The Forge seemed like a particularly dramatic name for a place that primarily serviced cars. Although the reason she was headed there in the first place and knowing Monarch, there were probably all sorts of secrets under the surface. She scrolled through her phone for some quick research. The reviews overall were decent, nothing sprang out as odd except for a lack of many recent reviews and peculiar opening hours. It was a short trip and traffic started building up. Satisfied she knew where she was going from her phone's map, she got out to walk the rest of the way.
The area seemed relatively up-market. Either her own standards had dropped, or this was one of Monarch's classier contacts. She had been tempted to wear glasses on the chance someone would recognise her, but the weaving around and pushing past her made it clear no-one was interested. In her early days of L-Corp she threatened there would be dire consequences for paparazzi, she was joking of course but a perk of being a Luthor was no-one wanted to take the risk. Some braver souls were asking about Cat Grant these days, but these people soon realised they would get more news about it from a brick wall.
The Forge appeared before her. The distinct smell of engine grease wafted to her nostrils and she peered down the driveway. Sitting above it was a sign, spelling out "The Forge" in tools like a scrap work art-piece. There was not much to it, no side entrance or reception and the driveway doubled up as a corridor. Knowing time was a constraint, she did not bother looking around for Monarch and followed the short entrance inside. It branched out to two platforms lifts, both of which had cars atop them. Underneath was a man with a clipboard. His blue overalls stood out in the barren, grey space. Picture-less brick walls surrounded them with a blinded door and window at the back.
"Sorry, I'm all booked out for a fair while. Leave your name and contact details on the sheet and I'll get back to you when I can," he said, the man pointed to the sheet without turning around or looking away from the cars. The sheet was almost full and a miserable looking pen dangled beside it, if she were actually here for a service she would be out of luck.
"That's not what I'm here for," she said. The man's head turned sharply. His back was still toward her. She caught the his eye when he turned, a pang of familiarity hit her. He chucked the clipboard onto a nearby workbench, it spun in the air like frisbee and clattered when it landed. He was tall man with an intense look about him.
"You're the one Smith mentioned?" he said.
"Know-it-all in a hoodie? Smug grin that makes you want to smack him?" she said. She was sure Monarch did not mention any of his different names out for his own bizarre amusement rather than any form of secrecy.
"That's the one." He pulled a rag from his back pocket and started wiping his hands.
"I'd shake your hand, ma'am, but you wouldn't want to get your hands dirty," his hostile tone was something Lena had no intention in backing down from.
"It's no problem," she said, stepping forward. She put out her hand and stared right into his eyes. The intense scowl only broke for a moment as he looked down at her offering. He took it, shaking slowly and firmly. After pulling away, she rubbed her hands, doing what she could to disperse the grease without ruining her clothes.
"What do I call you?" she said. He walked over to the workbench and reached into a drawer. He tossed her clean rag.
"Fletcher. Now if you don't mind, I need a minute," he said, he strode toward the door at the back. It slammed, shaking the blinds. Lena did what she could to see through them, getting right up to the glass and squinting. As she searched for gaps or a light-source inside to give anything away, the blinds suddenly opened. She stepped back, holding her heart in shock. It was Monarch, holding onto the cord with one hand and giving her a friendly wave with the other. She exaggerated a bemused look at him. Fletcher stepped over, somehow his grimace was even more intense, he yanked the cord and the blinds violently swished shut. The conversation inside was too muffled to make out. Fletcher already has some sort of issue with her, if he found her eavesdropping any further it would only make things worse. She trusted Monarch, or this case, Smith, to make it work. Not content to be idle though, she moseyed over to the workbench to see if there were any clues to her situation. There were the bits and bobs that one would expect on a mechanic's desk. Various tools, a clamp and sprays were lined up. They did little to catch her interest, however a couple of invoices and parts orders were strewn across it. She checked the blinds were still closed before taking a closer look. The services certainly seemed to be on the pricier end and there were some serious pieces of kit on the list for somewhat average looking cars. The messy signature at the bottom of them was hard to make out. "Fletcher" was sprang out in the mess of lines, but the first initials just seemed to be a series of squiggles. She heard the door handle press down and quickly backed off from the bench. There was distinct pause and one last muffled sentence before the door creaked open. Smith stepped out with Fletcher close behind, his scowl still going strong.
"So… the pleasantries." Mark, this is Lena, Lena this is Mark," Smith said.
"Fletcher." He spat out.
"Personally I think The Artist Formerly Known as Prometheus has more flare," Smith. Lena double took as Fletcher groaned and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"We just said we weren't going to tell her," Fletcher said.
"No, you said you weren't gonna tell her and I said, "you do you"," Smith said. It all added up, the eye, strange feeling of familiarity and the hostility immediately made sense.
"This is the man that attempted to destroy my business and kidnap me," she said.
"You think I'd have agreed to this if he told me you were his contact?" Fletcher said.
"Why'd you think I didn't tell you?" Smith said, calm as ever. "Besides I never said it wasn't Lena Luthor."
"Enough pedantics, what was the point of all this?" Fletcher said. She should have been more annoyed, having grown used to Smith's ways softened the blow somewhat. It was also amusing seeing someone else deal with it for the first time.
"Oh, come off it. She would obviously have found out, then there'd be a big "how can I trust anything you've said" brouhaha. Then someone would have to give a dramatic speech or sad origin story just to get back to square one and personally, I'd rather not waste anyone's time," he said. This was met with silence as both Lena and Fletcher stared each other down. Lena refused to break first and could feel the contempt drilling into her from those grey eyes of his. Attention to each other was ripped away as a wrench clanged to the floor, the sound bounced around the room.
"We done with our petty squabble?" Smith said. He picked the wrench back up an put it in its place.
"He's dangerous," Lena said.
"She's corrupt," Fletcher said. Smith rolled his eyes.
"For goodness sake. He's got information for you and she's got the ear of Supergirl. You both have something each other needs, we're short on time here so let's have that pragmatism you're both so fond of rule the day. You don't even have to stop hating each other when all is said and done," he said. Lena's eyes darted from Smith to Fletcher.
"What do you need Supergirl for?" She asked. He seemed reluctant to speak at first.
"She has power she doesn't understand. She needs to stop," he said.
"It's not a burden she takes lightly," she said.
"It's not her commitment I'm questioning," he said.
"See, now we're getting along," Smith cut in.
"Your turn to talk is over." Lena said, then turned back to Fletcher as Smith backed away. "What are you questioning then?"
"Her methods are growing more violent. That ring will always test her self-control, if she loses that test there's no telling how much damage she can do," he said.
"She knows when to pull back and calm down," he said.
"But the drive to do harm is there," he said.
"I won't let her go too far if that's what you're worried about," she said.
"That's not something you can promise," he said.
"Then help me understand. Tell me everything you know about the ring. All we know is that anger is the source of its power," she said. He sneered at her.
"Compromise, Mark," Smith chimed in. He switched his sneer to Smith, though his expression lightened shortly after he thought to himself.
"Rage fuels that ring's power, but that's not what drives it. Controlling her anger is one thing, but vengeance is that's ring's goal. The more people someone has wronged the more it'll call for their blood and as her rage builds it'll be harder to push away," he said.
"But she's mostly been able to keep a lid on it, when she feels like she begins to slip. She stops," she said. Lena would defend Supergirl, but in the back of her mind she was worried. That drive for justice she had had only grown over the past few weeks. While it could be a replacement for revenge, there was scary possibility that she was seeing those two as the same thing.
"It's not that simple. That ring is powerful an has a will of its own. It can pick up on the anger and intentions of people from galaxies away. Hell, If it's personal or someone she cares about is in danger, it will overwhelm her. With her level of power she can appear anywhere within seconds and react ," he said. Lena scoffed.
"You're awfully certain about something that never seems to have happened. Besides a few injuries here and there, no-ones been hurt,"
"There's been more injuries, devastating ones at that, and collateral damage in this past couple months than her whole stint as Supergirl combined. Even then, her level of control is unheard of, she will either burst like a dam under the weight of that ring's will or something new is happening with the Red Lantern ring and it needs to stop," he said.
"She's the strongest person I know, don't underestimate her" she said.
"The Red Lantern technology was created after the Guardians of the Universe were the cause of an accident that killed the creator's entire race. We're talking about eons of tech even the most advanced societies couldn't even dream of creating. It's not something you can simply deny through strength of character," he said.
"I said, don't underestimate her," Lena said.
"She may be in control now, but her relationship to that ring is close. Not to mention the knock-on effects. Her own symbol intertwined with the corps' and her ability to make constructs will not go unnoticed by the other Red Lanterns. The fact she has her sanity at all means at least some of them have seen her," he said.
"Think I missed a step there, Mark," Smith chimed in. He had planted himself on a nearby stool and was noting everything down.
"When you first accept the ring there's nothing but pure, uncontrolled rage. It's not until you're enter the blood pools of Ysmault… the Red Lantern origin world, that they gain any semblance of self-control back," he said.
"And constructs?" He asked.
"There's no records of any Red Lantern ever able to make them, except her," he said.
"Cool, I'm back up to speed," Smith said, making more notes. Lena had almost forgotten he was there.
"Well maybe Supergirl has found a way to make it work for her," she said. Fletcher shook his head.
"Rage sits on the end of the emotional spectrum, it isn't something you simply make work for you," he said.
"So what does all this mean. Supergirl doesn't seem to follow any of these rules you're talking about" Lena said. Fletcher thought for a moment and sighed.
"I don't know, it's something we need to find out, and fast. If Supergirl slips into these regular rules, it won't just be her who's at risk," he said.
"So there's a "we" now," Lena said. Fletcher ignored her.
"Whatever it is you're doing to keep her in check, keep at it. If she loses control it's bad news for all of us. More importantly, find out more about what drives her and how she operates the ring. If we can eliminate these unknowns everyone will be safer and maybe we can keep the other Red Lanterns away from this planet," he said. Lena nodded slowly, it was a lot to take in. As Fletcher looked up to the clock on the wall, his face dropped.
"Anything else we should know?" Smith asked.
"Most definitely, but I've already stayed here longer than I should," he said.
"I have more questions," Lena said. She felt like she was only scratching the surface.
"We can wait, he can't," Smith said. He hopped off the stool and made a move tot the exit.
"You don't speak for me," Lena said. She tried to look round Smith as he stepped in front of her.
"I really do need you to go," Fletcher said, he sounded more hurried than contemptuous. She gave up and let Smith usher
"I'll be back," she said.
"See, you're practically best friends now. Bye bye Prommy," Smith said.
"Fletcher," he said through gritted teeth. He watched them go, then darted into his office. Smith led her across the road and stopped around a small corner, peaking back at The Forge.
"Another fast and confusing interrogation," she said.
"I feel like that was more of a chat," he said. Lena wanted to be annoyed, but she learned a lot and expected nothing less from bizarre friend.
"Firstly. He works at a place called The Forge and you call yourself Smith? That's just lazy. Secondly, you could have told me your contact was Prometheus." He was about to speak but Lena cut him off.
"And if the next words out of your mouth are "I never said it wasn't Prometheus." I'm going to slap you in the face," she said.
"Sometimes, the names choose themselves," he said, switching to a sheepish look. "As for the Prometheus thing… it didn't seem relevant?"
"Didn't. Seem. Relevant," Lena sounded out the words, cocking her head and staring daggers at him.
"Look, I didn't want to say anything until I was sure he could help. Just so happened I didn't find out with enough time to ease you into it," he said.
"You could have told me on the phone," she said.
"Would you have come?" He asked, his nervousness immediately dropped to a look of curiosity. Lena paused.
"Probably," she said.
"Colour me convinced," he said, taking another peak around the corner. It earned him some strange looks from passers-by.
"How does he know so damn much about this anyway?" she said.
"You'll know soon enough," he said.
"Well I…" she started.
"Wait, shut up," he said.
"Excuse me?" she said, some genuine annoyance making its way through.
"Look look look," he said. Exhausted by his refusal to slow the pace, she gave up and peaked around with him.
Fletcher was shutting up shop, it was hard to believe such an unassuming-looking man had done so much damage. He pulled down the garage door with one hand.
"Come oooon," Smith muttered. Lena kept watching, unsure what to look for. The garage door got stuck a quarter of the way down. After yanking at it a few times to no success, he looked around. They both instinctively whipped back behind the corner as he turned to their direction. After a few seconds they peaked out again. Fletcher pulled his other hand out of his pocket to bring the door down with a thud.
"There, right hand," Monarch said, pointing. Lena got a glimpse of a large ring before Fletcher's hands quickly returned to his pockets and walked off. Lena's mouth was agape.
"Was that… green?"