This world is corrupted.
Rats crowd my streets, chattering and squealing for their fill, as though they have worked for anything more than the scraps dropped by society's good graces.
And here I stand, alone atop the pillar of strength, ingenuity, and determination that I have built from the tools left to me by my progenitors: paragons of social justice. But these gifts, my wisdom, their justice, have come at a cost. And I live with this price, every day, unable to expunge my debt with all of the wealth in the world. I am alone: cursed to watch the filth of society cloud and stain the world that I have built.
The world that I have built!
Democracy is dragging the world toward doomsday.
There was a time when I believed in charity. There was a time when I believed in selflessness. There was a time when I believed in second chances. In my youth, I believed that my wealth was more than mine. A modern-day Marx was I! Generous and transparent and full of hope that those who had never been given the same chances as I had would one day pull themselves up and we would share a place in paradise.
What a foul, petulant, foolish child you are!
And then I looked, and I saw that the seals of Armageddon were being torn apart, releasing their curses upon what would have (what should have!) been the bastions of justice and truth for our world, and the scroll of my innocence was then sour to my tongue.
As I bled the good graces of my family out from my empire and into the rabble, I had hoped that they would clothe themselves in righteousness to match my own. But then, they burned my generosity at their stakes of incompetence, and had the slithering gall to come begging me for more. And when I reached out to crush them beneath my heel, I found them shielded by bureaucrats of the great Nanny State of America, who lashed out at me, trying to bleed me of all my worth under the guise of justice. Alone and defeated, I was forced to come limping back to the haven of my birth with naught but shame to show for my "good deeds."
The filthy sophomoric drudge of a dreamer. WHAT IS YOUR NAME?
My name. I know my name.
My name is Victory, and my name is Justice.
I rebuilt from the ruins of my own idealism. I restored my family's honor with my own two hands. I have become a titan of industry, of strength, of will. And it is I alone who can see the truth of this world.
Generosity is a curse. Democracy is a lie. God shuffles his feet pitifully in the presence of the true master of the world. There is only one path to truth, justice, and the American way: power.
I have the power.
I am Lex Luthor. And this world is mine.
