Part 11 - The Ultra-Laboratory.
Gaining access to the Flying Fortress was always the easy part.
Like all the super criminals, Ultraman was arrogant and thought that no one else was his equal. Luthor had long ago worked out the key to give him access to the Fortress' interior. Ultraman always re-encrypted the lock, but he never changed the algorithms, meaning Luthor had carte blanche to enter whenever he wanted.
It was navigating the Fortress that was the problem. Not only was it designed by someone to whom flying was second nature, meaning it was built around massive ante theatres, but it was also crawling with security.
Like all the super criminals, Ultraman was also paranoid. Besides the Brainiac drones, there were Eradicator units, ultra 'pets' and Ultraman robots, to name but a few.
But despite all these security measures, Luthor found it surprisingly easy going and managed to make it to the outskirts of Ultraman's ultra-laboratory in record time. It was here that Luthor's progress was markedly slowed, not because of any security intervention, but because he was always given pause by the horrors that he was confronted with.
Here, Ultraman kept the results of his hideous experiments. Hybridised monstrosities that threatened a person's sanity to look at them. A horse stalked one cage; it's body a patchwork of stitches. Across its forehead ran an incongruent blue streak, a touch of beauty left strangely undamaged by Ultraman's butchery.
Strapped to a table, a human body writhed in agony, a giant, red ant head sewn haphazardly onto its neck. And in another cage, some kind of mer-boy tried desperately to breathe through the gills Ultraman had grafted to him.
Luthor was a scientist by nature, who believed that science could benefit mankind. But this… this was science gone mad. It was like a child had been given the building blocks of life itself to play with. Ultraman took things apart and put them back together all wrong, just to see what would happen.
And hadn't he done the same thing? Wasn't recreating Lana Lang in the image of Ultragirl no better than what Ultraman had done to these poor unfortunates? He always strove to hold himself above the level of the super criminals, always believed that human nature was not orgiastic and cruel, that underneath there was something that cried out for more.
But what if he was wrong?
What if Ultraman and his Crime Syndicate were the ones who had it right? What if he had been fooling himself all these years?
"Ah, so glad you could join us." Luthor was shaken from his thoughts by the voice of Ultraman.
He had reached the ultra-laboratory.
What could only be described as an instrument of pure torture dominated the centre of the room, a sort of vertical table covered in syringes and scalpels.
Strapped to it, her body sliced open from neck to groin, lay the Ultragirl; conscious now, no doubt induced by Ultraman so that she could feel everything he did to her. Brainiac drones moved about the machinery, some carrying organs removed from Ultragirl, others tubes which they were connecting to her in various places.
And above it all hovered Ultraman, looking insufferably pleased with himself.
"God below, Ultraman, what have you done?"
"What was necessary, to complete an experiment I began some time ago, Luthor. I needed more data on the Template you created. My own attempts at creating proto-matter were, well, failures to say the least."
"I'm surprised you can admit that," Luthor replied, focusing on Ultraman so as not to look at the grisly sight before him.
"Luthor, please, I can admit I've made mistakes at times. I can't remember when, exactly, but I'm sure it's happened at least once or twice." Ultraman chuckled at his own joke. "All joking aside, my little vivisection of the Ultragirl has given me all the data I needed to finish what I started.
"Behold the future, Luthor," Ultraman announced as he ascended into the thick shadows which obscured the laboratories ceiling. As he did so, lights flared to life, revealing strange pods hanging from the distant roof.
Although he knew what they would contain, Luthor was still sick to his stomach when the pods adjusted to the lights, becoming translucent. Inside each one was a hideously deformed proto-matter creature, waiting to be born.
"And just think, Luthor," Ultraman said, spreading his arms to encompass the grim tableau, "you're the one who made all this possible."