Part One: Porridge (New and Improved), by Renaissance Makoto; Commentary by Rose etta
Title: Porridge (New and Improved)
Author: Renaissance Makoto harmless_one
Fandom: Justice League Universe
Pairing: Kal-El/Bruce Wayne(s)
Rating: R
Commentator: Rose etta rose_etta
Excerpt:
She shuddered and looked again at the machine.
It was ingenious. Nowhere in the world was there a computer like this. A perfect mutt of tech with a strong Kryptonian base and more than a little WayneTech disregard for the laws of physics. She knew how much of the Crays was in here; she had brought it herself as a favor, thinking it might help Kal cope. Martian, Themyscirian and Thanagarian technology as well as the technology of New Genesis and Apokolips were merged in this machine, forced to cooperate. It overpowered anything on the Watchtower, and how was that even possible?
...
The most impressive feature of the system was the screens. The overlapped each other and overtook an entire wall. Behind the fizzing and the data that flowed endlessly across the flat panels, Diana could see that Kal's obsession had taken on a life of its own.
An intense blue eye there behind a streaming video from Nigeria. Fading into a surveillance video of the Daily Planet newsroom was a devil-may-care smile. A flat, white eye narrowed at the room from a sea of black. It was not a complete picture; it was the idea of a person and only if you knew what to look for.
+++++++++++++++++++
Porridge (New and Improved)
DVD Commentary, Part One
~
Porridge (New and Improved)
Diana was never more inhuman than when she was uncomfortable. She kept her arms close to her body and never strayed too far from the teleport booth.
What a great way to open the visual: DC's most-admired lady hero, in the act of being unconfortable. This reader certainly picked-up a feeling of consternation, in sympathy with Wonder Woman from the moment of my imagining her, like this.
And notice how the question of inhumanity is made complex by the meta-beings and aliens in this DC Comic Universe.
"So this is the finished product?" she asked and did not quite manage to hide her contempt.
"The prototype you saw has been improved. This is the first fully functional version."
Kal-El smiled and he'd been told his eyes were dead long ago so he did not try to make it look sincere. "The tech you brought came in handy. Thank you."
"He'd been told his eyes were dead long ago…" -> Wow, from the Boy Scout, to this.
The Fortress was different now. The computer was cold and dully glinting metal, like stainless steel except for where it looked almost alive. She had once made the mistake of opening one of the panels that ran along the leftmost wall and what had pulsed and moved in that cave of wires and circuitry had made her stumble away. She never wanted to look again because she knew it had grown since then. It as alive in ways that…
Well, it was too easy to say that it was alive like its creator was not.
She shuddered and looked again at the machine.
It was ingenious. Nowhere in the world was there a computer like this. A perfect mutt of tech with a strong Kryptonian base and more than a little WayneTech disregard for the laws of physics. She knew how much of the Crays was in here; she had brought it herself as a favor, thinking it might help Kal cope. Martian, Themyscirian and Thanagarian technology as well as the technology of New Genesis and Apokolips were merged in this machine, forced to cooperate. It overpowered anything on the Watchtower, and how was that even possible?
"…it was alive like its creator was not." -> Our Protagonist Kal-El is alive but dead, and the Antagonist - the amalgam-computer - is alive in a terribly disturbing manner: now we see what gave our heroine the willies.
She wanted to escape but could not think of a polite way to do so.
The most impressive feature of the system was the screens. The overlapped each other and overtook an entire wall. Behind the fizzing and the data that flowed endlessly across the flat panels, Diana could see that Kal's obsession had taken on a life of its own.
An intense blue eye there behind a streaming video from Nigeria. Fading into a surveillance video of the Daily Planet newsroom was a devil-may-care smile. A flat, white eye narrowed at the room from a sea of black. It was not a complete picture; it was the idea of a person and only if you knew what to look for.
She shivered.
Here is the first visual of the creepy computer-with-a-personality: snippets of a person - a face. "A flat, white eye narrowed at the room from a sea of black", "[a]n intense blue eye", and "a devil-may-care smile".
"Cold?" Kal asked.
"A little," she lied.
"Ask him to turn up the heat."
"Him…?" Her eyes were imploring him not to do this, not to have taken this last, terrible step. His challenged her to call him on it. Perhaps part of him knew he was too far into his own obsession and was daring her to fight with him about it. She wondered if there was a part of Kal that wanted to be saved and cursed herself for being too much a coward to do it.
What conflict! Seldom do we see Diana doing things she doesn't want to do. Here, she's brought to nauseation by the role of indulgence she feels is required by her friendship with Kal-El. She's even sought relief in fantasies of wrapping him up in lassoes and summoning her invisible place to hie him off.
"Go ahead," he goaded when she failed yet again to be the friend he needed. "Ask."
"Computer," she began, but Kal interrupted.
"He has a name."
The long moment that followed found Diana's heart racing out of control and she knew Kal could hear it. His eyes were terrible. He blinked slowly and rarely, as if he feared to look away. Kal was a man with enemies everywhere.
"…enemies everywhere" -> Oh, poor Kal-El: his dysfunction/ madness has cost him his place of esteem within his adoptive world. We can see how, for here his "terrible eyes" demand from Diana what he knows she is loathe to give.
She swallowed. "B-Bruce," she finally croaked.
"Yes, Diana?" came from all around. It was in stereo and, frankly, unnerving; he had added a voice. It was so very near to the voice of her memory as to make her want to look for a human source. The only flaw was in the ambiguity. If this voice had a body, would it wear black armor, or black silk?
Diana could not say. That alone ruined the deception.
An amalgam of features, the computer-creation's primary flaw is that it yet lacks that defining sense the real Bruce had, of when to be who.
Slowly and clearly she said, "Please turn up the heat."
"Increasing the temperature to 75 degrees Fahrenheit," Bruce said and then fell quiet.
Kal was watching her. "Well?" he asked and took a step closer. It took considerable effort not to back away from him.
"You have made some improvements."
"Yes. Yes, I have. He does more than just *reason* like Batman. Analytically, conversationally, he's more and more like Br-Batman."
"I…yes. I can see that. It is uncanny."
"So why do you seem upset?"
Her laugh was hollow even to her own ears. "I wonder if he would be flattered, or disturbed."
Kal had never looked at her so coldly. It was the computer, however, who answered.
"I believe the Creator would be quite pleased to see his plans taken to their logical conclusion. I am the ultimate realization of his genius. Bruce Wayne envisioned a machine like me. Kal-El has made that a reality."
Diana had been backing away slowly as the computer spoke. She shook her head in confusion.
"Kal, why are you doing this?"
He wore such a condescending expression that Diana felt her eyes water.
"'Why?' I thought you of all people would understand. You haven't been the same, either! Nothing's been the same."
"It was not anyone's fault!"
"Yes, well." He stared into the shadows of the room. "Bruce's plans were always good. Until no one listened to them. He just made it so *difficult* to listen to him. I-I never said 'Goodbye', Diana. And it's terrible here. There aren't any shadows. There's all this light and it blinds me. I don't know who I am anymore."
Her lips parted but no sound came out. The machine was spreading, she felt. Inside the Fortress, and inside Kal, it was taking on a life more wrong and unnatural than even when Kal's obsession first began. Finally, she said, "How does *this* madness help with that?"
"Because HE knew. HE knew."
She faded away with one last sobbed, "Kal, please." And then the fortress was empty.
Her cry echoed through the tall, crystalline hall. The statues of his parents were obscured, slightly, by the wiring it took to run the fans that cooled the computer.
"The statues of his parents were obscured, slightly, by the wiring it took to run the fans that cooled the computer" -> The symbolic image of Kal-El's stability - Ma and Pa Kent - exhibits encroachment by the creature-computer - is sacrificed to its needs.
He looked again to the dominating screens where he could see something taking shape. Someone. He felt a strange lightness of being and smiled. It reached his eyes.
Now we see the basis for this 'madness': The Eternal Man would find precious even a hint of that odd feeling of remembered happiness.
"Bruce," he said.
"Yes, Kal?"
"Show me the Metropolis skyline."
Instantly, a skyline unlike any other in the world stretched and blazed before him and a perfect sunrise reflected off the crystal. A plume of black smoke alone marred the view.
"Analyze."
"An apartment fire. There are two life forms still inside. One is most likely a house pet. The other is a young male."
"Chance of survival?"
"If you leave now?" Bruce said pointedly. "It's 67%. Keep waiting around and it will drop incrementally every ten seconds. Feel like being a hero today, Clark? Or would you rather hang around talking to me all day?"
Kal gasped. For seconds he could *feel*, he felt powerless and incapable of motion or thought. *This* he had not programmed. The sarcasm; the controlled, time-bomb anger. This had been learned, adapted, ingrained somehow. He was aware of but didn't necessarily hear the organic thundering behind the casing and wondered how it had grown since the day before. He both thrilled at and feared the idea that it was becoming MORE than the sum of its parts. More like what it was meant to be.
And no one called him 'Clark.'
No one still breathing, at least.
He felt a cold shiver go up and down his spine and then took off. His hearing stayed tuned to the Fortress so that Bruce's analysis was loud and clear. "Down to 40%, *Superman*."
Kal picked up speed but wanted nothing more than to do exactly what the computer had accused him of.
He wanted to go back and talk.
He wanted to be called 'Clark' again. He wanted to know if the man that Lois had loved was somewhere inside him, still good, only just a little tarnished.
And quite suddenly, he realized that a voice and the hint of a face alone would never be-could never be-enough.
And, so, Kal-El's Mission transforms:
~***~
Numbers One through Ten were not worth mentioning though they had taught him quite a lot.
Tim had been very helpful in those early days.
There was a strange timelessness about Wayne Manor. There would always be an old-fashioned phone in the study no matter what marvels of communication technology were entombed six floors down.
Older than his age, Tim had carefully kept his voice neutral. They'd reminisced and pretended to care about dusty memories before Tim had tired of the game and asked him what he wanted.
Obligingly, Kal explained.
In the background, the sound of a young, energetic voice could be heard making airplane noises.
"How many…?" Kal asked, but his attention was divided. The boy tearing through the mansion shouted, "Hey, Rob! Off the phone, old man!"
Tim coughed a laugh and then coughed an old man cough. "Coming!" he hollered. "Sorry, Kal. He's a handful, this one. Just turned 12. Acts like he invented flying and can't wait to fine-tune it. How many? I'd tell you the number, but that would discourage you. This one's lasted longer. Seems…real. More real."
In the Fortress, on one of the screens behind him, Bruce Wayne was giving a speech. The footage was old enough that he hadn't gotten the scars across his jaw yet, the ones that had never faded and had always ached. He was imploring lobbyists to fight for a quake-devastated Gotham and looked like a movie star.
On the next screen, Batman was running a training simulation in the Watchtower at his peak. He'd been unbeatable. Superman had changed his martial arts prowess rating to 17 that year. It had been, perhaps, an inadequate rating. The rest of the screens were crammed with streams of data and news and reports from around the world. He barely looked at them.
"I'm not going flying," Tim said suddenly. Kal could tell he had covered the mouthpiece of the phone. He imagined the scene in his mind: the gray-haired old man in his worn chair and the young, dark-haired youth who was always provided with an endless wardrobe of black and red, standing before him with begging eyes.
"I don't wanna go flying!" the boy whined. "Let's go to the Cave! I wanna see the one you built. The one that looks like a tank."
"You know the way. What am I, your babysitter? Go down there and look at the damn thing yourself."
"I want you to come, too!"
"On the phone. Go away."
There were shuffling footsteps and then Tim was talking to him again. "Sorry."
And Kal was charmed and scared all at once. "It's…not a problem. He doesn't know about me, does he?"
"He knows about you, but he worships Superman. See the trouble already, don't you?" Kal winced, but Tim pressed on. "Hah! I'd let you meet him, but…there's no telling how long he'll…" Tim went quiet and covered the awkward moment with a cough. "So, I'll send you my research and you'll let me get some sleep?"
"I'd appreciate it, Tim."
"Yeah, yeah. Everybody needs a favor from Batman two-point-oh. I'll put it on your tab. I've got to go pull a dust cover off a car. Like I can take the steps with my knees like they are. Youth is wasted on the young. You take care, Kal."
"Wait!"
"What? What now? You want me to bake you some cookies too? Haven't inconvenienced an old man enough, yet? Huh?"
"No, that not…that is…" Dick had always been more accommodating, helpful, even. Kal almost changed his mind and then blurted, "Is it worth it? Even with…the failures, is it worth it?"
Tim smacked his lips around teeth that were over half of them synthetic and made a long, thoughtful, "Hmmmm."
After a moment he answered.
"Kal," he said, "I'm an old man. I'm going to die-very likely soon-and what will I have to show for it? A cabinet full of pain medication and a big, empty house that belonged to a guy crazier than me. But let me tell you something: that idiot boy down there makes me happy. I guess I deserve that much for my trouble. I've got so many pins in my back I set off metal detectors ten feet away from me!"
He laughed and then a fit of convulsive hacking interrupted his answer. He continued with a slightly raspier voice: "Kal, you're going to live forever. And you're doing a good job at making sure it's alone."
"Tim…"
"Shut up, you big, blue moron. You asked a question. I'm answering. You want to know if this obsessed project that ruined every friendship I've ever had was worth it? Want to know if all the blood on my hands has been justified?"
Suddenly, another youthful shout filled Kal's ears. "Hey, Rob! If I can't see the car, can I see your old bike? The red one like in the pictures? Pleeeeease?"
"Leave me the hell alone!" Tim screamed back. To Kal he said, quite calmly, "Was it worth it? I wouldn't change a goddamn thing."
Kal hung up (was hung up on, first) and wondered why he felt like he could finally, finally breathe.
This reader shared Kal-El's relief that he was not alone in his bizarre quest to keep alive the pleasure of company-lost, and we're glad that Kal-El can possibly acquire even Tim's bizarre, imperfect pleasure in the company of clones.
~***~
When the research and notes arrived, Bruce analyzed them at a speed computers at the Pentagon would envy.
An eyebrow that was barely there behind all the flashing numbers raised and stayed raised.
"A new project, Kal?"
Kal nodded. "Yes. I'll need your help."
"Of course you will." He seemed to think and only electronic noises could be heard. The flow of data paused on a particularly controversial procedure. "The Creator would not be pleased with what you're planning."
Kal chuckled deeply. "Yeah, well, I can handle *him*."
~***~
They put their heads together, figuratively, of course.
Bruce might have shrugged, had he had shoulders. "The research shows that they're more stable if you let them mature naturally from infancy."
Kal wore a difficult expression. "No. Just…no. I'm not looking for a *son*."
Bruce Wayne, faced with the same declaration, might have appeared all too knowing; the computer just sounded sardonic. "I'm *sure* you're not," he said. "Well, if you insist on having it spring forth like Athena, there will be complications."
"I'm aware of that. Do you think we can handle them?"
"I think we can handle them."
"You always say that."
There was a smile in his voice. "And I'm always right."
Kal inclined his head in agreement. That *was* why he had built him, after all.
~***~
Since the day of Diana's last visit, Bruce had not called him 'Clark.' That was fine. He had a different plan now. Something else to occupy his thoughts.
Number 30 was the turning point.
Working together, he and the computer finally found a way to deal with the aging process more efficiently.
"Physically, I'd say he's 35," Bruce said. A three-dimensional diagram rotated on the center screen. Kal looked at the long legs and the narrow waist. Not enough muscle, but that could not be made so easily as everything else had been. It had to be trained into him. Other than that, physically, it was almost perfect.
It had no obvious flaws, weaknesses, or maladies.
He shook himself. Not 'it', but 'he.' *He* was almost perfect.
The 'almost' was something that gave him pause every time: he'd had to come to terms with the…scars, to make due without them. Some things couldn't and shouldn't be duplicated.
Behind the glass screen, Number 30 squirmed and then sat up. As always, he looked around him in bewildered silence.
"Good morning," he said cautiously. He still seemed shaken by yesterday. The tests had been yesterday and he had disliked all of them. Kal understood his aversion, but he also understood how necessary they were. Experience had taught him the importance of tests.
"Experience had taught him the importance of tests" -> That certainly brings to mind certain grim and ghoulish notions of what the 'Rejects' would be for an endeavor like this.
"Good morning, Bruce," Kal said. He took a step closer to the glass. "How are you?"
"I hurt."
Kal looked sympathetically at the thin man on the bed. "I know, but it will all be better soon."
~***~
Number 30 liked Krypto. Worse, Krypto liked him back. That alone was enough to make Kal cringe.
But he overlooked it. The eyes were almost perfect, after all. Maybe not as blue as his mind imagined them to be, but just so very close.
And the way he laughed when the dog licked his face was charming.
Number 30 liked to read, but had no patience for works on math or science. He preferred horror stories and even Grisham. These were all tolerable differences.
How much bullshit would you put up with, at the chance of - in some way - getting back your love?
Physically, he was quite good at every form of martial arts that Kal could throw his way. Jason sparred with him when he had the time, when he wasn't guarding or overusing the pits.
Just as young and handsome as he had no right to be when his father was dead-when everyone was dead-Jason seemed almost as enthusiastic about the project as Kal. He stripped off his shirt, faced Number 30 and smiled his wild, cruel smile. Kal had come to understand that it was a sign of affection with Jason.
Sometimes, he caught Jason staring at Number 30 with something like longing in his eyes. It made him nervous.
"He's not like him," Jason said one day. Sweat dripped down his smooth chest and Kal had to wonder why Tim had never partaken of the secrets Jason kept. Why he and Dick had both died old men, naturally, slowly. It probably had something to do with how very unalike his father Jason was. And how Tim had been too much like him and had tried too hard to hide it. Dick, well, Kal just didn't know.
Like Ra's before him, Jason would live for centuries. The company would be nice, Kal guessed. Jason could be ruthless, true. But then so could he.
Across the room, Number 30 tried a flip that should have been easy. He failed, but tried again. "Keep your knees soft!" Jason shouted.
"No, he's not," Kal agreed. "There are differences."
"But he's stable? There haven't been any…complications?"
"He's lasted longer. Has a stronger heart, too. He'll survive."
"But he's not quite right."
"No. Not quite."
Jason wiped at the sweat off his face and eyed Kal secretly. "Ever wonder what will make you happy?"
"No," Kal answered with a sigh. "I already know what will."
Number 30 landed the flip at last. He didn't rejoice as Number 28 sometimes had. Instead, he shook his head, looked at Jason and said, "I can do better."
Jason's wild smile was back, but this time it was hungry. "Yes. I know you can."
Kal suppressed the anxious, joyful fluttering in his chest that those words provoked. They almost caused him to overlook the glaring mistakes-no, differences-that made the little room in the corner so very necessary. He never talked about it, though it never stopped being a dark shadow in his mind.
It looked innocuous enough. It even looked comfortable inside.
He knew Jason understood what the room was for. Why it sealed from the outside and had no handle on the inside. He knew Jason respected the need for it. Knew, as well, that Tim would not have condemned him for creating it.
He'd tried to be humane. He'd tried to make it painless.
But perhaps he would never need that room again.
There had to be more tests.
Whew! A rather heavy room.
~***~
30 slept. The Fortress was quiet. There were shadows now thanks to a small trip he had made to Gotham one very bad night so very long ago. The giant penny actually created shadows in a building seemingly made of light. The t-rex did a pretty good job, too.
Oh, thank goodness that's taken care of… now he won't be loonie anymore….
Kal studied the ice cream cone and wondered how Bruce had talked him into this. Just a voice and screens and data. Just a running interpretation of all of the files from the Cave; all Batman's reports and diaries brought to life and sprinkled with Kal's memories as a topping. And yet he was damn persuasive.
"It's cheating, you know, when you have a supercomputer for a brain and can calculate probability in seconds."
The computer seemed to think. "You could just fly at the speed of light and go look at what I have. Or in the envelope. My cameras wouldn't even see it. And I'm much faster than that. I calculated the probability in well under a nanosecond."
"Next, you'll tell me that you can hack into the Pentagon."
"I can. I do. I just have. Eight interns are downloading pornography."
"Hey!" Kal began with warning in his voice. Then he seemed to reconsider and looked a little sneaky. "Heeeey. What's President Aston doing?"
Bruce paused. His external cameras turned on Kal with the steadily shrinking cone of vanilla ice cream. There was the click, click, whirr of them zooming in and something condescending about the final whirr. "Kal, the current president is Oliver Kline."
"Kline? God, they're all starting to look the same."
"You're getting old, Superman."
"Don't I know it."
"Now what is your answer?"
Kal sighed dramatically. "Colonel Mustard, in the conservatory, with the rope…?"
Whirr, click, whirr. "Is that your final answer?"
"Yes, that's my final answer!"
Whirr. Click. "Wrong."
"Dammit. You're cheating."
On the center screen there was the shadow of a smirk. "Yes. Yes, I really am."
~***~
The smoke in the room obscured everything.
Kal could see and what he saw made him very angry. He had enemies, but he was accustomed to facing them on his terms. When they attacked his Fortress-invaded his home-he had to contend with a rage both rare and awesome. His enemies also had to contend with it. He was disinclined to mercy.
They called themselves the "New Society of Justice" and they considered him a relic. The Age of Heroes was over and they rejoiced in it. Superman, they said, no longer stood for anything. He was the hero of a nation better known for tyranny than justice. Worse, Superman was a tool for politicians and bureaucrats.
Far off, the poor excuse for a Beetle was removing panels, fiddling with wires. The Fortress defenses activated.
"Stop," said a voice like poison wind.
Beetle dropped his tools and his eyes widened. He crab-walked backwards.
"Y-you're dead," he stuttered at the looming shadow in the corner. The jagged edge of a cape flickered. "You're dead!"
"We've all got our problems. What have you done to Superman?"
"I-I…you can't be here!"
Cold eyes narrowed from the inky darkness. "Wrong answer."
Kal heard a scream from somewhere inside the wall of smoke, wondered about it, but had his own concerns.
The new Lantern had cornered him, pulled a lasso from the ether and trapped him with it. Green eyes, green hair, green nails. Kal wondered if this was taking things too far, though could feel that the lasso was green for more than just artistic flare. Embedding Kryptonite in the Ring was a trick he was glad none of the other Lanterns had bothered with. This Lantern was just crazy enough to risk the side effects of exposure to the deadly mineral.
"You used to be a hero," she said. "You used to stand for something! Now look at you. You're an abomination, Superman."
"And you're not as strong as Kyle," he snarled back. The ropes snapped and Lantern had a full second to look surprised before her jaw shattered against his fist.
He stepped over her unconscious form and then over Hawkman and the newest Nightwing (who Jason called, "That idiot with the Mohawk"). He made his way towards the whimpering.
There, tucked into a corner in a puddle of his own urine, was Bruce Wayne. He was folded in on himself, shivering and crying steadily. His shining dark hair was frazzled and his blue, blue eyes were bloodshot.
"K-Kal, please…h-help."
Kal moved to stand over him, but stopped where the puddle started. His nostrils curled up in disgust. He couldn't bring himself to touch him, could barely stand to look at him.
"Did you try to fight?" he whispered.
"T-they came f-from nowhere. Like s-smoke. I was so s-scared. It was terrible. Kal, p-please…"
Kal flexed his fist and the bones cracked loudly. "All your training and you didn't fight. You didn't plan. You didn't think."
The experiment ran his big, handsome hand under his nose, wiping away the snot. "I was afraid. So afraid," he quivered. His eyes were pleading for understanding and Kal had none.
He turned away. "We'll discuss this when I return."
He left Number 30 (he couldn't call him Bruce, could he?) sobbing on the floor. The computer told him that the experiment was undergoing an advanced form of post-traumatic shock. His vitals made for an interesting study.
The data would help with later experiments.
~***~
Bound together, they weighed about as much as a four-door sedan. The New Society of Justice fit in with the rest of the goons and monsters in the Gulag. He didn't ask Bruce about what had happened to the Beetle. The man had been babbling and glassy-eyed. Kal figured it was best not to know.
And then there was nothing to do but discuss his next step with Bruce.
He didn't always agree with Bruce. But his reasoning was flawless, logical. Hopefully he would understand why he had to do what he had to do.
The computer hadn't changed much internally in the past decade. Cosmetically, there were some major alterations. A holographic Bruce stood straight and tall in a flattering business suit of coal grey. He sometimes flickered in the fluctuating lights of the Fortress. His face was flat and basic, almost pixilated at times. From time to time, entire patches of it and of his legs and shoulder faded into nothingness, leaving a hole-filled specter.
"… leaving a hole-filled specter". Still… better than nothing…
"Welcome back, Kal. I trust the border guards left you alone today?"
"No. But then again, they can't catch me, can they?"
"Not anymore, I suppose. You spend too much time near the sun. You've gotten stronger. Again."
The corner of Kal's mouth pulled up slightly. "You never did like that. Who polices the police? Something like that."
He moved to stand before the hologram that reacted as any human would, his eyes shifting up, his pupils adjusting. "I have never expressed a complaint about your powers developing, Kal. Batman, on the other hand…"
Kal's face turned to stone. "Okay, so you're going to be like that today. Fine."
"Where are you going, Kal?"
"To wake him. To say goodbye."
"But Number 30 is in perfect health and-"
"Not perfect," Kal growled. And he'd been lying to himself: he didn't want to listen to Bruce's reasoning. It was too far removed from emotion and now emotion ruled him.
"I must protest. There is still much to learn from-"
"Ready. The. Chamber." With that last whispered order, he took off for the room where Number 30 now slept. It was a classic bedchamber with antique furniture. Tim would have recognized it as his adopted father's from long ago. Jason never went into this room, shied away from it like it contained the plague.
Krypto was curled up at the foot of Number 30's bed. It was testament to their bond that the dog growled softly at Kal when he approached. Still his loyalty to Kal pacified him when the sleeping man was pulled into his arms.
"Kal?"
"Shhh…"
It was a tender moment when the experiment's dark head was against his shoulder, the texture the only thing to differentiate it from the black of his current uniform. He carried him gently through the halls of the Fortress.
"… tender moment … the experiment's dark head was against his shoulder, the texture the only thing to differentiate it from the black of his current uniform". An unusual, oblique hint of how pulled-back Kal-El's emotions are at this moment.
"I'm sorry I didn't fight," Number 30 said with real regret in his deep voice. "I just didn't know what to do."
His muscled body slid down Kal's as he was lowered to the floor, but there was no tingle of one body responding to another, no spark. His dark blue eyes fluttered closed as Kal caressed his cheek. "Shhh. I told you it would all be better soon."
The caress turned into a shove, Kal's big hand a mask across Number 30's face. Just enough pressure and he went careening back into the Chamber.
The curved glass door closed immediately, sealing them both on opposite sides of a situation that Kal realized was hardly fair. Number 30 slammed his fists against the glass and his pretty lips moved around, but the noise didn't penetrate, not even to Superman's ears. The soundproofing had become necessary after Number Ten. Kal tried not to think about what his screams had sounded like. It was a blessing, the silence.
Now it was always this way, noiselessly watching the gas swirl up from the ground like fog on a London street. Their eyes locked and there was fear and betrayal in Number 30's. And then there was nothing at all. The soft thud of his body hitting the ground was hidden from Kal's ears as well.
The first time this had happened, he had sobbed long into the night, his mind filled with a collage of Batman's body splintering to pieces and experiment Alpha's wide, simple eyes forming their first real expression, that of confusion.
"Kaw?" Alpha had asked, still incapable of saying his name, of even walking unassisted. "Kaw? Where we go?"
And he'd screamed and screamed having to watch the man die twice. And then endlessly as the numbers got higher. Poor sightless Number Six and the brilliant but deformed Number Eight. Kal refused to look away, almost as if he was punishing himself for failing once again.
"… watch the man die… endlessly…" -> Pretty rough when you can't just euthanize the easy, Superman-way.
Once the smoke cleared, he gathered the body of Number 30, heavier with inertness, into his arms and cradled it against his chest.
"I'm sorry," he said. Back through the Fortress he moved, past the hulking screens of the computer. The disapproving hologram.
"Well, I guess that's done, then." Bruce sounded superior and disgusted. "I hope you realize how much data you lost being sentimental."
"He was a coward," Kal said, but shifted the weight in his arms to push a soft lock of hair out of 30's face.
"How was he supposed to be a warrior without having ever seen a war before? He was mentally about 10 years old."
"Bruce was brave at the age of 10."
The computer sighed and Kal wondered when it became capable of such subtleties. "No, I wasn't."
Kal's eyes snapped up and stared at the hologram. Its sardonic brow quirked at him. "Not you," he said softly. "Bruce. Bruce Wayne."
"I can't please you, can I? Either you want me to be Bruce, or you don't. Choose." Now the computer laughed. "Come on! I'm more him than those puppets you keep making. When are you going to realize that?"
Kal clung to the body in his arms. Even lifeless, it felt good to hold something again. Like he held Lois so long ago. Like he held his Ma and Pa.
"Never," Kal said, and escaped, taking the Number 30 to join his brothers at rest for eternity.
~***~
After a long mission in deep space, it was always nice to come home to something familiar. Bruce was informative and sly, as always. He greeted him in a cold, suave baritone that Kal understood hid affection. It always had.
Honey's spending more time at the office --
A small malfunction with the Martian technology had formed a gaping hole where his heart would have been and gave his left hand an eerie greenish tint.
Even that couldn't destroy the feeling of peace Kal had coming home now. Things were so good. So comfortable.
Kal turned half an ear to Bruce's report and immediately removed his cape. He tossed it and laughed when Krypto caught it, coming out of nowhere like a bullet. He rolled on it and exposed his belly. Kal was more than happy to give him a good, hearty scratch and rub, cooing nonsense the entire time.
"Who's a good puppy? Who's a GREAT puppy? Who does daddy love?"
"That's just adorable. I don't have a camera, but if I did…"
Kal looked up at the figure lounging across the way in the doorway. He was wearing a pair of dark slacks and his hair was damp. His eyes were flirtatious and his mouth quirked in a half smile. The computer's report trailed off, annoyance in his tone. Kal didn't notice.
"Hey," he said, still smiling.
"Hey, yourself. Just re-entered the atmosphere?"
"Yeah," Kal said apologetically. "I'll need a shower before-"
"Understood. I'm not interested in picking up space germs. Even from you in interesting ways." With that Number 36 turned and strutted away. Kal watched him go, felt a strange prickling of worry interrupt his calm. He couldn't place it until half an hour later over dinner.
"You took them out," Kal said. He sat his fork down and it clanged loudly. He hadn't meant to do that which meant he needed to calm down, regain control. "Why?"
"Oh this again. Kal, you ought to be glad I like you at all. Listen, they hurt. I've tried to wear them but they don't serve any purpose. I have perfect vision."
"I-I know you do. It's just…important to me." Kal struggled with the words and found it impossible to look directly at the other man. He stared at the table instead, down at the dog by his knee.
"You know, you never call me by my name."
"What?"
"You have super-hearing and yet you can't hear me at all." He stood abruptly, pushed so hard his chair fell back against the floor. For a moment, he stood there mutely, clenching and unclenching his fists. "If it's okay with you, I'd like it if you slept somewhere else tonight."
It was a stiff, angry walk that took him from the room, leaving Kal and Krypto alone over a quickly cooling dinner.
"Dammit," Kal cursed. The dog whimpered in agreement.
~***~
Jason raised an eyebrow and his eyes twinkled elfishly. "Is that a gray hair, old man?"
Jason. Handsome like his father. Just handsome and so…
So very corrupt.
Kal looked up and his eyes crossed a little as he focused on the curl. It was a gesture like one he would have made long ago and Jason smiled softly, more like a boy in love with the world and in awe of his father-his father's amazing friends-than an assassin. For a moment, Kal remembered when Jason had been the Boy Wonder and couldn't understand where all the years had gone.
"I don't know," Kal said.
"Yeah, well, you're getting old. Some of us, like me, can pull off gray and look so, so handsome. Then there's you." He waved dismissively at Kal and pointed to his own lock of gray hair. "Now this guy here," he started and finished with an appreciative whistle. "You're looking good."
Bruce smiled winningly. "Thank you, Jason."
The computer's newest manifestation reacted to light as a human would. No longer did it flicker or fluctuate. His face was perfect, not formless or patchy. Upon seeing Bruce, most people wanted to touch the soft fabric of the black jacket he wore just to see if it felt as real as it looked. Kal could never reproduce the effect, but once Bruce had crossed his arms, revealing a sturdy wrist covered in scars.
As it had never happened again, Kal began to doubt it had ever happened at all. Sometimes he wondered…
Whot a gurl that Brucie-puter is: 'Always keep the boys guessing!'."
Jason, the same height as Bruce, came to stand before him. His shadow fell across Bruce's shoulder. "Look at you," he said softly. "You're very…you're very handsome."
Bruce's face transformed into a secret smile. "I could say the same. For a man of your age."
Jason, who still hadn't changed, laughed at the joke with the vigor of a young man. "What happened to 36?"
Bruce looked cautiously at Kal and then stage whispered to Jason, "Sadly, he had green eyes."
"Oh," Jason said with a frown. "You know, that happened to Tim once, too."
The computer nodded once. "Yes, I found mention of similar troubles in his research. 'Pigmentation is often affected by lab conditions.' From what I understand, Tim had to deal with a blond."
Jason scratched his head at the memory. "Cute kid, but dumb as a box of rocks."
"Like Kal, eh?" Bruce said with a playful roll of his eyes.
"More like D-"
Kal cleared his throat. "As charming as this conversation is, the reason you're here is in the other room, Jason," he said.
"Oh, right. Okay, Bruce, gotta go. Talk at ya later."
"Always a pleasure, son."
Jason followed after Kal, but his head twisted back to the hologram on every other step, incapable of looking away. Bruce stared right back.
~***~
Author: Renaissance Makoto harmless_one
Fandom: Justice League Universe
Pairing: Kal-El/Bruce Wayne(s)
Rating: R
Commentator: Rose etta rose_etta
Excerpt:
She shuddered and looked again at the machine.
It was ingenious. Nowhere in the world was there a computer like this. A perfect mutt of tech with a strong Kryptonian base and more than a little WayneTech disregard for the laws of physics. She knew how much of the Crays was in here; she had brought it herself as a favor, thinking it might help Kal cope. Martian, Themyscirian and Thanagarian technology as well as the technology of New Genesis and Apokolips were merged in this machine, forced to cooperate. It overpowered anything on the Watchtower, and how was that even possible?
...
The most impressive feature of the system was the screens. The overlapped each other and overtook an entire wall. Behind the fizzing and the data that flowed endlessly across the flat panels, Diana could see that Kal's obsession had taken on a life of its own.
An intense blue eye there behind a streaming video from Nigeria. Fading into a surveillance video of the Daily Planet newsroom was a devil-may-care smile. A flat, white eye narrowed at the room from a sea of black. It was not a complete picture; it was the idea of a person and only if you knew what to look for.
+++++++++++++++++++
Porridge (New and Improved)
DVD Commentary, Part One
~
Porridge (New and Improved)
Diana was never more inhuman than when she was uncomfortable. She kept her arms close to her body and never strayed too far from the teleport booth.
What a great way to open the visual: DC's most-admired lady hero, in the act of being unconfortable. This reader certainly picked-up a feeling of consternation, in sympathy with Wonder Woman from the moment of my imagining her, like this.
And notice how the question of inhumanity is made complex by the meta-beings and aliens in this DC Comic Universe.
"So this is the finished product?" she asked and did not quite manage to hide her contempt.
"The prototype you saw has been improved. This is the first fully functional version."
Kal-El smiled and he'd been told his eyes were dead long ago so he did not try to make it look sincere. "The tech you brought came in handy. Thank you."
"He'd been told his eyes were dead long ago…" -> Wow, from the Boy Scout, to this.
The Fortress was different now. The computer was cold and dully glinting metal, like stainless steel except for where it looked almost alive. She had once made the mistake of opening one of the panels that ran along the leftmost wall and what had pulsed and moved in that cave of wires and circuitry had made her stumble away. She never wanted to look again because she knew it had grown since then. It as alive in ways that…
Well, it was too easy to say that it was alive like its creator was not.
She shuddered and looked again at the machine.
It was ingenious. Nowhere in the world was there a computer like this. A perfect mutt of tech with a strong Kryptonian base and more than a little WayneTech disregard for the laws of physics. She knew how much of the Crays was in here; she had brought it herself as a favor, thinking it might help Kal cope. Martian, Themyscirian and Thanagarian technology as well as the technology of New Genesis and Apokolips were merged in this machine, forced to cooperate. It overpowered anything on the Watchtower, and how was that even possible?
"…it was alive like its creator was not." -> Our Protagonist Kal-El is alive but dead, and the Antagonist - the amalgam-computer - is alive in a terribly disturbing manner: now we see what gave our heroine the willies.
She wanted to escape but could not think of a polite way to do so.
The most impressive feature of the system was the screens. The overlapped each other and overtook an entire wall. Behind the fizzing and the data that flowed endlessly across the flat panels, Diana could see that Kal's obsession had taken on a life of its own.
An intense blue eye there behind a streaming video from Nigeria. Fading into a surveillance video of the Daily Planet newsroom was a devil-may-care smile. A flat, white eye narrowed at the room from a sea of black. It was not a complete picture; it was the idea of a person and only if you knew what to look for.
She shivered.
Here is the first visual of the creepy computer-with-a-personality: snippets of a person - a face. "A flat, white eye narrowed at the room from a sea of black", "[a]n intense blue eye", and "a devil-may-care smile".
"Cold?" Kal asked.
"A little," she lied.
"Ask him to turn up the heat."
"Him…?" Her eyes were imploring him not to do this, not to have taken this last, terrible step. His challenged her to call him on it. Perhaps part of him knew he was too far into his own obsession and was daring her to fight with him about it. She wondered if there was a part of Kal that wanted to be saved and cursed herself for being too much a coward to do it.
What conflict! Seldom do we see Diana doing things she doesn't want to do. Here, she's brought to nauseation by the role of indulgence she feels is required by her friendship with Kal-El. She's even sought relief in fantasies of wrapping him up in lassoes and summoning her invisible place to hie him off.
"Go ahead," he goaded when she failed yet again to be the friend he needed. "Ask."
"Computer," she began, but Kal interrupted.
"He has a name."
The long moment that followed found Diana's heart racing out of control and she knew Kal could hear it. His eyes were terrible. He blinked slowly and rarely, as if he feared to look away. Kal was a man with enemies everywhere.
"…enemies everywhere" -> Oh, poor Kal-El: his dysfunction/ madness has cost him his place of esteem within his adoptive world. We can see how, for here his "terrible eyes" demand from Diana what he knows she is loathe to give.
She swallowed. "B-Bruce," she finally croaked.
"Yes, Diana?" came from all around. It was in stereo and, frankly, unnerving; he had added a voice. It was so very near to the voice of her memory as to make her want to look for a human source. The only flaw was in the ambiguity. If this voice had a body, would it wear black armor, or black silk?
Diana could not say. That alone ruined the deception.
An amalgam of features, the computer-creation's primary flaw is that it yet lacks that defining sense the real Bruce had, of when to be who.
Slowly and clearly she said, "Please turn up the heat."
"Increasing the temperature to 75 degrees Fahrenheit," Bruce said and then fell quiet.
Kal was watching her. "Well?" he asked and took a step closer. It took considerable effort not to back away from him.
"You have made some improvements."
"Yes. Yes, I have. He does more than just *reason* like Batman. Analytically, conversationally, he's more and more like Br-Batman."
"I…yes. I can see that. It is uncanny."
"So why do you seem upset?"
Her laugh was hollow even to her own ears. "I wonder if he would be flattered, or disturbed."
Kal had never looked at her so coldly. It was the computer, however, who answered.
"I believe the Creator would be quite pleased to see his plans taken to their logical conclusion. I am the ultimate realization of his genius. Bruce Wayne envisioned a machine like me. Kal-El has made that a reality."
Diana had been backing away slowly as the computer spoke. She shook her head in confusion.
"Kal, why are you doing this?"
He wore such a condescending expression that Diana felt her eyes water.
"'Why?' I thought you of all people would understand. You haven't been the same, either! Nothing's been the same."
"It was not anyone's fault!"
"Yes, well." He stared into the shadows of the room. "Bruce's plans were always good. Until no one listened to them. He just made it so *difficult* to listen to him. I-I never said 'Goodbye', Diana. And it's terrible here. There aren't any shadows. There's all this light and it blinds me. I don't know who I am anymore."
Her lips parted but no sound came out. The machine was spreading, she felt. Inside the Fortress, and inside Kal, it was taking on a life more wrong and unnatural than even when Kal's obsession first began. Finally, she said, "How does *this* madness help with that?"
"Because HE knew. HE knew."
She faded away with one last sobbed, "Kal, please." And then the fortress was empty.
Her cry echoed through the tall, crystalline hall. The statues of his parents were obscured, slightly, by the wiring it took to run the fans that cooled the computer.
"The statues of his parents were obscured, slightly, by the wiring it took to run the fans that cooled the computer" -> The symbolic image of Kal-El's stability - Ma and Pa Kent - exhibits encroachment by the creature-computer - is sacrificed to its needs.
He looked again to the dominating screens where he could see something taking shape. Someone. He felt a strange lightness of being and smiled. It reached his eyes.
Now we see the basis for this 'madness': The Eternal Man would find precious even a hint of that odd feeling of remembered happiness.
"Bruce," he said.
"Yes, Kal?"
"Show me the Metropolis skyline."
Instantly, a skyline unlike any other in the world stretched and blazed before him and a perfect sunrise reflected off the crystal. A plume of black smoke alone marred the view.
"Analyze."
"An apartment fire. There are two life forms still inside. One is most likely a house pet. The other is a young male."
"Chance of survival?"
"If you leave now?" Bruce said pointedly. "It's 67%. Keep waiting around and it will drop incrementally every ten seconds. Feel like being a hero today, Clark? Or would you rather hang around talking to me all day?"
Kal gasped. For seconds he could *feel*, he felt powerless and incapable of motion or thought. *This* he had not programmed. The sarcasm; the controlled, time-bomb anger. This had been learned, adapted, ingrained somehow. He was aware of but didn't necessarily hear the organic thundering behind the casing and wondered how it had grown since the day before. He both thrilled at and feared the idea that it was becoming MORE than the sum of its parts. More like what it was meant to be.
And no one called him 'Clark.'
No one still breathing, at least.
He felt a cold shiver go up and down his spine and then took off. His hearing stayed tuned to the Fortress so that Bruce's analysis was loud and clear. "Down to 40%, *Superman*."
Kal picked up speed but wanted nothing more than to do exactly what the computer had accused him of.
He wanted to go back and talk.
He wanted to be called 'Clark' again. He wanted to know if the man that Lois had loved was somewhere inside him, still good, only just a little tarnished.
And quite suddenly, he realized that a voice and the hint of a face alone would never be-could never be-enough.
And, so, Kal-El's Mission transforms:
~***~
Numbers One through Ten were not worth mentioning though they had taught him quite a lot.
Tim had been very helpful in those early days.
There was a strange timelessness about Wayne Manor. There would always be an old-fashioned phone in the study no matter what marvels of communication technology were entombed six floors down.
Older than his age, Tim had carefully kept his voice neutral. They'd reminisced and pretended to care about dusty memories before Tim had tired of the game and asked him what he wanted.
Obligingly, Kal explained.
In the background, the sound of a young, energetic voice could be heard making airplane noises.
"How many…?" Kal asked, but his attention was divided. The boy tearing through the mansion shouted, "Hey, Rob! Off the phone, old man!"
Tim coughed a laugh and then coughed an old man cough. "Coming!" he hollered. "Sorry, Kal. He's a handful, this one. Just turned 12. Acts like he invented flying and can't wait to fine-tune it. How many? I'd tell you the number, but that would discourage you. This one's lasted longer. Seems…real. More real."
In the Fortress, on one of the screens behind him, Bruce Wayne was giving a speech. The footage was old enough that he hadn't gotten the scars across his jaw yet, the ones that had never faded and had always ached. He was imploring lobbyists to fight for a quake-devastated Gotham and looked like a movie star.
On the next screen, Batman was running a training simulation in the Watchtower at his peak. He'd been unbeatable. Superman had changed his martial arts prowess rating to 17 that year. It had been, perhaps, an inadequate rating. The rest of the screens were crammed with streams of data and news and reports from around the world. He barely looked at them.
"I'm not going flying," Tim said suddenly. Kal could tell he had covered the mouthpiece of the phone. He imagined the scene in his mind: the gray-haired old man in his worn chair and the young, dark-haired youth who was always provided with an endless wardrobe of black and red, standing before him with begging eyes.
"I don't wanna go flying!" the boy whined. "Let's go to the Cave! I wanna see the one you built. The one that looks like a tank."
"You know the way. What am I, your babysitter? Go down there and look at the damn thing yourself."
"I want you to come, too!"
"On the phone. Go away."
There were shuffling footsteps and then Tim was talking to him again. "Sorry."
And Kal was charmed and scared all at once. "It's…not a problem. He doesn't know about me, does he?"
"He knows about you, but he worships Superman. See the trouble already, don't you?" Kal winced, but Tim pressed on. "Hah! I'd let you meet him, but…there's no telling how long he'll…" Tim went quiet and covered the awkward moment with a cough. "So, I'll send you my research and you'll let me get some sleep?"
"I'd appreciate it, Tim."
"Yeah, yeah. Everybody needs a favor from Batman two-point-oh. I'll put it on your tab. I've got to go pull a dust cover off a car. Like I can take the steps with my knees like they are. Youth is wasted on the young. You take care, Kal."
"Wait!"
"What? What now? You want me to bake you some cookies too? Haven't inconvenienced an old man enough, yet? Huh?"
"No, that not…that is…" Dick had always been more accommodating, helpful, even. Kal almost changed his mind and then blurted, "Is it worth it? Even with…the failures, is it worth it?"
Tim smacked his lips around teeth that were over half of them synthetic and made a long, thoughtful, "Hmmmm."
After a moment he answered.
"Kal," he said, "I'm an old man. I'm going to die-very likely soon-and what will I have to show for it? A cabinet full of pain medication and a big, empty house that belonged to a guy crazier than me. But let me tell you something: that idiot boy down there makes me happy. I guess I deserve that much for my trouble. I've got so many pins in my back I set off metal detectors ten feet away from me!"
He laughed and then a fit of convulsive hacking interrupted his answer. He continued with a slightly raspier voice: "Kal, you're going to live forever. And you're doing a good job at making sure it's alone."
"Tim…"
"Shut up, you big, blue moron. You asked a question. I'm answering. You want to know if this obsessed project that ruined every friendship I've ever had was worth it? Want to know if all the blood on my hands has been justified?"
Suddenly, another youthful shout filled Kal's ears. "Hey, Rob! If I can't see the car, can I see your old bike? The red one like in the pictures? Pleeeeease?"
"Leave me the hell alone!" Tim screamed back. To Kal he said, quite calmly, "Was it worth it? I wouldn't change a goddamn thing."
Kal hung up (was hung up on, first) and wondered why he felt like he could finally, finally breathe.
This reader shared Kal-El's relief that he was not alone in his bizarre quest to keep alive the pleasure of company-lost, and we're glad that Kal-El can possibly acquire even Tim's bizarre, imperfect pleasure in the company of clones.
~***~
When the research and notes arrived, Bruce analyzed them at a speed computers at the Pentagon would envy.
An eyebrow that was barely there behind all the flashing numbers raised and stayed raised.
"A new project, Kal?"
Kal nodded. "Yes. I'll need your help."
"Of course you will." He seemed to think and only electronic noises could be heard. The flow of data paused on a particularly controversial procedure. "The Creator would not be pleased with what you're planning."
Kal chuckled deeply. "Yeah, well, I can handle *him*."
~***~
They put their heads together, figuratively, of course.
Bruce might have shrugged, had he had shoulders. "The research shows that they're more stable if you let them mature naturally from infancy."
Kal wore a difficult expression. "No. Just…no. I'm not looking for a *son*."
Bruce Wayne, faced with the same declaration, might have appeared all too knowing; the computer just sounded sardonic. "I'm *sure* you're not," he said. "Well, if you insist on having it spring forth like Athena, there will be complications."
"I'm aware of that. Do you think we can handle them?"
"I think we can handle them."
"You always say that."
There was a smile in his voice. "And I'm always right."
Kal inclined his head in agreement. That *was* why he had built him, after all.
~***~
Since the day of Diana's last visit, Bruce had not called him 'Clark.' That was fine. He had a different plan now. Something else to occupy his thoughts.
Number 30 was the turning point.
Working together, he and the computer finally found a way to deal with the aging process more efficiently.
"Physically, I'd say he's 35," Bruce said. A three-dimensional diagram rotated on the center screen. Kal looked at the long legs and the narrow waist. Not enough muscle, but that could not be made so easily as everything else had been. It had to be trained into him. Other than that, physically, it was almost perfect.
It had no obvious flaws, weaknesses, or maladies.
He shook himself. Not 'it', but 'he.' *He* was almost perfect.
The 'almost' was something that gave him pause every time: he'd had to come to terms with the…scars, to make due without them. Some things couldn't and shouldn't be duplicated.
Behind the glass screen, Number 30 squirmed and then sat up. As always, he looked around him in bewildered silence.
"Good morning," he said cautiously. He still seemed shaken by yesterday. The tests had been yesterday and he had disliked all of them. Kal understood his aversion, but he also understood how necessary they were. Experience had taught him the importance of tests.
"Experience had taught him the importance of tests" -> That certainly brings to mind certain grim and ghoulish notions of what the 'Rejects' would be for an endeavor like this.
"Good morning, Bruce," Kal said. He took a step closer to the glass. "How are you?"
"I hurt."
Kal looked sympathetically at the thin man on the bed. "I know, but it will all be better soon."
~***~
Number 30 liked Krypto. Worse, Krypto liked him back. That alone was enough to make Kal cringe.
But he overlooked it. The eyes were almost perfect, after all. Maybe not as blue as his mind imagined them to be, but just so very close.
And the way he laughed when the dog licked his face was charming.
Number 30 liked to read, but had no patience for works on math or science. He preferred horror stories and even Grisham. These were all tolerable differences.
How much bullshit would you put up with, at the chance of - in some way - getting back your love?
Physically, he was quite good at every form of martial arts that Kal could throw his way. Jason sparred with him when he had the time, when he wasn't guarding or overusing the pits.
Just as young and handsome as he had no right to be when his father was dead-when everyone was dead-Jason seemed almost as enthusiastic about the project as Kal. He stripped off his shirt, faced Number 30 and smiled his wild, cruel smile. Kal had come to understand that it was a sign of affection with Jason.
Sometimes, he caught Jason staring at Number 30 with something like longing in his eyes. It made him nervous.
"He's not like him," Jason said one day. Sweat dripped down his smooth chest and Kal had to wonder why Tim had never partaken of the secrets Jason kept. Why he and Dick had both died old men, naturally, slowly. It probably had something to do with how very unalike his father Jason was. And how Tim had been too much like him and had tried too hard to hide it. Dick, well, Kal just didn't know.
Like Ra's before him, Jason would live for centuries. The company would be nice, Kal guessed. Jason could be ruthless, true. But then so could he.
Across the room, Number 30 tried a flip that should have been easy. He failed, but tried again. "Keep your knees soft!" Jason shouted.
"No, he's not," Kal agreed. "There are differences."
"But he's stable? There haven't been any…complications?"
"He's lasted longer. Has a stronger heart, too. He'll survive."
"But he's not quite right."
"No. Not quite."
Jason wiped at the sweat off his face and eyed Kal secretly. "Ever wonder what will make you happy?"
"No," Kal answered with a sigh. "I already know what will."
Number 30 landed the flip at last. He didn't rejoice as Number 28 sometimes had. Instead, he shook his head, looked at Jason and said, "I can do better."
Jason's wild smile was back, but this time it was hungry. "Yes. I know you can."
Kal suppressed the anxious, joyful fluttering in his chest that those words provoked. They almost caused him to overlook the glaring mistakes-no, differences-that made the little room in the corner so very necessary. He never talked about it, though it never stopped being a dark shadow in his mind.
It looked innocuous enough. It even looked comfortable inside.
He knew Jason understood what the room was for. Why it sealed from the outside and had no handle on the inside. He knew Jason respected the need for it. Knew, as well, that Tim would not have condemned him for creating it.
He'd tried to be humane. He'd tried to make it painless.
But perhaps he would never need that room again.
There had to be more tests.
Whew! A rather heavy room.
~***~
30 slept. The Fortress was quiet. There were shadows now thanks to a small trip he had made to Gotham one very bad night so very long ago. The giant penny actually created shadows in a building seemingly made of light. The t-rex did a pretty good job, too.
Oh, thank goodness that's taken care of… now he won't be loonie anymore….
Kal studied the ice cream cone and wondered how Bruce had talked him into this. Just a voice and screens and data. Just a running interpretation of all of the files from the Cave; all Batman's reports and diaries brought to life and sprinkled with Kal's memories as a topping. And yet he was damn persuasive.
"It's cheating, you know, when you have a supercomputer for a brain and can calculate probability in seconds."
The computer seemed to think. "You could just fly at the speed of light and go look at what I have. Or in the envelope. My cameras wouldn't even see it. And I'm much faster than that. I calculated the probability in well under a nanosecond."
"Next, you'll tell me that you can hack into the Pentagon."
"I can. I do. I just have. Eight interns are downloading pornography."
"Hey!" Kal began with warning in his voice. Then he seemed to reconsider and looked a little sneaky. "Heeeey. What's President Aston doing?"
Bruce paused. His external cameras turned on Kal with the steadily shrinking cone of vanilla ice cream. There was the click, click, whirr of them zooming in and something condescending about the final whirr. "Kal, the current president is Oliver Kline."
"Kline? God, they're all starting to look the same."
"You're getting old, Superman."
"Don't I know it."
"Now what is your answer?"
Kal sighed dramatically. "Colonel Mustard, in the conservatory, with the rope…?"
Whirr, click, whirr. "Is that your final answer?"
"Yes, that's my final answer!"
Whirr. Click. "Wrong."
"Dammit. You're cheating."
On the center screen there was the shadow of a smirk. "Yes. Yes, I really am."
~***~
The smoke in the room obscured everything.
Kal could see and what he saw made him very angry. He had enemies, but he was accustomed to facing them on his terms. When they attacked his Fortress-invaded his home-he had to contend with a rage both rare and awesome. His enemies also had to contend with it. He was disinclined to mercy.
They called themselves the "New Society of Justice" and they considered him a relic. The Age of Heroes was over and they rejoiced in it. Superman, they said, no longer stood for anything. He was the hero of a nation better known for tyranny than justice. Worse, Superman was a tool for politicians and bureaucrats.
Far off, the poor excuse for a Beetle was removing panels, fiddling with wires. The Fortress defenses activated.
"Stop," said a voice like poison wind.
Beetle dropped his tools and his eyes widened. He crab-walked backwards.
"Y-you're dead," he stuttered at the looming shadow in the corner. The jagged edge of a cape flickered. "You're dead!"
"We've all got our problems. What have you done to Superman?"
"I-I…you can't be here!"
Cold eyes narrowed from the inky darkness. "Wrong answer."
Kal heard a scream from somewhere inside the wall of smoke, wondered about it, but had his own concerns.
The new Lantern had cornered him, pulled a lasso from the ether and trapped him with it. Green eyes, green hair, green nails. Kal wondered if this was taking things too far, though could feel that the lasso was green for more than just artistic flare. Embedding Kryptonite in the Ring was a trick he was glad none of the other Lanterns had bothered with. This Lantern was just crazy enough to risk the side effects of exposure to the deadly mineral.
"You used to be a hero," she said. "You used to stand for something! Now look at you. You're an abomination, Superman."
"And you're not as strong as Kyle," he snarled back. The ropes snapped and Lantern had a full second to look surprised before her jaw shattered against his fist.
He stepped over her unconscious form and then over Hawkman and the newest Nightwing (who Jason called, "That idiot with the Mohawk"). He made his way towards the whimpering.
There, tucked into a corner in a puddle of his own urine, was Bruce Wayne. He was folded in on himself, shivering and crying steadily. His shining dark hair was frazzled and his blue, blue eyes were bloodshot.
"K-Kal, please…h-help."
Kal moved to stand over him, but stopped where the puddle started. His nostrils curled up in disgust. He couldn't bring himself to touch him, could barely stand to look at him.
"Did you try to fight?" he whispered.
"T-they came f-from nowhere. Like s-smoke. I was so s-scared. It was terrible. Kal, p-please…"
Kal flexed his fist and the bones cracked loudly. "All your training and you didn't fight. You didn't plan. You didn't think."
The experiment ran his big, handsome hand under his nose, wiping away the snot. "I was afraid. So afraid," he quivered. His eyes were pleading for understanding and Kal had none.
He turned away. "We'll discuss this when I return."
He left Number 30 (he couldn't call him Bruce, could he?) sobbing on the floor. The computer told him that the experiment was undergoing an advanced form of post-traumatic shock. His vitals made for an interesting study.
The data would help with later experiments.
~***~
Bound together, they weighed about as much as a four-door sedan. The New Society of Justice fit in with the rest of the goons and monsters in the Gulag. He didn't ask Bruce about what had happened to the Beetle. The man had been babbling and glassy-eyed. Kal figured it was best not to know.
And then there was nothing to do but discuss his next step with Bruce.
He didn't always agree with Bruce. But his reasoning was flawless, logical. Hopefully he would understand why he had to do what he had to do.
The computer hadn't changed much internally in the past decade. Cosmetically, there were some major alterations. A holographic Bruce stood straight and tall in a flattering business suit of coal grey. He sometimes flickered in the fluctuating lights of the Fortress. His face was flat and basic, almost pixilated at times. From time to time, entire patches of it and of his legs and shoulder faded into nothingness, leaving a hole-filled specter.
"… leaving a hole-filled specter". Still… better than nothing…
"Welcome back, Kal. I trust the border guards left you alone today?"
"No. But then again, they can't catch me, can they?"
"Not anymore, I suppose. You spend too much time near the sun. You've gotten stronger. Again."
The corner of Kal's mouth pulled up slightly. "You never did like that. Who polices the police? Something like that."
He moved to stand before the hologram that reacted as any human would, his eyes shifting up, his pupils adjusting. "I have never expressed a complaint about your powers developing, Kal. Batman, on the other hand…"
Kal's face turned to stone. "Okay, so you're going to be like that today. Fine."
"Where are you going, Kal?"
"To wake him. To say goodbye."
"But Number 30 is in perfect health and-"
"Not perfect," Kal growled. And he'd been lying to himself: he didn't want to listen to Bruce's reasoning. It was too far removed from emotion and now emotion ruled him.
"I must protest. There is still much to learn from-"
"Ready. The. Chamber." With that last whispered order, he took off for the room where Number 30 now slept. It was a classic bedchamber with antique furniture. Tim would have recognized it as his adopted father's from long ago. Jason never went into this room, shied away from it like it contained the plague.
Krypto was curled up at the foot of Number 30's bed. It was testament to their bond that the dog growled softly at Kal when he approached. Still his loyalty to Kal pacified him when the sleeping man was pulled into his arms.
"Kal?"
"Shhh…"
It was a tender moment when the experiment's dark head was against his shoulder, the texture the only thing to differentiate it from the black of his current uniform. He carried him gently through the halls of the Fortress.
"… tender moment … the experiment's dark head was against his shoulder, the texture the only thing to differentiate it from the black of his current uniform". An unusual, oblique hint of how pulled-back Kal-El's emotions are at this moment.
"I'm sorry I didn't fight," Number 30 said with real regret in his deep voice. "I just didn't know what to do."
His muscled body slid down Kal's as he was lowered to the floor, but there was no tingle of one body responding to another, no spark. His dark blue eyes fluttered closed as Kal caressed his cheek. "Shhh. I told you it would all be better soon."
The caress turned into a shove, Kal's big hand a mask across Number 30's face. Just enough pressure and he went careening back into the Chamber.
The curved glass door closed immediately, sealing them both on opposite sides of a situation that Kal realized was hardly fair. Number 30 slammed his fists against the glass and his pretty lips moved around, but the noise didn't penetrate, not even to Superman's ears. The soundproofing had become necessary after Number Ten. Kal tried not to think about what his screams had sounded like. It was a blessing, the silence.
Now it was always this way, noiselessly watching the gas swirl up from the ground like fog on a London street. Their eyes locked and there was fear and betrayal in Number 30's. And then there was nothing at all. The soft thud of his body hitting the ground was hidden from Kal's ears as well.
The first time this had happened, he had sobbed long into the night, his mind filled with a collage of Batman's body splintering to pieces and experiment Alpha's wide, simple eyes forming their first real expression, that of confusion.
"Kaw?" Alpha had asked, still incapable of saying his name, of even walking unassisted. "Kaw? Where we go?"
And he'd screamed and screamed having to watch the man die twice. And then endlessly as the numbers got higher. Poor sightless Number Six and the brilliant but deformed Number Eight. Kal refused to look away, almost as if he was punishing himself for failing once again.
"… watch the man die… endlessly…" -> Pretty rough when you can't just euthanize the easy, Superman-way.
Once the smoke cleared, he gathered the body of Number 30, heavier with inertness, into his arms and cradled it against his chest.
"I'm sorry," he said. Back through the Fortress he moved, past the hulking screens of the computer. The disapproving hologram.
"Well, I guess that's done, then." Bruce sounded superior and disgusted. "I hope you realize how much data you lost being sentimental."
"He was a coward," Kal said, but shifted the weight in his arms to push a soft lock of hair out of 30's face.
"How was he supposed to be a warrior without having ever seen a war before? He was mentally about 10 years old."
"Bruce was brave at the age of 10."
The computer sighed and Kal wondered when it became capable of such subtleties. "No, I wasn't."
Kal's eyes snapped up and stared at the hologram. Its sardonic brow quirked at him. "Not you," he said softly. "Bruce. Bruce Wayne."
"I can't please you, can I? Either you want me to be Bruce, or you don't. Choose." Now the computer laughed. "Come on! I'm more him than those puppets you keep making. When are you going to realize that?"
Kal clung to the body in his arms. Even lifeless, it felt good to hold something again. Like he held Lois so long ago. Like he held his Ma and Pa.
"Never," Kal said, and escaped, taking the Number 30 to join his brothers at rest for eternity.
~***~
After a long mission in deep space, it was always nice to come home to something familiar. Bruce was informative and sly, as always. He greeted him in a cold, suave baritone that Kal understood hid affection. It always had.
Honey's spending more time at the office --
A small malfunction with the Martian technology had formed a gaping hole where his heart would have been and gave his left hand an eerie greenish tint.
Even that couldn't destroy the feeling of peace Kal had coming home now. Things were so good. So comfortable.
Kal turned half an ear to Bruce's report and immediately removed his cape. He tossed it and laughed when Krypto caught it, coming out of nowhere like a bullet. He rolled on it and exposed his belly. Kal was more than happy to give him a good, hearty scratch and rub, cooing nonsense the entire time.
"Who's a good puppy? Who's a GREAT puppy? Who does daddy love?"
"That's just adorable. I don't have a camera, but if I did…"
Kal looked up at the figure lounging across the way in the doorway. He was wearing a pair of dark slacks and his hair was damp. His eyes were flirtatious and his mouth quirked in a half smile. The computer's report trailed off, annoyance in his tone. Kal didn't notice.
"Hey," he said, still smiling.
"Hey, yourself. Just re-entered the atmosphere?"
"Yeah," Kal said apologetically. "I'll need a shower before-"
"Understood. I'm not interested in picking up space germs. Even from you in interesting ways." With that Number 36 turned and strutted away. Kal watched him go, felt a strange prickling of worry interrupt his calm. He couldn't place it until half an hour later over dinner.
"You took them out," Kal said. He sat his fork down and it clanged loudly. He hadn't meant to do that which meant he needed to calm down, regain control. "Why?"
"Oh this again. Kal, you ought to be glad I like you at all. Listen, they hurt. I've tried to wear them but they don't serve any purpose. I have perfect vision."
"I-I know you do. It's just…important to me." Kal struggled with the words and found it impossible to look directly at the other man. He stared at the table instead, down at the dog by his knee.
"You know, you never call me by my name."
"What?"
"You have super-hearing and yet you can't hear me at all." He stood abruptly, pushed so hard his chair fell back against the floor. For a moment, he stood there mutely, clenching and unclenching his fists. "If it's okay with you, I'd like it if you slept somewhere else tonight."
It was a stiff, angry walk that took him from the room, leaving Kal and Krypto alone over a quickly cooling dinner.
"Dammit," Kal cursed. The dog whimpered in agreement.
~***~
Jason raised an eyebrow and his eyes twinkled elfishly. "Is that a gray hair, old man?"
Jason. Handsome like his father. Just handsome and so…
So very corrupt.
Kal looked up and his eyes crossed a little as he focused on the curl. It was a gesture like one he would have made long ago and Jason smiled softly, more like a boy in love with the world and in awe of his father-his father's amazing friends-than an assassin. For a moment, Kal remembered when Jason had been the Boy Wonder and couldn't understand where all the years had gone.
"I don't know," Kal said.
"Yeah, well, you're getting old. Some of us, like me, can pull off gray and look so, so handsome. Then there's you." He waved dismissively at Kal and pointed to his own lock of gray hair. "Now this guy here," he started and finished with an appreciative whistle. "You're looking good."
Bruce smiled winningly. "Thank you, Jason."
The computer's newest manifestation reacted to light as a human would. No longer did it flicker or fluctuate. His face was perfect, not formless or patchy. Upon seeing Bruce, most people wanted to touch the soft fabric of the black jacket he wore just to see if it felt as real as it looked. Kal could never reproduce the effect, but once Bruce had crossed his arms, revealing a sturdy wrist covered in scars.
As it had never happened again, Kal began to doubt it had ever happened at all. Sometimes he wondered…
Whot a gurl that Brucie-puter is: 'Always keep the boys guessing!'."
Jason, the same height as Bruce, came to stand before him. His shadow fell across Bruce's shoulder. "Look at you," he said softly. "You're very…you're very handsome."
Bruce's face transformed into a secret smile. "I could say the same. For a man of your age."
Jason, who still hadn't changed, laughed at the joke with the vigor of a young man. "What happened to 36?"
Bruce looked cautiously at Kal and then stage whispered to Jason, "Sadly, he had green eyes."
"Oh," Jason said with a frown. "You know, that happened to Tim once, too."
The computer nodded once. "Yes, I found mention of similar troubles in his research. 'Pigmentation is often affected by lab conditions.' From what I understand, Tim had to deal with a blond."
Jason scratched his head at the memory. "Cute kid, but dumb as a box of rocks."
"Like Kal, eh?" Bruce said with a playful roll of his eyes.
"More like D-"
Kal cleared his throat. "As charming as this conversation is, the reason you're here is in the other room, Jason," he said.
"Oh, right. Okay, Bruce, gotta go. Talk at ya later."
"Always a pleasure, son."
Jason followed after Kal, but his head twisted back to the hologram on every other step, incapable of looking away. Bruce stared right back.
~***~