Hello to you all.

I'm sorry for how long this took, but I'm having a hard time with the end of this story. I mean, I think I finally got the hang of it, but it took some time. I've always known the end, of course – more or less… Still, I had problems to find the right language since, as you'll see in your reading, I'm introducing new "players" kind of late in the story, and that's always tricky. I think it turned out all right, however, and the result is just bellow.

This chapter, I would like to say, is very particular. It was supposed to be the last, but, honestly, it would have been huge, so I decided it would be best to have a couple more chapters (this and another one, I hope, or I'll never end this thing!). Therefore, I think it's fair to call this chapter the "beginning of the end", if I want to be really cliché, that is. Anyway, I hope you like it, since it starts to give some answers about the plot, although it sure differs from the rest of the story so far in many ways. To begin with, it's all about the bad guys…

I don't want to ruin it, however, so I'll say no more. Oh, well, maybe I'll just say another thing…

I would like to give sincere and deep thanks to all my regular readers, and a very special thanks to roguecatwoman, CMU, and DarkKnightJRK. You guys have been with me all the way, reading and reviewing (not only this story, but other things I wrote too), and this is a great help. Thanks a lot.

What bring us to my last point: read, review, and, mostly, enjoy! Your constructive opinion is always welcome.

See you soon! (I hope)

AliaAtreidesBr

Gotham City

Five Years Ago

Changing the cell phone from an ear to another, he kept talking:

"I'll explain it again, my friend..." He sounded impatient and annoyed, and yet, seemed to be taking some pleasure of the impertinent tone he was using. "I don't give information for free, Eddie; and I don't exchange it either, since it's highly unlikely you can tell me something I don't already know..."

There was silence for a moment, as he listened to the person that was on the other side of the line. He tapped his fingers over his desk, in a distinct and methodical manner: each finger at time, then thumb, then his index finger twice... and it started again, a ritual he didn't seem quite aware of, and interrupted only when he spoke again, his features suddenly taken by an expression of deep displeasure.

"Because it's my business to know, Edward! You insult me with this kind of suggestion, and I don't take this lightly..." He interrupted himself as he concentrated on listening the voice on the phone, now so loud that he distanced the cell from his ear, holding it a few inches from his face. He sighed and proceeded, his own voice also in a loud tone: "Well, it's a little late for that now, don't you think? Really, do you honestly think there's anything you could do that could make me even consider you as a client... What? What are you...? Quit babbling, Eddie! What the hell do you mean 'she's not dead'?"

Again he silenced and listened, the person on the other side of the line finally regaining control and speaking in a tolerable tone. He carefully examined his nails as Edward talked, and what he heard didn't seem to disturb him; he turned his attention away from his nails only to smirk, and his face showed only mockery:

"Please, Eddie... Your story sounds like bad fiction, if you ask me. Honestly, I've heard better from the Joker." He leaned to comfortably adjust on his chair, and placed his feet over the desk, his arms crossed behind his head. "We all know she's good, but she's just not that good... was, I mean..." He couldn't refrain from briefly laughing. "Hm... Sorry. Anyway, Cobblepot paid a small fortune for the whole deal, and I'm pretty sure he would be on my back at this exact moment if things hadn't gone as planned..."

He was still smiling when the voice on the phone talked again, but the smile melted in the seconds that followed. Suddenly removing his feet from the desk, he sat straight on his chair, now looking both furious and alarmed; he was pale, and small drops of sweat started to show on his forehead. However, this lasted only a few moments, since his features were gradually gaining color, the reddish color of anger, and he now yelled on the phone:

"In jail?!? How could he be in jail?!? Who...? Batman? The Batman? What the hell was he doing there...?" He took a deep breath, apparently trying to regain control. "Yes, I know he stops crimes, you moron...! The point is, there was no crime! It was a set up! Cobblepot just wanned to get her..." He rubbed his face with a hand, obviously nervous. "Never mind, Eddie; this is not your concern." His tone was now steady again, and, while holding the phone close to his ear by supporting it on his shoulder, he placed both hands over his desk, both symmetrically distant from the table's borders. "And it's not my concern either, since I only make the arrangements; Batman wasn't a variable in the equation, other wise, the price would have been much higher. I did my part, and if you're speaking for Cobblepot's interests..."

The next sentence spoke by Edward had an effect on him, as he raised an eyebrow.

"My interests? What do you mean?" He frowned. "I can handle myself, thank you for your concern, Edward..." The statement had a dry sarcasm in it. "I don't think a man in prison can do much against... a woman?!? You're not making any sense; you just told me Batman had locked everyone...!"

The next sentence came in a cold, emotionless tone:

"Of course he didn't." A grim smile on his lips, he closed his eyes and used both index fingers to massage his temples. "Why would he? She's just the greatest bugler in Gotham... I'm sure this is reason enough to let her go, it's not like she's a criminal, right? No... no, I'm not being funny..."

Despite the fact he had his eyes closed, and that, being her as silent as she was, he didn't hear any sounds, he was still able to feel her presence - she emanated danger and rage, an aura of pure threat, and was one of those people that didn't need to be seen to actually be noticed - if she intended to, of course. "Hold on, Edward."

He tried to turn his chair to face her, but it was too late. He saw nothing but the back of her hand, a violent slap that was noisy and painful, and even pushed his chair a few inches back. He dropped the phone, but she caught it before it fell on the floor. Then, she raised the cell to her own ear, and, with a cruel and satisfied smile on her lips, lifted her right boot to press it against the chest of the man that stared at her through thick glasses, just as she spoke in a casual tone:

"I'm here, Eddie." Her left hand was free, but not for long; even as she talked on the phone, she moved her wrist in a gracious and fast gesture, and long metal claws came out of her gloves. She used this hand to grab the man in front of her by the tie he wore. "Yes, your work was impeccable... And I appreciated how you did this extra phone call last much more then the expected." She listened for a few seconds, and then she laughed briefly - a musical, pleasant laugh, one that would make most people stop what they were doing just to take a look at the woman that produced such a sound. Most people, but certainly not the man that sat on that chair, a heavy leather boot holding him into place, clawed fingers scratching the skin of his chin.

"I'll tell him, Ed... No, don't worry... I'll remember it. Yeah, yeah, definitely; I placed it where you wanted, twenty five grand in each bag. Have fun." The conversation over, she didn't bother turning the phone off; tossing it on the floor, she smashed it to pieces. There was no smile on her lips, not anymore, and all she had was a cold look in her emerald green eyes. "Now, back to business...", she hissed.

"Before anything", he said abruptly, "I just would like to point that I'm a professional, merely working for the better offer..."

A violent pull on his tie quieted him down.

"Shut up, you coward!" She spoke through clenched teeth, and, placing her right foot back on the floor, she leaned to approach her face to his. "I won't fall for your excuses, Noah! You're a rat, double-crossing, minor villain, playing with your technological toys! You'rea loser, nothing but that!"

His expression froze, and all color left his face for the second time this day; his glance, however, showed the hate that so often comes to those that feel humiliated.

"I'm not a loser! I'm not a 'minor villain'! I'm the Calculator! And I'm certainly better than you, you insignificant whore, betrayer, hero lover...!"

A slap cut his sentence before he had the chance to finish it - a mean, painful slap, that caused blood to drip from his mouth and nose. He lost his words, and also his glasses, as they fell with a cracking sound on the floor; still, he could hear her tone, and, taken from the cold fury in her voice, Noah realized he had pushed her buttons.

"First", he saw what seemed to be a gloved index finger just a few inches from his face, "I don't appreciate name calling; I've been called names too many times in my life to care much, but I hate - I absolutely hate! - when someone associates me to a so called 'hero'... and we all know who you're talking about! Let's make this very clear: I don't work for Batman, I don't work with the Batman; if anything, he's my enemy. The guy is in my way as much as he is in yours." She pushed him, forcing his body against the back of the chair. "Got it?"

He did nothing but flinch at the sight of her hand so near his face again, now two fingers stretched.

"Second", she proceeded, "It's really hypocrite of you to come with this talking of 'honor among thieves' thing, calling me betrayer when you just tried to justify yourself with the professionalism excuse. Isn't all about the best offer, Noah?"

He closed his eyes and pursed his lips, an expression that denounced how disturbed he felt for falling in contradiction.

"Tell me you're not taking it to a personal level, Calculator..." She smiled with sadistic pleasure as he remained in silence, doing nothing but watch her in obvious and passionate anger. "It's just business, after all; I made an offer to your friend Edward Riddler he just couldn't resist, so he played the game of 'where in the world is the Calculator'. Quite fun, if you ask me."

"Liar", he whispered. "Edward would never give you a straight answer, no matter the money you offered him."

"Who said anything about money?" Her smile widened.

He observed her in silence for a few seconds, an evaluative expression that seemed so odd when combined with his sore, bloody face. Wrinkles on his forehead, a thoughtful look, he spoke with distrust:

"It doesn't matter. The Riddler is incapable of providing a clear, straight answer. He couldn't even if he wanted to." An unexpected smile twisted his lips. "And you would never be able to come up with an answer to Edward's charades in just a few hours..."

"Don't underestimate me, Noah."

"Like I said before, you're good, but just not that good."

She sighed: "Hm... Okay, okay... I confess... I had some help."

He smiled in triumph. "I knew it."

"Oh, yes, Noah... You're that good, I suppose." She raised her hand to place it around his neck, her metal claws touching bare skin and causing the Calculator to shiver; still, he managed to speak:

"He helped you, didn't he?" His words came immersed in despise. "The Bat, right? He helped you, that hypocrite bastard..."

"Now, now, Noah... You better watch your language... The word 'hypocrite' has been mentioned too many times in this conversationto be taken seriously. I prefer contradictory; it sounds so much better..."

But the Calculator stared at her in profound curiosity; his eyes darted at her, wrinkles of deep thought between his browns, and he asked in a low, hollow tone, almost a whisper:

"What's his price?" There was a sinister light in his eyes.

"His price?" She smiled, although this smile in particular didn't have the usual lightness and satisfaction of her smiles. "See, I never said he actually..."

"Oh, don't try to fool me! It's painfully obvious!" Feeling the metal claws tightening around his neck, he gasped and froze; then, he spoke again, now tensely watching the movements of her hands. "We can work this out, Catwoman! I was never one to endorse violence, but..."

"Really? I thought differently when a dozen guns were shooting at me, courtesy of thefake job you gave me!"

"I made a mistake, I see it now!" His tone carried self-commiseration, as well as a dose of guilt. "You were the better man - so to speak -, you've proved it now. Seeing what you're capable of - outsmarting me! -, I know we can find a lucrative way out of this..."

She raised an eyebrow. "I do like lucrative deals..."

"Don't we all?" He smiled broadly, his perfectly aligned teeth glowing under the pale light of the computer screens that occupied the room. "We can find a middle ground, I'm sure."

"I'm sure we could, Noah..."

Something in the sound of the last sentence caused the Calculator to shiver, and it had nothing to do with the sharp claws around the soft skin of his neck.

"You see", she proceeded, "I'm not one to hold grudges or attach to the past, but I highly value my dignity... Oh, never mind, you wouldn't understand, would you?"

"No, no, I do, and I wouldn't dare put a price on it, but maybe there's a figure that could..."

"And", she hastily interrupted him, "I must be honest."

He said nothing, concentrated on the roguish, teasingly way she now stared at him. Nothing good was about to come, he sensed, and he finally regretted the fact he didn't have a gun at hand - or someone with a gun that knew how to use it appropriately. Ignoring all that, the woman in front of him seemed to assume a more relaxed position; she step back, placing both hands on her waist, standing to be seen in her whole figure. Dressed in her Catwoman outfit, the whip pending from her belt, leather boots that added a few inches to her tall, beautifully built body, she finally appeared to Noah's eyes as this:

Dangerous. Too dangerous in many ways to be underestimated or dismissed as just a simple thief.

"You're right, Noah... I did have help. His help. 'You scratch my back, I scratch yours', all that nonsense. And, after all, I can't fail in my part of the deal... It's an honor thing." She pushed his chair with her left foot, turning it around. "And you realize what I promised him, don't you? Who I promised..."

The Calculator had lost his glasses, but he didn't need to see to be sure about it. The dark, tall shadow, the indistinct figure that stood in a corner of the room, so silent and still that it would be impossible to know for how long he had been there. Maybe he got there even as she did; impossible to tell. Fact was, none of the security systems had been able to detect them, not a single alarm or camera; had it been his job, her job, or their work together, things were making perfect sense in Noah's mind, and it painted a picture he was anything but glad to see.

"I always keep my word, Calculator." She whispered near his ear.

He clenched his teeth in anger, feeling for her a very unique sort of hate, the kind a person can experiment only in very special occasions: deep, revengeful, violent.

"I won't forget this", he simply stated.

"I hope not! Otherwise, it wouldn't be as fun."

"Catwoman", he murmured, "I know you, Catwoman, and, sooner or later, I'll finish what I started..."

A strong grip or dark, heavy hands, pulled him violently out of his chair.

Gotham City

Now

I get at the address half an hour before scheduled, and, no surprise, he's already there.

"Bard", he calls, that cold voice coming from the darkest corner of the living room. Geez, he always has to come from the dark, talking from somewhere behind you...! It's creepy, yeah, even creepier because is no better when you actually face him - to face him... that's definitely the worst.

"Hey, boss", I say. Reached for my pack of cigarettes, lost in my coat's left pocket, just another way of avoiding his eyes. Blank, vitreous eyes, part of his mask, no doubt - still, it's spooky as hell, and, although I understand he must conceal as much as he can of the man under the mask, well, I avoid that blank glance as much as I can. It's disturbing, always so disturbing how he seems to be able to look into your mind.

"How are the arrangements going?" He's direct and to the point; yeah, I don't think he's much of a small talk kind of guy. Can't avoid wondering if he's like that all the time, or just when he's around people like me - common folks, nothing like the masks. I have this idea, this picture in my mind, of heroes in uniforms seating around the table in their leagues and societies and telling silly jokes. You know, just talking about daily things, like how the Knights are playing badly, or how hot is that chick they saved... oh, well, I sure can't see the Bat doing that.

"All going smoothly, boss... Gordon is on it, and Driver is on his way here right now. With backup, mind you; lots of backup..."

"We don't have much time", he says, interrupting me whenever pleases him. "He'll soon figure the police frequency he's monitoring is a fake."

"It will be too late for him, boss." I finally put a cigarette between my lips, and now struggle to find the darned lighter. "Police will have the whole place surrounded in less than an hour."

He doesn't seem convinced by my statement, but he says nothing in response; keeps quiet, doesn't move a muscle, and I know he's pondering how long is just too long. Yes, deep inside, I know we don't have time. I know that, with this kind of guy, a minute is an amount of time we don't have the luxury of wasting. Less of all, an entire hour.

"Well, we're here now, aren't we?" I walk a couple steps and reach the window: we're just across the street from him. Yeah, it's hard to believe... the damned bastard is fifty feet away, in an uneventful, kind of innocent-looking suburbia house. Perfect hide out, someone would say. Guy lives there, under all of our noses, pretending to be a common citizen. Son of a bitch, I can't avoid admiring his cleverness... his story was flawless, not a single person in the neighborhood had reason to doubt him: he had just moved from Blüdhaven, where he allegedly lost his wife and kid during Chemo's attack, almost two years ago. He pretended to be a writer, and that explained why he worked at home and was so reclusive at times. He had the sympathy of everyone, for he was a grieving husband that, because of his work, knew a lot about the ugly side of things... The bastard, believe it or not, would tell the kids stories about the masks, and reveal small dirty secrets to the adults: who dated who in the superhero scene, what heroes were once villains, and discuss theories about how many different Flashes and Green Lanterns we already had...

"You know we can't do it ourselves." His voice carries an unobtrusive sign of distress.

"Yeah, yeah... I know."

I sigh, knowing he's right, after all - he always seems to be, anyway. We know the guy in that house across the street is the lowest scum, but, on the other hand, he is truly smart and resourceful scum. There's no use in just breaking in that house and breaking his nose... he would be out of jail in less then twenty four hours. Oh, yes, that's how life is, sometimes.

So, to make it happen, the boss had a plan.

Thing was, in the almost six weeks we had been investigating the Collins/Dubrovna case, he - the boss, or Batman, as most knew him - had been in his worst humor and in his best shape. We covered the entire city, and that, of course, led us to the man that shot both women... just to find him dead, and in pieces, and unable to pay for what he did (not that, considering his end, he didn't have what he deserved and then a little more). Not to mention, it was crystal clear to me - and to the Bat - that the fool had been acting by someone's order; who, and why, turned out to be the boss' obsession.

Don't ask why; I never did. The important thing is: to follow obscure leads, Batman left town and went only the Lord knows where. It was probably far, since it took him a whole week to be back. It had been a productive week, however: apparently, somewhere overseas he had discovered the man responsible for the attacks.

What bring us to where we are now, in our own suburbia house, just across the street from the criminal mastermind. Conveniently enough, the family that lived here for twenty years had a sudden change of heart, and sold the place abruptly - one of the parents received an irrecusably job offer in Star City, courtesy of Queen Industries. House was sold on the speed of light; according to my research, money came from somewhere abroad, which was weird enough - but it didn't bother our usually neurotically cautious and observing suspect. To my surprise, we had been able to set our own surveillance scheme in the so far empty house, and he didn't suspect a bit.

And now, the boss had a plan. Good one, sure, but as I thought about it, I couldn't avoid thinking about all the ways it could go wrong:

"Think he's really coming?"

"I know he's coming."

This relieved part of the heavy weight in my heart. "Nice", I say as smoke comes out of my mouth. "One of your guys is following him...?"

"No."

"Then how...?"

He turned his inexpressive glance in my direction, and I knew I should shut up.

Minutes dragged slowly, and silence grew in the empty living room. The Bat did nothing but attentively watch the monitor that showed images of the house across the street, images from the hidden cameras he had placed outside. It was weird, I thought, since we had a great view of the place from the windows of the house we were, but, well, it was the Bat; he was always saying we couldn't be too careful, and that we shouldn't underestimate our enemies. Couldn't risk being seen, he would always say.

And I could do nothing but agree.

My cell suddenly beeps, and I know it's the sign.

"Cops are here", I say, and not trying to hide that I'm not pleased about it. Truth was, I still had hopes that they would be late, and we would have to act on our own - lay a few punches on the bastard hidden in that house, that would be fun.

The boss didn't take his eyes from the monitor, however:

"Just in time", he says.

I looked over his shoulder, keeping myself from running to the window to have a closer look. Yeah, there it was: a black Rolls Royce, shiny and well cared, parking in front of the infamous house. "Oh, that's subtle", I comment before even thinking how inappropriate it was.

"Quiet, Bard." He looks over his shoulder to face me. "Call Driver, and tell him exactly what we agreed."

"Hay, hay, sir." I reach for my cell, dialing without even looking at it. I'm too interested, after all, in the black sedan and, most of all, in the person that is coming out of it. "Driver?", I ask the second he answers the phone, not giving him time to speak. "You better move, man..."

I can't avoid a smile. "Yeah... Luthor is here."

The screen showed:

Upload: 92 per cent complete

"Damn slow computer!" He closed the laptop and, with a long and deep breath, rose from his chair. His glasses slipped down his nose, sweat making his skin grease - he hated, oh, he hated that! Took a handkerchief from his pocket and dried his face; then, taking off the glasses, he carefully cleaned its lenses.

He heard someone knocking - again!

"Great...", he spoke in the solitude of his command center, a gloom irony in his tone. "This is just great!"

Taking a moment to look at the wall behind him - twenty four screens of high resolution, showing images that would change every six seconds, images from cameras placed in so many different places... Gotham, Metropolis, New York, Atlanta, London, Paris, Kahndaq, and so many other cities... Cameras that showed streets, homes, the inside of an office building, garages, banks, dark alleys, even an elementary school. People. So many people, both ordinary and... less ordinary, so to speak: masked people, so many of them; heroes and villains, and even those that were somewhere between.

He focused on one screen in particular, however; the one that showed him his front door.

"Not this now...!"

Lex Luthor was standing there, dressed in a dark suit, an expression that was anything but encouraging. He was knocking on the door again, and yelling:

"I know you're here!" Lex stopped for a second, and glanced around: left, right, up, down. It took him no more than that: he was now directly looking at the camera, the diminutive, almost imperceptible device hidden among the plants in a vase that was by the door.

Luthor smiled: "Ah, there you are... Open the door, Noah, or I'll have to break in... You don't want that much noise, do you? It could bother your neighbors..."

Noah bit his lower lip, but, seating back on his chair, he typed a numeric code on one of the many keyboards around him. A low, muffled 'click' was heard, and then the front door swung open.

"About time", was the dry, cynical comment of the unwanted visitor.

Pressing another key on the keyboard, he spoke:

"Hello, Lex." His voice echoed in the house, carrying the distinguished and characteristic noise patterns produced when one speaks too close to a microphone.

Noah watched in his screen as Luthor walked in, passing the entrance hall and reaching the living room; hands behind his back, a bored and emotionless look in his features, he merely glanced around.

"Oh, Noah... you really have no idea of how to enjoy life, do you?" Now his expression translated disdain, even some degree of disgust. "This has to be one of the tackiest choices of furniture I've ever seen..."

"Never realized you were a specialist in interior design, Luthor." The voice coming from hidden speakers sounded fairly less aggravated then its owner actually felt. "You came all the way from Metropolis just to check my lack of taste on choosing furniture?"

"In different circumstances, I might."

Noah didn't miss the subtle threat in Luthor's tone; noticing how his own heartbeat gradually accelerated, he turned his attention to the many keyboards placed around his chair, and did his best to ignore the growing anxiety while working as fast as he could.

The screens suddenly changed: all images now showed Lex Luthor and the house, from all the angles possible. They followed the man as he confidently walked through the living room and reached the library, where he approached one of the perfectly organized bookshelves.

"Impressive... We've always shared this at least, Noah: an irreprehensible taste for classic literature." He examined the shelves for a moment, then removing a copy of Maquiavel's The Prince from its place, and examining it in his hands with a smile touching his lips. "One of my favorites too, of course."

"Of course." Noah clenched his teeth and typed frenetically, a long list of commands simultaneously appearing on the many monitors around, except for one: the screen of the laptop with the upload message, now 96 per cent complete.

"Tell me, Noah..." Luthor walked around the room, carefully examining the shelves. "Is it possible that, by moving these books in a very particular manner, one of these bookcases reveals a passage to the room you are now?"

Noah abruptly stopped typing, holding his breath as he turned his chair to face the screens on the wall behind him, screens that showed Lex Luthor and his malicious smile in a disturbing variety of angles.

"I wonder", Lex proceeded, "what's the combination that leads to your secret and precious hideout... Maybe something complex, like a combination involving quantum concepts and a numeric code related to author's names?"

Watching the screen in tense anticipation, Noah felt his heart skip a beat. Luthor, however, smirked and waved his head from side to side:

"Noah, Noah, Noah... And you call yourself the Calculator?" He frowned, as he seemed to vaguely glance around. "You think a bizarre combination and a primary security system could be enough? You really are naive..."

"Shut up, Luthor!" Noah now finally felt anger and rage flowing through him, deeply insulted and offended. "You always acted like you were better than the rest of us, pretentiously speaking as some sort of leader for the so called 'villains'... Villains! Mediocre beings that served as nothing more then sparing bags for the Justice League, that's all! Well, Luthor, I'm not a disposable minion, and I'm not working for you or any other crazy lunatic that thinks the whole point of existence is proving that a moron dressed in blue tights and in a red cape can be defeated by you!"

Lex accepted those words in silence, patiently waiting for the Calculator to finally end his infuriated speech. When silence came, he merely placed his hands behind his back and, in a perfectly steady tone, spoke:

"I suppose you're right, Noah... about a thing or two." He walked around the room again, his eyes on the floor and a smile on his lips. "Still, I really think you owe me a little more respect, don't you?" He stopped near the bookcase from where he had taken the book, and, supporting one of his elbows on a shelf, he used his other hand to take from an internal pocket of his jacket a small data disc. "After all, you have been using my Luthor Corp's satellites to store your data, haven't you? In a very sneaky, clandestine way, mind you."

Noah took a deep breath, his expression, in a rare moment that no one witnessed, showing resignation.

"You know what's funny, Noah? What is incredibly ironic?" Luthor kept talking, now holding the data disc in one hand, and pointing with his index finger to no place in particular. "Is the fact that I wouldn't care about your naughty behavior if I had discovered it in different circumstances. Really. I would probably still think of you as an idiot, but I would like it; I wouldn't even interfere, Noah."

The Calculator didn't turn his attention from the screens, but he stretched an arm to reach one of the keyboards, and typed another numeric code.

"Seriously. I wouldn't." Lex glanced at the disc he held. "You have precious information, Noah, that's for sure. You do have a lot on many, many people, and information, as you very well know, is today's most precious currency."

"Another thing we agree on, Luthor... The value of information."

"Indeed!" He emphasized his words by nodding his head in agreement. "And information, Noah, is what we have in common."

Lex now held the disc ahead, exhibiting it as a trophy. "For instance: who would have guessed that the so called Calculator, the man that claims that every thing and every one has a price, the man that insists we should be, above all, professionals, the one that says that it should never be personal, but business...!" He raised an eyebrow and his smile - that could have been described, so far, as judicious, even prudent - turned into an open, undeniably mean smile. "Who would have guessed that the Calculator, so professional, would use a hired-gun to deal with his boring and overweighed ex-girlfriend, a petty revenge solely based in an old resentment..."

Luthor's words were followed by nothing but silence; and Lex, apparently amused by Noah's lack of reaction, proceed his speech in a calm, contemptuous tone:

"If only you had come to me... this could have worked in so many wonderful ways!" He took a moment to soundly sigh. "But, no, not you. Right, Noah? You just couldn't admit your system had flaws, could you? Let me guess..." In a theatrical gesture, Luthor raised a hand to his own face, pretending to scratch his meticulously shaved chin. "An upload to the satellite every twelve hours? No, no, twelve is too much for you... maybe every eight hours, then... and all the data was completely erased from your computers, right?"

A muscle in Noah's jaw twitched, and that finally awake him: he had been staring blankly at the screen, watching while Luthor mocked his plans in his own house. He shook his head from side to side, and left the chair he was sat on; his eyes immediately focused on the laptop: UPLOAD COMPLETE, was the message he read with relief. "At last!", he celebrated in silence. Then, pressing the microphone button once again, he addressed his guest:

"I had to play safe, right, Luthor? You can hardly blame me for that..."

The smile left Lex's features.

"I can, actually, and I mostly certainly will, Noah... You risked my security, not to mention, stole from me."

"Stole? That's a harsh word."

"Not as harsh as what is about to come, Noah." Again he placed both hands behind his back, assuming a stern expression. "Now, will you open the entrance or do I have to open it myself? I take no pleasure in humiliating you, Noah, but if you insist..."

A muffled, yet sharp sound came from somewhere above Luthor - he frowned, suddenly looking both intrigued and irritated, and raised his glance just in time to see a diminutive slit from where an almost imperceptible gas smoothly glided. He immediately covered his mouth and nose with a hand, then fetching a handkerchief from his jacket's pocket to breath into, but the coughing begun just a few seconds later; in fact, he had to struggle his way out of that room, since his legs lost strength in a scary speed. However, as Luthor reached the living room, another obvious gas exit could be seen on a high corner.

"I'm sorry, Lex..." The Calculator used the microphone to deliver what he considered an appropriate farewell to a man like Lex Luthor. "I must confess: I'm enjoying this very much; maybe too much, considering I'm not a professional murderer. Still, you, like rare other people, is worth an exception. Have fun in hell, you megalomaniac prick."

Taking the laptop with him, and nothing else, Noah hit the "Enter" key of one of his keyboards for the last time.