"Lena!" Mercy said through the door, knocking. "Are you up yet? I'll be asking for a pay rise soon if you keep this up!"

I grunted something of debatable intelligibility through the door. It took a moment, but I heroically rolled off the bed, still fully-dressed from the brief nap I'd been taking. Go me. Wooooo.

I'd been popping off to Gotham frequently enough to be making my father paranoid that Superman's grand plan to take over the planet was approaching fruition (because my bike is currently a literal UFO to the people of Metropolis). Mostly for superhero training. Which was... extremely tiring. But at the same time, the Batcave's training sessions were paradoxically pleasant to join in with.

It had been the most I'd talked to people- not just spoken with or posted on a forum with, talked- since in... well, literally forever, if we're assuming that different lives don't count. Which was the most convenient way to think, because when demonic possession and mind uploading exist, awkward questions are awkward.

Tim had a good sense of humour. He'd probably been learning from Alfred. Alfred himself was better, in regards to worker morale and politeness or whichever of that sort of word could actually describe what Alfred did, than every single member of staff Luthor had in his compensating-for-something tower combined. And Barbara just had an aura of legitimately-nice-person about her for reasons I couldn't quite describe.

Batman, meanwhile, was Batman. He spent most of his time glaring from the shadows, with the occasional word of... not encouragement, becauseBatman, but putting in a word that would somehow convince me to keep pushing forwards with the training anyway. Even the boring stuff- which was a lot of it, because he seemed to be leaning towards superhero desk skills rather than combat. Reasonable goals for a hyperintelligent preteen, really.

I like to think we're the Batman equivalent of best buddies. Mainly because he really needs some.

Not that I had unconditional trust, not at all- I was forbidden from plenty of the cave, and I always had someone supervising me. But that was just good procedure, and I didn't blame them for it- they wouldn't be very good heroes if they weren't cautious enough to last.

Regardless, there were some objectively bad things about training with them. Like the fact it was always at night. Every. Single. Time. (Even if my own schedule was an equal factor in that.) All that crime-fighting training meant I was more than somewhat sleep-deprived, even if I did get a decent rest last night- and Mercy had been complaining about it now it was approaching regularity.

Buuut I'd finally got an alarm clock specifically for napping purposes once I was actually ready in the morning. Apparently being six makes it somewhat easier to fall asleep, which is one of the few conveniences of excessive youth. And being absurdly rich and the owner of a technological empire lets you get your six-year-old clothes that are equally good at not crumpling.

Combined, this meant I was a fully operational small child when I left the room with an "I'm up, I'm up," and some cookie cravings. Go me. Woo.

I trotted through the corridor alongside Mercy. Unlike Luthor, Mercy didn't default to the overconfident amble- he probably drove her crazy with it too, same as he did to me. "You got any predictions for the museum?" she asked. "Beyond security upgrades since the theft."

It had been embarrassing to see on the news I'd left the other raptors on a rooftop. But, as much as I would miss them, they were home again now- their museum home- and stealing them twice would be pushing it.

"I'll bet an unknown quantity of smugness on the dinosaurs being inaccurate," I said, nodding. "And a block of psamite being in there somewhere."

"What is it with you and psamite, anyway?" Mercy questioned. "Isn't it a bit... I dunno, arbitrary?"

"Oh, entirely," I agreed. But a field trip with an entire valley composed of nothing but one rock will do that. "It's the worst thing ever regardless."

We stepped into the... well, I'm not actually sure what a room made specifically for breakfast is called. My father was very into the whole 'useless extravagance' thing when a good old kitchen table and some cereal would have done just fine. Still, breakfast was ready right on time (or rather, i was right on time for breakfast)- when I noticed Mercy walking off. She noticed me giving her a confused look.

"Lex ate before a meeting this morning," she explained with a sympathetic expression. "Wants me up there. Sorry, kid, but he needs bodyguarding more than you do right this second."

"Oh," I said, frowning. "I'll see you by the entrance, then." She waved and headed off.

Probably some sort of incredibly-illegal deal. Again. With people of less sense than money. Again. Because that's how Lex Luthor, most intelligent person in the world, rolls. If he didn't own the most technologically-advanced company in the world, built from nothing but a suspiciously well-timed windfall of life insurance from his parents... I'd call him a total idiot.

After a few minutes of grumpily eating bacon and other such breakfast foods, I headed to the elevator.

I travelled down- since I was the only one there, my secretly still-in-place program started up the music- but alas, when I got to the bottom, Lex and Mercy were still not there. The lack of response from the press outside confirmed that the one-way glass was, in fact, still working. Then I took out my phone- smartphones weren't standard issue right now, but I'd invented my own and (with luck) I'd soon be getting some non-hacking-based pocket money for the non-graphene version.

I wasn't calling anyone- I was using the internet. Ah, the wonders of using the world's most advanced communications network for the purposes of looking at animals being silly. Truly, technology is both amazing and inherently stupid.

Eventually, finally, Luthor and Mercy arrived downstairs. "Ah, Lena," he said cheerfully. "On time as always."

I nodded politely in thanks for the compliment, and avoided reminding him that he was, in fact, not on time. Fortunately it wasn't a long trip- past the conventional gaggle of reporters, into the car, a few turns and stretches of road, and we were pretty much there, only a few minutes later than we needed to be.

The museum itself was much more pleasant in daylight than in the dark. I smiled to myself as I looked over the local landscape, at the open space and copious quantities of grass in front of it. The reporters were staying near the doorway to the museum, this time- these were high-quality Lex-approved reporters, which was rather amusing when you considered Superman himself was one of them. I looked up at the giant L, an icon to proudly proclaim who owned it. Looking at it, i couldn't quit blame him- it was almost non-tacky.

Then I noticed that there was, in fact, a second giant letter L sitting like a statue in front of the entrance, surrounded by (admittedly rather pretty) flowers. I barely refrained from facepalming at the extravagance of it- the only reason I hadn't noticed it last night was because of the angle.

As with most of my father's general speech things, I split off from him and Mercy to go stand in the crowd. Lois and Clark were somewhere in the middle, so I stood vaguely near the back edge waiting for the entrance to become available. The reporter guy next to me had a pretty nice blue hat- really fancy, went well with the equally blue suit- which I carefully restrained my jealousy of.

Lex Luthor approached the top of the steps, Mercy settling into a flanking position of him- some other bodyguard with a quiff filled the space to his right. There was no microphone. The crowd was already small enough that his words would carry quite clearly.

He started without needing to clear his throat. "As you all know," he explained, "recent budget cuts have forced the city to close the doors of many of its public museums. Museums, though, are a vital gift to the next generation- which is why the Lex Luthor Museum of Natural History has been created; to help others learn the awe and wonder of science, just as I did at their age."

I vaguely heard a feminine voice mutter something in amusement. Lois, probably.

"In anticipation of tomorrow's grand opening, I felt that you- the elite of the Metropolis press- might enjoy a sneak preview of this brand-new, state-of-the-art exhibition hall. Though certain artefacts were somehow stolen in transit from their previous location-" Blatant lies- "now that they are guarded by our state-of-the-art security system, they're safe enough here that we are comfortable keeping them without even cases to guard them."

I perked my ears- and sure enough, because I was expecting it, I heard a 'kerpow' noise coming from inside the museum. I looked to the left and right- no blue blue shot past, or anything so dramatic, but it was more than likely Clark was talented enough to evade even my keen vision.

"And now, I will be happy to answer any questions regarding the museum or its displays." Luthor smiled magnanimously, and looked towards the middle of the crowd. "Miss Lane?"

I heard someone step forwards. The- well, not iconic, she was a writer rather than a newswoman- but the well-known voice of Lois apparated from outside of my field of vision. Curse you, shortness! "How do you respond to charges that the museum is really just a large tax shelter for LexCorp?" she questioned, her voice just pleased enough with the question to be both aggravating to my father and possessing the professionalism that had got her to this crowd in the first place.

Luthor frowned, pausing while he calculated his response. "LexCorp is one of the world's largest and most powerful companies," he replied. "Even a museum as great as this is negligible in cost compared to the profits that LexCorp makes- in preserving this country and building the future- and in return for the investments I personally provided, provides a service to the public as a whole. Next question?"

After that, he went for a few more of those controversial reporters- probably to make it seem like he were under attack or something- before going for the positive and strategically-inane. Apparently his personal favourite exhibited specimens were the totem poles, "though I suspect many of the city's fine youth- my own daughter, present here today, included- will have a particular fondness for the dinosaur exhibits."

Pfft. Put some work in first and then we'll talk.

Then, finally, the doors opened- and the crowd gasped. I trotted forwards, past the gaggle of reporters, and saw...

...A pair of thieves trying to pull their feet out of some sort of paste, directly next to a hole in the floor. That was not what I'd been expecting, to say the least. Superman was absent- and, looking back at the crowd, Clark Kent was still present, looking as surprised as everyone else.

Huh, I thought. He must be glad the puttythrowers or whatever got installed worked- getting pulled out of work must be inconvenient.

Father was shouting about security, and Mercy was busy listening to father's shouting, so it fell upon my humble shoulders to talk to the press. I turned towards them with a photogenic expression on my face, as opposed to Attempted Batglare. "As you can see, we take a multi-vector approach to security," I explained to them, gesticulating slightly as I did. "The preview will be delayed until security and maintenance have ensured the safety of our exhibits and visitors. We thank you for bearing with us while the issue is resolved- please take a moment to enjoy the surroundings, as I will not be taking questions on the museum in the meantime. Thank you." I smiled and nodded politely, and stepped down from the steps.

A few reporters approached me, but I waved them off- until I saw the Daily Planet's sort-of-dynamic duo. "Ah, Mister Kent, Miss Lane," I said, greeting them. "I read your articles regularly."

"You must be Lena Luthor," said Lois, giving me an appraising look as I approached. "It's a pleasure to meet you- does your father mind you being away from the bodyguards?"

"Not really," I said, shrugging. "Perhaps it's to do with Superman? As much as my father dislikes him, he's certainly talented in what he does."

"You're a bit wordier than I was expecting," said Clark, classic farmboy smile on his face. "Mind if we take a few notes while we wait for the museum to open?"

"Not at all, not at all- though you'll have to ask my father for permission before you put anything in the papers, of course," I added.

"I guess it's an interview, then!" said Lois. "Lena, you said your father dislikes Superman. Is there any particular reason for that?"

Egoism, I pointedly did not say. But I might get away with implying it. "Boiled down, my father believes humans should stand on their own two feet- an equal in the cosmos," I explained, "rather than children. He believes that Superman represents an ideological threat- that regardless of how good his intentions are, he's limiting us simply because he takes away the necessity of improvement."

"Such as what?" Clark asked. "Safety regulations? Military development?"

"And more," I confirmed. "Superman has done many things for us, and my father is concerned that people will begin to see those things as things they no longer need to do."

Lois looked ready to ask a more critical question, but I suppose you can't ask a six-year-old girl if they believe their father thinks letting a plane full of people die is morally correct. "Do you agree with him?" she questioned instead. "Or do you have a different view?"

"Not on that specific point," I told her. "I do believe we need to be careful around Superman- but that there's also more concerning things about the appearance of Superman than the man himself."

"What's your reasoning behind that?" asked Clark, with an interested tone of voice. Great guy, that one, I unironically thought.

"Being careful about Superman?" I confirmed. "In purely physical terms, he's something we're not equipped to deal with- an example might be that anything designed to do heavy damage is designed to do it to large targets, like boats or tanks, rather than a small and roughly cylindrical object. And even a man as good as Superman could find a reason to turn on us."

"Turn on us? That boy scout?" Lois quirked an eyebrow. "You're kidding, right?"

"All it takes is something hurting him enough," I explained, thinking of Justice Lords and High Chancellors. "Not physically- emotionally. I think the risk will be mitigated once he builds a social circle of like-minded people, to keep him balanced, but in the meantime all it takes is someone driving him to the point where he decides 'This doesn't protect enough people.' And the most likely point of failure for locking up a guilty man is the trial. It's a concerning thought, isn't it?"

"That's... a disturbing thought," she tentatively agreed.

"You can say that again," said Clark, frowning. "But you mentioned there being concerns beyond Superman himself?"

I nodded. "Have you ever heard of the Fermi Paradox?"

Clark nodded. Lois shook her head.

"It's quite interesting reading, really. As long as you're not living in a universe with aliens among us, which unfortunately ceased to be true a few months ago. It's about-" I turned my head towards a sound at the doors. My father had clapped his hands, calling for attention. "Ah, curses. Looks like the tour is back on," I said disappointedly. "I'll finish this later- wait by the entrance once you're done, perhaps?"

"Sounds good," Lois said with a nod of her head. "It's been good talking to you, Miss Luthor."

"A real pleasure," agreed Clark, smiling despite all the shit-talking I'd just done to his other identity.

"Keep up the good writing," I replied, my expression equally jovial, before I hurried up to catch up with my father.