Lex is a man who grew up in poverty and pulled himself out of it. He became so hopelessly enmeshed in his own dismal future that he lost the ability to love or have compassion, so he decided the only way to live in this world was to control everything around himself. Think Batman if Batman hadn't had rich parents. So he fought with the neighborhood kids (Perry White being one of them) and he ended up running petty thug schemes and taking money from good people to profit for himself. He studied and became brilliant, and finally hatched a scheme to kill both of his parents. He used the money provided by their death to amass his empire. Thereafter, eh became unstoppable. Irredeemable.
This much…has become clear to me. Thanks to Tim Drake, and Luthor's own revelations about himself—all of them questionably unintentional. He didn't intend for me to find out anything about him, his past, or acts he committed in the name of "progress."
But he did.
He laid it all out. He kidnapped and terrorized a defenseless boy. Encoded a false signal about Lois Lane across the city to attract Superman's attention. Had Hope contact me saying that Jesse was assaulted in the streets, when she did it herself. She was a pawn of the great Lex Luthor.
The great beneficent Lex Luthor. The all-knowing, all-seeing Wizard of Oz.
And I fucking fell for it.
"Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain!"
Yeah, well, I did.
And it was going to cost me my life.
Luthor's finger wrapped around the trigger. And squeezed. In a flash, his hand was empty. Instead of firing a bullet into Allen O'Neill's head, Lex Luthor had done nothing more than make a fist. He stared disbelievingly at his clenched hand before him, his hand shaking angrily from the pressure he applied. The tendons stood taught against his skin. He looked up to the ceiling, his head rolled around the room slowly, looking for an answer. The conclusion was easily reached.
Superman had taken his gun. In less than a blink of an eye.
"Superman!" Luthor bellowed irately. The room was empty. Luthor glanced at the ceiling, and let his eyes rove around in their sockets. "Why not come out where I can see you?"
Superman appeared. It wasn't like he just materialized out of thin air. He…blurred into the room, like an out-of-focus projector. He was there. Staring Lex Luthor in the face. Few people had done it without calling off their dogs. Superman had nothing to be afraid of. Not from Luthor. Not when your skin can withstand rounds fired from an arcane Hungarian Mauser.
No, Superman had nothing to fear. Luthor could not harm him.
"Hyper-revolution," Luthor said plainly. "Utilizing your super speed to such a great velocity that you render yourself invisible. Curious. As to why you'd do it. Why not just come in and kick the shit out of me, send me to jail and reap what you've sown, Man of Steel?"
Superman stood motionless. "Because I don't want to."
"Right," Luthor said dubiously. "No use in doing something if you don't want to, eh, Superman? Tell me, how do I look from behind those glaring red eyes? From there it must look like I'm not playing by the rules."
Luthor stopped and inspected his fingernails. A grimace creased across his face and he came back to Superman. "This game has no rules, Man of Steel."
"Harming an innocent child?" Superman said quietly. It was still loud enough for Luthor to hear. "Is that a rule? Or just some sick incentive?"
Luthor's mouth curled up in an amused rictus. "Seduction of the innocent, Superman? Am I really that transparent?"
"Not anymore," Superman said confidently.
"Oh please," Lex said grimly, standing his ground. "You are not so big as to think you can sway events simply by saying so. That, my dear country cousin, is irresponsible…but predictable."
It came in an instant. Superman's hand shot forth from his body, wrapped itself strongly itself around Luthor's neck and hoisted the billionaire in the air.
"Let him go. Both of them.
Luthor was silent.
"I will rip you in two," Superman growled through gritted teeth.
"No you won't," Luthor challenged weakly. Oxygen was fleeing his brain rapidly.
Superman set Luthor down slowly, and stared at him.
"You're a monster," the Man of Steel muttered incredulously.
Luthor winced. "Who's the more monstrous? Dr. Frankenstein or his creation?" he murmured cryptically. He was trying to bait Superman; distract his focus simply by talking.
With a simple flick of his wrist, the Man of Steel had thrown Luthor violently into an assembly of machinery. Luthor slammed into the machinery—what looked like an oversized MRI machine--at an angle; his left arm flattened itself agaisnt the cold metal, and I barely made out a snap. Lex's arm was probably broken. Heslid to the ground with a dull thud, and clutched his left arm tightly.
I stood, and massaged my aching shoulder gently, still observing the situation keenly, and moved to Superman's side.
The chances of you repenting are slim, if nonexistent. How you do it, I don't know. I don't want to know how you get through the day. How you sleep at night…with all that you've done."
Luthor brought his head up to see Superman and, next to him, me. He stretched his neck to one side, and the sound of once-tense vertebrae cracking into place pierced the silence.
"You really aren't worth the effort," Superman said.
Through the pain shooting up and down Lex's left arm, his open fist tightened. He winced in pain, and growled.
"All these years, and you keep trying, and for what? Some master scheme of glory. Domination. You're tired, Lex. A one-trick wonder whose motivation is misguided and outmoded. Someone will always be ready and willing to take over your spot, Lex. Always. You can never have it all because someone always wants more. You can never be immortal because someone always wants to destroy you.
"You idiot!" Luthor snapped. "You did this! You turned him against me!
Superman's brow furled on concentration. He was thrown off, if momentarily. "What?"
"You turned him against me. You turned them all against me. And you're going to burn for it!"
Luthor was talking in riddles. His grip on…the situation was slipping. Something's affected his mind.
"Lex…" Superman trailed off, his humanity taking over.
Lex's teeth clenched together and he scowled darkly. His psychosis, if it could be called that, was taking over. He reached a slow-moving hand into his jacket and writhed in momentary pain. It almost looked like he was clutching a broken rib.
"Well, Superman," Luthor grumbled ruefully, catching whisps of oxygen between words. "Why don't you get on with it? Put me in handcuffs and burn numbers into my forearm."
"No," Superman said, crossing his arms. "Not ever. That isn't my nature, and it never will be. You misjudge me, Lex. That…is your weakness."
"Your faith in humanity is yours," Luthor sneered. He moved his arm slowly inside the folds of his jacket. Like he was…reaching for something.
Oh God.
"What are you thinking, Man of Steel?" Luthor asked plainly. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small revolver. "A little contingency of mine. Tell me you saw it with that x-ray vision of yours."
Lex sounded oddly pleading.
"Put it down," Superman challenged. Why doesn't he just do what he did earlier. With the super-speed? Come on, Superman. Be a hero for once.
"Or what? You'll kill me? You don't have the guts. If you did you'd have done it years ago."
Superman stood firm. "There are four ways I can stop you."
"But you'd probably kill me in the process. And what's to say I won't turn the gun on myself?"
Jesus, I thought. It wasn't that he simply pulled another gun on us. It was how he did it. Slowly. Almost…methodically. I was too frozen to do…anything. My very breath felt short.
After a tense silence. Luthor cocked the gun and aimed it away from himself—into the darkness of the lab. I kept my gaze locked on Luthor, and not behind me…where it should have been.
"Save this, Superman." And he pulled the trigger.
The bullet shot from the gun in a spark, and pierced Jesse's spine in an instant—straight through one of the cervical vertebrae. Jesse lay on his side, beaten and half-conscious. The bullet struck his spine with frightening accuracy. His back jerked outward in shock, and then fell forward on the concrete. Blood spilled out of the wound like a burst dam.
Continued...
