[Third Person's PoV]
Clark sat in a heavily reinforced, tal-lined room, isolated from the rest of the facility. Harsh fluorescent lights buzzed quietly overhead, casting cold shadows along the walls. His wrists were handcuffed to a steel table that looked like it hadn't moved in years, while his ankles were secured to the legs of the chair—bolted firmly to the concrete floor. Every elent of the room scread caution, containnt, and fear.
Across from him sat Sayori, her fingers interlocked and resting calmly on the table. Her expression was composed, yet intense—eyes locked on him like a predator waiting for movent. Behind the mirrored glass panel, hidden from view but not from Clark's senses, military personnel and a stern-looking General observed in silence.
Clark raised a brow and smirked, his tone casual, almost amused. "So... they decided to make you the sacrificial lamb, huh?"
Sayori didn't flinch. "Is that how you see ? Soone who needs to be offered up... to you?"
He chuckled, leaning back as far as his restraints would allow. "Not quite. But it's clear they're scared—nervous about what I might do. I'm an unknown factor. Dangerous. So naturally, soone has to be sent in first. Soone who can absorb the worst-case scenario if things go south. Soone expendable."
Sayori's eyes narrowed slightly, her calm deanor unwavering. "And what makes you think we're afraid? You're just one person. Who's to say you're even the first alien or anomaly we've dealt with?"
Clark tilted his head and focused for a mont. He listened—specifically to her heartbeat. Steady. Unshaken. He smiled faintly.
"I see. So you're not surprised. You've already encountered the supernatural. That explains the composure... and the confidence."
He turned his gaze toward the mirrored wall, piercing through it effortlessly. "And I suppose the priest standing just beyond this wall is part of that confidence boost."
Behind the panel, the black-haired priest visibly tensed as Clark locked eyes with him. The man took a nervous step back.
The General turned toward him with a scowl. "I thought you said he wouldn't be able to see us through the mirror."
The technician glanced at his equipnt with confusion but said nothing. The General didn't wait. He grabbed the nearby radio and gave a single command:
"Proceed with the questioning."
Sayori pressed her earpiece and gave a subtle nod. Her voice was clear, professional. "For the record, please state your na, age, height, and weight."
Clark responded calmly, not missing a beat. "As I've said before—my na is Kal-El. My age is classified. My height is 192 centiters, or 6-foot-3. My weight is 215 pounds."
Sayori raised an eyebrow. "Classified? Why withhold your age?"
Clark shrugged lightly. "Let's just say I prefer to keep my private life separate from my... public responsibilities. You should be satisfied with what I've given you."
"You want privacy, yet you shared your na. Kal-El. Is that even your real na, or another lie ant to confuse us?" she asked, tone probing.
Clark exhaled, looking a little bored. "As I've said before—Kal-El is my birth na. It's the na given to by my parents before I was sent here."
Sayori leaned forward slightly, her curiosity piqued. "I see. So Kal-El is your na on your ho planet. I assu you adopted an Earth na during your ti here? Would you be willing to share that with us?"
Clark let out a dry laugh. "What do you think?"
Sayori gave a casual shrug. "Can't bla a girl for trying. Now, let's talk more about your planet. Should we expect more visitors like you to start arriving—people with abilities that defy our understanding of physics?"
Clark's expression softened, if only slightly. "Not likely. I'm known as the Last Son of Krypton. The planet... no longer exists."
Sayori's gaze grew solemn. "What happened?"
Clark's eyes drifted to the table, lost in mory. "Krypton was on the brink of collapse. My people had long ignored the warnings—plundering the planet's core for energy until it beca unstable. My birth occurred in the middle of that crisis. In their final monts, my parents placed in a ship and sent away. My earliest mory... is looking back and watching my world break apart. Shattered. Gone."
Sayori's lips tightened, the mont heavy with silent empathy. "I'm... sorry for your loss."
Clark t her eyes again and gave a faint smile—one filled with acceptance. "Don't be. I made a life here."
"Alright then," Sayori began, folding her hands once more, "can you tell why you decided to do what you do? Why did you suddenly put on a suit and cape, proudly display that giant 'S' on your chest, and start saving people?"
Clark leaned forward slightly, his expression unreadable. "First off, it's not an 'S'," he corrected, his voice steady but carrying an undercurrent of weariness. "It's the crest of the House of El. Where I co from, it's a symbol. It stands for hope."
He paused, briefly grimacing as if the words themselves left a bitter taste. 'Goddamn it," he thought, 'I'm starting to sound just like him. If I start giving full-blown inspirational speeches, I'm telling Sol to put a bullet through my skull.'
He looked back at Sayori, his gaze sharp but not unkind. "As for your question… I do what I do because—unfortunately—I'm one of the few people cursed with sothing called a conscience. And believe , that's more of a burden than a blessing."
Sayori tilted her head slightly, curiosity glimring in her eyes. "What do you an by that? Why would having a conscience ever be a curse? And how does that explain your decision to beco this… hero?"
Clark let out a long breath, running a hand through his hair. "Alright, let paint you a picture. And once I'm done, you tell how you would react. Deal?"
He didn't wait for her answer. His voice grew quiet, but it carried a weight that made everyone in the room lean in, listening.
"Let's say one morning, you wake up... and suddenly, you can hear voices—thousands of them—from practically every corner of the world. So of them are beautiful. You'd hear the laughter of children playing in parks, the hum of families sharing a warm dinner together, or a parent reading their child a bedti story, tucking them in with love and safety."
Sayori's expression was pensive; following Clark's words, however his tone began to darken.
"But that's not all you hear," he continued, eyes distant. "You also hear the screams. A woman crying out in a dark alley, begging for rcy. A child hiding under a bed while their father, in a drunken rage, tears through the house looking to hurt soone—anyone, their mother perhaps, maybe their siblings. You hear the wet, sickening sounds of fists against flesh. You hear the panicked sobs of soone who's lost the only family they had left, most tis of a child made orphan. The breaking voice of a father screaming in anguish as he cradles his daughter's lifeless corpse. And worst of all…"
He trailed off for a mont. When he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper.
"…the raw, soul-shattering scream of a mother who just lost her child. That scream stays with you. It never leaves…Its a scream that doesn't even sounds human anymore"
With every word he spoke, his tone sank lower. The imagery painted by his voice clung to the air like a dense fog. Sayori, for all her previous curiosity, found herself shrinking in place. She felt impossibly small in front of him—before a man who clearly carried the weight of a world most people couldn't even imagine.
Then she saw his eyes.
They weren't the eyes of a young man. They were old, far too old. The eyes of soone who hadn't known restful sleep in years—possibly ever. Haunted eyes.
"And it doesn't stop," Clark said, his gaze eting hers again—those eyes far older than his face. "You hear hearts as they stop beating. You hear the final breath of soone dying alone. You hear the prayers to a God who doesn't answer. The whispered pleas that soone—anyone—might hear them."
Outside, even those not part of the conversation felt the impact of his words. His voice was low, but it carried. People who overheard swallowed nervously, instinctively placing themselves in the imagined scenarios.
Clark exhaled slowly, as though trying to relieve pressure from a weight pressing down on his soul.
"That's what I an when I say a conscience is more of a curse than a gift. It forces you to care. It forces you to feel. It doesn't let you look away. And so I wear the suit—not because I want to be a symbol—but because soone has to answer those cries. Soone has to show the forgotten, the afraid, the abandoned… that they're not alone. That soone hears them."
Clark paused, his voice heavy with the weight of the responsibility he had taken upon himself.
"And that is the curse that I bear alone. The motive behind my actions. Tell , look in the eyes, Mrs. Lane, and tell , could you ignore all those voices if you knew you could do sothing to finally make them stop?"
Sayori didn't answer, she couldn't even look him in the eyes.
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