back, and the bruises on the rest of his body. He still looked agitated, but not as enraged. "I suppose we can find some use for you. Any help is better than no help, and I won't let it be said that I condemned someone to his death in that intolerable environment. I do have some dignity," looking at Patrick in dislike, "despite what others might say."

Aaron turned his back, dismissing the boy. "Put him on dishwashing duty."

"Yes, sir."

Patrick led him to an area at the back of the kitchen. There was a huge three-sided sink, and dishes were stacked so high that they were coming out of the top.

"This is the dishwashing area. You generally start here until someone has time to teach you food preparation. I doubt that will happen for a while, though. I was on dishwashing for six months before Aaron let me into the actual kitchen.

"You need to wash all these, hang them on the drying racks, and hand over the drying racks to the kitchen staff when they get full so the dishes can be restocked. You need to wash at a fairly rapid pace, because the sink gets full very quickly.

"Any questions?"

Perhaps saying that he had never washed dishes before wouldn't go over well. Even when he was poor, he was generally too destitute to afford dishes, using paper plates and plastic utensils instead.

But Lex had built a multi-million dollar company from nothing. He was certainly capable of doing this. "I think I can manage."

Lex was in hell.

Washing dishes was one of the worst jobs he'd ever had. The water wasn't just hot -- it was scalding hot. And the dishes just kept coming and coming. No matter how fast he worked, he couldn't reduce his pile. His hands were now like prunes, and he thought some of his skin was starting to peel off. What was worse, though, was that he had to angle his body away from the sink, otherwise his stomach and groin were exposed to the hot water. Now his arms and shoulders were even more cramped than they'd been before, and on top of all of that, his back was starting to sting.

He'd just about had it when the one hundred dishes he had handed over to the kitchen were returned, and he was told to wash them again. "Inadequate washing." Fucking assholes.

He kept washing, dish after dish, scraping off crap, for hours. He was never given a break, and no-one ever came to help him. It was torture.

Finally, after what seemed like ten thousand dishes, Patrick told him that they could head to the sleeping quarters. Lex shook off the dish suds from his hands and followed the boy with a sigh of relief.

Patrick led him through a maze of slaves, each working on a food dish. They couldn't possibly work all night, he wondered, appalled.

Patrick looked back at Lex, no doubt to make sure he was still following, but this time with a bit more warmth. Lex smiled in response. Not looking where he was going, Patrick knocked over a plate of food hanging precariously close to the edge of a table. It shattered with a loud crack, echoing through the whole kitchen.

"Patrick!" screamed Aaron. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Patrick stared at the head chef stupidly, seemingly petrified.

Lex couldn't abandon the boy. "It was my fault, sir. I wasn't looking where I was going."

When the man's face grew red, ready to scream once again, Lex added, with false sincerity, "I'm very sorry." Lex was very good at fooling people -- he had learned from the best, after all.

Aaron grunted, and seemed to reassess the situation. "You're lucky I'm too busy with this dish, Luthor, or you'd get a whipping worse than the one already on your back."

Lex and Patrick both waited.

"For fuck's sake, don't just stand there. Get out of my sight."

They needed no further encouragement, and headed out of the kitchen, taking more care this time.

Outside, Patrick turned to Lex. "Why did you do that?"

Lex grinned. "What, that? It was nothing. Besides, you looked as if you could use a break. It must not be very pleasant for you in there."

Patrick stared at him, serious. "No. It's not." They walked for a couple of paces.

Then Patrick said softly, "Thank you."

Lex said nothing in response. He had a feeling he'd just gained a friend.

The sun had long since gone down, and Lex found that he had to keep up with Patrick to see him in the dark. He'd be lost by now if the boy weren't there to follow.

They eventually reached the slave building, and when they opened the door, he finally had some light to see by. But half a day did nothing to change his first impression: the hallway was still sterile and unappealing.

His whole body ached. He was emotionally and physically drained, and he hadn't eaten anything all day. His feet were now numb from the pebbles and the cold and, stepping on to the relatively warm floor sent needles of pain through his legs.

Patrick led them farther down the hallway, and they came to a huge room. It was divided into cubicles, and in each cubicle were blankets, on top of a thin mattress on the floor.

"Patrick, not that I'm not ready for sleep, but I'm also starving. Do you think we could get something to eat first?"

The boy looked at him, an apology in his eyes. "We're only given one meal a day, in the morning. You arrived after everyone had eaten, so you're going to have to wait for tomorrow."

On top of everything else, this was the last straw. He couldn't take anymore. He followed Patrick numbly, entering the sleeping quarters in helpless frustration.

There were already slaves sleeping, and most of the cubicles were occupied. Patrick grabbed his hand, and led him to a cubicle near the middle of the room, where there were two empty mattresses.

"I usually sleep here. This area normally has two or three unused mattresses, so you can take one of them if you want." Patrick seemed incredibly earnest.

"I would love that, Patrick," Lex said gently. "But I'm not quite ready to go to sleep. I'm afraid of the answer to this, but I'm urgently in need of the facilities. Please don't tell me we're only allowed to piss once a day too."

Patrick smiled. "No, we can use the bathrooms. They're at the back of the room. I'll wait for you here until you get back." Patrick peered covertly at the other sleeping slaves and whispered, "Be careful."

Lex wondered if the boy was always ready to jump out of his skin, or if that had been meant as a warning. But Lex managed to visit the bathroom with no problems; it seemed unoccupied at this time of night.

When he returned, Patrick was already lying down, and Lex took the mattress closest to his. It was quiet, except for the faint rustling of slaves shifting nearby.

The boy was lying in a tight ball, hugging his legs close to his body.

"Patrick, are you okay?" Lex whispered.

Patrick shifted, and faced him. He was silent for a minute, and just when Lex thought he had gone to sleep, he spoke. "I hate this."

Lex made an encouraging noise.

"I hate being a slave. But more than that -- I hate being a slave at this palace. The other slaves are always gossiping about Kal-El's new pleasure slaves, and they're constantly speculating on what he'll do next. Most of them don't even hate him. They fear him, but I know they secretly admire him."

"And you hate him?"

"More than anything."

When Patrick didn't elaborate, Lex prodded, gently, "Why?"

The boy was silent. He finally said, in a tense voice, "He killed my sister."

Lex felt sorry for the boy, but this was no shocking revelation. "A lot of people were killed in the war, Patrick. I lost friends and family as well. I think we all hate the alien for that."

"Not like I do. I saw him killing my sister. He's a monster. She was just a protestor, an innocent little girl. She was in one of the large rallies at the beginning of the war when it happened. He dropped down from the sky, and for no reason at all -- but maybe her inherent goodness -- picked my sister for a 'demonstration'." Patrick was tense, overcome with emotion. "In front of all the other protestors, he gripped her head and crushed it. My sister died instantly, but my hatred for the alien began that day. I loathe him."

The boy must have been starved for affection. One day with Lex, and he was already pouring his heart out. He continued, "You know how everyone is always wondering what he looks like. We never saw a clear picture of him during the war. The kitchen slaves don't ever get to see him. Most of them think he has tentacles and a green body. But they're all wrong. He looks just like a man. And that makes it even worse. On the outside, he looks human, but on the inside is the alien monster. I think he looks like that just to fool us, so we don't have our guard up. I bet he passed as a human for years before he decided to start the war.

"His true nature, both inside and out, was revealed to me when my sister died." Patrick paused, and took a shuddering breath, trying to pull himself back together. "That day was the worst day of my life. The day I was enslaved, to work for the thing that had killed my sister, was the second."

Lex reached out and put a comforting hand on Patrick's shoulder. "I'm truly sorry, Patrick."

Patrick rubbed his eyes irritably, and then stared up at Lex. He scooted forward a bit on his mattress, bringing his face close to Lex's ear. "But I know how to get revenge. Lex, do you want to know how you can get out of here?" he whispered.

Lex jerked his head back, and then examined the boy with a more calculating eye. His eyes were swollen, his face red, but he was obviously very serious. "What?" Lex hissed.

Patrick looked around them nervously. He whispered, "I know where the Overlord keeps his spaceship."

"Spaceship?"

"I was running an errand -- they were short on laundry help, and I needed to take a load of clothes to the basement. The Overlord passed me, and he went down a set of stairs." Patrick swallowed. "I followed. He didn't know -- he seemed oblivious to his surroundings. I watched him enter this absolutely bizarre chamber, and his -- spaceship was there, glowing."

This was all very interesting but, "How does that help us escape?"

"I think -- no, I know that he was talking to someone, but no one else was in the room. I'm pretty sure that he was talking to the ship, as strange as that sounds. And he was saying something about the slaves in the forest, and a boundary, and, well, that has to have something to do with the manacles, doesn't it? If the control for the fastenings and the manacles are in that room, and if we can deactivate them... well, we'd be able to leave, wouldn't we?"

Lex considered. "If the control is indeed there, and we can figure out how to deactivate it, then we might be able to turn off the poison trigger."

"Oh, Lex, I know it's there! And we'll be able to get free!" His voice was rising alarmingly.

"Patrick! Keep your voice--"

But it was too late. One of the slaves, in a far bed, shouted, "Would you fuckers shut up! Some people are trying to get some sleep."

Lex sighed in relief. The slave hadn't taken notice of Patrick's words. Stupid boy. Lex patted Patrick on the shoulder as a false comforting gesture, motioned him to be quiet, and then withdrew to his own mattress.

Patrick's information put a completely different spin on Lex's situation. Ever since that first shackle had been put on him, back in his office, he'd been trying to deny that it had even happened. It was hard to redefine oneself as a slave after a life of freedom. Just one day ago he had been running his own company, set to expand into the rest of North America. While he hadn't had the authority of the alien's dignitaries, he had started to become a powerful economic force. Now, he was a slave. He no longer had his company, his money was gone, and his rights and freewill were nonexistent. One day here, and he'd already been whipped. Not to mention his unpleasant experience in the kitchen. But now, with the hope of escape, everything didn't seem so bleak. With Patrick's knowledge of the palace, Lex was sure that they could come up with a plan.

As for Patrick's story -- of the death of his sister -- well, Lex was helpless to feel anything but pity. Patrick seemed very alone here. Lex also suspected that the boy hated the alien for a lot more than the death of his sister. He had seen the way he flinched from touch, and his wary and frightened looks could only mean one thing. Lex had already personally experienced the "punishment" that slaves received, but he was sure that Patrick had experienced even more. The whippings had probably been accompanied by some kind of sexual abuse. And even if the alien wasn't personally responsible, he could understand how hatred had built up, as his situation got worse and worse.

But in the back of his mind, he was already thinking of ways to use Patrick's vulnerability to his advantage. Lex rubbed his forehead, ashamed of himself.

He tried to put aside his worries, and get to sleep, but his back was stinging terribly. His wounds had begun to heal. Even worse, each time he moved, he was conscious of the manacles around his wrists and neck. He kept reaching up, trying to brush the collar off, but he always encountered the unmovable metal. It was restrictive and made him feel as if his air was being cut off.

He thought of Patrick. He had been living like this for a year.

Fucking alien. Why did he have to ever come to Earth?

Lex's life gradually took on a tedious pattern -- a repetition of menial jobs that had no intellectual stimulation whatsoever -- and consequently, he adjusted easily. His boredom, though? Another story. All in all, slavery was a pretty dull existence.

He continued to work in the kitchen, washing dishes. He liked to think that he got better at it, but really, there was no point in improving. There were always dishes, and the sink always remained full, no matter how fast he went. What did improve was his tolerance for physical torture. The scalding water no longer caused him intense pain, and he was starting to get used to having the skin on his hands constantly chapped and raw.

He managed to pass unnoticed that first day when his back healed rapidly. Ever since the meteor shower, he'd lived with the fear that the rest of the world would notice his unusual immune system. And while he was a slave, being branded as a freak would possibly be one of the worst things that could happen to him.

He had gained Patrick's trust and, together, they slowly started to plan their escape. Lex wasn't allowed in the rest of the palace, and the kitchens were always monitored by a slave, so he'd been unable to sneak past the inside doors. But Patrick did his best to describe the way to the mysterious room down in the basement. They were planning slowly -- not wanting to make any mistakes, and the more Lex learned about his situation, the more likely their chances of a successful escape.

Patrick also told him about the slave structure, and who was above Lex in status. The laborers were the only group of slaves lower than the kitchen slaves. Next came the slaves that worked with the palace's animals, and this group included children. After that were the diplomatic slaves, who drafted documents and researched data on the post-war world. The translator slaves were up one more level, and they helped the foreign dignitaries interact since the alien didn't need a translator.

The last group was the alien's mysterious pleasure slaves. These slaves were secluded in a harem, somewhere in the inner reaches of the palace. There were supposed to be over a hundred pleasure slaves, and the amount of food produced by the kitchen certainly seemed to support that. The Overlord really was otherworldly if he needed dozens of women to satisfy his sexual appetite.

All the slaves were under the direct authority of the Overlord, but other slaves handed down his instructions. There was rumored to be a slave that personally assisted the alien, but Lex wasn't sure if that were true, never having seen him.

Lex could have easily worked in the diplomatic or translator sections, but, for some inexplicable reason, he had been assigned to the kitchen. Being assigned to the kitchen was a waste of his skills, and frustrating. He could think of only one reason for the assignment; it had to have something to do with the note the foreman had received that first day.

He also learned, through practical experience, that most of the slaves were miserable and not inclined to hide it. Those of a higher rank often took their frustrations out on those below them. This appeared in the form of petty insults or acts of cruelty, but it could often progress into physical acts of violence. The foreman never did anything to stop it, and seemed privately entertained when conflicts broke out. He had learned, like Lex, that most of the slaves were here because of the whim of a dignitary. Patrick told Lex that the foreman had been arrested for public protest. There were few hardened criminals in the palace. Those who were, Lex learned to avoid.

It was mid-afternoon when he looked up from his work, realizing that the activity around him had stopped. He shook the water off his hands and peered around, trying to figure out why the kitchen had grown quiet.

Aaron had abandoned his dish, a very rare occurrence. He was walking toward the kitchen doors, and the other slaves appeared to be waiting for something.

That's when Lex saw him.

Iago Sanchez.

He was surveying the kitchen with disgust, his ever-present cane evident as he used it to push the door shut. He still had appalling taste, wearing an atrocious white suit over a dark maroon shirt. Sanchez was sweating in the hot air of the kitchen, dabbing his forehead with a handkerchief that matched the color of his shirt.

Lex couldn't possibly loathe a person more than he did Sanchez right at that moment.

Aaron approached Sanchez, and bowed once, deeply. "May I help you, sir?"

Sanchez looked at Aaron distastefully. "I was told Lex Luthor's here. Where is he?" he asked curtly.

Aaron inclined his head in Lex's direction. "He's over by sinks, sir."

Out of the corner of his eye, Lex could see Patrick looking at him in concern.

Lex tried to compose himself, but he doubted he appeared dignified with just a loincloth and soapsuds on his arms.

Sanchez seemed outraged. "So he is in the kitchen! I assumed there was some mistake. Luthor is supposed to be working outside. There were specific instructions to that effect."

That fucking bastard.

"Your pardon, sir. I was instructed to find a place for him here. I believe the foreman decided that outdoor labor would be too damaging to the slave."

Sanchez's face grew red. He said, in an undertone, "That was the fucking point, morons." He waved his cane around and yelled, "Idiots! Trust a slave to follow simple directions."

Aaron interjected, apologetically, "I doubt the matter can be corrected, sir. Once a slave has been given an assignment, they usually don't leave their area unless given instructions by the Overlord."

Sanchez seemed about to hit Aaron, but he held himself back. He pushed the head chef out of the way and walked directly towards Lex.

Sanchez looked him up and down, his lip curling in glee as he saw his loincloth and bruised body. "Well, Luthor, how do you like your new life?"

Lex did nothing but stare at Sanchez impassively.

"Answer me when I talk to you!"

Lex continued to stare silently at the man, but this time with a slight tightening about his mouth, indicating his anger.

"Don't you dare show me that higher-than-thou attitude, slave. They're not giving you a hard enough time here. I think you need a bit of punishing. Hands up! Over to the wall!"

Lex didn't give an inch, and continued to glare at Sanchez. But other slaves abruptly joined them, and Aaron was looking at him grimly. "You heard the man, Luthor. To the wall."

Lex gave him a resentful glance. Were they going to force him if he didn't move? He would never give in to that bastard.

Aaron seemed to sense that Lex wasn't going to cooperate. He signaled to the other slaves to grab him, and together they pushed him towards the wall. When his arms were lifted, he felt the magnetic force being activated, and his wrist manacles attached to the fastening.

Sanchez laughed in delight behind him, and ran his hand down Lex's back. Lex shuddered.

"Where's the whip?" he shouted. "I don't have a whip."

Lex could hear someone going off to find one, and the seemingly abnormally loud sound of people struggling to get out of his way as he returned. Then there was the tactile feel of Sanchez caressing his back with the blunt edge of the whip. "You'll love this, Luthor."

The first stroke fell.

Lex tuned the rest of the beating out, the pain passing in a daze, and he was only aware of the crack of the whip in an abstract way.

When it ended, it was more because Sanchez was tired than Lex having been whipped to the breaking point. Sanchez was panting harshly and he was coughing as he struggled to draw in more air.

The beating hadn't been bad -- not nearly as painful as his previous one. His skin was on fire in only a few places, and he knew he only had a few welts. But still -- it had been Sanchez. That the man could do this to him was an indignity that Lex could hardly bear.

"Did you enjoy that?" Sanchez panted.

Lex remained silent, leaning against the wall.

Sanchez didn't like that. "Fucking Luthor-spawn!" he brought the whip down one more time, hard. Lex bit his lip, not letting any sound out.

He could hear Sanchez throw the whip down in disgust, and his brusque, "Make sure he gets right back to work."

The slaves gradually returned to their dishes. Lex was released from the wall, and he staggered, forced to take his own weight. Suddenly, Patrick was there, giving him a supporting hand. He was led back to the sinks.

Through it all, Lex never once said anything.

Lex was subdued for the rest of the day, not responding to the talk around him. He answered in monosyllables when forced to answer. Patrick seemed to sense his withdrawal, and allowed him the distance he needed.

When the day was over, and Patrick came to the sinks to tell him that they could leave, he touched Lex's arm briefly and looked at him in concern. Lex tried to smile reassuringly.

He was still angry. He wanted to tear Sanchez apart. Sanchez should be the one without rights, wearing a loincloth, and doing manual labor. Not Lex. That sanctimonious prick.

As he walked to the sleeping quarters, he moved with agitation, careless of rocks or ice. Patrick stayed close to him, not walking in front of him as he usually did. Lex could see him out of the corner of his eye, looking at him concernedly.

They arrived at the sleeping quarters quickly, and both Lex and Patrick paid a brief visit to the bathroom and then went back to their cubicle. Lex stepped over the other sleeping slaves and went to his usual mattress. He lay down on his side, carefully placing himself in the most painless position, and pulled the thin blanket up to his shoulders. He heard Patrick get into his own bed, and Lex closed his eyes, determined to put everything out of his mind.

He was doing a remarkably bad job of it when he suddenly became aware of a rustling in front of his face. He opened his eyes, ready to strike out, but it was just Patrick. He was kneeling down in front of Lex, his blanket gathered around his shoulders.

"Lex, I'm sorry if I'm disturbing you, but I need to know if you're okay. That dignitary seemed really angry with you, and I've never seen you that way before. You looked as if you wanted to kill him. Was he the one that put you here?"

Lex closed his eyes briefly, and grimaced. "Yes."

"Oh, I'm so sorry, Lex. To have him whip you -- that must have been terrible for you."

Patrick touched Lex gently on the shoulder, and embraced him awkwardly. Lex remained with his hands at his sides, stiff in the boy's hold. When Patrick seemed disinclined to release him, Lex shrugged his shoulders, and jerked away in annoyance.

Patrick ran a nervous hand through his hair. He shyly darted his gaze away from Lex, and then looked back at him with a sigh. "Do you need -- would you like to --" he bit his lip. "Do you want some company?"

Lex's mind was still halfway in the kitchen with Sanchez, and it took some time to process what Patrick was saying. But he comprehended too late.

Patrick swallowed, and then quickly kissed Lex on the lips. It was a brief brush, and he jerkily moved his head back in his nervousness. But afterwards, the boy looked at him with sickening warmth.

Lex cleared his throat. "Patrick, thank you for the offer. I'm honored, but I don't think it's a good idea. I'm not in the mood right now to do anything but sleep."

Patrick was embarrassed, but he smiled wobbly at Lex. "Oh. All right," he said in a small voice. The boy shuffled to his own bed.

"Goodnight."

" 'night."

Patrick was a sweet kid, and Lex was sure that he'd had been serious when he made the offer, but Lex would never take advantage of him. While physically an adult, Patrick was still a child in some ways.

He abruptly woke to pain. In his sleep, he had managed to turn over, putting his sore back in contact with the rough mattress. He didn't know how long he'd been lying like that, but his back was in a worse state than when he'd fallen asleep. He repositioned himself, trying to get comfortable again. Now, he was facing the wall -- brown watermarks, filthy grime and bits of dirt seemingly molded into the plaster. Looking at it was counterproductive to sleeping and he closed his eyes, struggling to blank his mind, but the pain in his back wouldn't let up.

He could tell that it was still the middle of the night, and the slaves were all sleeping soundly. Over on Patrick's mattress, the boy was snoring softly, with his body in its customary huddle position. He was the picture of a rejected child.

Lex rubbed his eyes and stretched out on the uncomfortable mattress, trying to avoid the lumps but, regardless of his position, his back still felt raw, and the mattress was like lying on a hard rock.

He finally gave up, painstakingly got to his feet and headed to the bathrooms. The facilities were huge, and included communal showers. He could always try to shower while everyone else was asleep; although, they were slimy, filthy and tended to have an unpleasant odor. There was no privacy, and lately, it had been too much of a bother when you usually encountered a disgruntled slave ready to pick a fight. But if he could just get clean--

Lex was in luck. The showers were unoccupied. He had the whole area to himself. He took off his loincloth, and hung it on a hook, safely away from the water. He stood under a showerhead near the back corner, and turned the rusted knob, letting the hot water pour over him. It was agonizing on his back at first, but it shortly became soothing.

He closed his eyes, and let his head droop, allowing the water to pour over him, easing the tension in his neck and shoulders. He blindly reached for the liquid soap dispenser, and squeezed out a dollop while the steam rose around him. Then he lifted his head out of the water, and blinked a few times until he was able to see.

Taking in his surroundings, he promptly chastised himself. While he was floating in a heat-filled daze, another slave had joined him in the shower area. Lex needed to be less careless or one of his oversights would get him killed. Luckily, the slave didn't seem to be interested in starting a fight. Just like Lex, he was enjoying his shower, his eyes closed and his head back.

He was about the same height as Lex. He had a muscular body, with shoulder-length, dirty blond hair. He was cute in a vaguely rugged way, with a scruffy face and sharp cheekbones. His muscles flexed appealingly as he reached behind his back to scrub his shoulders. He washed his upper chest, swirling soapsuds around, and gradually went lower. As he continued washing below his stomach, Lex couldn't help but turn his gaze toward his cock. It was a good size, pink, surrounded by a sprinkling of blond hair.

Lex raised his eyes, and realized the slave was looking directly at him. He was prepared for a violent reaction, but the other slave just stared at Lex challengingly, the water pouring over his body, soapsuds dripping down to the tiled floor.

Lex washed his chest, rubbing his nipples with the soapy water as he returned the other man's gaze. When the slave surveyed Lex's chest with hunger, Lex made his decision. He left his own shower, and joined him. The air was cold without the warm water, but he was soon under the hot spray.

Lex gazed at his fellow slave with a slight smile on his face, and lay his hand on the side of the other man's chest. The slave copied Lex's movement, putting them in a loose embrace. They rubbed against each other, and Lex's cock, already half-hard from his leisurely wash, was soon standing up against his stomach. Lex kissed the man's neck, avoiding his manacle, and grabbed his ass so he could get a better grip. They thrust together, the slave mouthing Lex's shoulders, working down to his chest. He sucked a spot on Lex's upper chest, and the slight sting of his teeth sent a sharp frisson of pleasure through Lex.

They rubbed and rubbed, pleasure building rapidly. Lex was almost there, but needed more friction. He reached between their bodies and grabbed both of their cocks in a tight grip, the hot feel of their skin pressed against each other exquisite.

He didn't last long, coming with a deep groan. The slave soon followed, and they clutched each other while they recovered. It had been a quick orgasm, but it still left him deeply satisfied. He'd needed that.

Lex rested his head on the man's shoulder and took a deep breath. He raised his eyes, looking blearily across the room. He soon regretted it.

Patrick was standing in the shower entrance, staring at them. He looked deeply shocked, and when his eyes met Lex's, they held accusation and hurt.

Lex was paralyzed. The slave was still embracing him, and had yet to become aware of Patrick's presence. Lex tried to gather his wits, but he was still floating in a haze of pleasure and aftershock, satiated from his orgasm.

Patrick turned his back on Lex and left.

Afterwards, Patrick wouldn't talk to Lex. When he returned from the showers, Patrick was lying down, his back to Lex. Lex stood in front of the mattress for a long moment, hoping Patrick would turn around, but he never did. Lex went to bed, falling asleep almost immediately.

When he woke up the next morning, Patrick remained distant, refusing to speak to him and staring at him impassively when Lex addressed him. Lex even tried bringing up their plans for escape to get him to respond, but Patrick remained stubbornly silent.

Lex regretted Patrick seeing him with the other slave, but he didn't regret the sex. He had never given any signs that he was interested in Patrick sexually.

Now, once again, Lex was washing dishes, one of the most tedious jobs ever conceived. Today was a particularly cold day, and the kitchen was a welcome warmth.

Lex was about to start on his tenth rack of dishes when he realized that the activity around him had stopped. Silence was always a bad sign.

He looked quickly toward the kitchen doors. The person commanding everyone's attention was the one person Lex hated the most in the world.

Sanchez.

The dignitary was wearing a subdued version of his usual attire. His suit was a conservative gray, with only a light pink shirt to add color. He seemed jovial, smiling and swinging his cane in an enthusiastic manner. He ignored all the other slaves, and Aaron's questions were brushed off on his path to Lex.

Lex resigned himself to another whipping. A smile on that man's face would never mean anything good for Lex.

"Luthor! I've heard rumors that you've been slacking off in your duties. The kitchen," he sneered, "is much too lenient for the likes of you. You need some real work." Sanchez smiled. "To show you how considerate I can be, I went to the trouble of finding something more challenging. I was doing a bit of exploring in the forest this morning, and managed, inexplicably, to lose a very valuable wristwatch. The watch face had a unique and distinctive feature: it was made from a Napoleonic franc. Perhaps it might be familiar to you."

Lex clenched his hands in tight fists at his sides, enraged. The watch