Conner gets serious for a moment...
My knees hurt. They always do. I tell myself it's a growth spurt, even though that's not possible. I've been standing for too damn long. Waiting for him to say something. Anything.
Luthor.
He looks unnaturally concerned…for the scum of the earth.
That said, he still dresses to the nines. He wears dark, primary colors; a dark black suit with matching trousers and shiny Italian boots. Beneath the broad shoulders and dark jacket, he wears a maroon Oxford with a black tie. A small diamond-studded tie-tack presses the tie neatly into his shirt. He's sitting in a low-rise chair. Like a red ottoman with high arms and a towering back support. The depth allows him to slouch a bit. He steeples his fingers, and stares at me coldly…like a bug in some tank.. Like he's just about the strongest man on the planet.
Sure, he isn't. But its fun to dream isn't it?
I came to him. Not the other way around. He didn't kidnap me or anything.
No. I came to him. And it wasn't hard, either. Not when you've got the powers of Superman, the eerie patience of Luthor himself, and the stamina of a running back. A few miles outside of Gotham City, there's a WayneTech warehouse sitting empty off a gravel road. It's what's beneath it that matters. Luthor's new lair. I found him on a simple flyover of the city. All it took was focusing in my hearing to the frequency of his voice. A low tenor like his stands out like a sore thumb.
By the time I got through the defenses, he was ready for me. He saw me coming. I don't know how, but he knew.
I need answers, and right now he's not giving me any. I might have to start playing dirty. I can do that.
"Why am I here?"
"You can have a seat if you wish," he says, disregarding my question. "You needn't be so rigid."
He's got a point. My posture is straight and stiff. My back arches outward, and I feel the muscles pulling tight. But I'm not letting my guard down. God knows what he's got waiting for me, and after that stunt at the White House a few months back, I'm not taking any chances. So I stand, arms clenched tightly at my side.
"I prefer to stand," I say pointedly.
"Fair enough."
"You still haven't answered my question."
"Quite so." Luthor thinks he's playing some damn game with me. That just because I came to him, he thinks he can walk all over me. We'll see. "What can I do for you, Conner?"
He lowers his steepled fingers bringing his rams to rest in his lap. I see his face now. He looks like the overpriced, overperfected end product of a line of kings. It's a pretty good trick, but I can see right through him. Because everyone knows Lex Luthor came from the gutters.
It's…admirable in some strange way. Through sheer willpower and a little malice, Luthor's made himself the best he can be. He built his own company from dirt, and got elected to the highest office in the land through halfway honest means. If I didn't know any better, I'd almost say he actually convinced America.
He's tall; even when seated. But he doesn't need to elevate himself above anyone. He demands attention—excellence—just by being someplace. He has credentials. A resume as long as any river, and an intelligence to match. Fierce, raging…and blue. Alright maybe not blue. But he's imposing. In every manner of the word.
His high-drawn eyebrows angle down sharply and make him look as if he's permanently pissed at the world. Though he's probably very pleased to see me.
"May I call you Conner?"
"Yes," I say hesitantly. "Conner's fine."
"Good. Then what is it I can do for you?"
He's nice. Too nice. Creepy. "I have…some questions."
"Cadmus," he says expectantly. He's obviously been waiting for this. Planning a long time in advance for the day I would finally show up and ask him what the hell was going on. Why he sent those emails to Tim. What does he want from me?
"Why am I here?"
"The question is vague, Conner. You might try expounding upon it."
"What was the point? What did any of you have to gain by cloning Superman?"
Luthor sighs noticeably and straightens himself in his seat. He's getting ready for some serious explanation.
"The exact nature of Project: Superboy is still something of a mystery," Luthor says. I can sense the disappointment in his voice. He's a man who likes results. When he doesn't get them, heads roll. I've heard enough ghost stories from Clark to know it. Luthor goes on. He's not making eye contact with me either. It's a little strange.
"What is known, however, is that scientists were incapable of successfully cloning Superman. After several failed experiments, they grafted what they could of Superman's DNA onto human DNA—"
"Yours," I say quietly. "You were a willing donor?"
"Yes. And that process stabilized the alien genes. Thus…you were born, fifty percent Kryptonian and fifty percent human."
Silence. My arms hurt from me holding them together in tightened fists. I'm still not convinced he's not hiding a death ray behind that chair. Even though my x-ray vision shows the room is clean. I can hear whispers. My hearing picks them up from the next room over, but I can't make out specifics. Its two men—I can tell that much. And a woman. Weird.
"Does that answer your question, Conner?"
My mind shifts back to Luthor. "Partly."
Luthor leans back in his chair and raises an eyebrow, as if to say 'what now, Teen of Steel?'
"What did you want from it?"
"What do you think?" Luthor patronizes. He seems…offended that I would ask such a stupid question. Part of me laughs silently at the idea of angering Luthor. It's one of those details of life that make it more enjoyable.
"You wanted a Superman of your own," I say slowly, believing I've just had an apostrophe. Epiphany? Bart would know.
"You were not a de facto duplicate of Superman," Luthor says plainly. "Your abilities differ. Cadmus knew this."
"What else does Cadmus know about me?"
"Nothing," Luthor says idly. "Cadmus was destroyed, along with all pertinent information regarding you and any other projects they were working on."
"So…"
"No, Conner. Your life is not lost forever. I managed to come into possession of some particularly important articles regarding you."
"What about me?"
"How important you are."
"Really?" I'm getting agitated. I tell myself Luthor's riddles are doing it.
"Yes. Very much so."
"Really?"
Silence. A corner of Luthor's mouth creeps upwards into a half-smile. He's amused by this. He thinks it's some kind of game. In a flash, I shoot forward, and before Luthor knows it, I've got a hand clasped firmly around his neck. Pressing him into his chair, I clench my teeth.
"Tell me," I say forcefully.
Luthor's eyes narrow. I can feel his pulse weakening beneath my hand.
"Tell me now!"
"Alright," he chokes. I let go. He straightens in his chair, rearranges his tie, and quietly clears his throat. "What is it you want to know?"
"Were you always after me? How long did you plan on hiding this from me?"
"Hiding it? As I recall, I was the one who sent Tim Drake the emails. And might I add, he didn't exactly take it much better than you are."
"How could you know Tim Drake?"
"I have my ways, Conner. Any more questions?"
"What are you getting out of this? You want to use me against Superman, is that it?"
"I don't want to use you for anything, Conner," he says.
He's not scared of me. Interesting that he would be anyway. I could rip him apart. Not that I would, but he doesn't have to know that.
"I want to help you," he finishes calmly.
My mind wanders back to…Tim. Tim always has the ability to put things in perspective. He's saved me more times than I care to count. You're your own man, he said.
Yeah. My own man. Conner Kent, featuring Superman and Lex Luthor.
Luthor's eyebrows angle sharply and he narrows his gaze. "I can help you find who you really are. I can guide you."
For the first time in a long time, I'm speechless. Part of me wonders how Tim gets away with being so freakin' silent.
"I can help you, Conner. But I need to know if you can help me."
Continued...