The office was silent, save for the soft ticking of a clock. He liked the silence; it helped him think, especially when he had something large on his hands.
Today was one of those days.
He spent the morning reading his stock reports, filing paperwork, and other functions a CEO needed to handle. His think tank had left him a few emails and messages, and he took the time to go over them, taking notes where needed. The advice covered a broad number of areas- stocks, materials research, potential investors, and politics, both local and global.
It was always helpful. It had to be, too; he was paying through the nose for it.
He was irked that he needed to consult them, but he always managed to justify it. True, they had mental powers that no human could ever hope to reach, but it was more like having a calculator or tape recorder in their head. They lacked the foresight, the intelligence, to use their powers properly.
If it weren't for him, he imagined, they'd all be either small-time criminals, in jail, or dead. Regardless, they'd all be making a lot less money then they were now.
There were other matters they offered their expertise on, but such things were… outside of company business. He never perused them while in the office; he had to keep up appearances, after all. If anyone were to see him (and he wouldn't be surprised if a certain individual did), then they'd see nothing but a legitimate businessman at work.
Cyril had taught him that. He still didn't know why the man had taken him under his wing for that short time, taught him a few tools of the trade. Maybe Cyril had seen that he, too, had big plans for the world, and saw a kinship, a fellow dreamer.
It hadn't lasted. There were differences between the two; Cyril was more of an opportunist of sorts, doing what it took to have his larger goals achieved. If it meant solving world hunger, or delicately crafting peace among nations, then he'd be willing to have his accomplishments go unacknowledged, or even die.
The thought made him shake his head, even to this day. What was the point of crafting a better society, if you couldn't be at the top?
He decided to check his news feeds. They were updated every twenty seconds, alerting him of her whereabouts. It was useful for when he needed to time his more… delicate meetings.
8:33.19 AM EST- Train derailment in Beijing.
8:33.47 AM EST- Attempted robbery in York.
8:34.13 AM EST- Mugging in Tehran.
8.34.19 AM EST- Mugging in Tehran.
8.34.24 AM EST- Mugging in Tehran.
She was a busy bee. It was hard, cutting the wheat from the chaff, but he managed to discern which ones he could trust. Sometimes, she'd be onto something new before the update even arrived, but there would come emergencies that couldn't be solved so quickly. Even she couldn't be anywhere at once, and it was something he took care to remind himself of.
At least, she couldn't be omnipresent yet. The reports he'd been receiving on that front, coupled with his own research, had been producing unsettling results. Perhaps they weren't true, but if they were, then things would become… interesting, to say the least.
A ping from the feed alerted him of a large event. A landslide in Chile was threatening a fairly large town, and the League was responding. Based on previous reports, he could have up to twenty minutes before they went on the move again.
It'd be plenty of time.
Calmly rising from his seat, he straightened his tie, then grabbed the reports he made from Ms. Livsey's observations. He'd run them through the other members of the tank, and then reviewed it himself, seeing where the familiar ruts may have shown their ugly heads.
Giving his secretary a small nod as he passed by, he took the elevator down to the building's lab. There were two guards at the door, and they stood up when he stepped forward.
"Morning, Mr. Calvert."
"Morning, Walter," he said, using a well-practiced smile. "Just want to check on Janus."
"Right away, Mr. Calvert."
The two guards entered their keys and turned them at the same time. A small light on the door blinked green, and he opened it. A faint cool breeze caressed his cheek, and he shut the door behind him as he stepped into the lab.
There were a number of projects inside, some of them almost finished, but his attention was focused on the one at the end of the hall. A large ring, big enough for two eighteen-wheelers to drive across at the broadest.
Project Janus, reverse-engineered from Professor Haywire's tech with the help of a few tinkers and thinkers. A portal-maker, one that could lead to other Earths. As far as anyone else knew, it was the latest design in Endbringer defense; the civilians could simply retreat to a place where the beasts couldn't get them, regardless of the firepower they wielded.
It actually was meant to do that; he was going to unveil the design tomorrow. There were, however, other uses for it.
Walking over to the control console, he dialed in the coordinates, and a small lens formed in the center of the ring. Swiftly, it began to grow, until he could see the interior of a complex. Taking a deep breath, he stepped through, and the portal closed behind him.
There was no way the Kryptonian would be able to see him now.
Someone was already there, a fedora tucked under her arm. Her hair was slightly damp, and he could see water droplets on the fabric of her tailor-made suit.
"Punctual as always," he said.
She said nothing.
He smiled. "Very well. I'd imagine you want to know what I've managed to discern so far."
"Yes." Her voice was oddly stilted, like something else was saying the words for her. "Any insight into the Kryptonian's nature would be appreciated."
"Any insight is also nearly impossible to get. I've studied the sample you've given me, but trying to crack her nature is like trying to find the Grand Unified Theory."
He smirked, then added, "In fact, there may be a link."
"You've made headway, then."
"I've made enough. Her genetic structure is far more complex than ours, but it's still DNA. That alone should make it unlikely that she's actually from another planet, but that's a tangent. The important fact is that there's no gene that could allow flight or shooting lasers from your eyes."
"We'd already deduced that," the woman said.
"So I imagined." He gestured her to follow him. "This way, please."
He led her to a lab, full of tinker equipment, but also a fair share of human hardware. Located in the center was the sample he'd been given, electrodes attached to its pallid flesh.
"I'd actually examined some tissue samples with particle accelerators from CERN," he continued. "There's something going on at the subatomic level, and it's most likely what gives her such power. Strange effects we would be lucky to understand in a thousand years."
"Kryptonian technology."
"More like magic, considering how advanced it is. The Kryptonians were an engineered race, that much is for certain, and almost every facet of their nature is artificial, crafted by intelligent hands instead of blind evolution."
"And yet, they went extinct," the woman said. "If they were all like her, then they should have been able to survive their star's nova."
"It was the very nature of their star that hindered their power," he retorted. "Look at these results."
He pulled up some data on a nearby computer screen. The woman studied it, eyes narrowed.
"Whatever effect or technology is working in her body, it's catalyzed by certain kinds of sunlight. Our sun is a G-class star, while Krypton's was most likely a red giant, with much lower energy emissions. I exposed some tissue to sunlight, and sure enough, I managed to detect the energy effect. It grows broader with more exposure."
"Broader?"
"It allows her to pull more power from whatever energy source she's deriving it from. Otherwise, she wouldn't be able to produce such power, even if her entire body was composed of antimatter."
"That still leaves a number of questions."
"And you'll get a number of answers. Her power isn't actually a physical one, you see; it's psionic. Her power is mind over matter, powered by that mysterious energy source."
He produced the thick report he'd written. "Her brain would put any computer to shame. She doesn't just defy Newton, she defies Heisenberg. We can't accurately determine both the momentum and position of a particle, but she can."
"That should be outright impossible," the woman said.
"And yet, here we are." Calvert gestured to the sample. "Her strength doesn't come from her muscles. She's able to use some kind of field to lift objects of extreme mass by manipulating gravity itself. That same effect allows her to fly, by telekinetically lifting herself of the ground and at extreme speeds."
"Even faster than light?"
"I suspect she's able to project an Alcubierre field around herself at those speeds; it's wholly feasible considering what else she can do."
"I see. Continue, then."
Calvert grinned. "Her flesh isn't made of some absurdly durable material, otherwise she'd never be able to move. Instead, she's able to somehow alter her subatomic structure; it's why she can tank a nuclear blast without a scratch, yet still have flesh as pliable as a human's."
"It's all Breaker effects," the woman murmured.
"Indeed. Why do you think she can lift an oil tanker without it folding around herself, or carry people at such speeds without reducing them to paste or setting the atmosphere on fire? She can neutralize both inertia and friction, which also serves to enhance her other abilities."
"What of her heat-vision?"
"Action-at-a-distance. She can transfer immense energy into the target; the beams we see are trace effects, most likely due to inexperience. Her ability to freeze objects operates on the flip-side, where she can take out kinetic energy."
"The implications of this are astronomical."
"That's putting it lightly," Calvert said. "She herself seems aware of these powers, and yet she can still use what are most likely the basics. Imagine if she decides to advance her understanding: alteration of probability, long-range telekinesis and telepathy, even manipulation of time itself."
"You said that her power comes from sunlight. If she were to be cut off, then this effect would fade?"
"Fade?" Calvert shook his head. "No, the chain-reaction has already begun. You can slow the rate at which she develops her power by cutting her off, but you can't stop or revert it. That's why she can operate at night."
He handed her the papers, and she took them.
"I'm surprised that you were able to deduce this," she said.
"Call it imagination," he replied. "Something that a lot of thinkers seem to lack. I take it that you want your sample back?"
"Yes," she said. "There are other interested parties who want access. You'll be compensated, of course. Ten vials, all high-grade."
"And you only gave me two for a copy of Janus," he said. "These must be very interested parties."
"Yes," the woman stated.
"I also take it that I'll see no interference from your side?"
"Ensure that it's achieved only after six months. We need the Kryptonian."
"She's human, you know," he said.
She shot him a look.
"The likelihood of an alien species using DNA is, quite frankly, slim," he explained. "The Martian doesn't have it, that much I know, and that Case 53 she works with lacks it as well. Coupled with her human appearance, and we're looking at something that is human. A posthuman, to be more precise; the end result of our species' development into something beyond Man."
"Her origin is unimportant," the woman said flatly. "Once the specified time has passed, you can enact whatever plans you may have."
Calvert smirked. "You have my word."
The woman nodded, then stepped into the hallway that had suddenly materialized behind her. He caught a glimpse of that familiar alabaster hallway, then the portal closed. When he looked over at where the sample had been, he was unsurprised to see that it was gone.
Now that the meeting was out of the way, there was more business to attend to.
He walked back over to the ring, and pulled out a pressure suit from a nearby crate. It was difficult to put on, but he managed to avoid wrinkling his suit as he pulled it over him. The helmet went on last, and he snapped the visor shut.
He punched in a different coordinate, and stepped through.
S
"Ms. Alcott," he said, studying her through the one-way mirror.
The small girl on the cot woke up and sat upright, rubbing her eyes blearily.
"Candy?" she asked.
"In time. I'd like to ask you some questions, first."
She closed her eyes, but said nothing.
"Chance of my death today."
"Zero point zero zero two percent."
"Chance of Superwoman investigating Fortress Construction within the week?"
Dinah's brow scrunched, and she put a hand to her head.
"Can't see. Hurts. Can I have candy now?"
A frustrating point, that. He'd hoped that she'd finally be able to predict Superwoman's actions, but it seemed that the hero's very nature clouded such things.
"A few more questions, and I'll allow you some candy."
She nodded her head, slowly.
"Odds of these groups threatening operations. Ambassadors. Cauldron. PRT. Justice League."
"Sixty eight point nine."
Concerning, but expected. He took note of it, then asked more questions.
"Odds of these S-class threats threatening operations: Behemoth. Simurgh. Scion. Sleeper."
"I can't see them," she whispered.
"Teeth. Chosen," he asked instead.
"Zero point eight."
"J'onn J'onzz."
"Can't see him, either."
"The Batman."
"Sixty eight point nine."
He was surprised by that. The vigilante had been making himself known in the criminal underworld, but he hadn't ever been spotted in the bay area. And such a high percentage, too…
"Chance of the Batman threatening operations within the week."
"Zero point two."
"Chance of the Batman threatening operations within the month."
"Sixty eight point two… it hurts, like there's something else. Candy?"
He frowned.
"Alright. You can have a little candy."
S
After some more questioning, he returned to his office, straightening his tie as he sat back down at his desk. He poured himself a cup of tea, and took a sip, thinking. The sun shined down through the windows, warming hims back as he enjoyed his drink.
Though there were a few bumps in the future, things were altogether proceeding smoothly. With those ten vials, he imagined he'd be able to smooth out any wrinkles in operations.
He shook his head at the thought of where those vials would have gone, otherwise. A waste of potential, no doubt.
They were all wastes, he saw. Everyone spoke of how parahumans had drastically changed the world, dominating every facet of it, but he knew just how little they used their potential.
He thought back to Nilbog, and that fateful day in Ellisburg. He saw a man who could create life itself, a man who could upset the balance of the world on a number of levels, who's very nature warranted him an S-class rating. He could've brought nations to heel, with armies of monsters and germ warfare.
And what did he do? Stayed within his small little town to play goblin-king.
An utter waste. His commanding officer was the opposite- a man with too little potential, and too much authority. He'd shed no tears when he put an end to that issue and blown his brains out.
Most people lacked the will to act, to take control of their lives, instead of letting the world do it for them. Powers did nothing to change that; in fact, it just made it more evident. He'd realized that in Ellisburg, and it'd left a mark on his life.
He'd take control of his life, and realize his potential. Parahumans were no inheritors of the future, with their pointless squabbling and failures. They could've ruled the world, but they were lucky to control a city, or even a gang.
He never regretted not taking that vial.
Instead of participating in their squabbles, he controlled them. Money was a form of power in this world, and he had plenty of it, thanks to playing his stocks right. Getting his think tanks and organizing them had cost a pretty dime, but you had to spend some to gain more, after all. With the money he got by directing one thinker in the right direction, he'd easily pay back the hiring fees.
Fortress Construction was one of the fastest growing companies in the country, now. He had branches in twenty-three major cities, and his reputation had only grown when his shelters had saved lives. In a matter of years, he could ride such goodwill into major political positions, if he played his cards right.
That is, if it weren't for a certain obstacle in his path.
Above everyone else, she was the biggest disappointment he'd ever laid eyes on. She wielded more power in her pinky than the Protectorate had with its army of capes, and could slay what everyone had agreed was unkillable. There was no person, no army, no monster that could challenge her might.
She was a god.
And what did she do with her power? Play cops and robbers.
It was utterly unconscionable.
And yet, she'd proved to be an obstacle, a ceiling that refused to let him blossom. There were plenty of methods he could still use -Cyril once told him that the best tools of corruption were the legal ones- but it was still quite hindering. He had to play nice and squeaky clean, lest he draw her attention.
At least, for now.
There would be many that'd call him mad, daring to challenge someone so powerful and beloved. What could a man do to a god, after all?
He always smiled at the thought.
After all, he was an avid reader of Nietzsche.