Superboy<br/>Location: Mt. Justice<br/>Tagged: Open<br/><hr/>"There is no suggestion. Project Cadmus created me to be a living weapon. In the event he died, I was to replace. If he went rogue, I was to eliminate." Superboy said, words clipped and terse with the effort of keeping his emotions in check. "Project Cadmus is a clandestine organization specializing in genetic manipulation. They took Kryptonian DNA and spliced it with human genetic material to fill in damaged sequences. 'Spartoi' was an allusion only; there is nothing mystical about me beyond the reference of Project's name." Superboy looked down at his hand. If he were not a flawed, imperfect creation he would have been able to see more than flesh; he would have been able to see his own DNA. As it was, however, his flesh proved impermeable to his vision and he saw nothing more than his own skin.<br/><br/>"Of course." Superboy said coldly when she stated he could not expect to have anything that he did not earn himself. Was that the way of things? To earn a father's love? To strive and struggle so that so that he could mean enough to someone who would care enough to show him comfort and kindness to quiet down the sound and fury of his anger in a world that had no use for him beyond the pragmatic intentions of his creators, to whom he was nothing more than a more complex gun? Superboy followed that line of thought: what had anyone on this planet done to earn<em>his</em>efforts? Why should Superboy be on this team? What had anyone on this planet done to earn Superboy spending an iota of time trying to learn to protect them? The answer was nihilistic. They had done nothing. The only people to whom he owed anything were the scientists of Project Cadmus. Had they not earned an unthinking killing machine of blood and flesh for their act of creation? The reality was that Superboy had only one other place to go besides this cave: back to Cadmus's labs, and back into the incubation tube where he had developed. He could just surrender to Cadmus programming and be the weapon they wanted to be. It seemed to be the fairest option, after all. Superboy had not earned the right to self-determination. It seemed more attractive. By the time he proved worthy of wearing the symbol of Earth's greatest hero, there would be nothing for<em>him</em>to teach, no hardships<em>he</em>could ease.<br/><br/>"The training area is this way." The flawed clone said, tone and inflection present earlier bled away to leave behind something hollow and gutted. He bent down and picked up the discarded shirt. Maybe he would destroy it later, or find a way to remove the 'S' symbol. It was a child's dream to think that he meant anything to<em>him</em>. And Superboy had not earned the luxury of indulging in childish things. Maybe Wonder Girl would follow, or maybe she would not, but Superboy did not bother to look to see if she did - he would be able to hear her following just fine, and even if she did not choose to follow Superboy did not care. The sharpness of his anger was replaced by the dull pang of apathy. He came to a doorway in the exercise area, and depressed a button on the wall to open it. The doorway revealed a hallway that Superboy traversed, coming in due course to the training area. It was, at the moment, in its plainest state. It was not configured to simulate any particular environment, and it had a sterile, too clean feel as each surface reflected light a little too well. At least, that is how Superboy felt. In the center there was a blue area upon the floor, an ad-hoc ring for sparring.<br/><br/>Superboy entered the area and did not say anything. There was no need, and he felt no urge.