Breeder 01 [Man of Steel]
General Swanwick: "What are you smiling about, Captain?"
Captain Carrie Farris: "Nothing, sir. I just think he's kind of hot."
General Swanwick: "Get in the car, Captain."
Captain Carrie Farris: (still smiling) "Mm-hm. Yes, sir."
* * *
*I am the last of my kind.* The thought echoed, dark and terrible. It wasn't something he could run away from. It was a truth he had to face.
From earliest childhood he'd known that he was different. He was a single solitary being, a changeling living amongst fragile humans. And though his parents had loved him and cared for him, he'd always felt strange in his own skin.
A lifetime of being different, then for a brief moment there had been more of his kind. There had been a rich and ancient history, a bloodline back to the beginning of a species that he had been part of. And then he'd killed them all.
He was alone and lonely, and he'd done it to himself. He was the last member of his people because he'd killed all the rest. To save his adopted species, he'd wiped out the other Kryptonians.
He'd committed genocide, and he wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel. Because at the moment all he felt was empty.
Clark went through the motions of living his life. From arranging an apartment to starting his new job, he kept himself moving and hoped that someday it would all mean something.
He wanted to believe that what he'd done was right. But he was afraid that all he'd ever know was regret.
*But they gave me no choice*, he thought. *They were monsters. Monsters that felt like home.*
It felt hollow. The idea that he'd done what he'd had to do wasn't enough. They had been like him, and even though they'd been killers--monsters--they'd smelled like him, had his strength, and something in his blood had called out "I am here. Take me with you."
Lying on his bed in his closet-sized apartment, Clark pressed his hands over his eyes and tried not to think.
He hadn't been able to look at his mother after his initial relief that she was all right. Some quiet part of him ached with blame--he'd killed his own kind because of her. She was his mother and he loved her as such, but some quiet corner of his soul resented her--hated her--for what he'd been forced to do.
All his life he'd dreamed of being normal. Then, when normality was right in his grasp, he'd been forced to throw it away to protect the human race. The same humans that were now vilifying him in the news with speculations of when he would turn on them all. "When will the *alien* go crazy like the others and attack? How do we kill *it* when it turns on us?"
He was disgusted and afraid and so damned *lonely*, but there was nothing he could do. He'd killed the last of his own kind to protect the ungrateful humans. And if there was one thing Martha and Jonathan Kent had taught him, it was that once something was done it could not be undone. Broken things stayed broken no matter the amount of regret.
He was the last of his kind. He was the only Kryptonian in the universe.
* * *
Somewhere in his blood, a process began. Bubbles built and burst, releasing chemicals into his bloodstream. Venom sacs flexed and filled. Vestigial pheromone glands bulged and swelled as hormones flooded his system.
Kal of the House of El, Last Son of Krypton, slept unaware as his body changed around him.
A rich scent flooded the air, an enticing chemical cocktail that would be impossible for the primitive humans to resist. It seeped through the small apartment, permeating every nook and cranny, soaked itself into the furniture and the walls.
Kal-El slept and changed, becoming something terrible and beautiful: A breeder.
Tbc...
Captain Carrie Farris: "Nothing, sir. I just think he's kind of hot."
General Swanwick: "Get in the car, Captain."
Captain Carrie Farris: (still smiling) "Mm-hm. Yes, sir."
* * *
*I am the last of my kind.* The thought echoed, dark and terrible. It wasn't something he could run away from. It was a truth he had to face.
From earliest childhood he'd known that he was different. He was a single solitary being, a changeling living amongst fragile humans. And though his parents had loved him and cared for him, he'd always felt strange in his own skin.
A lifetime of being different, then for a brief moment there had been more of his kind. There had been a rich and ancient history, a bloodline back to the beginning of a species that he had been part of. And then he'd killed them all.
He was alone and lonely, and he'd done it to himself. He was the last member of his people because he'd killed all the rest. To save his adopted species, he'd wiped out the other Kryptonians.
He'd committed genocide, and he wasn't sure how he was supposed to feel. Because at the moment all he felt was empty.
Clark went through the motions of living his life. From arranging an apartment to starting his new job, he kept himself moving and hoped that someday it would all mean something.
He wanted to believe that what he'd done was right. But he was afraid that all he'd ever know was regret.
*But they gave me no choice*, he thought. *They were monsters. Monsters that felt like home.*
It felt hollow. The idea that he'd done what he'd had to do wasn't enough. They had been like him, and even though they'd been killers--monsters--they'd smelled like him, had his strength, and something in his blood had called out "I am here. Take me with you."
Lying on his bed in his closet-sized apartment, Clark pressed his hands over his eyes and tried not to think.
He hadn't been able to look at his mother after his initial relief that she was all right. Some quiet part of him ached with blame--he'd killed his own kind because of her. She was his mother and he loved her as such, but some quiet corner of his soul resented her--hated her--for what he'd been forced to do.
All his life he'd dreamed of being normal. Then, when normality was right in his grasp, he'd been forced to throw it away to protect the human race. The same humans that were now vilifying him in the news with speculations of when he would turn on them all. "When will the *alien* go crazy like the others and attack? How do we kill *it* when it turns on us?"
He was disgusted and afraid and so damned *lonely*, but there was nothing he could do. He'd killed the last of his own kind to protect the ungrateful humans. And if there was one thing Martha and Jonathan Kent had taught him, it was that once something was done it could not be undone. Broken things stayed broken no matter the amount of regret.
He was the last of his kind. He was the only Kryptonian in the universe.
* * *
Somewhere in his blood, a process began. Bubbles built and burst, releasing chemicals into his bloodstream. Venom sacs flexed and filled. Vestigial pheromone glands bulged and swelled as hormones flooded his system.
Kal of the House of El, Last Son of Krypton, slept unaware as his body changed around him.
A rich scent flooded the air, an enticing chemical cocktail that would be impossible for the primitive humans to resist. It seeped through the small apartment, permeating every nook and cranny, soaked itself into the furniture and the walls.
Kal-El slept and changed, becoming something terrible and beautiful: A breeder.
Tbc...