In an abandoned warehouse in Suicide Slum, a short, plump man leaned over a work bench, his only only source light in the room coming from a series of work lamps aimed at the table. He wore a dark green and black striped leather jacket over a green polka dotted dress shirt and a black vest, with a pair of black pants and shoes; his shoulder-length, wavy brown hair and mutton chops added to his bizarre appearance. His wild blue eyes—hidden behind a pair of round, purple-tinted glasses—stared intently as he tinkered with a small toy on a pedestal.

"Hard at work?"

The man jumped and dropped his tools, startled. He glanced around, his heart pounding, trying to find the source of the voice; he stiffened when he saw the bald man in a crisp suit emerge from the shadows in front of him, smirking.

"Or hardly working?" Lex finished.

"Lex," the man replied, trying not to sound or appear too annoyed (he hated being disturbed) as he grabbed his tools and continued working. "What brings you here?"

"Just trying to decide which one of us is more stupid," Lex answered, "you—or me for hiring you." The man looked up, confused. "Don't give me that look, Schott; you know exactly what I'm talking about."

"You asked me to take care of a few political hurdles, Lex," Schott replied calmly as he continued tinkering, "and in return, you'd give me the means to take revenge on Superman; in case you haven't read the paper, I've already managed to take out two of your hurdles."

"And I told you I didn't want them all killed immediately," Lex replied.

"I believe your exact words were 'It would be a shame if they didn't make it to Christmas,'" Schott countered. "I figured you'd be pleased if I bumped the timeline up a little," he smirked a little, "you know, avoid the holiday rush."

"I appreciate the consideration," Lex replied sarcastically, "but if any of this gets back to me—"

"It won't, Lex," Schott interrupted, keeping his eye focused on his project. He was quiet for a few moments. "Of course, I might be more willing to keep to your schedule if I was busy with...other projects." He glanced briefly at Lex.

Lex set his lips, but kept a cool demeanor. He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small lead box; he set it on the table near Schott's toy.

"What's that?" Scott asked as glanced over, intrigued.

Lex opened the box, revealing a chunk of kryptonite the size of a golf ball. "What you need to work on your other project," he replied.

"The one thing that can truly hurt Superman," Schott said as he quickly put his tools down, his eyes dancing with excitement as he focused his attention on the green rock. "I thought kryptonite was just a rumor."

"I've used it several times before on Superman," Lex explained, "and believe me, that green rock lives up to its reputation."

Scott raised an eyebrow, then he caught a glimmer out of the corner of his eye. He glanced down at Lex's right hand and saw a small green stone set on a gold mount on Lex's ring finger. "I see you have your own insurance," he remarked with a little smirk.

"I had it fashioned a few weeks ago," Lex replied smugly as he held up his hand. "I never leave home without it." He lowered his hand, looking back at the toy maker, his smile fading. "I mean it, Winslow; use all the toys are your disposal to your heart's content, but keep to a more realistic timeline, because if this comes back to me, you and I will have our own version of 'play time,'" his face became deadly serious, "and you won't like one second of it."

Scott swallowed nervously, but he kept a calm demeanor as Lex slipped back into the shadows, leaving Schott alone with his project. The toymaker glanced back down at the box and just stared at the glowing green rock, the gears turning in his head.


Wally and Cutter walked down the corridor, holding a couple of notepads and talking through their notes, trying to determine how the layout was going to be for the upcoming edition. By the time they'd reached the Torch, they had decided to 'super-size' the lunch menu—again—and use the rest of their articles to fill in around in. The two walked in and stopped short when they saw Linda sitting at one of their desks, staring intently at the computer screen.

"Always knew there were some investigative genes behind those baby blues," Wally said.

Linda looked over, a little startled; she saw Wally and Cutter smirking at her, and she blushed. "I was just waiting for you guys," she replied as she held up a post-it note; it read 'Torch Lunch—urgent' in Cutter's handwriting; she raised an eyebrow as the two headed toward her. "Lunch started over ten minutes ago, and I was getting bored waiting."

"So, you decide to invade our privacy," Cutter joked as he glanced down at the screen. He furrowed his eyebrows a little as he saw the Daily Planet article from last year concerning Toyman; a large photo taken by Jimmy—showing Superman standing over the remains of a giant spider robot—took up a good portion of the screen. "You're reading about Winslow Schott?"

"Yep," Linda replied. "Apparently, he's back in Metropolis, and Clark is refusing to tell me anything about him."

"Yeah, we heard about the two politicians killed over the weekend," Wally replied. "So, why are you interested in the psycho, anyway?"

"Curiosity," Linda replied. She swiveled around in her chair and looked up at her friends. "What do you guys know about him?" The boys glanced between themselves, then back at Linda as she got up, smiling. "Come on, guys, I'm sure you know tons of stuff about Winslow Schott."

"Why do I have the feeling you're trying to schmooze us?" Cutter asked, folding his arms, amused.

"Because I am," Linda replied, still smiling, "and you guys really are the only people I know of who I can talk to at the moment who would actually know something."

Cutter rolled his eyes and sighed as he shook his head; he brushed past Linda and sat in the chair, swiveling it back around and typing furiously on the keyboard; a digital police report popped up on the screen, complete with a photo.

"Winslow Percival Schott," he read the screen, "born in Metropolis on January 27, 1976, to Jack and Mary Schott. Showed signs at an early age of being extremely dexterous—made his first toy when he was five—and spent the thirteen years making toys and no friends. Graduated from MIT in '97, hired by Lionel Luthor after that and spent the next fifteen years working in R and D for Lionel Luthor—and then Lex—as an inventor."

"What did he invent?" Linda asked.

"Pretty much anything he could think of," Wally replied, "and anything he was told to make."

"So, when did he go from inventing for the Luthors to killing people?" Linda asked.

"Well, according to his employee records," Cutter said, "his supervisors always said he always acted immature—bringing toys into work and stuff—but then he started placing mini explosives in them; he was subsequently fired."

"He blamed Lex and started targeting him," Wally added. "Killed five people and destroyed a few buildings in New Troy with a giant spider robot before Superman stopped him."

"Unfortunately, 'him' turned out to be an exact robot duplicate," Cutter added. "The real Schott gave everyone the slip during the commotion with said; he's been on the run for over a year."

"So, any idea why he's back?" Linda asked.

"Not yet," Cutter answered, "but we're still looking into it." He glanced up at Linda. "You want us to let you know if we find anything?"

"That would be great," Linda replied appreciatively before she raised an eyebrow. "Now, about the post-it note in my locker…."

"Oh, yeah," Cutter replied, squirming slightly, looking a little uncomfortable, "that…."

"You need to get a cellphone," Wally spoke up, "like, as soon as humanly possible."

"Why?" Linda asked, amused as she folded her arms.

"Because your cousin texted me," Cutter replied. "He says he needs some information from you; it deals with the party on Tuesday evening, so he needs the info ASAP."

"What info?" Linda asked, confused.

"Your dress and shoe size," Cutter replied before he cleared his throat, blushing a little, "and, uh, your…um…." He pantomimed with his hands, but Linda looked even more confused; Cutter glanced at Wally for help.

Wally sighed, rolling his eyes. "He means, this," he replied, cupping his hands and holding them at chest level.

Linda's eyes widened as she realized to what Wally was referring—and she closed her eyes, her cheeks turning pink from embarrassment.

"I've heard of reporters asking the tough questions, but isn't that going a bit far?"

Cutter, Linda, and Wally—still holding up his cupped hands—looked over and saw their friends standing just inside the entrance; it was Dick who had spoken.

"Or if you're trying to find your own size, Wally," Mattie added, grinning, "I would hazard a bet that you're about an A cup."

Wally glanced down at his hands, then quickly dropped them. "Very funny," he replied, blushing.

"So, what on earth on you guys doing in here?" Andy asked, amused.

"Nothing," Linda replied quickly, her cheeks now a bright red; she cleared her throat, brushing some hair from her face as she glanced at Wally and Cutter. "Look, I'll contact Clark and let him know about…that information." And then I'm going to kill him.

"He, uh, actually told Cutter to tell us to give that information to the CEO," Wally said slowly, bracing for Linda's reaction.

"What?!" Linda asked, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and anger. Wally scrambled behind Cutter, peeking over his friend's shoulder. "You can't be serious."

"You think we'd joke about this?" Wally asked.

"I'd sincerely hope not," Linda replied.

"Because, trust us," Wally continued, "the last thing on our mind is your bra size."

"That's comforting to know," Linda replied wryly. She glanced between her friends—the guys all appeared as if they wanted to be elsewhere (but weren't quite sure if they could leave without being seen), while Mattie and Andy looked as if they were about to bust a gut. Linda sighed and grabbed a pad of post-it notes and a pin; quickly scribbled on the top note, then pulled it off the pad and handed it to Cutter. "Text Clark this information."

"Including that word right there?" Cutter asked, furrowing his eyebrows as he pointed. Linda nodded, smiling sweetly. "Won't he think that's from us?"

"Oh, he'll know it's from me," Linda replied. "We made up a secret language when I first moved to Smallville—to have some fun and bond—and that's one of the words."

"Just for the record," Wally said, "what does 'kreteno' mean?"

"Imbecile," Linda replied before turning and heading out of the room.

"Okay, is anyone else just a tad bit frightened by her?" Cutter asked.

"Yeah, isn't it awesome?" Gar asked, grinning. Everyone glanced at him, wryly, and the teenager looked a little sheepish as he shrugged.

(End of Chapter 6)