"It's Superman!" by Lois Lane
The Daily Planet, October 24 1986:
"…Let's start with vital statistics. He's single. No children. He says he's over twenty-one, that he doesn't drink when he flies—I get the sense he doesn't drink at all. Weighs two to two-twenty five. From the look of him he's all muscle. I ask him to test his powers. He says he can see through anything. I ask him to test that, too. He says he's impervious to pain—nothing's hurt him so far. But I suspect something has. I see it in his eyes. I ask him why he's here.
"He says he's here to fight for truth and justice and the American way. I tell him he's gonna end up fighting every elected official in the country. But there's a heart to him. I am not sure I can put it into words. But he seems to want to help people, as if doing good work is its own reward. Paging Immanuel Kant. Already, of course, by the time this article is published you will have seen a host of talking heads discussing this strange visitor and wondering what his true intentions are. Hence this interview. Certainly there is curiosity, alongside fear, about what Superman is and what his mission is. And as I have a conversation with him, his declamation of truth, justice and the American way stays with me.
"As he answers my anodyne questions I come to suspect that certain television personalities who shall remain nameless but under WGBS' employment have sorely misjudged him. Perhaps he is just one person trying to do his best in this appalling world. Perhaps he is just trying to help people. It would all seem a bromide to some other person, but in this man, I think not. I think he's here to help us. No less than my old mentor Ed Wilson once told me Metropolis is the very best and very worst of humanity. Based on my brief interactions with him this evening, I think Superman is the former. Which leads me to wonder: who or what is the very worst?"
Earlier in the evening, Lex Luthor resigned the office of President of the United States. While the Man of Steel discreetly left the White House after their conversation, Luthor went down to the South Lawn. There he spoke to the gathered press pool. Pre-eminent among them was Lois Lane with a WGBS microphone in hand. They seemed to share a look in the infinite moment before he spoke.
Like always.
For a moment she thought maybe he'd do the right thing.
But—
No.
"Tonight," he said into Lois' microphone and as he spoke the press pool stirred into private conversations, cellular telephone calls to sources and colleagues, keeping one eye on their phone and another on Luthor. "Superman and I were able to have a conversation in mutual respect over the state of our nation. Together with the Vice President, the Joint Chiefs, and the Attorney General, we were able to devise a solution which I feel will be beneficial to all parties and at least begin the process of healing at this charged time. Tonight we watched with horror as riots broke out in some of our greatest cities. I have spoken previously of this American carnage and tonight I renew my call for it to stop. We must prove ourselves a peaceable people, especially during these dark times of international stress and domestic strife. We must seek to be better in word and deed. However, it has become clear to me in the course of my conversation with Superman and the Joint Chiefs that I no longer possess the necessary coalition to effect change on the level I desire. With that being said, I want to inform you all here and the American People watching that as of ten-forty-five this evening I have resigned the office of President of the United States. At that time, in the Oval Office, Pete Ross was sworn in. It is my sincere hope that we give Mister Ross the chance and the choice to lead. He is our president now, and let me be the first to offer him my fondest wishes for the job he now must perform. Tonight, I will return to Metropolis, and to private life. Thank you all."
Then he turned and left. While the press pool erupted and started shouting questions—
He kept walking.
It was a fairly benign statement from Luthor. It belied nothing and indicated nothing. It was a lie, she knew damn well. Meant to distract from her publishing of the file cabinet: every investigative work she ever wrote on him, cross-referenced and collaborated. All of it was out there now and Luthor could not control it any longer. Time was she would stick her hand in the air and needle him with questions. But this time she didn't say a word. She lowered the mic and watched him walk back up to the White House, a solitary figure in the night.
She felt Clark behind her. She turned, her gaze still on Luthor shrinking into the distance, into the blackness. She said, "Congratulations?"
"I don't know," he said. "All his old resources back at his fingertips. I'm not sure what to expect."
She looked at him and smiled, sly and cool. "I'm sure I can think of something."
One corner of his mouth curled up. "Now now."
The curl turned into a full grin.
He said, "Let's go home."
And they did. They found a quiet little hiding place down the road on K Street. He gathered her up and she said, "Like our honeymoon," and kissed him. He smiled again, and off they went.
In the distance he saw Wonder Woman and Batman boarding her jet, temporarily visible, with John Corben bound within the Lasso of Truth. For his benefit. They had things taken care of.
He looked in the distance towards Metropolis. The riots were done. Turpin and Sawyer had done good work ending them. There were volunteers cleaning up Centennial Park. Stryker's was back under control.
He rotated in mid-air to look west.
Keystone was quiet now too.
Gotham.
Starling.
They were quiet. Okay, even if only for the moment.
For the moment, he could take it.
They returned home. Except there was no home to return to. Not exactly.
1938 Sullivan Street was a crime scene. Far up on their floor, their apartment was a bombed-out ruin.
He saw it from the air. The vast plume of smoke curling up and away from midtown. Into the night sky. He had smelled the smoke from Washington.
They landed on the street. Him and Lois. He looked up at the burning hole in the building.
He looked at her.
She nodded. Smiled that sly smile of hers. The one that clutched his heart and made him fall in love with her all over again. Every time. He touched her face.
Then he lifted into the sky. In another moment he landed on the burning remnants of his balcony.
He went for Winslow's remains first. He recognised the bones. From long ago. And now they were nothing at all. A black pile. A used-to-be of a person. He took his cape off, knelt by the pile, and covered it gingerly. Bowed his head and was silent for a long moment.
He remembers. Long ago.
Winslow Schott is the Toyman. One of Clark's more persistent and unstable foes. It is Winslow Schott who years before this moment and in the throes of a psychotic break kidnaps Cat Grant's son Adam, abuses him, then kills him. The crime has shaken the city—and Superman. When the MCU, Sawyer and the supremely irate Turpin, find Schott's hiding place, Superman asks to take the lead. Turpin is Turpin about it. But Sawyer at least seems to understand. Superman says only one word to her: Mercy. She calms herself and just says "Okay." Superman walks right in. What a stereotype of a hideout, like the Scooby-Doos Clark used to sneak around at night and watch because Pa hated them. An abandoned factory on the outskirts of Metropolis. Superman just walks upstairs. It's better if there are no powers. It seems calmer that way. Especially with this broken man he is about to bring in. He walks up, five floors on decaying stairs, and there is Winslow, hunched over a stripped-down Teddy Ruxspin. He is soldering the tape deck. Superman slows down. The floorboards creak underneath him. Winslow stops working. He looks up and turns around.
"Oh."
Superman says, "I just want to talk."
Winslow hunches and frowns. His glasses slide down his nose and his jowls quake. When he speaks it is quiet and broken: "I didn't mean to hurt him."
"But you did. I can't let that go."
He watches Winslow grab a screwdriver. Watches his hand tense around it. Superman frowns. In another moment, Winslow relaxes his grip. He sighs. "Okay." He feels Superman's hand on his shoulder, and Superman in turn feels Winslow's shoulder, his decades of stress and worry, this broken body and this broken man who needs help he can't get and probably never will.
It is the first time Clark thinks of his father. Not Jonathan Kent. No, this felt something a good deal worse. A good deal more troubling, which no reassurance from Pa could sate. He thinks instead of the father he never knew. The scientist, elevated above such concerns. Ah, but was Jor-El? Was he so divorced from the cold, complacent lot Krypton had become in the centuries before its death? Clark wonders all these things in the fevered dream, in the immeasurable instant of time that comes and goes between when he pats Winslow on the shoulder and then begins speaking.
Father.
What am I?
He speaks.
"Winslow. There are policemen downstairs. They want to arrest you, and I can't stop that. You're going to stand trial from there and then prison. But there are some recovery programs at Stryker's. I can put in a good word for you, and this doesn't have to get worse than it already is. Can you do that for me?"
Slowly, the man nods, this man, this Toyman. Superman helps him up and together they go downstairs.
And now.
Winslow had been in solitary in Stryker's ever since. Even there, even with Metropolis' famous prison clemency programs, a child-killer would not last in general population. So, sadly, solitary it was. And so many years removed from that day, all Superman could do was remember in pain, in humility, in reverence. In grief. And in abiding curiosity. Who freed Winslow to do this tonight?
The answer was clear.
The same sick man who gave him materials to burn Clark Kent's apartment as a message.
He started looking around. Whatever Winslow used, it did the job and more.
But.
Lex must have known they weren't home.
Because the explosion wouldn't have killed him.
And because Lex wouldn't kill Lois.
Even after all this, he still carried a certain torch.
He looked ahead. The door was like everything else. Blackened, burning. Burning. The word of the day. Tiny fragile flames danced at the edges of carbonized wood and drywall. A group of firefighters were coming down the hall at him.
"Gentlemen," he said.
"Sir," the chief said and tipped his hat. He waved to his group and together they began to survey the room. None of them said a word. They seemed to know. Like muscle memory. The chief said: "Looks like it just burned everything to shit."
Superman said nothing. But he walked around his living room surveying the carnage. Was carnage even the word? Plenty of war zones around the world, around the universe. Certainly worse off than his little apartment here. Lots of places in worse need than him.
But this.
This was home.
Perhaps prophetically, there remained there on the floor, by the sagging remains of the davenport, a photograph in a mother of pearl frame, blackened only slightly at the corners. It was Lois and Clark on their wedding day. He picked it up and regarded it for a long moment.
In the vast expanse between high school and college, Clark had travelled the world. He hooked up with a Peace Corps team in Europe, later in subsaharan Africa, and saw firsthand the horror. The way the world was—the way he wished it was not. He met Ed Wilson and travelled Hemingway's path back across Europe. He ended up in a national park and fired because of his powers. Fired because Ed wanted to push him out into the world. Cushions like superpowers—walls you build for yourself—are fine on their own. They keep you safe. But they must be torn down. It's the only way you grow.
He thought of Ed. Time for you to fly.
"Sir." The voice of the fire chief behind him.
Superman turned. "I can take care of this," he said. "Mister Kent is a personal friend."
The fire crew all looked among each other and then back at Superman. The chief said, "Sir, we know it's you. Whole department does."
He was silent. A fraction of a second later he looked away.
All the years of his life and his adventures have all come down to this. To be known.
He thought of it a year ago. After Lex won. No more secrets.
"I'm sorry."
"Mister Kent," the chief said. "You've done more for us than we can remember. It'd be our honor."
Superman looked at the chief. "There's a whole city out there, chief. People who need you more than I do. Help them."
The crew looked among themselves again. Slowly they nodded. Superman gestured toward the door. Through the blasted threshold he saw Lois coming down the hall. As they passed Lois in the hallway she sidestepped and they nodded to her and she smiled and nodded back. She watched them go, then looked at him.
He cut quite a figure there in the scorched doorway. The stolid power, the broadness of him against the distorted, blackened setting. Closed his eyes and bowed his head for a moment.
He felt her at his side. Her hand on his shoulder. He stood and they shared a look.
What to say. What not to say.
She reached in and kissed him. Slid one hand up the back of his neck, through the waves of his hair. He wrapped his hands around her waist. It was, in the grand scheme of things and on the scale of kisses, one of the finest moments of his life.
What a life. What things I've seen. What things I've done.
Father.
I've been honored to be here. To be among these people. At their very best. At their very worst.
I was meant to inspire good. To champion the oppressed, fight the corrupt, and encourage humankind towards the better angels of its nature.
I don't think I shall ever succeed. Not fully.
I suppose I'll have to keep trying.
Here, in this city. On this planet. In the universe.
We'll rebuild. Lois and I will.
And one day—
He pulled away from Lois. Breathed. Smiled.
"I love you," he said.
He thought of something else. Something in that article she wrote about him. So many years ago. When he explain why he was here. What his mission was.
What was it she called it.
Oh.
He smiled again.
A never-ending battle.
Three days into his term, Pete Ross was in crisis. He lazed in the davenport, the hideous green midcentury atrocity Luthor had brought in, with his head in his hands. He felt his nose running. His head hurt. Every inch of him hurt. He was doing his level best to focus on the floor, on something still and calming. The pattern of the rug there, a series of chevrons in alternating purple hues.
"Mister President?"
He rolled his eyes.
"Pete?"
He looked up.
"Please don't call me that."
"It's your title now," the doctor said.
Pete was starting to cry. He sniffed. "No."
"You were given it."
"I never wanted it."
"But you did. Otherwise would you have said yes to him all those months ago?"
Pete leaned back. Rested his head on the back of the davenport.
"I have to live with this," he said. "For the rest of my life."
"It's alright, Mister President. Let it all out."
"I can't!" He yelled, his eyes teary and bloodshot. "I have a country to run," he said and slunk back in the seat.
"You could return to private life. You haven't named a Vice President yet. Theoretically, the office would pass to the Speaker of the House."
Pete glared. "Horne is unbalanced. No."
"But this is unhealthy."
Pete sniffled. Scratched his neck. He looked at his hand and thought he saw something crawling on it. He jolted in place, a momentary panic, and rolled his eyes.
"I know," he said. "I know."
"My advice as your therapist is to resign."
Pete looked at him. He spoke plain and bitter, a tinge of self mockery to him: "I hear things. You know. Rumbles at the DNC. People trying to fill a void now that Lex is gone."
"Oh?"
"You know," Pete said. "Who to run in oh-four. There's a couple I could see doing it. And winning."
"Resigning...would remove you from having a say in those conversations. Would it not."
Pete shook his head. Yawned and rubbed his face. Stretched and looked away. His face was vacant and broken. He said, "I don't know anymore."
"Save yourself. The nation will understand. And endure."
Pete breathed.
He looked away. Out the window.
"Of course," he said. "You're right. You're always right."
"Now now."
"I mean it," Pete said. "One thing Lex did right was recommending you. I'm very grateful, Doctor Crane."
Jonathan Crane pushed his glasses up on his nose and forced a smile.
"So am I, Mister President. More than you know."
Meanwhile…
Wonder Woman returned to Gateway City, and from there her ancestral home of Themyscira, which once again opened itself to her, to fight Circe the Witch in a final battle. But that is a story for another day.
Batman returned to Gotham City, and at the dawn of the year 2002 found himself drawn into a scheme against his life. Schemes upon schemes, really, and the greatest among them involving a childhood friend and the unlikeliest of Gotham's creatures, Edward Nigma. But you know that story.
Robin, Kid Flash, and Superboy: Tim Drake, Bart Allen, and Conner Kent also returned to private life. And they were never to be the same. They went back to superheroics. But they were never the same. They were filled with companionship and love for the rest of their days. Even up to the Infinite Crisis of Man and the Multiverse which cost poor Conner his life. His memory was a blessing, even as poor Cassie mourned him to her own death with Diana on Themyscira years later. Meanwhile, the boys carried their light in their hearts. They were the lucky ones. When you got right down to it. Because as long as there's life there's hope.
Dinah Lance, together with Oliver's son Connor Hawke, rebuilt Starling City. They subdued the riots and the protestors. And in the wake of Roy Harper and Oliver Queens' deaths they became the city's greatest protectors. The super-criminals moved off. Perhaps in respect to Oliver, but perhaps also in shock. By the year 2005 Dinah and Connor were able to retire. Super-crime never again threatened Starling.
The Justice League of America met one last time on New Year's Eve 2001. Clark, J'onn, Diana, Arthur, Wally, Kyle, and Bruce were there. They were there to take a vote. A decision borne out of other, older choices they had made. And choices they hadn't.
The Martian Manhunter stood up first and explained it. His first role, even on Mars and even once he arrived on Earth, was a policeman. It was so long ago, and so much had happened in his life since then, but he still tried to conduct himself along the line. He made a case:
"I undertook a mission of my own accord to infiltrate Luthor's campaign and, once he was elected, I remained. I thought I could uncover some evidence of wrongdoing. I was so certain they could not discover me. But I did not count on his ingenuity. The most dangerous weapon in the universe, after all, is the human brain, and I failed to account for Lex Luthor's. At the same time, as has been made clear in Lois Lane's published work, he was able to conspire with foreign powers to influence policy in a way favorable to all parties—to rewrite the balance of power in the Middle East, playing a part in the Bialyan genocide, the disappearance of Queen Beatriz, and the murders of Oliver Queen and Roy Harper. The uncomfortable truth is that we allowed it.
"We were too blind with morality and philosophy, with the question of using our positions to validate the affairs of humanity, that we failed his test. To be certain, he indeed committed crimes for which he has pled out and for which he will pay a very small penalty. He has sworn to never again seek public office or use his knowledge in service against the Republic. My contacts in the Secret Service indicate he is to be impeached in absentia, as a token measure. But this is not enough. It is not enough that he alone pay for his misdeeds. We are responsible too. We stood by too long, then chose to intervene too late, and the world reacted poorly. We cannot save the world if the world does not trust us.
"Our cities were subjected to riots because of polemic Luthor tacitly allowed. People have died. We ourselves have been split on this issue. He has done this to us."
"Now he is no longer under such scrutiny. The longer I contemplate the possibility now in his hands, I fear not for myself or for any of you, but for the planet he still could threaten, and the innocents in his way. I feel no longer secure in guaranteeing the safety of this world in a group setting, when our separate individual approaches could yield more beneficial results. I therefore call for a vote. On the immediate disbanding of the Justice League."
A silent moment came and went.
Someone said, "It would have to be unanimous."
So this, then, is the true end of the Age of Superheroes. It does not end in fire, or in ice as they say. As the mythology and the pundits would tell you. There is no grand fight to the finish. There isn't a thrilling end, not even a climax really, in the most classic sense of the word. It's the opposite in fact. The Age of Superheroes—
All those generations of struggle—
And what did they ever achieve really?—
It was never intended to be the twilight of the gods. Or a grand fable for the ages. And now, without them, humanity was going to have to find it's own way.
It all started out with a man, an alien that looked like a man, just trying to help people. The last survivor of a dead world, the Last Son of Krypton, who came to Earth and touched lives. He saved people. Fought others. Gave us gifts, the greatest of which was his unfailing courage. And it was with that unfailing courage—and in memory of the many lives he had failed to save—that the Man of Steel stood. Looked among his friends, his colleagues.
Superman said, "Aye."
Wonder Woman looked away and said, "Aye."
Kyle looked at her.
Wally was leaning against a wall, arms across his chest, tapping his leg but it was a one red blur.
Kyle said, "Aye," and it was quiet and uncertain.
Wally looked at J'onn. He said. "This is horseshit and you know it."
"Wally—"
"Barry," he said and pointed a finger hard on the table, "Would have stuck it through to the end. He did, as a matter of fact. Your memories are fading."
"Lex outmaneuvered us at every turn," Clark said. "And only resigned so he could save himself."
"This is wrong action," Wally said. "We can't give up now."
"Escalation," Arthur said. "Is the only language he and all the rest respond to. Leaving—is the only way to show them we understand." He shot a withering look at Wally. "Humankind doesn't need us anymore. If they ever did."
Kyle shook his head. The conversation seemed familiar.
Wally scowled and pointed at Arthur. "You're losing yourself."
Bruce was standing in the back of the Dome, next to Arthur. They shared a look. Bruce said, "We're arguing in circles."
"I'm not," Arthur said. He looked at J'onn. "We are all on different paths. We have been for some time now. I vote yes."
"You're throwing this away," Wally said. "For nothing."
"Nothing?" Arthur said and glowered. "My home—my people—are nothing to you?"
"We agreed on common defense!" Wally said. Screamed it. He was shaking. It got worse when he looked around the room. By the looks on all their faces, they'd already decided.
He thought of Barry again.
All the dreams. Everything we built.
Ashes. Ashes and memories, and even those will be gone too.
One day.
"Our jobs," Bruce said from the back. "Are unchanged. There are still people who need us. We can devote ourselves to that full-time. I vote yes, J'onn."
Wally rubbed his neck. Looked at J'onn. "I suppose you're a yes, too?"
J'onn nodded. "I'll remain here for a while longer. But eventually, yes. I'll find a new home. Reintegrate on the surface."
Wally sighed. "We can't give in."
"Um," Kyle said. "We're not?"
Wally glared at him.
"We lost this one," Kyle said. "We have to find another way. And…you know, I've been off-planet. I miss New York. I miss my home, man."
Wally looked away. Finally he said, "I understand."
"It's official then," the Manhunter said. "May we meet again one day. If the world so requires it."
But the world—
Didn't.
Kyle Rayner went home like he said. He was living in New York and getting close with Jenni Hayden, Alan Scott's daughter and a bearer of the Light in her own way. Things were happening and they were happening fast. Then, one black day in 2002, his art assistant was assaulted and hospitalized, and the act drove Kyle to despair. Eventually he left the planet for good. And with Hal Jordan long gone, with John Stewart unable to carry the Light alone, with no major planetary threats to speak of, eventually it came to pass that the Green Lanterns forsook Sector 2814.
Wally returned to Keystone and continued as the Flash. By the middle of 2002 he experienced personal tragedy as well, as his old colleague became a hideous simulacrum of Barry's greatest enemy and threatened Linda's life. Yet through trial and torment, Wally persevered with a strength that surprised even himself. By 2005 and much like Dinah Lance in Starling, it had all quieted down. He decided to take Linda and his twins into the future, where Jay Garrick already lived with Joan. Bart Allen, the Kid Flash remained, and by 2007 was cohabitating in Gotham with Tim Drake as they faced the last of the Batman's enemies.
By the middle of 2003, Amanda Waller had successfully separated the DEO from the clutches of the US government and re-established it in Switzerland as Checkmate: super-human oversight, advice, and advancement. She took with her Cameron Chase, plus Bruce Wayne's sometime-bodyguard Sasha Bordeaux. At the dissolution of the Justice Society of America in 2005, Micheal Holt, Mister Terrific as he was in the JSA, and Alan Scott, the original Green Lantern, joined her. Together they swore to defend the planet from as many threats as possible, internal and external. They fought on the front lines in the Infinite Crisis, and the Final Crisis of Man and the Multiverse, both of which occurred far above the perceptions of most humans, super or otherwise. By 2009 they transformed into a Global Peace Agency. Mankind changed only slightly. But it didn't make their jobs any easier.
By the middle of 2002, with Luthor reduced in power, Clark felt he was finally able to relax. Life with Lois was going well. By 2012, the super villain crowd—Corben, Jensen, and any that were still alive—had been secured in Stryker's so long that escape was no longer on anyone's minds. It was then that Brainiac came. But that, too, is a story for another time.
In the end, the Justice League had failed to solve the problems of its age. However, individuals succeeded where the League and its structures could not. In the end, Leviathan failed.
But by the spring of 2004, Lois Lane wasn't satisfied.
She went down to LexCorp—
Strolled right in like she always did.
She waited for a moment at the elevator bank and looked to one side. The rail system he was building all those years ago was finally done: LexCorp up to Suicide Slum. The exact opposite of his trajectory in life. She made a face.
Finally the lift came. Up she went.
Teschmacher was still there, watching her screens. Watching anyone that might bother to come visit.
Lois walked through. Pushed one glass door open and there he was. Hunched over his desk, typing away on his PowerBook. He looked up. Brilliant green eyes staring at her.
She wasn't impressed.
"What is it," he said.
"I need to talk to you."
He closed the PowerBook and clasped his fingers together. She sat.
"Come to gloat, have you?"
"No," she said. "I have questions."
"What are they?"
"Last year, you flew into a private airfield in Ohio and visited a high school. I have the inbound flight records and a school choir program that thanks you for funding. Other than that, nothing. I have video footage from here from six months ago: you talking to the principal at Whitehorse High School. Then there's a series of phone calls to a private number in Starling. I'm still working on transcripts. So what the hell are you up to? I was under the impression your plea deal included no bullshit."
Luthor waited. Finally he said:
"I wanted a futures program. Recruits. In addition to the metahuman research, I spent years watching a group of students from different places. All over the country. Outstanding students, or sometimes disadvantaged. All except for two. Young people who see the world the same way. They see things. And they understand. So I take ordinary people and I turn them into weapons. Propagandists against Superman. I can't defeat him in a suit of armor, playing King of the Mountain on Fifth Avenue, and I will not sully this body by giving it superpowers. I don't even give them powers. It would be too easy. No. I give them permission —more alluring and forbidden than laser vision, you know, is the right to judge, or enslave. Darkseid understands this. The most dangerous weapon in the universe is the human brain and that's what I wanted from them. A human defense corps. Instead of some alien doing the job for us."
"The program is shut down?"
Luthor nodded. "They didn't have the heart."
"Good."
He looked at her. His face turned into an exhausted sneer. "Is that all, Miss Lane?"
Silence.
His eyes stayed on her.
She breathed.
He said, "What?"
She made a face.
"You thought you had me. Didn't you, Lois."
"With the file cabinet?"
"Yes."
She looked at him. "Possibly."
"It was your final trump card, was it not? The result of a long career of investigative reporting, all your hard work, all those Pulitzers. You could have done anything. But you wanted me in prison. Paying for my crimes forever. Didn't you."
She didn't look at him. She just said, "Yes."
He leaned back in his chair and breathed.
"And it didn't work."
"Because if it did," she said. "You wouldn't be here."
"Perhaps this is a mercy," he said. "Perhaps we both misjudged the will of the people. You publish a litany of every crime of mine and you thought it would work. That it would shock the public, shock the authorities, into action. But. No one cared."
"Yeah," she said. Finally looked at him. "We're both devastated. Aren't we."
"We are slave to our choices," he said. "I suppose we have to live with them now."
"I hate you, Lex Luthor."
It came out of nowhere. Well. Almost nowhere. And he smiled upon that realization. She had always felt that way. And now she was using her pulpit against him. Had used. Would always use. Because all of time happens at once, that much he knew. Slavery was accurate. Chained to their natures, not destiny, the invention of fools, but preordained. More: this was always going to happen. She would always oppose him. He would always circumvent her, and the fetters of the law. And of course he and Superman would always fall in opposition.
After all. He knew there were other worlds. Out there in the multitude.
And he knew that no matter what universe they called home, Supermen and Luthors would never peacefully coexist.
Never.
"So this is where we are," he said. "You and I."
"Deadlocked," she said. "As far as I can tell. You've successfully skated on everything. It's the Sea Queen all over again."
"No."
"No?"
"No," he lied. "For the first time in years, Lois, I have no idea what I'll do next. The thought of that disturbs me. Deeply."
She leaned forward.
"Me too."
"So we enter our sunset years as enemies?"
"I don't see any other choice."
She said it with such sadness. She was looking at him and summoning strength. But it felt different. This time. Before there was no small courage, no small fire in her step. The righteousness. He loved it. And he always will.
She stood. She got halfway into "Goodbye," before he interrupted:
"Tell your husband," he said and waited. He was frowning and looking at his desk. That, too, disturbed her.
She waited. Frozen in place. In time.
"Tell him I'm sorry."
She caught her breath.
"I will."
She turned and went for the doors. She didn't stop. Pushed the doors open. Passed Teschmacher.
In the elevator.
In the instant before it closed.
She looked. He was in the doorway.
Their eyes locked.
The doors shut. And she was gone.
He turned back. Went to the window and leaned against it, one arm propped at a sharp angle and supporting himself.
Looking at the city.
He took his cellular phone out of his pocket and dialed.
Ring.
Ring.
Finally, the voice of a boy. No. A young man. Confident, intelligent, of similar mind. And destined for better things.
"Hi, sorry. Had to get a bathroom pass. This place is like a prison. Can't wait to get out, you know what I mean?"
"I do. Graduation in a few weeks?"
"Yeah I'm excited. Do you think you'll be able to make it out for the ceremony?"
"I think I can clear the schedule, yes."
"I want you to know I appreciate everything you've done for me, Mister Luthor."
"Not at all. My little program has always been near to my heart. One day all of this will end, and I hope you'll be there to see the world that's coming."
"If you say so. So what should I do now?"
"Go. Enjoy the rest of High School."
"And, uh, the scholarship?"
"Still in effect, you needn't worry."
"Thanks, Mister Luthor. If I didn't have you, I don't mind telling you, I'm not sure what I'd do."
"It's been my pleasure seeing you grow into a fine young man, Jesse. I have every confidence that you'll grow further at the University. Who knows—maybe one day you'll find your way back to us."
"I'd like that."
"I as well. Goodbye, Jesse."
It wasn't an ending. The true end, he well knew, was yet to come. True enough to what he told Lois, he had to come to terms with that. And yet.
He had never really come to terms with anything. Not his parents. Not Fatty Arbuckle, the first life he ever took and certainly not the last. Not the Sea Queen. Certainly not Superman.
So.
In the immeasurable moment after he hung up with Jesse.
He had a thought. A brainwave coming in, and he intended to surf.
He retreated into his tower.
Outside, the world kept going.
And a week later, he was walking by the Observation Deck.
When he saw him. A young man. Leaning against the glass wall and muttering to himself. He knew this one: one of the first lives he cared to study in his little program. He knew his grandfather. A LexCorp janitor from long ago. Ten years if a day.
The boy was leaning against the glass and staring at the city. Muttering to himself.
Luthor listened hard.
"…Only been here three hours and I'm miserable."
Luthor spoke: "Try Lombardi's on Gordon Avenue. I hear the New York strip is good."
The boy turned. Looked at him, then realized who he was looking at.
"You're Lex Luthor."
His eyes grew wide. Not just surprise but curiosity—the name, the concept, the most abject form—overtook the boy.
This one was thinking, analyzing, studying.
Luthor said, "Yes."
The boy stammered, but recovered nicely: "Mister Luthor, my name is Allen O'Neill. Um. I'm not with a school group or anything. I'm visiting the city. I live over in Whitehorse. Uh. Early graduation present."
Luthor suppressed a smile.
Lois.
You missed it, you narrow-minded nobody.
My visit to Whitehorse. A fake presidential bid. Reordering the world.
All of that.
For this.
A future.
"Allen," Luthor said. "Let's talk."
The End.
May 2017-June 2019.
The following stories contributed to the telling of this one:
Television: Doctor Who—The Girl Who Died/World Enough and Time/The Doctor Falls. Justice League/Justice League Unlimited. Superman The Animated Series. Batman the Animated Series. Young Justice. Arrow. The Flash. Legends of Tomorrow. House of Cards. Twin Peaks. Star Wars Rebels.
Film: Man of Steel. Superman 1978. Batman 1989. Batman Forever. Batman vs Superman: Dawn of Justice. Captain Marvel. Avengers: Endgame. Wonder Woman. Aquaman. The Dark Knight Rises. Mulholland Drive. Lost Highway. Star Wars: Revenge of the Sith/The Last Jedi. The Departed.
Novels: It's Superman! by Tom DeHaven. Batman: No Man's Land by Greg Rucka.
Comics: Doomsday Clock. Watchmen. V For Vendetta. Miracleman. DC: The New Frontier. Jack Kirby—Fourth World/OMAC/Challengers of the Unknown/The Demon/Kamandi: The Last Boy On Earth. JLA by Grant Morrison. JLA by Mark Waid. Crisis on Infinite Earths. Final Crisis. Infinite Crisis. Aquaman by Geoff Johns. Aquaman: Death of a Prince. Hawkworld. Green Arrow: The Longbow Hunters. Green Arrow by Kevin Smith. Final Night. Green Lantern: Kyle Rayner vols 1 and 2 by Ron Marz et al. The Flash by Mark Waid. The Flash by Geoff Johns. JSA by Geoff Johns and David S Goyer. JSA: The Golden Age. Batman: A Lonely Place of Dying. Robin: Reborn. Batman: Knightfall/Contagion/Legacy/Cataclysm/No Man's Land. Batman: Murderer/Fugitive. Batman: Hush. Superman/Batman: Public Enemies. Superman #175/'Doomsday Rex'. Superman #181/#182. Action Comics #700. Action Comics #800. Action Comics #900. Action Comics #1000. Superman Up Up and Away! President Luthor. Man of Steel by John Byrne. They Saved Luthor's Brain! The Death of Superman. Reign of the Supermen. Superman: Under a Yellow Sun. Lex Luthor: the Unauthorised Biography. Superman: The Wedding Album. Superman: Panic In the Sky. Superman: Red Son. Superman: American Alien. Teen Titans by Geoff Johns. Young Justice by Peter David. Wonder Woman by George Perez vols 1-3. Wonder Woman by Greg Rucka vol 1. Wonder Woman by John Byrne vols 1-2.
Video Games: Batman: Arkham Asylum/Arkham City/Arkham Origins/Arkham Knight. Superman 64 (yes, really).
And with my eternal gratitude for the work of Jack Kirby.
Long live the King.