[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/j1ykAof.png[/img][/center][indent][sub][color=white][b]SEASON THREE[/b][/color][color=#e20025] Justice Rising[/color][/sub][sup][right][b][color=white]SUPERBOY: GODBORN #2[/color][/b] [color=#e20025]Lab Rat in Spandex[/color][/right][/sup][/indent][indent][indent][indent][hr][/indent][/indent][/indent][indent][color=white][sub][b]The Acropolis [color=#e20025]♦[/color] Unknown[/b][/sub][/color][/indent]
[indent]
Hot water hit Superboy's face, diluting the blood that lingered on it. Streams of red contoured 'round bare muscle and ran down the length of his body. They pooled together at his feet, sticking stubbornly to the drain. There was something soothing about showering after a particularly brutal fight. The steam purged his pores of toxins. The heat was energizing, intoxicating. Even the sting of water splashing on bruised, naked flesh had a certain appeal one could not rationally explain.

It, much like Superboy himself, simply was.

He went for a second lathering of soap, rubbing it up along his arms and down each leg, whistling a tune as he did. The jaunty song helped him ignore the camera burning a hole in the back of his head. Someone was always watching him, no matter where he was or what he was doing. While he was in his room, while he was sleeping, while he was relieving himself- there was always a glass eye staring at him, unblinking. It was just as much a part of normal life as breakfast, or breathing.

It was all part of that science experiment he was supposed to be part of. He'd spent his whole life being watched and prodded and poked in this same place. They called it the Acropolis. Claimed it was the most advanced R&D facility on the planet. It made the work sound very important, at least in his mind. The company that owned the place was called CADMUS; they provided the actual scientists that worked on him.

Their tests usually weren't as brutal as that last one. Bruises were a new sensation, and he couldn't recall ever blacking out before today. He couldn't hold back that creeping feeling that things weren't going to get any easier after this, either.

He leaned an arm against the wall, his head held down to let the water run down the back of his head. His wild, black hair fell down around his face, matted and soaking wet. Eyes snapping shut, he steeled himself against his thoughts, rebuking his doubts outright: [i]'What am I saying, I'm friggin' Superboy! I can handle a couple'a stupid tests. I was built for this.'[/i]

Once he was squeaky clean he stepped out of the shower and into the larger locker room, where he found his costume hung on the wall. It was nearly as beaten and battered as he was: the knees, elbows, and sections around the abdomen had to be patched up with black material that didn't at all match the suit's red, yellow and blue. The stylized [i]S[/i] Supergirl had plucked from his chest had been stitched back on, too. It was better than nothing.

Immediately outside the locker room door, the space expanded and the tiled floor gave way to the sterile tiles of a laboratory. Gangs of labcoat-wearing techs occupied rows and rows of machinery too complex for Superboy's understanding. He recognized most of them, having seen their faces every day for the last five months, but he only knew a handful of names. 

There was Carl, the bald-headed doctor that monitored Superboy's development and ensured he'd grow big and grow. And then there was Tana, the daughter of CADMUS's head honcho and one of the many assistants [i]assisting[/i] the experts on the project. Dr. Spence was there, too. She was the one that poked around inside his head. When Dr. Westfield wasn't around- which was most of the time- she was the one that called the shots. He felt his heart rate quicken when she started barking orders at random lab workers.

Tana was the first one to notice him enter and she stalked over to greet him. She was a head shorter than him and several grades lighter, but she walked like someone thrice her size. Talked like it, too. "Well, you look...better. Less like we just wheeled you out of the morgue."

"Ah, you know me. Too stubborn to stay dead, y'know?" He smirked.

She just shook her head and turned to walk deeper into the laboratory, Superboy following her lead. They moved to near the back of the room, where a gaggle of eggheads were gathered around a metal throne. Wiring and piping ran from the chair and into nearby machines, pumping some unknown, inky fluid into it and filtering something else out. Superboy felt his palms itch as Tana peeled away to go work on something, leaving him to approach and take a seat on his own.

It was unnaturally cool to the touch. Tiny ridges covered the steel surface, and there was no obvious sign of rivets or bolts holding it together. Most of the nearby machines and computers were connected to it, a constant stream of information traveling between them.

The moment his arms came to rest on the sides of throne he found he could no longer move them. Some, unseen force far stronger than he was holding him down. He didn't panic. Not like the first few times. Much as he hated to be restricted, Superboy understood what was happening- if not why it had to be this way.

Somebody walked forward with a wicked needle in one hand and a oddly shaped device in the other. It was round-ish, with a small hole in the center, and covered in blinking lights. She pressed the strange tool against the inside of Superboy's neck, shoving his head upward without a care for how it felt.

He felt remarkably vulnerable with the cool metal against his skin, as if some form of protection was peeled away by its presence. She plunged the syringe through the center hole and the needle hit flesh, though it did not pierce it. A motor on the back had to be flipped on, turning the needle into a veritable jackhammer. It had to break through the skin, layer by layer, for several minutes before the needle tasted blood. A sizeable sample was extracted through the process, painful as it was, and the assistant looked satisfied by the result.

"You're welcome," He muttered as she walked away, rubbing a hand against his puncture wound. It'd scar over in a couple of minutes, small as it was. Didn't mean it hurt any less.

She handed the syringe off to Dr. Packard for inspection. He frowned at the sight of the device, quickly plugging it into his work station so the computer could get to work. Blood contained a wealth of data on the body, especially when one knew how to decipher and make sense of all of it. After waiting several moments for the process to finish, he spoke up in a raspy voice: "Subject's genome is stable, no sign of mutation since our last check," He called over his shoulder. "Muscle density increased in regions where it was torn by his injuries. The subject...appears to be perfectly healthy."

Superboy could hear Tana give a quiet sigh of relief from somewhere outside his vision. He could hear the clicking of heels against tiled floor behind him, too, the sound growing louder as it approached him. He had to crane his neck toward the noise to see its source, his eyes connecting with the icy gaze of Dr. Spence. She didn't look too pleased by the news, not that it surprised him. She never smiled. Superboy wasn't even sure she could.

"Its not Thirteen's physical health that I am worried about, Packard." Spence didn't break eye contact as she spoke about him to the other doctor, her fingers tracing along his arm as she slowly moved around to stand straight in front of him. She leaned in close, close enough for her breath to brush against his face. One, long finger came to rest against his forehead. "Its what's going on in here that I care about." She said, her voice low, menacing.

A single bead of sweat ran down Superboy's face.

"Not, uh, sure what you mean." He giggled, a nervous edge laced in it. "I'm not stupid if that's what you're sayin'."

"[i]That[/i] is what I mean. You were never meant to do that."

Superboy gave her a look, clearly not understanding what she was going on about. 

"Talk back," Spence grunted, annoyed. "You've deviated from your template. Yet for God knows what reason my [i]esteemed[/i] colleagues don't seem at all concerned about your flagrant disregard for authority." The mood shifted like a chill had passed through an open window. Any chatter came to an abrupt end, as if the whole room had stopped to hear what happened next. Somebody at the other end of the lab stifled a cough and caught a punch in the arm for it.

"I, however, am very concerned."

The doctor signaled for them to begin. Mechanisms within the throne began to turn. Its top slid open, allowing a crown of thousand tangled wires to rise up from inside it. Spence reached forward and guided it over Subject 13's head. The band bent and melded itself to fit tight around the boy's skull. The crown hissed and sparked. A horrible pressure began to build in his hippocampus, like someone had wrapped a hand around that part of his brain and squeezed.

A chair was rolled up for Spence to sit on, an assistant- Tana- handing her a clipboard and pen. She went to work filling out the necessary information before they could begin their session. "You already know how this goes. I'm going to ask you a series of questions and you're going to answer them honestly. If the machine feels you lying it will induce psychic feedback. Are you ready to begin?" 

A sinking feeling gnawed at Superboy's gut, accompanied by but a single thought: [i]'I don't think she liked my joke.'[/i]
[/indent]