Outside the room of my laboratory, there was a little sign hung on the door. It said-
'Warning! Science in progress. Please do not enter.
-Lena'
The room was, of course, both locked and completely empty. On the other hand, a random warehouse with retrofitted lead lining and a cool motorcycle was currently very much active.
Honestly, the whole 'secret base' thing was pretty much an accident. I decided I wanted a cool motorcycle for my future attempted superheroics, at which point I figured out I needed somewhere to store it. That was roughly the point I gave the Wayne Enterprises technique a try, and figured out that hey, it's surprisingly easy to secretly buy unnecessary gear for purposes of punching criminals in their faces. So I bought slightly more than strictly required for said unnecessary face-punching.
Said gear was still in a work-in-progress state, but unlike my super serum, this progress was of the slow and steady variety rather than whatever variety results in nothing but dessicated rodents.
Most of the work had been both into, and because of, my pattern recognition system I'd been trialling in the elevators- and that I'd confirmed as successful earlier today with Mercy mentioning those context-specific songs having been there. To prevent a Brainiac-style Paperclip Maximiser or some other whoops-I-accidentally-a-hostile-machine-intelligence from occurring, it was currently hardcoded to only give variances on output in response to input- such as picking a song or pointing out a part of a hyper-advanced engine that could be shaved off.
I was planning to make an AI eventually- I'd plug it into the pattern recognition system when I was satisfied with its ability to consistently imitate upstanding human behaviour. With plenty of built-in safeguards, of course. But that was still a ways off- I wasn't making one until I had the capability to punch it in the face if it ever went rogue, because really, any mad scientist who isn't a safe mad scientist is going to get a complementary Kryptonian Airlines flight straight to prison.
So, though it was complex, it wasn't really smart. When combined with Luthor-empowered brain meats, though, the pattern recognition made various other tasks a whole lot easier. For example- the design for my motorcycle.
I decided to take a break from monitoring the monitors. I hopped off the computer chair, wanting to take another look at the aforementioned design. Truth be told, it neither motored nor cycled, rendering the original term utterly meaningless save for its description of a small self-propelled vehicle- but it was my motorcycle and, certain categories such as cinematic kaiju fights, sugary food and dinosaurs excluded, it was literally the best thing ever.
With a brush of my fingers, I wiped some dirt off the the stenciled letters on the side- 'DYNACYCLE', it read quite clearly. (Not 'DINO-', alas, I couldn't figure out a way to do that without going full supervillain or Manbat mode.) Instead of engines, it had three retractable struts and a set of coils on either side- it was entirely true I wasn't a big fan of engineering, but electromagnetism? I could power through, mainly because I still had a certain measure of vindictiveness for it ever since A-Level Physics. Kryptonian shenanigans quite probably being related, according to the probably-correct records in the dream notebook? Helpful, but merely the cherry on top.
Either way, the design definitely seemed like a workable one for me. Minimal moving parts, unlikely to get stopped by tire spikes, able to remain on balance (if somewhat scratched due to bellysliding) when disabled... Oh, and able to fly like a tiny and extremely unsafe jet engine. Truly, the best of both worlds. I stroked the basically-glass of the windowscreen affectionately, and took a moment to will myself away from going on a test drive.
Being a six-year old, and otherwise never having rode a motorcycle, I had no idea how to actually drive the thing. Which was why I'd just adapted the pattern recognition into a self-driving program and added a mechanical failsafe to avoid it being unstoppable when hacked. Truly, emergent programming is wondrous and somewhat disconcerting.
A light came on- the motorcycle's touchscreen. I frowned, shuffling past the big ladder logo on the front to get a look... There was an intrusion attempt in the systems back in the tower.
An intrusion attempt other than my own, that is.
I may have slightly overrode the recording controls in Lex's office thing for the sole purposes of being able to watch this exchange. Turns out that teaching your daughter vital computing skills via encouraging their subversion of your stuff on the condition it was completed without your awareness did, in fact, leave you with a daughter capable of subverting your stuff without your awareness.
I started tracing it backwards with the aid of my trusty program, following the intruder's progress until I reached a point where I could box them in. Then...
The screen shifted from the code to a live video of Robin's highly disgruntled visage, the background somehow remaining completely indistinct despite the crystal clarity of the rest of the image. If I hadn't already known about the Batcave, there would have been no way to guess merely from the picture. I quickly switched the camera in use from the cycle to the main screen and hurried over, launching myself into the seat in such a way that I could perform one of those cliche villainous chair-swivels with the knit fingers.
I allowed the swivel to slow to a halt before I spoke. "I've been expecting you, Tim," I said in a needlessly ominous tone of voice.
He glared at me. "Cut the chat," he said. "You and Lex Luthor know our identities. What are you trying to get out of it?"
That gave me pause. "Wait, you think father knows?" I questioned, blinking.
"I-" This time it was his turn to be confused, though his utter distrust was still scrawled all across his face. "Why wouldn't you tell Luthor?"
"Because," I said, quite frankly, "I respect him a great deal for everything he's taught me, but that doesn't make him any less likely to choose the most immorally egoistical option regardless of the problem presented." I shrugged lightly, both hands up. "I think the less responsive citizens of Arkham would most strongly appreciate the idea of a Batwayne scandal, which- considering I enjoy living in an America which only regularly has an insane clown trying to drive its citizens to madness, rather than incessantly- is less than beneficial for myself."
"You think he could do that?" Robin growled.
"I know he would do that," I replied.
"...Say I believe that's accurate," said Robin- slowly, in a voice that sent shivers down my spine despite myself. "What keeps him from doing the same thing you did to figure it out? Why shouldn't we just take him down?"
"Egotism," I said simply. "His egotism," I hastily appended.
"You think that relying on egotism," he said, stressing the word like it were a criminal in a dark alley, "is good enough for us."
I gave him a look. "It's your only option. Currently, he believes Batman is a kook that can only fund himself by selling off spare equipment to Wayne Enterprises. That's as far as he'll get. He doesn't," I stressed, "understand heroism. He sees Bruce Wayne, and he sees a man that has no reason to do anything but search for more profit- with a few donations and reductions in medical cost to delude his conscience," I added. "He doesn't think Superman has a secret identity at all- who'd give up that power to be a boring old human, he thinks. You'd have to flaunt your secrets to make him wise up."
Robin remained silent.
"Y'know, Tim, this is normally the part where my father would shout-" I paused a second to get in that wide-elbowed, arched-back stance father slipped into when he was angry. "Say something, Small Batman! I double-dare you!" Then I returned to my normal position of hard-earned good posture (a double-miracle with my insidious fondness for video games). "I however, am currently awaiting my father's receiving of an unexpected visit from Superman, and so I can sit here quite happily until I'm able to stream it over."
"You're sending it to us?" he asked. "Why?"
"Because somebody has to know how ridiculous he looks when he gets indignant at an alien of sufficiently advanced biology. A peace offering, if you will."
"...I'll consider it," said Robin, continuing to glare into the screen. I, meanwhile, tilted the camera up and shuffled his glare to another window to try and ignore while I got on with some coding.
Despite Tim's ongoing interrogation glare, it was- surprisingly- his end that got interrupted first. A movement in the corner of my eye made me look up. "Oi, Teetee," I said, provoking a most marvellous little twitch in his eyebrows. "Something moving near you."
He glanced backwards- presumably trying to make sure I didn't evade his field of vision- before... well, I was getting the impression the camera blur was mostly from being pretty limited in focus distance, meaning I couldn't read his body language as he leaned backwards.
But I got the impression he was distinctly sheepish.
A shape in dark colours came into view. It stood in front of the camera, much larger than Robin- who evacuated his seat to make it available.
As the shape sat down, it revealed an unmistakeable face.
"Miss Luthor, it's come to my knowledge that you've discovered my identity as Batman," said Alfred.
"Ah, yes," I said, in another needlessly dramatic voice. "The Batler."
Well, not quite needless. This time, it had a purpose- avoiding unintelligible gibberish because holy butlers Batman that is Alfred Pennyworth the best guy in the entire DC universe possibly excluding AQUAMAN! and Kite Man Hell Yeah.
"Welcome to this audio call, friend of Batman," I continued. "Your presence is an unexpected surprise."
He merely raised a single impeccable eyebrow. "As opposed to an expected surprise, Miss Luthor?" he questioned in the most fundamentally british accent possible. Squee.
"Your humour is as the Namib," I approved. "I sit here in awe, and am honoured to be in thy presence."
He nodded slightly. "Quite, quite. Though I do need to say-"
His eyebrows knotted ever, ever so slightly.
Ooooooh no. Oh no no no no. Anything but that. Anything but-
"I do hope you didn't attempt to undermine those rascals from dinner, Miss?"
I cringed. Gah! Alfred is disappoint! I hissed internally. Rectify! Rectify! "O-ofcourse not!" I said quickly. "Tim didn't feel like it was necessary, so it-it would be disrespecting of his wishes, and-"
The potentially-disappointed Look did not waver.
"-a-and I wasn't going to hack their bank accounts, honest! They were just copying- they were arguing about Super Singers o-of all things earlier, much less eloquence- which meant it was their parents who said it- I mean, it was- probably- so, so I thought I'd..."
The Look shifted slightly, and I went quiet.
Then, mercifully, blessedly, with choirs of angels behind him, Alfred closed the gates of hell and leaned back in his chair once more. "By my judgment," he said to the boy by his side, "it was merely good intention somewhat disrupted by her limited choice of role models." He turned back. "Now please don't pursue vengeance in the future, it isn't becoming of you."
Despite everything, I flopped backwards with the most palpable relief I'd ever felt. It was like...
Well. When Alfred Pennyworth gives you the vote of approval despite being the literal spawn of Luthor, it generally isn't an experience that is closely analogous to another one.
"And Master Drake?" he said, turning to the Robin-shaped blur in the corner. "While you've expressed a great deal of prudence, and your doubt is still well-founded, please don't attempt to stare down a little girl. It isn't becoming of you, either."
There was a muffled grumble, of a variety that was probably honest-sounding rather than the classic teenage 'yes Ma' you might expect.
"Now then," he said. "Would you... Oh?" An alarm noise had come on.
No time to waste. "Show's starting." I switched the output to the Lex's security cameras output. Robin approached the chair, and leant on it as he watched from over Alfred's shoulder.
Mister Guy Who Wanted A Warsuit had already left, and the window was already open. A necessary sacrifice for not, y'know, selling out my own father to Batman. I patiently waited for the rails to start rolling.
"I'm afraid we already have a window washer," said father. There we go.
Superman stayed quiet, glaring in from the empty night sky.
"Hmph," Lex grunted. "The silent treatment, eh?"
"You can't afford to keep this up forever, Lex," said Superman as he broke the script on the third line of all places.
Zah?
I leaned further forwards, starting to frown. He shouldn't have even had a script atall until the last line!
"Whatever do you mean?" my father questioned. In a single action, he stood up- then, he approached the window to lean upon it, and gaze upon the city beyond. "See this, ah... Super-man?" he said, gesturing. "This... This is all mine. I built this city. It was born from the technology I created. It runs so smoothly because I asked the policies be changed. Two thirds of it is employed by myself, whether they know it or not- and the rest listens to my every word."
"Only because they don't know the truth."
"What? And you think the truth's going to come out?" Lex questioned, glancing backwards at the Man of Steel. He laughed. "The people are all idiots. The judges can be bought and the cops become crooks the moment you flash a little coin in front of their faces. As long as they see Lex Luthor giving them the bread and circuses they want with a smile slapped across his face, the city will remain mine." He stopped. "I've made this place... efficient. Approaching perfection, because of one man alone. The only thing I need to change is my... complacency."
Superman shook his head quietly as Luthor continued to stare beyond the skyline.
"There's a world out there that needs order, needs someone to keep it in line. Gotham and Bludhaven, Central City, Midway City and Fawcett City... They're great cities, and they're all experiencing crime waves the likes of which they've never seen before." His back straightened slightly. "They need someone to be in control." And he turned to Superman. "I think, with the right contract... that you could help me realise this."
"He's not laying a finger on Gotham as long as Batman's around," I heard Robin growl.
Superman shook his head again, more so this time than the last. "That's not the world I want, Lex. It's not what anyone wants, not really. You have the ability to change the world. You're the biggest company in America. So why," he asked, a hint of pain in his voice, "did you sell that robot to terrorists instead of selling it with the rest of them?"
"Very simple," he said. "I prove its capabilities, I earn the goodwill of what was supposedly a competent group in one of the most unstable countries in the world, and I make a tidy profit in the process." He turned fully to face his nemesis. His voice hardened. "The world would have been better off if you hadn't interfered, Superman."
"You know how to convince people," countered Superman. "And you're one of the smartest and most powerful men in the world. You don't need to sell off warsuits to criminals-" his voice was getting louder, now- "the conflict could have ended in months if you just talked to them."
"And where's the profit in talking?" said Lex, an audible smirk in his voice now he had his opponent on the back foot.
Superman was silent for a second. "Is this really the world you want for your city? Your company?" He paused. "Your daughter?"
"Whoah now," I protested through the screen, "don't bring me-"
"All that?" Luthor said disdainfully, stopping my voice in its tracks. "It's nothing to me. Nothing. A legacy- nothing more."
I took a moment to tilt the facecam away while I continued watching.
"All they're good for is my legacy," he said. "A way for the world to know my name after I'm gone. Because that... That is what immortality is, Superman. That is what it is."
"...You're despicable," said Superman. I saw Alfred nod quietly, and tilted the Batcave screen away from me, too.
"And you'll soon be one more stepping stone on my way there." said Luthor, waving him off. "A Man versus the god- a fitting tale to add, I think. A modern Prometheus. Now, if you'll excuse me... I have work to do."
"We all know what happened to Prometheus in the end."
Luthor smiled. "Did Prometheus, before he gave away those flames, check if his foes could burn?"
The Man of Steel glared at him. "I don't. I'll be watching you, Luthor." And between frames, Superman disappeared.
The conversation was over. I disabled the override I'd used on the cameras, and the display flickered to black.
A little red 'RECORDING ENDED' flashed in the screen's far corner.
"W-" Well that got somewhat more insulting than planned, I'd intended to say, but there was a quite frankly unreasonable tightness in my throat that made me huff in irritation.
Oh, and there was the watery eyes. Wonderful. Just what I wanted immediately before I went back to fiddling with coding.
A voice interrupted me. Rule of three, Lena, Rule of three. "Miss Lena," said Alfred, "are you-"
Flick, I thought as I pressed the mute button. After a second more's thought, I closed the connection altogether, booting them both back into the Batcave. Knowing my luck they'd have ended up complaining about it being past my bedtime anyway.
Now, I thought, to work on something important.