SUMMARY: The sequel to "Inquisitor". This story will serve as a prequel to the clash of empires between Luthor and Wayne. Lex Luthor and Bruce Wayne have set aside their differences to rebuild Metropolis in the aftermath of Dark Thursday. Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce's butler (and a former MI6 agent) is missing. As Clark faces the fallout of his broken friendship with Lex, could an even greater conspiracy threaten to ignite the Wayne-Luthor rivalry into a war? Bruce and Lex have been friends since childhood. Will Lex's quest for power conflict with Bruce's own mysterious agenda? Clark, Bruce and Lex are set on irreversible paths. Fate has no favourites: Bruce and Lex will either find salvation … or their own destruction.

Disclaimer: These stories have developed an inner continuity since "Trophy", where past events may affect future developments. (ie. Clark met Bruce Wayne in 2001, Lex and Bruce were schoolchums in boarding school, Oliver Queen met Clark three years ago and there is bad blood between Alfred Pennyworth and Lionel Luthor.) Dramatic license prevails over strict interpretation of show -or comics- canon in most cases.

TITLE: "Nightshade"

PG-13

PART 1

A hideous explosion echoed on the other line of the US Army transmitter. Chloe broke her radio silence and screamed, despite Alfred's instructions to remain quiet while the mission was active. Alfred and his handpicked team of operatives were only 50 km from Poland's eastern border with Belarus: his last communications confirmed that the mission was a success.

Now, there was only the eerie crackle of dead static.

"Drummer Girl to Falconer … do you copy, Falconer?" Chloe repeated frantically several times, using the John Le Carre novel-inspired code name Alfred had assigned her and Alfred's MI6 alias.

Clark took a deep breath. He had known Alfred Pennyworth for over five years and the Kents considered the butler as one of their best friends. Could he be gone forever?

"He's … he's gone, Chloe," Clark struggled to utter the words. Alfred and his team were in mid-flight and were approaching the Polish border when they came under fire from anti-aircraft batteries. He was certain that it was an explosion.

"No, Clark," Chloe refused to accept it. "It's a technical malfunction! Maybe his plane got caught in some turbulence, maybe Belarus security forces jammed his frequency, maybe the USAF are escorting him into Poland …" Her explanations came out in staccato bursts.

"Chloe," Clark pleaded, as he rested a hand on her shoulder. "He knew the risks, better than anyone …" His words were meant to comfort her, but it had the opposite effect. Chloe wanted to help Alfred: he was her friend, one of her closest.

I could have done more, she told herself. I could have stopped him from going to eastern Europe.

"He's not dead," Chloe muttered in disbelief. "Alfred's … not … dead."

How could it end like this? Clark thought. Alfred Pennyworth is dead. He tried to make sense of the chaos, as his mind travelled back to the events of the past few weeks ...


Chloe had gone to the Planet to look up archived stories about government-sponsored clandestine military operations.

With Lex and Lana at the fundraising gala in Luthor Commerce Square, Clark thought it would be safe to visit Lionel Luthor at the estate. Lionel was reading the Gotham Gazette in the library. The front page depicted Bruce's visit to WayneTech's plant in Metropolis. When he told Lionel about the Checkmate Protocols and Alfred's long absence, Lionel shrugged.

"I hear young Bruce has come to mark his territory again in Metropolis," Lionel sneered, pointing at the photo of Bruce in painter's overalls. "See how happy he is painting WayneTech's walls? A man of the people." Lionel poured the red wine decanter and refilled his glass. "As if he's ever suffered like the people of Metropolis!"

"Bruce just wants to help Metropolis," Clark insisted. "Anyway, I came to find out if you know anything about these Checkmate Protocols."

"Your source, Mr. Munch, is an extremely dangerous man," Lionel declared, wagging his finger at Clark. "He's a crackpot UFO bounty hunter – but he's still dangerous. Unfortunately he may be right. My sources on Capitol Hill tell me that the political climate is ripe for the rise of a new order. The adherents of these Checkmate Protocols are tired of what they perceive as a lack of political will and moral clarity among their co-workers in Congress, the Pentagon, Homeland Security and other critical agencies. If they are indeed active, a quiet bureaucratic coup d'etat may already be under way. If, as you say, Alfred has chosen to stand against them – your favourite butler may already be dead. These people are that powerful." Lionel swirled the red wine in his glass, then took another sip as he settled on the grand piano's bench. "Alfred always was a bit of crusader. Was he naïve? Maybe, He had common sense, though it appears it's deserted him if he thinks he can stop these Checkmate zealots. Why he chose to waste his time and talents coddling that overgrown frat boy Bruce Wayne is beyond me!"

"Why do you hate the Waynes so much?" Clark demanded. "Are you jealous of what they've done with their wealth to help people?"

Lionel smiled. "Ah, the arrogance of youth! It's a bit more complicated than jealousy, Clark. Don't believe everything you've heard from Lex. Thomas Wayne and I weren't always mortal enemies." Lionel pulled out his wallet and thumbed through a few photos of Lillian, Lucas, a senator and a mayor. He tugged at an older, black-and-white photo and handed it to Clark.

Clark's eyes widened. It showed a much younger Lionel (with a shaggy 1970s mane), Thomas Wayne and his fair-haired girlfriend on the deck of a yacht. The coastline in the background could have been the French Riviera, or perhaps the Mediterranean.

"You were friends with Thomas Wayne?" Clark wondered.

"This was long before I met Lillian," Lionel said. "But that's in the past." He covered his mouth, as he considered how much had changed in his relationship with Wayne Manor. His finger lingered (perhaps too long) on the photo of Thomas' girlfriend: the future Martha Wayne. He quickly tucked the photo into his wallet, but Clark had already noticed.

"You had a thing for her?" Clark blurted. "Lex never told me about this before!"

Lionel played a few incoherent notes on the piano. "I see you've picked up Miss Sullivan's nosiness for other people's business! When I knew Tom Wayne, he had just completed his research on artificial heart valve technology and was still living off the family's railway fortunes. One thing he lacked was the social graces required of the jet-set. That's where Martha fit in. She wasn't your typical Ivy League New Englander, either. She was vivacious, enchanting and effortlessly gracious. I was infatuated …"

"And?" Clark inquired impatiently.

"That's none of your concern," Lionel stated emphatically. "Or Bruce's for that matter! I lost and Thomas won her over. He proceeded to transform his family's company into a global empire. He represented the old order: power by privilege. I vowed that I would never assume anything by entitlement. I would earn my place by my own efforts. Thomas and I …" Lionel struggled to form the next few words. "… we had our differences and we never spoke again. I was uninvited from the wedding. In a few years, Martha would be with child …" Lionel began to pour another glass of wine from the decanter, but he paused. He remembered one glorious cruise on the French Riviera, with a good friend from Gotham, a bottle of wine and an incredible woman he has lost to a Wayne.

"I'm sorry, Clark," Lionel said, returning to his former reticence. "You overestimate my influence in the halls of power. There's nothing I can do about Alfred. If you say that Checkmate may be after him, he's as good as dead." Lionel straightened his blazer and got up.

Clark grabbed his arm before Lionel could leave. "How can you just brush him off like that?" he glared. "Alfred's the only family Bruce has left. Your issues were with Thomas Wayne, not his son! If Martha Wayne once meant so much to you, how can you just sit here and do nothing!"

Lionel glowered at Clark. "Don't presume that you understand me, just because you've gained some of my confidence. Thomas was an arrogant fool, and it was his stubbornness that led him to walk through Crime Alley and to his death! Martha, however, deserved better. She didn't have to die like that, to die in the gutter. I mourned her death – don't you ever presume otherwise!" He turned away, horrified at his memories of that fateful day. The TV cameras descended like locusts, capturing for eternity the grisly blood-stained scene. Martha's pearl necklace had been ripped off her neck, only to be tossed aside in panic once the killer had shot her.

"I didn't choose to be Thomas Wayne's enemy," Lionel said, as he tried to conceal his bitterness. "He chose to be mine. Despite all his faults, Thomas was a man of principle, a visionary. As far as I'm concerned, Bruce doesn't deserve to bear his father's name. Cavorting with playmates and racing sports cars against Bavarian princelings on the Autobahn is hardly the legacy one would expect from the son of a Wayne."

"You don't know Bruce like I do," Clark protested. He didn't want to admit it, but he began to question if he really did know Bruce Wayne. Bruce never told him why he travelled on these foreign sabbaticals or studied relentlessly, all this on top of the burdens of running a global corporation.

Lionel gave in to his impulse and poured another glass of wine. "I suspect that you know far less about Bruce than you realize. You could never be part of his world. You're simply too good for it. You would be a lamb among wolves." He walked to the library shelf and paused at the Roman centurion helmet on a pedestal. "Leave the decadence to the decadent," he continued. "Let them revel in their aimless circuses. Gotham was supposed to be the "new Rome": that's what Wayne's forefathers said when they turned old Gotham Town into the transportation hub of the East Coast. Like Rome, it will fall. It already has! My obligation to the Waynes ended when Thomas severed our friendship all those years ago. I blame Alfred for letting Bruce squander his family's honour on pinup models and extravagant adventures. If Alfred has met his maker, it's of his own doing." Lionel was angry that Clark had prompted him to recall painful memories from his past about the Waynes and he resented that he had (briefly) dropped his guard.

"Alfred's a resourceful man," Clark said, "He's alive and we'll find him – even without your help."

Lionel no longer listened to him. "You've invited yourself here so many times, I've lost count. I'm sure you can show yourself out." Lionel gulped the last drop of wine from his glass, and waved his hand dismissively. "Good day to you, Clark. Please send my regards to your mother."

After Clark had left, Lionel pulled out his wallet again and found the photo of himself, Thomas and Martha. His eyes beamed as he looked upon the dazzling smile of the future Mrs. Wayne.

"You stupid fool," Lionel said, and he wondered if his insult was directed at Thomas – or at himself. Why did Thomas have to go to Crime Alley that night? Why did Martha have to die? He was convinced that Martha Wayne had been the only beacon of light in the decrepit alleys of Gotham City. He raised his empty glass in the air. "To Martha Wayne: a toast," he uttered quietly. "You deserved a better fate than this."

Bruce had suffered too, but he wilfully forgot that detail. Lionel also neglected his attempts to smear Thomas Wayne's legacy after the murders (with tasteless and salacious tales that Lionel had plastered on LuthorMedia's tattle sheets across the continent and in Europe to fuel his emerging media assets). Bruce was a charlatan and a playboy: an impostor unworthy of the Wayne name. If Martha Wayne were alive, Lionel thought, Bruce could have been groomed into a great man. One who could have fulfilled their family's centuries-old ambition to elect a Wayne to public office.

Now, Alfred's blind loyalty to Thomas' idealism might have cost the butler his own life.

Lionel shook his head again. You stupid fool.


End of Part 1. To be continued in Part 2.