Chapter Text
Clark swallows.
The whole thing feels…bad. The place, with its sterilised atmosphere, like a hospital, white walls and long hallways and harsh lighting. There’s the shuffle of footsteps, occasionally, that go past them; Clark flinches when they get too close but never enough to dislodge their cover.
The charm is strong. Most people swerve right past him, despite the red and blue out of place in lab coats and scrubs. Not that they can see him — he’s part of the wall right now, he thinks, or at least that’s how he should look like.
He hates the feeling of the place. It’s too stilted, out of time. The people walk quickly with their eyes down and never, never speak. The place itself is a maze even with photographic memory.
He doesn’t have a lot of time, so he has to move quick. Not too fast that anyone would catch the wall rippling or feel a gust of wind, but too slow and his chances of getting caught increase drastically.
The whole place is set to close down tomorrow. There are still eight subjects they haven’t gotten out.
Sketchy experimentation is Clark’s least favourite thing. Most of the time it’s people like Luthor, who makes weapons able to incapacitate him just from exposure. There are those they exploit alien technology for their own use and it makes Clark angry.
But the people that experiment on humans?
They just make Clark sick.
This is the biggest human experimentation centre they’ve found so far. And it isn’t just one station. It’s one branch.
There’s more. So many more, so many metas or mutants or just regular humans that have been tortured or mutilated or —
Clark takes a breath.
“Turn here,” Diana instructs in his ear and he obeys. He slips into the room soundlessly, makes sure no one is watching.
He’s already made several other trips. This is going to be the last one.
The man inside is huge, with a build almost as big as Clark’s. He’s hunched on the floor, wearing too-thin clothes, and barefoot. He’s bleeding from a cheek and he’s clutching his arm against his side.
He doesn’t look up when Clark enters. He barely breathes.
And then Clark is the one wheezing as he’s pinned to the ground, a forearm under his chin, a knee shoved into his ribs. If he didn’t have invulnerable skin, he would be in a lot of pain. The man is heavy.
”Who,” the man heaves, “are you.”
His voice is low, like gargling rocks. Also in pain. A lot of pain, if what Clark’s seeing is anything to go by.
He holds the man’s arm, gently. “I’m Superman,” he says. “Do you know what that means?”
The man looks at him. His eyes are wide and unseeing. They are completely black, like the cold abyss of space.
”No,” he tells Clark. And then adds, “I have no idea who you are.”
Clark swallows.
The Justice League formed recently, in human terms. About four years ago. Their presence was broadcasted on every news station, radio and channel out there.
”How long have you been here?” he asks.
The man answers, “Years.”
Clark does not ask how many.
”I am a hero,” he says instead. “Do you know what that means?”
The man eases his arm off Clark’s windpipe. He shuffles back, on his hands and feet, to a sitting position.
“Hero; a person who is admired for their courage, outstanding achievements, or noble qualities,” he says. Then he continues, “Did you mean something else?”
Clark shakes his head. “No, that was good. I…a hero rescues people. I’m here to rescue you.”
The man hesitates, here. His clothes are tattered and his blood is splattered on the floor. “…me?” he says tentatively. Clark nods.
”Yeah. You and the others. Do you know what section they’re in?”
The man thinks, tilts his head to the side, then shakes his head. Clark’s heart falls, and then the man talks. “They transferred them out,” he starts quietly, jerked awake. “To somewhere else. I tried to — I tried to stop them, they took my children, my babies — “
He holds his head and starts clawing at skin — his nails are short and chipped, bitten down below skin, and screams without sound. Clark watches, helpless. He watches the man hold his head in his hands and rock back and forth and sob, all without ever making a noise.
When he is done, he looks the same. Normal.
“They took them. I do not know where.”
Clark exhales sharply. That’s — that’s bad. But it’s not hopeless, they knew they wouldn’t be able to stamp out all of it in just a month, it was going to take time. “Okay. I’m going to leave now. Would you like to come with me?”
There is a sedative in his pocket if he needs it. It’s enough to put down a horse. He does not want to.
”Will you help me find them?” the man asks. His eyes reflect the dim light and scatter into a tiny million crystals of white in unseeing irises.
“Of course,” Clark promises, feels it reverberate around the room.
The man relaxes slightly, and nods. “Then yes. I will go.”
Clark smiles. “Would you like me to carry you?” He points at his feet. “Those look like they hurt.”
”If you wish to,” the man responds, mechanically. “If it is faster,” he adds.
Clark gets him on his back. He is heavy, but definitely not heavy enough that the Man of Steel cannot carry him.
When they are out and far away from there, in a base high above the Earth, Clark asks, “What is your name?”
The man responds, “00001.”
Clark asks, “Do you have another?”
And the man says, “I used to be called Bruce.”