Dr. Hugo Strange’s other prisoner was fattening up nicely. He was growing so big, so fast, that the top part of his unusually stretchy uniform couldn’t keep pace with it and had to be removed. Strange’s backers, who watched Strange’s sessions with him via encrypted webcast, were unhappy with that development, but there was nothing that could be done. Strange knew that the subject would be wearing even less in the future, though, so he didn’t understand the fuss. Some tiresome, petty notion of humiliation, he supposed.
As he entered the cell, dinner was being served. Unlike Bruce Wayne/Batman, however, Clark Kent/Superman did not have to suffer the indignity of a feeding tube. Strange had reprogrammed many of his less important subjects as drones, to attend to Kent’s every need. In his current state, Kent could not directly comprehend what was happening to him, but Strange’s studies had shown that the man’s brain was subconsciously registering the sensation of being constantly pampered. His ever-growing beard was conditioned and styled, with his mustache waxed into a perfect handlebar. Sponge baths were followed up with massages. He was anointed with subtle, intriguing colognes. His nails were obsessively manicured. Rich foods like foie gras, Kobe beef and beluga caviar were hand-fed to his motionless body with sterling silver utensils, and a selection of top-shelf bourbons and finely-aged wines were given to him in crystal goblets. Likewise, Strange addicted his subject to pipe smoking using only the most expensive tobaccos and quality briars and Meerschaums from his own collection.
This preferential treatment helped to cement the new personality Strange was crafting in him. Kent/Superman had experienced little trauma in his heretofore sunny life, giving Strange but a paltry amount to use in breaking him down. Worse still, the subject was obsessed with the values of altruism and self-sacrifice. To turn him into the type of man desired by Strange’s backers, Strange had to reverse that. Inventing new personality traits wholesale proved too difficult. Strange finally cracked the problem by turning the shining lights of those values inward: away from the public and onto Kent himself. Slowly, steadily, Strange was transforming Kent into a first-class narcissist. It followed, then, that for Kent to fully love himself, he had to be paranoid, hateful, and dismissive of all others.
Recent interviews with Strange’s deeply hypnotized patient had shown that Kent now saw the general public as vastly inferior to himself, and as mere tools to be used for his own advancement. And pleasure. The aging qualities of the brainwashing chemicals had already ravaged Kent’s face. With the new personality taking hold, Strange had the added satisfaction of watching the hero’s noble visage gradually sour into a mask of arrogance and cruelty. His eyes grew hooded and cold, while his mouth was twisted into an expression of unalloyed disgust.
His prodigious strength, unchecked by his personality, caused many problems in the beginning, and Strange had been forced to dispose of several critically-injured drone bodies. Prolonged absence from direct sunlight weakened him, thankfully. It was the only thing which allowed Strange’s drones to trim his nails and cut his hair. To be safe, Strange had installed a series of mental blocks to dampen in Kent’s mind, further dampening his powers. In his new role, the subject would think of himself only as a human. One who was exceptionally strong and fast, and whose eyes seemed to flash red when he was angered, but human all the same.
Strange dismissed the drone who had been feeding the subject lobster Thermidor. Before the drone could leave, though, Kent roughly hooked the unfortunate man’s arm, drawing him back to him and forcing him down to his knees. There was a painful-sounding cracking noise in the drone’s shoulders when Kent clamped his mighty hands onto them. It wasn’t the first time this had happened. And like always, Kent had been staring straight ahead, his eyes unfocused the entire time. Strange decided to observe and see how things played out.
Kent accepted his pipe with impatience. Greedily, he puffed on it until his head was wreathed in a great cloud of smoke. Then, grunting, he guided the drone to stick his face on his crotch. After a few seconds of this, angrier grunts emerged from around the pipe stem, and Kent slapped the drone on the back of his head. Another dreadful cracking noise. Whimpering, the drone pulled the subject’s tights down as best he could, and started to give him a blowjob. A triumphant smirk materialized on Kent’s corrupted face. He began to puff even faster on the pipe, keeping one hand on the back of the drone’s skull while teasing and torturing his own nipples with the other.
This went on for roughly forty-five minutes, with the drone periodically making gagging, choking sounds. When at last Kent released his grip on the drone, the man collapsed on the floor. His mouth and nose were overflowing with cum, his skull scratched and bruised, his eyes mad and as dislocated from reality as Kent’s own.
Knowing the roles that Kent and Wayne would ultimately assume, Strange now could not wait for them to meet.