by ManOMight1974
As Clark Kent lay in his bed, he struggled to accept everything he had just been told. All of his memories and adventures as Superboy were mere delusions — delusions of grandeur. His parents were gone, his life was a shadow of what he thought it was, and he was alone. That, above all else, was what truly scared him.
“Don’t believe it.” The voice came from nowhere, a faint whisper in the dark. Clark tried to block it out, attempting to ignore it.
“You’re being lied to.” This time, the voice was louder, and he couldn’t shake it. It was unmistakable; he definitely heard it. Clark opened his mouth to respond, but the voice stopped him. “Don’t speak. Not a word. I am blocking his ability to sense me. Keep your mouth closed, and your eyes and ears open. This is all a lie. I am not some crazy delusion, and neither was your time as Superboy.”
The voice kept speaking. “I have mental powers that are shielding my voice in your head right now. Your door is currently unlocked. Get up, open it, and walk down the hall to the therapy room at the end of the corridor. Do it now.”
At the voice’s urging, Clark got up and left his room. As he walked down the empty hallway, he couldn’t help but notice the eerie silence. A fully staffed mental hospital, and yet it was empty? That made no sense. As Superboy, Clark had visited mental hospitals before, but he had never seen one so devoid of activity, even late at night. He observed other things, too, which he hadn’t noticed before. The doors were not numbered, and there were no words printed or engraved anywhere. The walls were plain and nondescript, just like his room, Dr. Samuels’ office, and the therapy room.
“You see it now, don’t you?” the voice sounded again in his head. “This is all a dream, and like any dream, there are no printed words, no numbers, no books, and no newspapers. Do you know why that is?”
Clark stopped and nodded, responding in his mind, Because reading is a function of the right side of the brain, while dreams are solely of the left side. You can’t read in a dream, because it is just not possible.
“Exactly, Clark. Your captor has made it so that there is nothing in here for you to read, which would give it all away.”
Let’s say that I believe you, Clark thought. What proof can you offer me other than this? The reading thing might just be a coincidence.
“Clark, go into the therapy room. You will find Dr. Samuels and three patients, all teenagers — one girl and two boys. Carefully look at their faces, and then ask Samuels what their names are.”
Slowly, Clark opened the door to the therapy room. Just as the voice had described, he found Samuels along with three teenage patients: one girl and two boys. All three seemed to be about Clark’s age. The girl was blonde, one of the boys had red hair, and the other had black hair. Clark had never seen any of them before in his life.
“Clark,” Samuels said, turning around from his work to face the young man, smiling. For the briefest moment, his face seemed to take on the appearance of a skull, but it lasted for only a split-second. “What brings you here, young man?”
“Um, I wanted to talk to you, if you’re not too busy.”
“Of course, Clark. Any time you need to talk, I am here for you.”
“Thank you, Dr. Samuels. If you are busy, though, I can come back at another time.”
“Not at all, young man. I was just finishing up here, anyway.”
Clark felt the voice nudging him to ask a question. “Um, could you introduce me to these young people? I feel like I just intruded upon their therapy session, and I would like to make it less awkward for them.”
“Absolutely, Clark,” Samuels replied, still smiling. “Clark Kent, allow me to introduce you to three of my other patients: Imra Ardeen, Rokk Krinn, and Garth Ranzz. Young lady and gentlemen, this is Clark Kent.”
“Now you see, Clark?” the voice echoed in his head. “They look nothing like your three Legion friends, but they have the same exact names. This is all a dream… and a very bad one, too. Think about it for a second. Why would Samuels look exactly the same, while your friends don’t? The answer is quite simple: hubris.”
“Nice to meet you,” Clark said, smirking. “Except I already know the real Imra, Rokk, and Garth, and they look nothing like these three people. Whatever your game is, it’s over, Dr. Samuels.”
“Now, Clark, whatever do you mean?” Samuels took a step back as he spoke, regarding Clark cautiously.
“Your own arrogance, Doctor. You couldn’t change your own face in this world that you created here. You didn’t want to look like anyone else. Hubris, Doctor. Hubris, plain and simple.”
“Very good, Superboy,” Samuels said as his body began to shift and change.
Gone was the lab coat, business suit, dark hair, and wire-rimmed glasses, replaced with a black bodysuit adorned with white stripes running up each leg and across the front of his torso; black leather boots and gloves; shiny metal shoulder pads each adorned with a ringed crest; a skullcap; wristlets; a thought balloon-shaped chest symbol; and a belt featuring a skull for a buckle; along with a deep purple Luchador cape. The sinister-looking skull face wasn’t a mask — it was his face, as though all of the skin had been peeled away, leaving nothing behind but the bare skull.
“The real you, I presume,” Clark said defiantly.
“Yes-s-s-s-s-s,” the voice issued from he who was Samuels, now nothing more than a deep hiss. “I am Doctor Somnolus, and I am your doom.” Somnolus stared down at Clark, laughing as a purplish beam of energy shot from his head and blasted Clark in the gut.
As Clark reeled in agony from that devastating blast, the voice began yelling at him. “C’mon, little brother, get up! You can’t let him win!”
Time seemed to crawl in the dream world for Clark, as though it had been slowed down. Agony wracked his body as energy blasts from Doctor Somnolus struck him in the stomach. Wave after wave of nausea washed over the young man; it felt almost like exposure to green kryptonite.
“I… can’t… go… on…” Clark screamed, clutching his stomach in pain.
“Look at me, little brother,” the voice urged. Clark strained to see, and as he did, the image of Mighto shimmered into view before him. Mighto stood confidently in his yellow and green costume, hands on his hips.
“Mighto?” Clark asked, his voice weak.
“Yes, Clark. It’s me. You have to get up and fight back against this creep. You can’t let him win.”
“I can’t. He’s too powerful here.”
Clark’s words finally made an impression on Mighto. By saying Doctor Somnolus was too powerful “here,” Clark acknowledged that it was a dream. That realization sparked a glimmer of hope. Mighto looked down at Clark, a twinkle in his eyes. “That is the answer, Clark. You only think he is too powerful here, because he seems able to shape and twist this world as he sees fit. But what is this world?”
“It’s a dream,” Clark replied.
“And what has Pa always said to you about dreams, little brother?”
“He said that ‘dreams can only hurt you if you let them. You are in control of the dream, not the other way around.'”
“That’s right, Clark. This is a chance for you to use that technique you read about — directed dreaming — where a subject can learn to control their own dreams and retain conscious memory, even while in REM sleep. Take back control of your dream, Clark, before you are destroyed by this creep.”
At Mighto’s urging, Clark stood up and slowly removed his glasses, the spit curl dropping down in front of his forehead as he did so. He grabbed hold of the lapels of his nightshirt with both hands, ripping outward. As the pajamas shredded in his hands and fell to the floor, his Superboy costume shimmered into view over his body. No longer was Clark Kent being pummeled by the brain blasts from Doctor Somnolus; now, the Boy of Steel stood before the skull-faced villain, hands on his hips in a classic heroic pose, with Somnolus’ brain blasts reflecting off his invulnerable chest.
Doctor Somnolus did not stop pelting Clark with purplish energy beams; instead, they seemed to intensify at the sight of the Boy of Steel. His jaw opened wide, revealing either surprise or desperation on his skeletal face. Somnolus would not be deterred by this development. He was determined to win at all costs. “How is this possible, Boy of Steel? How could you get your powers back?”
“Not just my powers, Doctor. My mind, my memory. This is my dream, not yours, and you are not going to defeat me as easily as you thought.”
“We shall see, Superboy. My powers are those of the mind. I can shape and reshape the reality of a dream as easily as an ordinary person can reshape a lump of clay. The land of dreams is my domain to do with as I see fit. Stasis saw my power firsthand.”
“So, you had a hand in keeping him the way he was.”
“Yes, I did. He broke free of the state you put him in nearly a year ago, but I couldn’t have that. So, I used my abilities to keep him trapped inside his own mind. In that state, he was the perfect lab rat for me to experiment on with my powers. He helped me hone them, develop them… and then he was taken away from me. But fortune smiled upon me when you showed up. I used my powers on you to put you to sleep and then craft this delusion that you were in a mental institution… just like the one I was in as a teenager… the one I was in after I discovered my abilities.”
That was the clincher. Samuels, or Doctor Somnolus as he preferred to be called here, didn’t just “create” this environment; he generated it in Superboy’s mind from his own memories and experiences.
“What did I ever do to you that would make you want to make me suffer like this?”
“What did you do, my dear boy? Why, nothing. Nothing at all. You were just there, and I always take advantage of any opportunity that presents itself to me. I wouldn’t be a very good scientist if I didn’t.”
“Well, Doctor Somnolus,” Superboy began, smirking, “I feel the same way about such opportunities.”
With that, Superboy flew into the villain at full speed, knocking him off his feet. As Doctor Somnolus got back on his feet, Superboy repeated this maneuver again and again, each time hitting his enemy harder and faster than before. With each impact, Somnolus grew dizzier until, finally, he collapsed, unconscious.
“Nice job, little brother,” Mighto said, smiling as the world around them faded to black.
***
The woods outside Smallville, Tuesday, April 24, 1967, 7:49 P.M.:
Superboy’s eyes slowly fluttered open, and as he awoke, consciousness fully returned to the colorfully clad teenager. He found himself lying on his back in the dirt of a rather large four-foot-deep impact crater, one he realized he had created when he crashed into the ground. Damaged and broken trees lay strewn around him — trees he made a mental note to clear away and replant sometime later.
As the Boy of Steel pulled himself up into a standing position, a wave of dizziness and disorientation washed over him. “Must not be fully recovered yet,” Superboy thought aloud, holding his head. He stood for a moment, allowing the dizziness to pass before dusting himself off. “Wouldn’t want Ma thinking that I’m a slob,” he added, a hint of a smile crossing his lips. After a few moments, he willed himself to rise out of the crater using his power of flight. He floated up and over to the edge of the hole, lowering himself back down on the ground outside, where he began surveying the area more thoroughly.
Krypto stood off to the left of the crater in an aggressive stance, growling to protect his master from the danger in front of them — Mighto.
“Hello, little brother,” Mighto said, smirking. The young man had the prone form of Doctor Somnolus slung over his left shoulder. He made no moves or gestures; he just stood there.
“Mighto,” Superboy replied after a few tense moments, “thank you for your assistance against–”
“I didn’t help you, little brother,” Mighto interrupted. “I did what I had to for myself and my associates. The fact that it aided you is just a coincidence.”
Superboy was puzzled by that statement. Who were these “associates” that Mighto mentioned? The confusion was evident on Superboy’s face, but before he could speak, Mighto raised his right hand and wagged his index finger.
“I know what you are thinking, little brother,” Mighto said. “Your mind is like an open book to me. My ‘associates’ are those beings whom you have either humiliated or defeated in the past. We are an army of Superboy-haters from all over, and you will not stop us, nor defeat us again.”
“But then why did you save me?” Superboy asked, genuinely curious.
“Simple, little brother,” Mighto replied. “If I let this two-bit loser kill you, then my associates and I would have nothing to do. Besides, what would have been the point of Hourglass letting all of them out of their prisons and jail cells if you were dead?”
Superboy cocked an eyebrow. Now it was all starting to make sense. “Hourglass? Who is that?”
“He is the one who let us all out, brought us together in his little citadel outside time so that we might destroy you,” Mighto explained. “Ta-ta, little brother. We’ll be seeing each other again… and soon.”
As Mighto spoke those last words, he focused his mind and generated a blast of devastating psionic power at Superboy and Krypto, knocking them end over end into the crater. As Superboy fell back into the hole, he looked up at Mighto and watched as the yellow-and-green-clad young man opened a doorway of crackling yellowish energy and stepped through, carrying Doctor Somnolus with him.
Superboy leaped at the energy doorway, trying to catch Mighto before he disappeared. However, as he was still weakened from both Doctor Somnolus and Mighto’s mental attacks, he arrived a fraction of a second too late. Superboy breathed in and out angrily. He didn’t like it when the bad guys got away. Slowly, he calmed himself down and began scanning the area where the doorway had been with his super-senses.
Since he knew what he was looking for, he wasn’t surprised when he detected the pungent odor of ozone lingering in the air around the spot where the doorway had been. Nor was he surprised when his microscopic vision picked up large amounts of chronoton particles hanging in the air. This was all connected, and now he had the proof. Clearly, all of the missing criminals had been assisted by this Hourglass in their escapes. The fact that Mighto was involved proved that this wasn’t just confined to Earth. The question that remained in Superboy’s mind was who else had been liberated and why.
Crouching down, Superboy patted Krypto on the head. “C’mon, boy,” he said after a few moments, “let’s go home.”