by ManOMight1974
In the command center of Hourglass’ fortress, a blond youth from the planet Ulgar, wearing a green and yellow costume, sat transfixed before a view screen. Mighto watched the events unfolding in the woods between Metropolis and Smallville. A strangely clad man with a skull face stood almost motionless over the Ulgarian’s “little brother,” projecting an unknown form of swirling purplish energy at both Superboy and Krypto.
Whatever this energy was, it had obviously rendered the Boy of Steel catatonic, but it seemed to have had little effect on the Dog of Steel. Krypto was still conscious, as evidenced by his incessant barking, yet he was unable to move against the being who had incapacitated his master.
Mighto steepled his fingers in front of his face as he watched the scene play itself out. To him, it looked as though the villain with the skull face was going to win, a development that would not sit well with the assorted villains Hourglass had recently assembled into his Anti-Superboy Army to enact vengeance upon the heroic Smallville Sensation.
“The Anti-Superboy Army,” Mighto mused aloud. “We’re going to have to come up with a better name than that one of these days.”
As he sat there, he felt a slight pang of conscience in his gut. Someone needed to help Superboy.
The command center’s door slid open with a swish, and the Kryptonite Kid strode in confidently. His pale green skin cast a slight incandescent glow in the dimly lit room. “What are we watching?” he asked as he leaned over the control console behind Mighto.
“Superboy has been attacked by some unknown villain who has rendered my ‘little brother’ catatonic,” replied Mighto.
“Interesting,” the Kryptonite Kid remarked. “And what are we going to do about it?”
Mighto looked the Kryptonite Kid directly in the eyes. “I’m not sure I follow you, Kid.”
A wry smile crossed the Kryptonite Kid’s face. “Don’t play coy with me, Mighto. We both know what you’re thinking, and I don’t even need to use my native Blorian telepathic abilities to figure it out. You want to help your ‘little brother’ get out of this mess.”
Mighto nodded. “And what if I do? If I help him get out of this, it will only postpone his demise to a time and place that will suit this small group Hourglass has assembled.”
The Kryptonite Kid’s smile widened. “Perhaps, but I am sure there are those among us who wouldn’t mind watching Superboy burn.”
Mighto’s eyes narrowed. “True, but the majority of us want to take part in his destruction. How do you think some of them would feel about some nobody on his first ever recorded foray into super-villainy succeeding where we all have failed? I know for a fact that Luthor would do whatever it takes to hunt this skull-faced freak down if he did succeed.”
“Impeccable logic, Mighto,” the Kryptonite Kid said as he walked back toward the door. “But just make sure you don’t do anything without first letting Hourglass know. He might not take too kindly to you acting on your own.”
As the command center door slid closed behind the Kryptonite Kid, leaving Mighto alone with his thoughts, the Ulgarian youth sat back in his chair, pondering his next move. He couldn’t understand why he was having pangs of conscience regarding his “little brother.” He hated Superboy for helping the Ulgarian authorities lock him up and for getting in his way. (*) He wanted nothing more than to see the Boy of Steel suffer for that. Yet, why did he feel compelled to help his enemy? What was wrong with Mighto that he was now, after all this time, developing a conscience?
[(*) Editor’s note: See “The Kents’ First Super-Son,” Superboy #108 (October, 1963).]
***
Dr. Hunter Samuels sat down and leaned back in his desk chair. “So you see, Clark, all of these instances of your mental breakdown stem from the loss of your parents a little over a year ago.”
“Ma and Pa are dead?” Clark Kent was taken completely by surprise by this revelation. Part of him felt numb; he didn’t want to accept it. Another part of him struggled to comprehend why this all seemed so surreal.
His mind raced through every memory, every adventure, every day. His super-recall was perfect; he remembered every sensation, every scent, every voice. These memories couldn’t just be delusions created by a fractured mind.
“Yes,” Dr. Samuels said after a long pause, “they were killed in a car accident, and you were the only survivor. Even your dog, Skip, was killed. You went to live with the Langs next door, since you had no other family to take you in. That’s when your emotional problems started.”
“What do you mean by that?” Clark asked.
“Well, Clark,” Dr. Samuels explained, “you have always been in love with Lana Lang, but she only viewed you as a good friend. She once told you that the only way she would ever be interested in you would be if you had amazing powers and abilities like a character from out of the comic-books that her younger brother Alvin read. So, you began writing stories of yourself as ‘Superboy’ as a way to cope with everything that had happened. Your damaged psyche felt that if you had been a super-powered being, you could have saved your parents and your dog… that Lana would love you. Over time, your mind started to immerse itself too deeply into the delusion of Superboy. Coupled with the brain damage you suffered in the car accident, which we only recently diagnosed, and the fact that you were the only survivor of the wreck, your mind began to believe that you really were this Superboy.”
“I don’t remember any of this, Dr. Samuels,” Clark said, bewildered.
“That is understandable, Clark,” replied Dr. Samuels. “You have a form of brain damage, which we hadn’t been able to break through in the last few days until you fell down the stairs and hit your head again. You have apparently regressed back to the point you were at when you were first admitted six months ago.”
Clark held his head, trying to collect himself. None of this was making any sense. His life as Superboy couldn’t have all been a dream or a delusion. His head began to throb as he held it, and at that moment, he started to hear it. Low at first, but as the moments ticked by, it grew louder. It was muffled slightly, as though Clark were hearing it through a plastic bag tied around his head, but he knew exactly what it was — the barking of a dog, and not just any dog. It was Krypto.
Clark looked up to face Dr. Samuels. There was no hint on the psychiatrist’s face that he had heard the noise as well, so Clark decided not to mention any of this until he knew whom he could trust. Something odd was happening around here, and until he could figure out what it was that he was experiencing, there was no need to tip his hand. Ma and Pa had raised him better than that, after all.
***
Superboy: Delusions of Grandeur, Part III
The Kent house at 321 Maple Street, Smallville, Tuesday, April 24, 1967, 7:31 P.M.:
Jonathan Kent sat stiffly in his chair in the spacious living room, attempting to read the newspaper. His eyes, however, kept drifting to the clock, watching the seconds tick away. “How long has it been, Martha?” he asked.
“About five minutes longer since the last time you asked me, Jonathan,” Martha Kent called back in response from the kitchen.
“Oh, very droll, Martha,” Jonathan countered, a hint of sarcasm in his voice. “I’m being serious here. How long has it been since he left?”
“Oh, very well, Jonathan,” Martha said, exasperation creeping into her tone as she walked into the living room. “Clark has now been gone for approximately one hour and sixteen — no, make that seventeen — minutes.”
“Thank you, Martha.”
“Jonathan, you really need to relax. He’s just on a mission and will be home shortly. I know you are concerned — I am, too — but constantly watching the clock or asking me how long he has been gone every few minutes is not going to make the time move any faster.” As soon as Martha finished speaking, both Kents heard a low creaking sound coming from the cellar stairs — the unmistakable sound of someone walking up. “See?” she said, smirking.
However, when the cellar door swung open, it was not Superboy and Krypto who stepped into the Kent living room. Instead, a teenager entered, approximately the same height, weight, and build as Superboy, though his hair was light red, and his facial features were different. He wore a colorful costume consisting of dark green boots, trunks, a belt, wristlets, and a headband, complemented by bright orange leggings and a shirt. A unique symbol — a circle of stars with a two-headed arrow inside — was emblazoned on his chest. He strode confidently but quietly into the living room, gently closing the cellar door behind him. “Hello, Mr. and Mrs. Kent,” he said, a broad, inviting smile on his face.
“Vidal!” Martha exclaimed, her face lighting up as she rushed to hug the young man they had once temporarily adopted. “We haven’t seen you in ages! How have you been, young man?”
Indeed, the Kents had not seen Vidal in a long time. About three years ago, while Clark was away in space on a mission as Superboy, the Kents decided to adopt another child, a young man named Allen Greene, who was actually Vidal, sent to Earth on a mission by the Intergalactic Vigilante Squadron, also known as the Interplanetary Vigilantes and the Intergalactic Patrol. (*) While under the Kents’ care, Vidal masqueraded as Superboy, and they were forced to protect his secret identity just as they had protected Clark’s. During this time, the Kents began to worry about Vidal’s true mission. After a few days of acting in Superboy’s stead with his own super-powers, Vidal finally revealed that he had come to Earth to find suitable foster parents for Superboy. After testing them for several days, he believed that the Kents should adopt Superboy, and he told them so. Jonathan and Martha agreed, never revealing to Vidal that Superboy was already their foster son, Clark. (*)
[(*) Editor’s note: See “The Robot War of Smallville,” Adventure Comics #237 (June, 1957) and “The Kents’ Second Super-Son,” Adventure Comics #260 (May, 1959).]
“I’ve been well, Mrs. Kent,” Vidal replied, still smiling. “Though I wish I were here on a social call. I’m actually here on official IVS business. Is Superboy here?”
“No,” Jonathan said as he stood up from his chair and embraced his other foster son. “Clark isn’t here.”
Vidal looked puzzled by Jonathan’s statement.
“I figure it’s about time you found out, Vidal,” Jonathan said with a chuckle. “When you first visited us, we were already Superboy’s foster parents.”
“Of course!” Vidal said, slapping his forehead in recognition. “I should have guessed. That is why the two of you were so good at keeping my secret. You were already well-practiced in the art of protecting a secret identity.”
“Well, yes,” Martha said, leading her husband and former foster son back to the living room and over to the couch. “As Jonathan said, Clark isn’t here right now, but he should be home soon. Would you like to wait for him? I can make you something to eat. I know how much you love my cooking.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Kent. I would definitely love that. I just hope he gets back soon, because… what I have to tell him, he is not going to like.”
Jonathan cocked an eyebrow at that statement. “What’s going on, Vidal?”
Vidal took a deep breath. “The IVS received reports that three of Superboy’s enemies have mysteriously escaped custody: the Kryptonite Kid, Solar Boy, and Mighto.”
Jonathan Kent blanched at the mention of the last name. “How long ago, Vidal?”
“Less than an Earth week. That’s why it is imperative that I see him as soon as possible.”
Jonathan’s stomach started to twist and turn. One of Clark’s enemies was bad enough, but three? This did not bode well, not well indeed.
***
Dr. Hunter Samuels led Clark Kent down another hallway to one of the therapy rooms. Throughout the walk, Clark remained quiet, fully aware that none of this was real. He replayed the events in his mind: his meeting with the “other” Samuels in the real world at SRA, falling asleep mid-flight, and waking up in this place with this Samuels. Clearly, Samuels himself was somehow the key to what was happening. The Samuels he had encountered at SRA as Superboy must possess some kind of immense telepathic powers, he reasoned.
Over the years in his time as Superboy, Clark had faced numerous telepathic villains, along with a few heroes, but none had this level of power. This Samuels could force victims to fall asleep, then psychically enter their dream state and craft a realistic delusion from which there was no escape. How could Clark battle this being, especially without his super-powers? There had to be an answer, and Clark was determined to find it; he must find it.
As the two entered the small therapy room, Clark glanced around for something he could use to escape. Unfortunately, his hopes were dashed at the sight of the room. It was a simple white space containing a pair of metal folding chairs and a nondescript metal table. Samuels offered Clark one of the chairs. As Clark pulled it out and sat down, Samuels turned the other chair around to straddle it, leaning in close to talk.
“So, tell me, Clark,” he began, his tone even but friendly, “how does all of this make you feel?”
“I don’t know, Dr. Samuels. How should it make me feel?”
“Clark, you shouldn’t be taking an adversarial stance on this. I’m not the bad guy here. I am merely a doctor trying to help one of my patients. I understand that all of this is very hard to grasp, but it is the truth.”
“Show me proof, Doctor. Show me proof that corroborates what you have been telling me.”
Dr. Samuels shook his head. “And if I did that, you would just say that it was cleverly crafted fiction. And don’t say that you won’t. We’ve already been down this bumpy road before. Just because you say that something isn’t real, doesn’t mean it isn’t.”
“Let’s say that I believe you,” Clark offered. “Let’s say that you are telling the truth. Why is it wrong that I ask for proof?”
Samuels went silent for a moment; he needed to choose his words carefully. “It’s not wrong, and were I in your place, I might be asking the same thing. So let me ask you something, if I may.”
“Okay, I’m listening.”
“Are you hearing the dog barking again?”
“What?” Clark was dumbfounded by that question. Samuels must have read his mind, and now he knew about Krypto trying to wake him up.
“I know what you are thinking. You believe that I’m reading your mind. I’m not. We’ve been through all of this before.”
Clark sat there, speechless. He didn’t know what to say or do. Maybe he was crazy; perhaps everything that Samuels had told him was true. “Can we go back to my room, please? I need some time to think about this.”
“Of course, Clark. Take all the time you need. We can try to resume this again tomorrow.”