Author's Note: by the end of this chapter, some of you may hate me for taking Superman out so easily. I await the flames (I'm a sucker like that;)), and I hope you will await an explanation when next I update. Cheers.
By the time Tim Drake and Batman reach the Conference Room on the Watchtower's Main Deck, Superman, The Flash and the Martian Manhunter are already waiting for them; the three men mill aimlessly around the oval conference table in the middle of the room.
Batman approaches the Admiral's Chair, lays a hand on one of the armrests and swings the chair around in place. He pulls the folds of his dark cape over his shoulders, and sinks into the chair. Robin joins him at his side, flanked by The Flash. Superman and the Martian Manhunter occupy the other end.
It's a powerful force. Two aliens, a speedster, and a human. The latter perhaps the most dangerous of all.
The human carries the most dangerous weapon on the planet atop his neck. The weapon that devised ways to end wars, cure diseases,and createfive hundred ways to kill someone based on firearm preference alone. But the arguably greatest thing the human can do to win battles...
Psychology.
Make the enemy doublethink himself. Doubt, hesitation. These are weapons to be used against the enemy. Arguably the greatest weapons at the Batman's disposal. Commensurate with circumstances, he leaves the physicality of the operation to more suited allies.
The Conference Room is cold. Even through his triple-weave armor composed of Nomex and Kevlar and God-knows-what-else-Bruce-threw-in-there, Tim Drake can feel an overhead air vent filter air, purified to the point of near-lifelessness,into the chamber.
In the back of his mind, Tim Drake makes a note. The uniform exposes too much of his skin—too much fragility and too many stakeouts in twenty degree weather. He makes a half-priority to rectify the problem. Later, though. Larger problems need dealing with now...
"Everyone knows their part," Batman says tersely. "Clark—"
"I know. Defense."
"Wally?"
"I'm ready,"he whispers. The Martian Manhunter nods silently. Robin remains motionless, staring at the featureless Utility Door ahead of him. He forms his hands into tight fists, and swallows.
"No surprises." Batman is calm. Collected.
In the front of his mind, Superman wonders how it came to this. A frontal attack on the Justice League Watchtower by none other than the Man of Steel's own protégé.
And he had seen him. Not two days ago. A normal boy, as normal goes these days. But Superboy was going through…changes. A growing focus on his place in the world, coupled with uncertainty—for lack of a better word—over his lineage.
Superboy is controlled by Luthor. Luthor wants a bite at the Justice League like the overzealous, overperfected basket case he is. Superboy is coming to destroy the Watchtower.
Superboy can't hope to win.
And it comes. Superman hears it first, and the others hear it a few seconds later.A low, sustained, pounding. A hammer of flesh and blood breaking through bulkheads, though he shouldn't be.
Flash's jaw clenches.
Martian Manhunter's eyes shut in meditation.
Batman's mouth curves down in a scowl.
Superman's eyes spark red.
The Man of Steel is ready for whatever comes through that door. And yet…
The defenses were lowered. Superboy should just walk in and have his way. Why go out of his way to cause unnecessary damage?
Answer: There's no such thing as unnecessary damage to Lex Luthor. His entire life is dictated by necessity. Purpose. Spite.
The Utility Door parts through a linear seam in the middle and slides apart. Superboy's telekinesis has apparently lost none of its power.
Superboy—or something vaguely resembling him—stands in the threshold, arms held tightly at his side. His black tee, with the red diamond Superman shield on it, is cut. One horizontal line bisecting the S inside the diamond, and another vertical line cuts through the upper curve of the S and the diamond border.
The shape of a capital letter L, cut into Superboy's shirt.
He's bald, having shaved his hair sometime between now and having destroyed the Brother Eye satellite.
His eyes burn a violent, fiery red. White spots of intense heat exist where his pupils once were. Excess heat wisps away from his face in simmering curls.
Batman, unfettered, says the first words.
"J'onn."
The Martian Manhunter—a well-known telepath—takes two steps forward.
"Ask yourself." His voice is calm…yet stern. "Is this where you truly wish to be?"
"Get out of the way, Martian," Superboy says, baring his teeth in anger.
J'onn disregards it. "You cannot hope to defeat all of us."
"You're right," Superboy says, allowing himself a smile.
Beams of fire shoot from Superboy's eyes and strike J'onn in the chest. The Martian can't phase shift—can't achieve intangibility—in time enough to evade the heat vision. He falls to his knees with a scream, trying to counteract or endure Superboy's assault.
Fire is the weakness of the Martians. Well, the last living one anyway. Superboy exploits it, pouring on the heat until J'onn J'onzz is a pile of amorphous green on the floor.
"Just the ones that matter."
Superboy relinquishes the heat vision. Beneath him, J'onn quivers and murmurs in silent pain. The Teen of Steel's eyes no longer burn the fiery red. They appear normal now. But different. Burn marks and scars are concentrated around his eyes.
Momentarily letting his guard down, Robin takes a step forward.
"Conner?" He whispers uncomprehendingly.
"Stay back," Batman urges.
"Yes," Conner says. But its not…his voice. "Stay back, Tim." Whoever it is inside Conner's head…they know the man behind the mask.
"What do you want, Conner?" Superman interjects. His hands form into fists; he holds them tightly at his side. Ready to spring into action.
Superboy's eyebrows arch and he raises a finger in Superman's direction.
"I want you, Kent."
Twin beams of fire shoot from Superboy's eyes, and meet beams of equal intensity from Superman. Almost instantly, Superboy starts to relent. There is…something inside him. A reluctance.
Superman considers himself fortunate. And a more perverse part of his subconscious allows him to enjoy gaining the slow upper hand.
"I'm more powerful than you," Superman goads. "I've spent more time here. You can't win."
The Man of Steel lets a blast of ice breath loose. The frigid air catches a distracted Superboy in the legs.A block of thick ice binds Conner Kent to the floor.
Superman lets his heat vision fade out, and regards Superboy for a moment. He'll break out of it. But not for another three seconds. Plenty of time to incapacitate him.
In a blur, Superman forms a wall around his young protégé, landing successive punches on the Teen of Steel. But Superman pulls his punches.
He cares for the seduced boy encased in ice.
It's a weakness. Partially.
In a flash, Superboy breaks free of the ice with a grunt and sticks a rigid arm in the air. His elbow catches Superman in the nose. The Teen of Steel throttles Superman, hoists him a few inches into the air, and forces him away.
Superman's body flies limply across the room, landing and skidding across the conference table. It comes to rest on the far edge of the table.
Robin's cape drapes over his shoulder. Underneath the Kevlar and Nomex compound-weave, an unseen arm reaches into a lead-lined compartment on the backside of the Utility Belt.
Continued...
Author's Note II: The bit with the heat vision between Conner and J'onn is borrowed, elementally at least, from Jeph Loeb's Superman #175, entitled "Doomsday Rex."