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Clark Kent receives an urgent email from an anonymous tip; he asks to come in, namely to ask me questions, and I knew it was time now or never, as he is about to ask me questions.
The mention of a million green
Kryptonite came through the Metropolis bay with radiation exposure ensured, and Clark had to help and be the boy scout, of course.
He receives this email out of the blue from an anonymous sender, and you press the line.
popping to reveal an ordinary
letter with the words "green Kryptonite" in a row.
“Krypton,” I say boldly.
“What the—” he fails to get out.
“Clark, can you hear me?” I ask.
“Yes,” he nods.
“You will fly me to the fortress of solitude and open it for me.” I begin.
“What…” Clark is struggling to accept.
“We are best friends, right, Clark?” I ask.
“….Yes,” he fights me, but his mouth widens open, and he speaks.
“Wake up,” I snap him awake.
“Oh, hey buddy!” He says with a five-watt smile.
“What’s going on?” He hugs me a bit.
“Let’s go.” He flips the window open, and his hand lands on my waist.
“Let’s go,” the legs powerful air sweeping beneath him.
“As you wish, pal.” We fly away.
“Where are we going again?” He asks.
“The Fortress of Solitude,” I whisper.
“Home!” He says.
“My cape feels good.”
As he is lifting into the air, as this rises into the air, and as he goes flying into the distance, shooting away into the sky,
back to base where only he
lives for life.
Clark lets me down easily; he
is picking up the golden key
lifting it upward to the keyhole
He slips it and twists it to the
side the door swinging to the side.
We walk in as if we are floating on air; the room’s temperature is dialing up with excitement.
at that raise of power reaching
new heights at the moment of my reveal.
“Clark, please inform your own crystallized computer.” I say.
“Computer, you answer to us both.” He says sweetly.
“Yes, Superman,” the cold, robotic voice replies.
“Take a seat, Clark.” He looks
at me, shaking his head in agreement.
“The computer projects the content on my SD card.” I say, holding it up.
“Yes, Master.” Clark lying in
the crystalline chair.
“Play the video,” I command, laying a hand on Clark’s abs.
“Let it project,” I instruct.
“Your mind is moldable clay.” I push into his head.
“You will obey,” I blow into his head.
“You will submit.” I kiss him on the forehead.
“Sleep.” I crunch my finger and tap his head.
“Yyyyeeeessss,” he blinkingly obeys.
“This is an educational video,” I state wickedly.
“My love! Listen,” I kiss him again.
“The video elaborates,” I hold him.
“The truth”—a strong chin. I love it.
“Your truth,” my body paces back.
The projector is shooting at loud and louder noises beyond any human ears can discern within their logic and hit his forehead straight on as he collapsed to the floor.
Images of his fellow Kryptonian citizens dancing around as his rocket skews to the sky, Ma and Pa’s faces filled with disgust as they film him home, and Jimmy and Lois laughing behind his back.
The tears begin to slide onto his cheeks as his waterworks
building through as the water ducks fill it up, and I walk to his
back hugging him up tightly as
The scent is inhaled into him.
“They all hate me,” he says.
“I don’t.” I reply.
“I love you,” I say constantly in a loop.
Clark Kent’s video and audio projection continues on and only grows stronger; Clark sees me saving him from the pod in a blanket, feeding him, taking him for a walk, our first kiss in the moonlight, and he begins to bawl.
“It was you, always you,” he says, kissing me, and kneels to the crystallized floor.
“I am yours.” He puts his hands on my waist.
The end