by ManOMight1974
The offices of SRA (Scientific Research Associates), Metropolis, Tuesday, April 24, 1967, 6:49 P.M.:
“Right this way, Superboy,” said the dark-haired man in wire-rimmed glasses and a lab coat as he gestured toward a small room in the back of the lab complex. “This is where we kept Stasis in his comatose state while he was here.” (*)
[(*) Editor’s note: See “This Town for Plunder,” Superman Family #192 (November-December, 1978).]
“Thank you, Dr. Samuels,” Superboy replied as he and Krypto stepped inside. “We won’t take up too much of your valuable time. I know you were probably on your way home when we arrived, so I won’t keep you too long.”
“Not at all, Superboy,” the scientist answered, a hint of a smile on his face. “You can take as much time as you need to sort this all out. I’d like to see Stasis back here just as much as you do, mostly because I was the one who worked on him, and I’d like to get back to work as soon as is humanly possible. And please, call me Hunter. I’m not one of those stodgy old-school scientists who demand that you address them as ‘Doctor’ or ‘Professor,’ or even ‘sir.’ I’m very laid-back and accommodating.”
“I understand.” Superboy eyed the scientist somewhat warily. He had never met a scientist who didn’t adhere, even slightly, to proper etiquette or decorum. Although he did not want to disrespect the man’s wishes, having been raised by Martha Kent to always refer to a person by their proper title, he could not do otherwise. He knew that Ma would have wagged a scolding finger at him if he had. “C’mon, Krypto,” he said. “Let’s get to work.”
Superboy and Krypto stepped slowly into the center of the twenty-foot by twenty-foot metal room, filled with various advanced sensing devices, most of which were used to measure Stasis’ heart, lung, and brain activity while he had been lying there in his comatose state. As he looked around the room, he took note of the small stainless steel bed/lab table with straps hanging down on each side.
As Superboy ran his invulnerable fingers across the table, he thanked God that he would never have to experience the cold discomfort that ordinary humans normally feel as their bare skin rests atop a metal surface — a discomfort that Stasis might have felt had he not been comatose. For several minutes, he walked around the room, sometimes touching part of a machine, a wall, or a counter, all the while taking in every subtle nuance of the room around him and his canine companion.
The Boy of Steel’s super-memory logged every detail for later review. His memory was so finely tuned that he would be able to tell someone who had not been in the room how many times the fluorescent bulb in the ceiling lamp flickered per second, how many tiles were laid out on the floor and in what pattern, and each and every smell that permeated the small room.
Superboy stopped for a moment and sniffed the air a few times. “You smell that, boy?” he asked Krypto, who nodded back at his master.
“Superboy, have you found something?” Dr. Samuels asked as he stepped up behind the young hero.
“I think so… Hunter. I can smell the remnants of ozone hanging in the air. Obviously, whoever helped Stasis escape was using some kind of device or super-power that electrified the room’s atmosphere.” (*)
[(*) Editor’s note: See Superboy: Times Past, 1967: Through the Looking Glass, Chapter 8: Out of the Frying Pan.]
Dr. Samuels’ eyes lit up with interest. “Interesting, Superboy, very interesting.”
Superboy focused his microscopic vision in a wide sweep around the small room, searching for something that shouldn’t be there. While he wasn’t exactly sure what it was, he knew that once he found it, he would understand what he was dealing with. “Bingo,” he said after a few tense moments of scanning. “Chronotons.”
“Chronotons, Superboy? What are those?” Dr. Samuels asked.
“Chronotons are energized particles left over when someone travels through time,” Superboy explained. “The ones that are here in this room are roughly in the shape of a doorway. It all makes sense now. When a significant amount of chronotons are left behind, they tend to affect humans rather overtly. The reason no one here seemed to notice that Stasis disappeared was that these particles induce a temporal equivalent of vertigo. No one here noticed what was going on because their minds were affected.”
Dr. Samuels raised an eyebrow. “That seems a bit… unbelievable.”
Superboy nodded. “As it should seem to someone who has never traveled through time. I do that a lot, mind you, and I know how the energies of the time stream can affect ordinary humans.”
Dr. Samuels’ eyes narrowed. “Then why are there traces of ozone in the air around where this doorway opened up?”
“Simple,” Superboy replied. “Chronotons… yawn… excuse me, are electrified.”
Dr. Samuels chuckled mildly. “I say again, Superboy — very interesting.”
“Indeed it is.” Superboy yawned again. “Dr. Samuels… Sorry, you’ll have to excuse me, but… for some reason, I just felt this wave of…” Another yawn. “… tiredness wash over me.”
The scientist looked concerned. “Perhaps you should get some rest, Superboy.”
“Thank you, but no,” the Boy of Steel politely responded. “It’s nothing. Probably just the after-effects of my recent sojourn across the dimensional barriers between our reality and another. I’ll be fine as soon as I get some air.”
“I’m not even going to ask about what you’re talking about, Superboy,” Dr. Samuels said, taking off his wire-rimmed glasses and polishing the lenses with a handkerchief from a pocket in his lab coat. “Do you need me to walk you out?”
“No,” Superboy replied, gesturing back with his right hand, “that will not be necessary… yawn… excuse me. I think Krypto and I can find our way out on our own. As soon as I find out something relevant to the Stasis situation, I’ll let you know.”
Dr. Samuels smiled. “Thank you, Superboy.”
Superboy saluted the doctor quickly, and then he and Krypto disappeared from the small room in a blur of super-speed, leaving Dr. Samuels alone with his thoughts.
As Superboy and Krypto soared through the skies, the hero’s thoughts turned toward the presence of ozone and chronotons in the lab.
“I have a sneaking suspicion, boy,” Superboy said to his canine companion, “that when we go to State Prison and Soames Reformatory, we are going to find the exact same things there.” He trailed off for a moment, shaking his head. A wave of tiredness washed over him again. Something was definitely wrong.
Superboy almost never got tired like this, and when he did, it was usually after more than a week without sleep. He could feel that something was not quite right. As he flew, his eyes kept drooping closed, only to snap open as he realized what was happening.
Superboy recalled hearing about a similar kind of problem that truck drivers would experience when they refused to stop for rest. They would keep driving, relying on adrenaline, caffeine, and sheer willpower — in short, they were running on fumes. But such a thing couldn’t afflict the Boy of Steel; he wasn’t an ordinary human, and thus he wasn’t subject to the same physical limitations.
His eyes drooped closed again, but this time they didn’t snap back open. Superboy was out cold. He was no longer in control of his invulnerable body, not conscious of his surroundings, where he was going, or what he was doing.
It was at this point that one of the fundamental laws of physics — the force of gravity — took over. The Boy of Steel’s unconscious form plummeted down from the sky like a human-shaped bomb, crashing into the wooded area situated midway between Metropolis and his hometown of Smallville.
As his prone form crashed through trees and branches before coming to a stop on the ground below, a deafening boom echoed through the air, but Superboy could not hear it. He felt nothing; he heard nothing. He was completely unaware that Krypto had followed him down, desperately trying to revive his master with pleading barks and frantic licks across his face.
He wasn’t even aware of a strangely clad man with a skull-like face. All Superboy knew was blackness, nothingness.
That feeling of nothingness seemed to last forever, until finally, his eyes snapped wide open. When he awoke, he found himself neither in the woods any longer, nor wearing his trademark red and blue super-suit.
Instead, he was lying on a nondescript cot covered by dingy blankets in an equally dingy and darkened room. The walls were cinder blocks painted a medium gray, attempting to disguise their true nature.
There was no window in the room, and very little furniture filled the space — just a chair, the cot, a plain dresser, and a simple nightstand with a small lamp on it. Instinctively, Superboy reached for his glasses, which he was surprised to find in their case on the nightstand.
None of this made any sense. Clark stood up and stepped over to the ordinary brown door, reaching for the handle. After tugging at it, he discovered it was locked from the outside.
He gently tried to twist the handle with his super-strength to force the lock, but he found that he had no super-strength. It was gone.
Footsteps approached the door, accompanied by the jingling of keys as one was inserted into the lock. Clark heard the tumblers click and unlock as the key turned, and instinctively stepped back, unsure of what he was about to encounter.
The door slowly swung inward, and a dark figure in the shape of a man stepped inside, flicking on the lights. Clark was unprepared for what he saw when the room became fully illuminated.
Standing before him, wearing the same wire-rimmed glasses and white lab coat that Superboy had seen him in at SRA, was Dr. Hunter Samuels.
“Dr. Samuels?” Clark asked, confusion evident in his voice.
“Good morning, Clark. How are you feeling today?” Dr. Samuels still wore the same genial smile and inviting look in his eyes.
“Fine, I guess. Where am I?”
“Come now, Clark. This is your room. You live here.”
“Okay, but where is here?”
Dr. Samuels chuckled. “Clark, this is Summerholt Institution.”
“Is this some kind of hospital?”
Dr. Samuels chuckled again. “You might say that, Clark. We are a very special kind of hospital. We help people who have a problem dealing with their own reality. We help them readjust to the world around them.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Clark, I don’t want to be blunt with you, but you had a severe nervous breakdown six months ago.”
“What?”
“You tried to jump out the window of Smallville High School. You kept screaming that you could fly and that you were really called Superboy. But don’t worry. We are going to help you and make you better.”