Chapter 11
Steve and Clark stand outside of ThunderCorp. It’s a squat building, painted the blandest beige Steve has ever scene. It’s as if the designers had purposely set out to build the plainest office building imaginable.
“See anything?” Steve asks. Clark scans the building, a slight frown marring his face.
“No, lead.”
“Well that’s not suspicious at all.” Steve says dryly. He readjusts the shield on his arm.
“Try to stay behind me, if they put up lead shielding than they probably also have kryptonite.” Steve says. Clark gives a short nod. They creep along the edge of the property. There are two fences between them and the building, along with a sign warning trespassers away.
Steve examines the first fence. Though it looks normal, there’s a faint hum emitting from it.
“Electric.” Steve says.
“I’ll get us over them.” Clark says. He wraps his hand around Steve’s arm and leaps. Their feet clear the fence with almost a foot to spare.
“Careful,” Steve says pulling Clark deeper into the shadows on the other side of the fence, “who knows where their cameras are set up.”
They approach the next fence cautiously. Again Steve listens for the faint hum of electricity and finds it. Clark flies them over the fence, landing on the other side with a soft thump. Steve gives him a nod of thanks before moving away. Clark’s hand tightens on his arm.
“Wait! Do you hear that?”
Steve tilts his head. Faintly he hears something growl. He tenses and internally groans. He hates guard dogs. While Bucky spent his youth tending to any stray he passed, Steve’s experience had quite different. Perhaps it was his small size or the aura of “bully bait” he seemed to exclude for most of his childhood, but dogs hated Steve. More times than he can count he was chased down the street by a snarling beast, only to see the monster revert to a puppy like state in Bucky’s presence.
A howling flash of white fur sprints towards them, faster than any dog Steve has ever seen. He barely gets his shield up before the massive dog lunges at him. The hit reverberates through his arm and he stumbles back. The beast bites down hard on his shield, holding on despite Steve’s best efforts to shake him loose.
Clark grabs the dog by the collar, ripping him off. A row of teeth dents the shield. Steve stares at them. No normal dog should be able to leave a mark on vibration. Suddenly the dog twists in Clark’s grasp, latching on to his arm. Clark shouts in pain as the dog sinks his teeth in deep enough to draw blood.
Steve meets Clark’s eyes and sees shock, confusion, and fear. Steve grabs the dog around the middle and pulls. Clark rises into the air, all thoughts of being stealthy gone, and wretches his arm away from the snarling monster. Somewhere in the background an alarm blares. Steve hardly notices, too busy staring at the dog who – intent on not letting his prey escape – leaps into the air after Clark. Clark zigzags across the sky, the dog nipping at his heels.
Guards dressed in black military gear run out. Steve pulls his eyes away from the spectacle in the sky to face them. Flying dogs might be out of his wheelhouse, but soldiers he can handle. He looks them over as they approach. He can tell from the way they grip their guns, they’re all ex-military and all itching for a fight. Steve is unimpressed. He throws his shield and, without waiting to see if it hit, runs forward. He punches the first man in the head. And grabs the second closest man by the arm, twisting it until he hears a snap and the man drops his gun. He holds out his hand just as his shield whizzes by and catches it.
The next man raises his weapon, a German kryptonite Steve notes, and fires. Kryptonite may break the Man of Steel, but it does little against a shield of vibraniam. Steve presses forward, letting bullets bounce around him, until he’s close enough to slam the shield into the man’s chest. Out of the corner of his eye he sees one man raise his gun towards the sky. Steve throws his shield. It makes a satisfying whump sound as it hits its intended target.
He works his way steadily through the guards, each man falling or retreating in the face of The Captain. Suddenly from above he hears a shout. He doesn’t have time to look up before a white mass of wiggling dog drops from the sky. It lands on Steve, knocking him to the ground. Pain radiates from his ribcage as the air leaves his lungs. He tries to throw the dog off, but his arm is awkwardly pinned beneath himself. The dog’s hot breath is inches from his throat. Thick foamy saliva drips from its jowls onto Steve’s chest.
Clark dives towards them. A gunshot rings out. A guard, on his knees and bleeding from a gash on his head, clutches his smoking gun.
Clark falls the rest of the way back to Earth and disappears from Steve’s sight. The dog remains firmly at his throat, waiting for the command to kill. In the terror of the moment Steve spares a thought to worry about Bucky. He hopes Sam will be able to talk Buck out of doing anything stupid in the wake of his death.
“Heel.” A guard says. With one last snarl the dog pushes himself off of Steve’s chest and slinks back to his master. Other guards pull themselves to their feet, wobbling and trying to stem the flow of blood from various injuries. Those who haven’t lost their guns level them at Clark and Steve. Cautiously, Steve sits up. From his new position he can see Clark clutching his shoulder. Blood spills out between his fingers, staining his uniform.
“Hands up!” A guard shouts. Steve raises his hands, dropping his shield. Next to him, Clark does the same.
A pair of handcuffs embedded with kryptonite are slapped on Clark’s wrists, and while Steve’s pair don’t have kryptonite they are far stronger than the average pair of handcuffs should be.
“Where are you taking us?” Steve asks. The only response he gets is a cold look from a guard and throaty growl from the dog.
The building is just as plain on the inside as it is on the outside with off white walls and gray tiles. They are immediately prodded towards a staircase before Steve can take a closer look, and led down several flights of stairs. Steve can do nothing but watch as Clark becomes more unsteady with every step. His costume growing darker with blood by the minute. By the time they reach the bottom, Clark’s clinging to the handrail to remain upright. Unsympathetic guards shove him forward, sending him stumbling the last few steps.
He catches himself on his hands and knees, his face inches from hitting concrete. Two guards haul him back to his feet, while a third one unlocks a pair of lead doors.
As soon as the doors open, screaming can be heard from within. It’s a horrible choked sound, broke by frantic pleas and sobs. Steve’s stomach clenches as he recognizes that voice. A growing look of horror on his Clark’s face tells Steve that he has as well.
“What did you do?” Clark asks, in a horrified whisper.
The guard leading the group ignores Clark completely and leans over to one of his companions.
“Call the boss; he’s going to want to come down for this.”
The man scurries away as Steve and Clark are dragged deeper into the basement. Though basement is perhaps too kind of description Steve thinks. Cells line the sides of the narrow room. It’s more like a dungeon than anything else.
Halfway down the row of cells Steve sees a figure curled up on his side. His stomach drops. Bruce gives no sign that he has noticed Clark or Steve as he stares at them with hazy terrified eyes. He bats at un seen figures and writhes on the floor, mumbling to himself between bought of sobbing and screaming. As they get closer, Steve catches a few words.
“Please…Not Dick…Don’t…Please…Don’t shoot…Dick”
His red rimmed eyes squeeze shut in horror at the phantom images. His skin is sallow and stretched tight. He looks as if he’s barely eaten since his disappearance. Steve’s heart clenches. He never expected to see Batman look so broken.
The guards throw them into a cell across from Bruce and Steve isn’t sure if that’s a kindness or an act of mockery, to force them to stare directly at their failure. He has no time to dwell on that question however. Clark still had a bullet in his shoulder.
“Superman,” Steve says gently. Clark doesn’t acknowledge him. He’s staring at Bruce with a hazy look of horror on his face.
“Superman focus.” Steve says firmly and Clark’s eyes drift towards him, “you’ve got a bullet in your shoulder and I need to get it out and wrap the wound.”
Clark nods before turning his head to continue staring a Bruce.
Steve fumbles in his pouch for his tweezers. This won’t be easy with his hands handcuffed together, but it won’t be the hardest bullet extraction he’s ever had to perform either. Handcuffs beat a bumpy jeep under heavy Nazi fire any day of the week.
Clark flinches as Steve tweezes out the bullet pieces, his whole body tense.
“Almost done,” Steve tells him after every shard. Clark squeezes his eyes shut his body only relaxing when the last piece is removed. Wrapping the wound is awkward and Steve doesn’t get it as tight as he would have preferred, but, given the circumstances, it’s acceptable.
“Cap, what do you think happened to him?” Clark asks. Steve glances over at Bruce who is still begging with the monsters in his head.
“I don’t know, he seems drugged.” Steve says.
“Correct Captain.”
Steve glares as Luthor approaches the cell, looking impeccably dressed as he always does.
“Fear Toxin. I have a business associate in Gotham who makes it; Mr. Jonathan Crane.”
That name sounds familiar and it takes Steve a moment to place it. When he does he feels another flash of horror go through him. Jonathan Crane; The Scarecrow. Batman had mentioned him a few times during their monthly Justice League meetings. He’s even aware of fear toxin and it’s dreadful effects. Steve shudders thinking of Bruce down here alone, with nothing but his worst fears for company.
“We pull him out of it every once in a while to see if he’ll be more agreeable to our terms.” Luthor continues, like he hasn’t noticed Steve’s growing revulsion, “He never is. Surprisingly stubborn, that one.
“You bastard.” Steve flings himself at the bars. Furious, he wants nothing more than to punch the smug look off Luthor’s vile face. His hands hit the cold steel of his cell. Over a thousand volts of electricity suddenly course through him. Without his permission his body seizes. He chokes as his lungs refuse to work. He rips his hands away from the bars, agony leaving him cold and sweating. He stumbles back gasping for breath. Luthor just watches him with cruel smirk.
Steve glares at him through the bars.
“What’s your endgame?” He asks, “Buy out WayneTech and then what?”
“I think you already know.” Luthor says. Steve doesn’t say anything.
“You saw the dog, and that’s with only a sliver of WayneTech research. With the rest of it we could start human trials by the end of next year. No more need for Superman when I can make anyone a super man.”
“You’re insane.” Clark grunts from where he’s propped against the wall. Luthor scoffs.
“Of course you think so. What will you do when humanity realizes it doesn’t need you anymore?”
“The world will always need people like Superman.” Steve says.
“Sentimental nonsense.” Luthor says, “You’re stuck in the past, think about the future I can create.”
Steve does think about it. It seems like a world similar to the one Loki wanted to create or the one Ultron wanted. Hell, Hitler and the Red Skull both would have loved this plan. A race of genetically superior “supermen” to rule over humanity; isn’t that what the Nazis were trying to create?
“You’re mad.” Steve says.
“I’m sorry you feel that way. I was hoping for your help.”
Steve snorts, “What?”
“A partnership of sorts. You see, while I’m making progress is replicating Superman’s powers there’s still a flaw. There’s still traces of a weakness to kryptonite in the test subjects, though slight. But I demand perfection. I think your serum is the secret to correcting that flaw.”
Steve glares at him. It always comes back to the super soldier serum. People either feared or coveted it, usually both.
“You’re more insane than I thought if you think I’ll help you.” Steve snaps. Luthor doesn’t look concerned. He shrugs.
“I had hoped for your cooperation, but I suppose it doesn’t really matter. I’ll just take what I want from you either way.” Luthor says as he strolls away.
Steve watches him leave. The door slams shut behind him, leaving Clark and Steve alone with only the sobs of Bruce for company.
“Bruce.” Steve says. He tries to make his voice as firm as possible, to cut through the madness. It doesn’t work. Clark tries as well, breaking out his always self-assured Superman voice. It too has no effect. After several attempts, Steve and Clark go quiet. Eventually, weakened by the kryptonite, Clark falls into a hazy semi-conscious doze. Steve keeps vigil next to him, determined to keep watch over his suffering comrades.
Bruce isn’t granted the mercy of unconsciousness. He keeps up a steady stream of begging. He begs for Dick’s safety, for Alfred’s, for his parents. Steve even thinks he hears his and Clark’s name amidst the mumbling. He tries not to listen too closely though. He can’t save Bruce, but he can at least give the man his privacy.