"And I will bring the blind by a way that they knew not; I will lead them in paths that they have not known: I will make darkness light before them, and crooked things straight. These things will I do unto them, and not forsake them."
Isaiah 42:16

It was years ago. Years—five at least—since Westfield called and told me he needed a human donor for the project to carry through successfully. A clone body didn't matter. The DNA was essentially the same; minor tampering allowed for few loopholes.

So much has happened since then—since the Alien died. Gains...losses.

A death brought on by a ring I carried for years prior. A rebirth in a revitalized body, courtesy of the late Drs. Happersen and Donovan. A deal with the devil; my soul in exchange for a chance at glory.

And when I returned…a wife. Erica, the Contessa. She bore me a daughter—Lena. Named in honor of a friend from…yet another life. Lena was—is—the hallmark of my empire, my life. I lost her once to Brainiac. Not the Brainiac of old, the alien who had inhabited the body of a circus vagrant and, later, Doomsday. This Brainiac was from a far-flung…dystopian future. He carried with him information vital to that future. To me. He requested that Lena be put under his protection. In return for hegemony over the technology he brought with him…I gave my only heir over to Brainiac-13.

But I got her back. The circle completed itself. Every child leaves home and returns. At least once.

Every child. Even the one who locks himself away in his room, cranks up the music and consistently trumpets his hatred for all figures of authority.

The thing about authority figures though…we win. Always.

Because we're figures of authority.

Society—not just American either; all society—is based upon control. Institutional, governmental, personal. It doesn't matter. People spend their lives dedicated to finding new ways to corral others. It is a fact of life. Freedom is something of a misnomer. Misleading at best and hollow at worst.

People are not free when held under the constraint of some eye in the sky. They are not free when monitored and told to, when their only alternative is destruction. They are free when…they wish to be. When they seek it out. Like the insipid notion of love…freedom is not gratis. Not a given in life. It cannot be signed over by some legal document, and it cannot be accrued by years of faithful service to a higher cause. It must be found. Dug up from the ashes using the instruments before you: your hands and your wit.

And yet…sometimes the truth must be presented, forcefully if dangerously. But the same result is achieved in either scenario. It is a balance; that's the nature—and the trick—about life.

Freedom…is mankind's gift to himself.

He must find it himself. He must seek it out, actively engaging the world in which he lives. He digs, and searches, and works, and sweats. Until one day he finds what he is looking for. Where he takes his findings, what he makes of them…is up to him. The artifact does not tell him, and no one else can.

Solutions do not present themselves so easily. They don't come in brightly wrapped packages with neon lights flashing discounts and rebates. Not anymore.

And so we must look for them. Root them out by whatever means we choose, hoping that our work will be rewarded with truth.

Yes…these are the things that matter in a life.

"How are you, Conner?" .

"Cold, Lex," he says rigidly.

"Of course," I say, pulling a remote from my pocket. It's connected to a remote infrared sensor in the wall just beyond where Conner is seated. A little bonus we included in military contracts LexCorp won for the Kosovo operation some years back. I press the single red button, and I can instantly feel the overhead heat vents pump warm air down over the main chamber. "How foolish of me."

"What are you keeping me here for?"

"As I recall," I say, taking interest in my cuticles. "I believe you came to me. I almost wonder why we seem to be retreading this."

"I came looking for answers. Now give them to me."

"Don't think too hard, son. You may…hurt something."

I walk closer to him. He's seated lazily in my chair, situated in the center of the dais. I step closer, and kneel next to the chair, laying my hand on top of his. I can feel the blood pulsing through his veins. I lean in close to him, whispering in his ear.

"Our old friend Dr. Psycho saw to that, didn't he?"

Silence. For a teenager, he's not terribly interested in conversation. Hmm…one of the more endearing traits from Superman. Although…

"Conner, have I ever told you about Supergirl?"

"Kara?" His eyes lightt up for a moment.

"No," I say dismissively. "Not her. Not her at all. The Supergirl I speak of came to me from another universe. It was quite happenstance actually. I mentioned another universe—another Earth if you will. On this parallel earth, another version of me had created this Supergirl and sent her through an interdimensional matrix."

I reach into my jacket, and produce a cigar and a zippo with the LexCorp logo on it. Hmm...

It's almost moot at this point. LexCorp is a shell of its former self. An empty monolith lording voer downtown Metropolis. Assets liquidated by myself and Talia. It had to be that way. In order to fund…this Society.

Whatever LexCorp is--was…this Society is infinitely more important.

"This Supergirl from the alternate Earth…was mine, Conner," I say. The zippo sparks to life. The end of the cigar singes a hot orange as it starts to burn. 'She came to me lost, alone…an alien in this world."

The smoke fills my lungs. I hold it in…and release. It's one of my habits that Lois never cared for. "I helped her, Conner. I showed her the truth, and she became…a confidant."

"A servant?"

"Not per se. She aided me, and I her. I thought…she could provide me a means with which to…avenge myself against Superman."

"She was a tool to you, then?"

"Her usefulness," I say, exhaling. The smoke envelops my head in a thick cloud. "Outlived itself. You…are far more important to me."

"Really?"

"I have said it many times before, Conner." He stares into my eyes, and I stare right back. He won't use his heat vision on me. He…sees something in me. Not quite sure what, but he sees something just the same.

"You are the most gifted…metahuman…I've ever known."

"I know," he says quietly. His eyes drift away from me for a moment, like he's in deep concentration. I almost wonder what that little orb atop his shoulders is processing.

"Join me," I say. "My Society. We can help you…protect you against the injustices of the League."

"How can I be sure?" he asks. It almost catches me off-guard. Part of me wonders if Dr. Psycho's mind-manipulation is working. Or if Psycho himself is even trying. "I've heard these arguments before."

"You grow tired of the life you lead, Conner. I can see it on your face. You want more." I clutch the dying cigar between my fingers, and start pacing before the dais. "I can give it to you. The life you seek is not so far out. I can give it to you. All I ask is that you join us. Learn to work with this Society, and you will achieve everything you have ever wanted. Status. Wealth. Influence. Meaning to your life."

I lean in close and whisper in his ear.

"There is only one thing…two things…holding you back."

Continued...