Author's Note: I'm told that (effectively) writing Superman is numero uno on the list of daunting things to do in the comics business. So while I may not be receiving a paycheck for this chapter, let me know how effectively Superman came across. Because if you're all anything like me, characterization is an extravagantly large part of any good story. And a hat tip to markmark261 for the Revenge of the Sith guess last chapter. As for Superman's teleportation from the Moon to Goodwin later on this chapter, I put it in in the interest of saving Clark the effort--and because I always liked the teleporters.
Author's Note II: Some of you may think I've finally lost it and gone off the deep end into confusing waters when you see who's really teaming with Brainiac. It might not break the internet in half (and it might not even be crystal clear to you, in which case I'll accept the criticisms) but if I can get some kind of response from you, constant readers, please consider us even. Cheers.
The Moon.
Justice League Headquarters.
Superman.
He did this. Luthor. He did all of this.
He's the one who sent the Black Diamond to Jean Loring, transforming her into that…thing. He organized the Society and the Six, independent of one another, then set them against each other. He took control of Superboy—Conner—and sent him to destroy Batman's satellite in space, and then try to kill the League. Under Luthor's sway, Conner broke Bart Allen's leg and almost killed the others.
But how? The why is simple: only through Superboy could Luthor even hope to defeat me. But that plan fell through, like so many of his.
How could Lex manipulate so many things to his favor? How could he possibly know what he knows? The bigger question: what does he know? He's always been a secretive man. Never confiding in anyone—not any of his eight wives before him, not any of his previous affiliates on the Injustice Gang, not even me when a Kryptonite asteroid threatened to destroy the planet.
No. He ran, like he always does, with his tail between his legs. He runs ands finds the nearest soundproof and lead-lined lab he can, sets up shop, and starts the process all over again. Luthor's an idealist of the highest order. Seeing an opportunity and taking it, no matter the cost to himself. As long as he meets his goal of killing or defaming me, Lex's life has achieved…meaning.
Why was Max Lord inside that OMAC? Luthor's hand is too obvious to be overlooked. Maybe that's what he's counting on. So what's Lex planning? Why was it so important to send Max Lord, already inches from death, on a suicide mission?
Gotham City.
Lex Luthor.
Mastermind.
Dr. Light is dead. Deathstroke sideswipes Zatanna in the head with his nightstick and starts trading blows with Wonder Woman. Brainiac presses a button on his chest frame that activates the transporter on-board the Skull Ship. Yards ahead of the automaton, Batman's prone form blurs and fades away. In approximately three hundred twelfths of a second, he's onboard the Skull Ship.
Where he should be. Where he needs to be.
For the plan to carry itself out as intended.
The Moon.
"Superman?" The Man of Steel's earpiece buzzes.
"J'onn? What is it?"
"There's been a situation at Goodwin. You need to return immediately."
"Can't you—"
"Immediately, Superman," the Martian presses. And then more calm: "Please."
Gotham City.
I watch Deathstroke trade off with Wonder Woman with great interest. As always he's planned for the fight—even including the sword recovered from Leone. He cuts a thin stripe across Wonder Woman's chest—just above the cleavage—and blood seeps out. He comes at her again, and she blocks it with one of those wristbands of hers. Surprisingly, she wraps her free hand around the blade and yanks it from Deathstroke's hand, flips it around and presses the tip against his Adam's apple. Knowing he can't win without going mute, Slade plays along. The Amazon just stands there, eyeing him carefully. Considering whether or not to skewer him. Clever, or so she thinks.
I turn my head to Brainiac. Monochrome green stares back at me.
"Do it."
The automaton extends a hand in the Amazon's direction, and a blue mass stretches across the void to surround her. Trapped, as the plan—and a level-nine intelligence—has called for.
Deathstroke and Amazon are separated from each other. I turn back to Brainiac.
"Teleport Psycho."
A moment later, a diminutive man in pinstripes and a red tie materializes next to me. He glances at me only once to wink, and then turns back to Wonder Woman. And Zatanna.
The witch.
A creature of such a vulgar discipline…what place does she have among gods? Even stranger is her pose. She anchors herself to the floor, her legs shoulder-width apart, and throws a hand in front of her.
"Ekortshtead pots!"
A reverse-spell. Almost as bad as Thawne. Again, clever. This contest will be decided quickly.
"Psycho." I say it shortly. "Stop her."
Psycho clears his throat loudly—annoyingly, and waves dotingly at the witch. With Deathstroke stopped and the Amazon encapsulated in Brainiac's shield, her attention can risk looking at Psycho.
The diminutive man chuckles and enunciates: "Let him go, witch."
"No," she replies, without missing a beat. Admirable. Psycho snorts, glances at me as if looking for an answer, and turns back to Zatanna.
"You know who I am?" Psycho's voice rises. I get the distinct feeling he dislikes being talked down to. "I can make you eat your hair, witchy woman! And that crap doesn't digest; you'll eat so much, you'll explode into the human fur ball!"
"Do what you like, Doctor. But as far as I'm concerned, you can all go to hell."
Psycho's eyes narrow and he speaks more slowly this time.
"Let's try again." He waits for a response. It doesn't come, and he presses on. "Release him now. Or I'll kill you."
The witch stares back in Psycho's eyes—penetrating blue eyes, and the curt smile across his stubbly face. Her eyes lock on Psycho's mournfully, and he blows her a kiss. He reaches into his jacket and pulls out a .25 caliber handgun, sighting it in on Zatanna's forehead.
"Ekortshtead…si eerf." Her voice is broken patterns of speech. Fearful. Sad. Too bad.
Deathstroke falls out of the trance, falling to one knee, presumably gaining his composure. The act is highly unusual, though. Considering his heightened faculties, his acclimation should proceed 67 percent faster than a normal man. Deathstroke must be getting old—or the effects of the military's experimental serum wearing thin. Either way, it warrants…monitoring.
Dr. Psycho watches Deathstroke get to his feet and readjust to the environment, goes back to Zatanna. If I didn't know any better, I'd almost wonder why she hasn't pulled a spell—
"Ohcysp—"
With little effort, Psycho pulls the trigger and Zatanna's head explodes—blood streaming in all directions and the bigger fragments of skull and flesh falling to the floor. The body collapses in three-tenths of a second.
I raise my gauntlet and glance at the digitized display. "Twelve o'clock Brainiac." I turn to him, smiling. "All's well. Let's go home."
He presses the teleporter button on his chest frame, and through the open hangar doors my vision catches something on the horizon. On the periphery—tiny, but noticeable.
The Alien. Coming for me, or so he thinks.
I turn to Brainiac quickly. "No time for him," I say. The world goes blurry for a moment as the teleporter prepares to transport Brainiac and I to the Skull Ship. Energy bands appear around Deathstroke and Dr. Psycho. They'll be transported back to their headquarters in the city.
Inside one-point three-nine-four seconds, Brainiac and I are back aboard the Skull Ship. Batman's body—still prone—lies a meter ahead of us. And beyond that, our most valuable prisoner.
On his knees, as he should be, behind the energy-field of the brig. Wearing that ridiculous business-suit of his—which I'm unsure how he ever managed to get along with.
Lex Luthor. Of the positive-matter universe anyway. He raises his head and shoots me a dirty look. After a minute of watching him, I snicker.
"What!" he asks irately. He doesn't like being on the receiving end of things.
"You," I say flatly. "I wanted to thank you. Without you, I wouldn't have known where to find an effective means of stopping the Amazon."
"You're welcome," he grumbles quietly.
"You…disapprove?"
Luthor's head rolls up to stare me in the eyes. "Why haven't you killed me yet?" he asks expectantly.
"Because I don't want to," I say. "It's not in my nature, and you're too useful to simply discard."
"You've limited experience on this Earth. Let me help you," he says intently. "I know how these heroes work; I can get you what you need."
"I sincerely doubt there is anything your feeble human intellect can offer me."
"But you're a human!"
"Incorrect," I say pointedly. "You are human. I am Luthor."
"You're a fool," he challenges. "A damn fool…if you think you can just walk in—"
"I already have." My voice is just forceful enough to shut him up. "In any event, you will not be harmed. In fact, you may yet be of some use to me."
"Oh?"
"Yes," I say intently. "Tell me about the OMACs."
His eyes narrow and he sighs wearily. "What about them?"
"I want to activate them. All of them."
Superman teleports into the hangar at Goodwin Airport mere minutes after Luthor and Brainiac had escaped with Batman in their custody. Around him, he sees the bodies of fallen team-mates and friends alike. Yards away from the Man of Steel, Connor Hawke fits handcuffs around Deadshot's wrists. Moonlight shines in through skylights in the ceiling, the whitewash light forming itself across Hawke's shoulders. Closer to Superman, Green Arrow does the same to Catman.
"She what?" The Man of Steel turns back to Robin slowly. When he speaks, his voice is equally slow.
"It was just after Lex and Brainiac showed up. I think it could have been Dr. Psycho using his telepathy on her. But…either way, she snapped Light's neck. Body's right over there."
Robin points to an arrangement of I-beams, and beyond them, Arthur Light's huddled body. His head stares blankly at the ceiling. The skin was already starting to lose its tint. Every few seconds, Robin noted, Light's right eye would twitch. Postmortem spasms. The sight was horrifying to Robin…
And yet he couldn't take it his eyes off it.
Fact of the matter was, the Boy Wonder had seen too many crime scenes in his already young life. Too many gruesome murders committed by some wackjob out to prove something. To Tim Drake, Arthur Light's corpse was another part of the business.
"Are you sure?" Superman's voice is calming to the Boy Wonder.
"I saw her do it, Superman," Robin says pointedly. "I'm quite sure."
"Hmm," the Man of Steel trails off. After a pause, Robin speaks up.
"What do you want to do?"
"She should have waited for someone to arrive. Did you see where she went?"
"No," Robin says sheepishly. "Sorry..."
"Let's get back to the Watchtower," Superman says curtly. "See what we can make of this."
Tim Drake's mind shifts—as it often does—to his mentor. Bruce Wayne. When last seen, Wayne was being teleported away. Tim Drake had no idea where to, though.
Wayne had spent time in several police forces, and with the FBI at Quantico, in his quest to serve Gotham more effectively. He had quickly come to learn what others had long suspected—that methods police use are brutal, often lethal. Unacceptable to Bruce Wayne.
Murder was never a conscientious objective for Wayne.
But Tim Drake is different. He's not a cop, and probably never will be one. But his job is a shade just below a cop's. He does what other cops do—if slightly outside the limits of the law. Sometimes monsters have to be dealt with. Monsters like Arthur Light. Sometimes…that's why men like Batman exist. To serve and protect. No matter the cost to themselves, no matter whom they drive away, or what awaits them at the end of their life.
There are people in the world who would willingly give up hope just to see a glimpse of a self-sustaining populace, one where Super Men don't have to exist. One where decent people can take care of themselves.
Right now, with Superman at his side, staring at Light's dead and cold body, Tim Drake hopes he is one of those people.
Gotham City.
The Hill.
Headquarters of the Society.
"What do we know? Calculator?"
"That a man wearing purple and green armor showed up a week ago calling himself Lex Luthor. We've since discovered, thanks to Degaton, that it's the Luthor from the antimatter universe—where Sinestro escaped to after his fight with Jordan a few months ago, and where the weaponers of Qward got that thing they brought into the solar system. It's possible that this anti-matter Luthor escaped custody of the Syndicate and found his way to our Earth."
"As he's done before," Talia said darkly.
"Yes," Calculator said.
"Then," Talia continued. "Our first priority is getting Lex back—our Lex."
"And how do we wish to affect this?"
"The best defense is a good offense, Noah. We mount a strike force and storm the Skull Ship."
"You're joking."
"No," Talia responds. "We're going to get him back. And we're going to kill the impostor."
