Five miles off the coast.
LexCorp's Oceanographic Laboratory AC-23.
He doesn't feel the remote, for the bulky purple gauntlet covering his hand.
His eyes are centered on it. They rise slowly to stare at the missile before him—a rather petite Saturn V knockoff. A wall ten feet thick, a window made of ten compressed panels of Plexiglas, separate Luthor and Mercy from the launchpad.
Luthor eyes the remote once more. And as his thumb hovers over the release button, he thinks of Lois.
The fallout might just kill her.
He presses the button.
Are you happy now, Man of Steel?
LexCorp.
It took three hours, and he was only trying to get up two flights of stairs, but he finally got out. Not that his legs were broken or anything—merely asleep, and he needed the challenge of climbing out from Luthor's nose in plain sight—but he rather enjoyed the three hours. It gave him time to think of a plan. A really good one. With bells and whistles and screams.
He was nearly unrecognizable; his clothes tattered and soaked with blood, down to the breast line of his jacket. It rather looked he vomited the red stuff all over himself. In any event, he looked sufficiently mauled, like some madman had just beaten the hell out of him.
The illusion allowed him to kill fourteen Team Luthor guards. With one of their security pass cards, he found his way to the helipad. With one of their handy-dandy plasma-energy-riflemotrons, he commandeered Luthor's private chopper.
He fitted the headphones around his ears and yelled into the mouthpiece, doing his best Jerry Reid.
"Roger Molotov, we got a cocktail here primed to throw, repeat primed to throw, come back."
A tinny and frankly feminine voice grumbled at him from the other end: "who is this?"
"Just a friend," he chortled. The blades whirred to life, and a moment later the chopper lurched upward into the night. "By the way, and this is just between me and thee, Tubsy-Ubsy, but I don't suppose you could tell me where the big guy is tonight?"
"What? Who the hell is this?"
"Luthor, you fantastic dope," he vamped. "Getting a hair cut, asking the bearded lady for a date—what? Think, man!"
"Who the hell is this?! What's your operating number?"
The Joker rolled his eyes, ripped the headset off and threw it behind him. "Boring conversation anyway."
He pulled the stick right sharply, and the chopper lurched toward the open ocean. Right? Starboard? That's really more of a nautical thing, though. Hehehe, nautical. Naughty cal. Words are funny.
He was momentarily blinded by a brightness off to the…aw hell, he thought, port bow. He let the chopper rest at a fixed altitude, leaned back in his seat and stared directly ahead.
An oil rig far out in the ocean had just launched something. Joker's eyes tracked the smoke trail up into the sky, and rested on a bright spot cruising below the clouds: a missile, arcing high in the sky.
Heading for Metropolis.
He stroked his chin, and piloted the chopper toward the rig.
LexCorp Oceanographic Laboratory AC-23.
"I must admit, Mercy, I'm confounded as to what we'll call this. When it's over the press is going to want an explanation and a tacky buzzword. Every tragedy these days has to have its sensationalism, don't you find? I don't suppose we can call it a Supermissile, can we? He has the trademark on that."
Luthor looked over at Mercy. They shared thin smiles, as each knew what the other was talking about.
"Yes," Luthor said, looking back out at the ocean and the glittering skyline. "Something snappy."
He heard muffled yelps and rustling somewhere behind him. Signs of a brief struggle. He turned away from the window slowly just in time for Mercy's unconscious body to land at his feet. Her face seemed frozen: lips downturned, eyes closed tightly, forehead furrowed. He looked up, straight ahead, into the darkness of the lab.
"What do you think, Dark Knight? A name for my little science project. I was thinking Moonraker."
"Tasteful," a voice said from the darkness. "What's next, murder on the Orient Express?"
Luthor scoffed, privately insulted. "How much Ian Fleming can we explore, Dark Knight? Why don't you step out from those shadows and take a look at yourself. You're a ridiculous man, but only slightly. How in the world does someone like The Joker manage to take you seriously?"
Batman did so, stepping out slowly, and allowing his cape to flutter behind, giving him a dark kind of majesty.
"It's over, Lex."
Luthor scowled. His eyes burned hatred.
"Over?" he said and narrowed his eyes. "Do you know who I am?"
"Just as ridiculous as I am," Batman said and pointed behind Luthor. When the Metropolis mogul turned around, Superman hovered before him: a foot off the floor, arms folded confidently over his chest, eyes staring directly at Luthor. "Maybe even more than him."
Luthor turned and looked at Batman again, frowning sharply.
"You overplayed your hand, Lex," Batman said. "The clues lined up all too well. You used a middle-man—Oswald Loomis—to steal the Kryptonite from SteelWorks so you'd remain safely anonymous. Then you heard the Joker was in town, fresh off a prison break, and you figured you could use him for something. But you never really settled on any one thing, so you beat him and left him for dead. It was old-hat. Even by your standards."
Luthor's eyes narrowed. "You know, your protégé has much more respect."
The Boy Wonder realized the jig was up, and dropped to the floor in a low crouch. As he stood, the grapple line respooled itself on his belt buckle.
"You're not a talker, Dark Knight. The Boy Wonder there knows something neither of you does. And my little Moonraker has about two minutes left before it reaches critical altitude."
Batman gritted his teeth and made his hands into fists.
Luthor raised an eyebrow. "Robin," he said. "Your answer."
Robin looked in his hand, and slowly opened his palm to see the crumpled sheet of legal pad. He smoothed it out. And behind the Star-lite lenses, Tim Drake rolled his eyes dreadfully. This can't be good.
"What are you doing with this missile, Lex?" the Man of Steel asked. He stood an inch from Luthor and tapped his index finger against the armor's chestplate. "Trying to blow up the CNN satellite or something just as stupid?"
Luthor smiled; a befuddled and wide grin. "How stupid can you be, Alien?" He cocked his head half a degree. "Robin. Read the note."
Batman stepped forward. "Luthor—"
Luthor shot around, pivoting on his heels and raising his arm to a perfect parallel.
The energy blast was brilliant blue-white, and it struck the Dark Knight square in the chest. He stumbled a few steps backward, staring at his own smoldering chest and not comprehending. Then he fell to the ground.
The whole affair took less than two seconds.
Luthor turned back to Superman, arm still held parallel to the floor.
"Watch it, alien. He got it easy. The next blast will be concentrated Kryptonite. And don't think about burning through this suit to get to my power source. This armor, Kryptonian…is a lead alloy."
Superman lifted a foot off the ground. He looked over Luthor's shoulder; Robin was already helping Batman to one knee. Superman formed his hands into fists, his knuckles cracked.
"Robin," Luthor said, still staring at the Man of Steel. "Read it."
"Please," the Boy Wonder pleaded. For a moment he marveled at his own emotional regression. "Just…don't do this."
"Read the note!" Luthor's voice was steely determination. As if he was issuing an ultimatum: read it or Superman dies.
Robin sighed, his shoulders slumped. He looked at the note, and started reading dismally.
"A bright light over Centennial Park. Stop it or it stops you."
Luthor narrowed his eyes and turned to Superman.
"Now," he said behind gritted teeth. "Fly."
Superman glanced at the Boy Wonder. Back at Luthor. A moment later, he was a blue streak heading into the sky.
Robin launched himself at Luthor, and instead found himself blocking Mercy's raw aggression.
On the other side of the laboratory-oil rig, Lex Luthor's private helicopter lowered to the helipad. Joker stepped out, carrying a revolver in one hand and a pilfered Team Luthor energy blaster in the other.
Three miles above Metropolis…the Man of Steel squinted. The missile was coming into range of heat vision.
In the laboratory, Robin was jumping around Luthor, evading energy blasts with gusto while Batman opened a channel to Superman. "Get away from the missile, Clark!"
"It'll destroy the city!"
"It's Kryptonite! It'll kill you!"
For a millisecond, everything made sense.
A green flash exploded out of the rocket's nose and stunned the Man of Steel. His face felt hot for a moment as the shock washed over him. He felt himself go slack, his arms and legs dangling numb at his sides. He felt sharp pangs in his hands and his neck and face. The deadly cold of irradiated Kryptonite already breaking down his cellular structures.
As he fell, he began to tumble. The Earth was rushing to meet him.
Then…darkness.
Continued...