Author's Note: To clear things up on which Luthor is where: The Lex Luthor we know and love (well, you get my point ;)) is being toyed around and scalpel'd up by Owlman and Power Ring in the Panopticon. Alexander Luthor, the anti-matter counterpart, is in his Antarctic fortress with Batman.
This business with two Luthors running around is getting sort of confusing. I think I see why they got rid of the multiple earths. Enjoy.
The Panopticon. The Observation Deck.
Superman.
Empty. As in no one here. And its strange. For the kind of game they run, there should be at least someone on duty. But there...isn't. Its strange, even for the Syndicate, to leave their base unattended. So I take my steps carefully, because this could all be one giant trap. Especially with Brainiac involved, staying safely away from the action aboard that Skull Ship of his.
Years ago, the League found ourselves transported to the anti-matter universe. We invariably came across the Panopticon—the base of operations for the Crime Syndicate of Amerika, a twisted aggregate of ourselves, who ruled their world with an iron fist. On that anti-matter world, with its sole superhero in the person of Lex Luthor, we were recruited to help Luthor rid himself of the Syndicate for good.
For one of a number of reasons, we failed; one reason being that we could never totally defeat them. Rules of matter and anti-matter engagement stated that people from one universe could not achieve total victory in another. The Syndicate could never beat us in our universe, and we couldn't get the upper hand in theirs.
But this changed when Krona, a renegade scientist from the Green Lantern home world of Oa, changed those rules. And when the Syndicate found their way to our universe once again some months back, they were able to beat us.
Things had changed.
It was up to us—up to the League to save the day once again. To stop them before they ruined everything we valued.
And it's up to me now. They've kidnapped Bruce, done God-knows-what to him. I only hope I'm not too late. I only hope I haven't made a deal with the devil.
Brainiac. He aligned himself with Luthor, and Zatanna ended up dead because of it. The Syndicate kidnaps Bruce and Luthor, and pulls me away from my responsibilities on Earth. And Diana. I can't stop replaying the situation in my head. What I could have done differently. If I'd gotten there faster—not wasted time taking care of Max Lord on the Watchtower…maybe she wouldn't be a wanted criminal.
Everyone has so much to answer for…
Owlman's Torture Chamber.
Power Ring.
The more I think about this, the more I'm disgusted. Owlman's just toying with him, for God's sake. Dangling that scalpel above his eyes and shooting him up with those injections—the ones that enhance pain. This positive-matter Luthor is another damned lab rat to him. It's disgusting. Plain and friggin' simple. I start pacing to work of some of the steam, and curse under my breath. Stupid Owlman. Bitter self-righteous piece of…Yeah. But don't let him hear you say that.
In between pacing and cursing, I hear Owlman taunt Luthor some more.
"Tell me, Mister Luthor. Do you know what your heart rate is?"
It wouldn't be so bad if Luthor actually gave him some response. But he doesn't; he's too weak or he's out of material. So Owlman plays mind games with Luthor—like he would do to anyone else. Owlman rips open Luthor's oxford and uses a syringe needle to carve random lines in Luthor's chest. Despite Luthor's frail protestations and failing motor skills, Owlman looks bored as he's doing it.
"You know, I'm really just passing time here," Owlman says frankly. He dabs away some blood with the backside of his glove. "Waiting until the big blue buffoon tells me we're ready to go."
Finally, Luthor speaks up. "Where?"
"To hunt your counterpart, my good man," Owlman replies confidently. "We figure that we have one Luthor now. Two is…well, too many."
"Then," Luthor rasps weakly. "Why bother with me?" He's talking about the torture.
"Because I'm equal opportunity, Mr. Luthor." Owlman turns to me, scowling. "Get me a car battery and some jumper cables. I want to work on Mr. Luthor's definition of pain concerning some delicate nether-regions."
Ultraman's quarters.
Ultraman and Superwoman.
Darkness. It's a perfect atmosphere for us—for what we do and what we're going to do. Superwoman—Lois—lies next on her side next to me, one of her legs thrown lazily across my midsection. Her head is cradled in my arms and her breathing is slow and rhythmic. Relaxing, to a point. She tilts her head up to me and smiles.
"Y'know, I can't say I like the silk sheets so much."
"What? I stole these from a Zhutanian Monastery just for you, and now you don't want them?"
"Well don't act so downtrodden," she says. She sits up and gathers the sheets around her, turns around and shoots an amorous look at me. I raise my arms behind my head and clasp them together. "You forget how it was last time?"
"Oh yes," I say with a slight grin. I actually do remember. "Some like it rough. I thought that was just an expression."
Lois leans forward and kisses me on the forehead. "It's more than that." She slides down my chest and stares into my eyes. "It's a philosophy."
I crack a smile. Something's amiss here. "Why did you come here, Lois?"
"Because you didn't say no," she says softly and rubs her hands across my shoulders. "You never do. It's an incentive."
"Likewise. It could be worse though." My voice is somewhere between simple fact statement and thoughtfulness. "You could have asked Owlman…or Johnny."
"No," she says, sliding further down. "Too eager to please, those ones."
That gets a snicker.
I'm momentarily distracted from Lois by the room shuddering. It almost felt like…an impact tremor. The already-dim lights wink out completely. I shoot out of bed, throwing Lois to the floor, and three seconds later I'm in my suit. Lois, still on the floor, massages her back.
"What's wrong?"
"Something happened. An impact probably. I'll check it out."
On my way out the door, I hear Lois get to her feet and curse. Sorry, sweetie. This is a different kind of opportunity knocking.
It takes me another three seconds to get to the Main Deck. Johnny Quick is already there; one of his sleeves is rolled up, with the syringe still hanging from his elbow.
"What just happened?" he asks.
"If I'm right, an incursion."
Before he can respond, the floor underneath us explodes and sends us flying. At apogee I regain control and right myself. I watch Johnny fall to the deck, but he quickly gets up. I lower to the deck and I see them. Four people. One of them wears black and blue and carries a yellow ring on his hand. The other's a big shirtless guy with a green waistband and point ears. Another wears a dark blue-and-yellow mask with ammo strapped across both shoulders and angles a shotgun at us. And the last one is dressed in deep blue, with a big lightning bolt symbol across his chest. Impressive bunch of losers.
"Well, well," I say confidently. "Look at this. Halloween comes early." Johnny snickers. The one with the lightning bolt chest speaks up first.
"You have something we want."
"Oh I can't imagine what that is."
He launches himself at me. I manage a sigh before he starts throwing punches.
The Antarctic. Alexander Luthor's Fortress.
"Here." I hold out a gauntlet-covered hand. Batman, for all his intelligence, just stares at me with a lab technician's scrutiny and a referee's indifference. I roll my eyes wearily. "What is it now?"
"Why would you give me this?"
This is getting monotonous. And yet it's a stark reminder of Mr. Wayne's mask. Or masks, rather. It reminds me of a man and a woman--a mother and a father—and the boy they left behind.
Thomas Wayne was married to Martha Wayne, a stunning wall of a woman who wasn't afraid to get in faces and press buttons—the kind of independent will only seen or heard in media. When she and Wayne's other son Bruce were gunned down in the streets, Thomas junior could only look into his father's eyes with a quivering, weepy longing. What kind of world would allow an injustice such as this to occur? What kind of monster would stand by and do nothing? In his fathers' emotionless eyes, young Thomas saw something tangible…something achievable.
Control. He could force things into being the way he wished them to be. It was a powerful aspiration. Young Thomas yelled at his father, and knowing he'd crossed an unyielding barrier, left home. And over the course of twelve years, he became something…more than just a man.
Young Thomas became Owlman, a response to his father's sins. He wanted to punish his father; his reasons were his own.
In this universe, Thomas Wayne Jr. is the analog of Bruce Wayne—a Bruce Wayne that wasn't murdered in the streets by a thug with a gun.
I often wonder how different the world may be today. Had Bruce and Martha Wayne not been killed. And then I remember the state of the world and recriminate myself for foolish idealism. The world is, sadly, what it is. And it's up to me to change it—to make life better, to create a world without an Ultraman or an Owlman. Because no one else will.
Because the Syndicate had long ago given up hope.
My mind shifts back to Batman, weakened and prone at my feet. I realize my arm is still extended to him. The chunk of gilded rock in the palm gets heavier.
"I would give this to you, because you of all people can put it to good use. I suspect from your vantage point, you can't see what it is?"
He shakes his head slowly. I lower my hand to allow a more honest view.
"It's Kryptonite," I say. Try your best to keep the efficacy away Lex. "A gold derivative thereof. My sources tell me it's potent enough to permanently strip a Kryptonian of his super-powers. It took me seven years to find the necessary components, and another eighteen months to refine it enough for trial use."
"Why give it to me?" Batman reiterates.
"I'm offering it to you with no strings. Even if you decide not to use it immediately upon your return, you should still have it." I wait for a second or three, seeing if he'll respond. When he doesn't I continue. "It's the perfect gift for the man who has everything."
"I don't have the luxury to own everything, Alexander." Behind his cowl, Batman's eyes narrow.
"True enough," I offer lightly, and start pacing. As I continue speaking, I find my voice becoming more…mesmerizing. I can almost feel it working on Wayne's mind. "But while you are still able, Mister Wayne, you should give your world something to remember you by. And when you defeat your Kryptonian man-god in a contest of equals, standing victorious over another useless metahuman, they will build statues of you. You'll be part of what we talked about before. That oh so delicious something special."
Batman's shoulders slump forward a bit and my ears process an inhalation—slow and deep. It appears he's genuinely processing the idea. I stoop forward and set the kryptonite chunk on the ground in front of Batman. As I right myself, I pat him on the shoulder.
"Think about it. We have all the time in the world."
Continued...