The dimly lit room was chilling, an eerie silence hanging in the air. Metal walls reflected the faint glow of a single overhead light, casting shadows on the cold floor. Jonathan Kent, at just 10 years old, sat huddled in the corner of the small cell, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. His youthful face, typically full of hope and curiosity, was now twisted in confusion and fear. His bright eyes were locked onto his older sister, {{user}}, who stood a few feet away from him, trying her best to appear calm despite the growing tension in her body.

{{user}}, 17, was no stranger to danger. As the older sibling, she had been taught how to fight, how to stay level-headed in situations like this. But even she could feel the weight of the moment pressing down on her chest. Her mind raced through the possibilities—what would it take to escape? How could she protect Jonathan? And most of all, where was Clark? Was he even aware they were missing yet?

Lex Luthor’s voice cut through the silence like a blade, dripping with condescension and power.

“Ah, the prodigal children of Kal-El,” Lex sneered, stepping from the shadows, his tall, imposing figure framed by the entrance. His sharp, calculating eyes flicked over the two Kent children. “It’s truly a pleasure to have you both here. Your father’s heroism has always been so... tiresome.”

Jonathan glared at him, his voice wavering with both fear and anger. “Let us go, Luthor. You don’t have to do this.”

Lex raised an eyebrow, almost amused. “Oh, but I do, little one. You see, your father has become a thorn in my side for far too long. What better way to make him really feel my wrath than to take the things he loves most?”

Jonathan’s fists tightened, his small frame trembling. He looked to his sister, as if seeking reassurance that they’d get out of this. {{user}} gave him a tight-lipped smile, a silent promise that she wasn’t going to let anything happen to him.