A shot story where an older Man teach Superman a lesson.
It seemed an almost ludicrous matchup. On one side of the chamber, a small but lithe older man assumed a boxer’s crouch. Facing him, or more truthfully rising to his full upright height and towering over him by a good head or two, was the most powerful being in the entire Universe.
They brought him around with a several sharp slaps, and a few cold wet washcloths. Still bound, he looked around in fear, his eyes desperate, trying to assess his situation—suddenly as if sober, and very much in his right mind. The penetrating shock to his system had done that. He must get help. And now! Or sensed he was irrevocably doomed. Must be free of the Kryptonite, the drugs, his captors, what they had done to him! But how?! The searing burn in his breasts was horrific.
He found the package and opened it, while Adam looked over his shoulder waiting expectantly. Dennis simply smiled, and dropped the contents of the package onto the desk. Out spilled a pair of dull, glowing green shackles, neck chain, ankle cuffs, and a small medicine container.
