Gotham City.

Noah Kuttler and Lex Luthor.

Businessmen.

"You really think we can do something with this?"

"The information he possesses will be of great use to us, Noah. I have faith in our capabilities."

"You're sure?"

"You worry too much."

Noah Kuttler and Lex Luthor sat on metal stools at the side of a medical examiner's table. The laboratory around them was darkened, save for three fluorescent lights suspended from the ceiling, shining their harsh white light down on the table.

The body was stretched out on the table, its limbs splayed lazily outwards from their sockets. The eyes were shut, and the fluorescents from overhead reflected dully off the bleach-white skin. The hair was still wet, still matted to his forehead, but it reflected the light slightly better. A crater in his forehead was lined with dried and crusted blood, the compacted metal of a bullet still lodged therein.

Not exactly the best-looking cadaver. But then those were always hard commodities to come by. Either way, this guy wasn't going anywhere for the time being.

This was Maxwell Lord. In another life, he'd been the leader of a Justice League offshoot—the Justice League International—and in another, he'd been the all-powerful Black King of the new Checkmate organization.

But he overplayed his hand.

Maxwell Lord had killed the Blue Beetle for hacking into Checkmate's computer database—the one that contained the secret identities of every so-called metahuman on the planet believe that or not. Luthor didn't take the act so well; he thought it was more evidence of Lord's immense stupidity.

So Luthor, exercising a little fair play, sent Deathstroke, Black Adam, and Zoom to Checkmate's European office—a Hapsburg-era castle in Switzerland. Not wasting any time, Deathstroke shot and killed Lord. Black Adam deposited the body in the English Channel, and Zoom destroyed the castle.

A perfect team effort, despite prior attitudes.

But that was then, this was now. Things were…changing.

"You know," Kuttler said, staring down at Lord's featureless chalk-white face. "Adam wasn't so pleased when you told him to go back to France and find Mr. Lord again. He wanted to know why he and Talia had to waste time looking for Max."

"I don't care," Luthor said distantly. He raised his arm, checking his watch. "If Adam thinks he's wasting his time, then he can leave. He's certainly free to."

"I think he thinks that's too much of a gamble." Kuttler said tensely.

"How so?"

"He's pretty absorbed in the fact that Khandaq can't survive without his leadership, and you've done a pretty good job of implying we can help him run his little hamlet."

"We can," Luthor said confidently. "Don't worry about Adam, Noah. He's but a small part in my plan, and hardly something to lose sleep over."

"Don't you mean our plans?" Kuttler glanced at Luthor dubiously.

Luthor's eyes narrowed and he folded his arms over his chest.

"Noah, you know I'd never lie to you. You're perhaps the only one here I can trust."

"You mean the only one as smart as you?" Kuttler said with a restricted grin.

"Something like that," Luthor replied. He stood from the stool and pulled a pair of gloves from his trouser pocket. "When this is over, Noah, I promise you…"

"Promise me what?"

Luthor bowed his head, and inhaled slowly. Or perhaps it was a sigh. Kuttler couldn't really tell. When Luthor's head rose again, he was ready to speak.

"They're coming, Noah. It's time to turn enemies into friends and when that happens, I need to know if you'll still stand with me. With us."

Kuttler's eyes narrowed and he stuttered a response. "I…of course. Of course, Lex. What you're doing here—this is important. I'm not leaving."

"Good," Luthor said. He turned away from Kuttler and laid a gloved hand on Lord's forehead. "Now do me a favor."

"Yes?" Kuttler said tentatively.

"Leave me."

"Lex?"

"Now." It wasn't a request. It was a command, and Luthor wasn't joking.

That's the problem, Kuttler thought as he made for the door. No one has a sense of humor about things anymore.

Luthor turned his head a few degrees back towards the door. Kuttler stopped short, waited for the motion sensors to detect a foreign object in their field. He turned back to Luthor, pursed his lips and scratched his head. The door slid open quietly, and Kuttler shuffled out.

When the door slid shut again, Luthor turned to make sure Kuttler was actually gone. Then, he turned back to the examiner's table.

"You can come out now," Luthor said calmly.

Two massive panels in the wall gave a brief exhale of air—like a pneumatic engine—lurched forward a few inches, then separated from each other, guided by rollers in the floor.

Hooked up to innumerable cables and power lines, inserting at various points on his frame—chest cavity, skull, arms—all of them feeding directly into his central core, all of them gathering information and assimilating it into his prime program…

Brainiac.

Once regarded as the greatest of his kind, the greatest product the planet Colu had ever produced, Brainiac was originally a humanoid—of a form like the rest of the Coluan species. But that was then, and this was now.Things had changed.Instead of a humanoid with a limited mental program, Brainiac was now a fully functional automaton.A walking skeleton made of steel, nanotechnology and alien sciences Brainiac absorbed in his march across the universe.

Brainiac's robot shell was suspended in the air by the cables in a sort of mock crucifix. Piercing green eyes—based on technology humans would call night-vision—allowed him optimum vision in the most egregious of circumstances.

His skull diode shone a luminous green in the darkness of the lab.

To Luthor, it was terrifying.

Powerful.

Magnificent.

"You know," Luthor said, taking a seat at one of the stools. "I still don't know why you choose to conceal yourself. You're not exactly defenseless."

"Neither am I invulnerable, Luthor." Brainiac's voice was a monotone; mechanized but not entirely inhuman. His technologies had allowed a human-mimicry subroutine to be built in to the vocabulator unit. "My capabilities are not yet at maximum efficiency."

"Still breaking in the new body?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes."

Luthor cracked a smile, and turned back to Lord's body.

"You know, I almost considered throwing Max here into a Lazarus Pit. Certainly I know where to find one."

"The Lazarus Pit is an ineffectual means to an end. What we require of him cannot be achieved by sorcerer's ways and ancient spells."

"Fair enough," Luthor said, angling his head towards Brainiac. The cables suspending the robot separated from their host and lowered him to the floor. Brainiac clasped his adamantine hands behind his back and approached the lab table. His feet clicked and echoed on the floor in perfect synchrony.

"But don't let Talia hear you say that," Luthor said lightly.

"Humor is an emotion lost on me, Luthor."

"Right," Luthor said curtly. "In any case, shall we get started?"

"Yes."

Brainiac stepped in front of Luthor and held his spindly hands over Max Lord's chest.

"Question," Luthor said pointedly.

"What?" Brainiac pressed a button on his chest plate—what the humans would call a sternum. A small dynamo in his chest powered on. A sophisticated machine such as Brainiac had several redundancies built-in, not the least of which were power supplies.

"When he comes to, what will he remember?" Luthor sounded genuinely concerned. Perhaps he feared blowback from Deathstroke's actions.

"With relatively minor improvements after the initial system restoration, he will be at full capacity in less than ten seconds."

"That fast?"

"My technologies make mockery of the word fast, Luthor. When those ten seconds have elapsed, Mister Lord will be as he was before Deathstroke terminated him: a physically fit human organism."

"With a gunshot wound in his head," Luthor said, turning away.

"Incorrect. Ihave allowed latitude for a tissue reconstruction subroutine to occur. With slight modifications, he will function and appear as a normal human, as I have said."

Brainiac laid a hand on Lord's forehead, and another on his chest—where his heart was. The dynamo in his chest increased its power. Lightning shot from Brainiac's fingertips and Lord's body arched upwards, its nerves suddenly shocked backed into activity.

Electrical energy enveloped Lord. Brainiac increased the power flow. When Maxwell Lord's eyes shot open and he began screaming, the operation was complete. Brainiac pressed the button on his chest plate once more, and the dynamo powered down.

Brainiac regarded Lord for a moment, and turned back to Luthor.

Luthor stood, angled against the wall with his arms folded over his chest.

"The operation is complete, Luthor." Even for a robot, Brainiac's voice was unusually short. "He lives."

"I'd like for him to tell me that."

Brainiac stepped aside, and Luthor approached the table. He slid his hands into his pockets and stared scrutinizingly at Lord.

"Max? Can you…hear me?"

After a pause: "Yes."

"Good."

This time raspier, weaker: "Where am I?"

"Among friends."

"I don't…I don't understand…"

"You will. For now, though, you must rest. When you're up for it, I've got some good news."


Star City, California.

Oliver Queen and Connor Hawke.

Father and son.

"Dad, you got a letter."

"What?" Oliver Queen looks up from his afternoon coffee and copy of the LA Times. Even this far away from the city, Queen was glad they delivered. He'd get murdered when the bill came, but that's for another day.

Connor Hawke shuffles into the kitchen and lays a battered envelope on top of Queen's newspaper. The addressee simply read "Oliver Queen, Star City USA."

"What's this?" Queen asks, pulling the flap from the back of the envelope. "Another NRA membership drive?"

"It's out of country," Connor says abruptly. "Looks like its been through hell, too."

"Where do you think it's from?"

"I dunno. Bermuda?"

"Funny." Queen pulls a single sheet of paper from the envelope, unfolds it and starts reading:

Oliver,

You once helped me get my life back on track. Of course, it took a few arrows to the chest and a near-death experience to do it, but you did it. You beat the hell out of me, tore me down to nothing. But that got me looking inward and thinking. Everyone always laughs when somebody comes in claiming they were beaten up by Green Arrow, and I was tired of being a joke as it was. So I did something about it. I reconnected to my animal namesake. Call it a sabbatical if you will.

You helped me once, and I'm asking you to do it again; you're the only one capable. You haven't heard this news yet and I don't blame you, but Luthor has formed a type of Society comprised of over 200 villains. They've been recruiting villains over the past several months—myself included, though along with five others I declined their offer for "protection from the League's mindwipes," whatever that meant. Now they're hunting me—the six who refused their offer. When the in-fighting's been neutralized, Luthor will come for you. And your family.

It's a matter of when. Not if. I know you'll be careful, but I'm warning you just the same.

-Thomas Blake


Continued...