Five months ago

Early morning in Gotham and the area outside the entrance to the Central Precinct is crammed with reporters and photographers, and all of them are being ignored. Standing to one side, Clark looks out over the crowd, notebook in hand, and takes some quick notes. His head is slightly turned, as if he's listening to something, and there seems to be a slightly vacant look in his eyes.

In the holding cells are four of the people who were arrested after the warehouse incident. One has an arm in a sling, another is wearing a neck brace, while the other two have bruised and swollen faces and tape on their noses.

'Don't touch me!' shouts a fifth man as an officer pushes him towards an open cell door. 'I want my lawyer to see this!' He raises his cuffed hands to his face and gestures at his right eye, which has swollen shut.

The cells fall quiet as the main door opens and another of the gang members is brought in. Unlike the others who had been arrested, this one is dressed in an orange jumpsuit. He's pale and sweaty and unsteady on his feet.

'C'mon, Joe,' says one of the officers accompanying him, 'just a few more feet and you can have yourself a nice sit down.'

'It wasn't right, what he did,' says Joe, softly.

'I know, Joe, I know. Look, just do what the doctor said, okay? Don't move too much.'

'I'm burning up, man,' says Joe, as he sits down and leans against the wall. The officer closes the door and walks away, glancing in on the other cells as he does so. Joe hisses with pain as he opens the jumpsuit a little and then grits his teeth as he touches the wet bandage wrapped around his upper chest – the stain is like a stylised bat.

Captain Bullock's office

The blinds have been pulled down on all the windows in the room, except one. There's a slight breeze from the open window that rustles some papers in a filing tray and a picture on the walls shifts a little. Captain Harvey Bullock walks in and slowly closes the door. He shrugs out of his jacket and drapes it over the back of a chair, pulling out the stub of a cigar as he walks over to his desk.

He pulls open a drawer in his desk and then walks to the windows and looks through one of the blinds and down at the crowd below. Their voices carry up to and through the open window but it's hard to make out any of their words.

In the open drawer sits a framed and somewhat aged photograph of three men, all covered in dust and grinning at the camera. The man on the left is a younger Bruce Wayne; in the middle, his hair and moustache peppered with grey, is Captain Gordon; and, on the right, cigar stub in his mouth and fedora titled to one side, is Detective Bullock. Next to the picture is a small bat-shaped shuriken and a disc with an 'R' etched in it. Harvey stares at the contents of the drawer and chews a little at the end of the cigar butt.

'Captain Bullock,' says a deep voice from the corner of the room. Harvey's head snaps up and he looks, for a brief second, to be excited. Clark steps forward, away from the row of filing cabinets and into the lighted area. 'Clark Kent of the Daily Planet.'

'I suppose you're not going to tell me how you go in here,' growls Harvey as he closes drawer and scans the room.

'Oh, I just dashed to a store room, climbed out the window, went up a drain pipe, shimmied along the ledge,' he points to the partially open window near a filing cabinet, 'and snuck into your office.'

'A comedian from Metropolis,' says Harvey as he looks over some documents on his desk. 'You're a little far from your Crime Beat, aren't you? What do you want?'

Clark steps forward, his shoulders a little hunched as he opens his notebook. 'There were rumours, years ago, that the GCPD worked with Batman in his crusa…his mission. Kept his activities a secret, and,' he points upwards, 'even encouraged him to-'

'And?'

'If The Batman has returned-'

'Or people pretending to be him.'

'"People"? Is the GCPD sanctioning-'

'Don't be ridiculous.'

'Captain, please. The sightings these past few months are far more than-'

'People see what they want to see, and in Gotham the Bat is something people want to see.' He gestures at the windows and says, 'Especially now.'

'I understand that. I do. But after what happened last night?'

'We're looking into it.'

'They're saying at least six-'

'Were branded, yeah. They're being tended to in Gen and a couple of others. You probably know that, too, so you could always poke around there if you want.'

Clark shakes his head, adjusts his glasses, and says, 'Captain, you're one of the few people who were there five years ago when-'

'Anything you want to know is in the IA report or the Council's ruling.'

'I want to know about before all that. How you all started working together. Maybe even endangered-'

'Listen, Kent,' snaps Harvey, pointing his finger at Clark. 'Commissioner Gordon was a good man and he gave his life for the people of this city, there's no way he would have sanctioned anything that put them in danger.'

'I understand that, Captain, but-'

'But, nothing. He was the one who put together the first anti-vigilante team all those years ago.'

'He's also the one who convinced then-Commissioner Loeb to install the Signal.'

'And, what? The people of Gotham welcomed it. After a while. They needed something…someone to help them claw their way out of hell.'

'Is that why you turned it back on during the riots? To convince people the Batman was back?'

'It worked, didn't it? Like I said, he was what the city needed.' Harvey starts chuckling and shakes his head. 'There's something about you, Kent. Something that…maybe that's how you get your stories, by being someone people can trust. That's quite something for a journalist.'

Clark doesn't say anything. Instead, he waits for Harvey to stop laughing before he continues: 'And now?'

'What about now?'

'Rumours have been spreading for the past few months and things are starting to escalate, so I'm asking you: do you know if he's back?'

Harvey sighs heavily and looks at the cigar butt between his fingers. 'No, I don't know. I'm going to be straight with you about this, I hope he's back. I hoped it was him that put the scare in people in the riots, but it wasn't.'

'Why?'

'C'mon, do you really need me to say these things?'

'It can't hurt.'

'He's a symbol, or at least he was. It's no secret that I hated him when he first…when rumours about him first started all those years ago. Didn't believe them at first, the whole spooky 'spirit of Gotham' schtick, and it pissed me off that he, it, whatever was making us look bad.

'Then the Families began to get scared and started making mistakes. That was a turning point for me. I'm not a good man,' he points the cigar butt at Clark, 'but you already know that, don't you? I'm not a good man but I am a good man, but good men could only do so much in Gotham. Lots of them tried. The Waynes, The Davenports, Jim…but The Batman, or Batmen as some believe, they were good men with an advantage, and that pissed me off even more.'

'Money?'

'Look at me, you think I'm Police because of the money? No, they had freedom to act. No red tape. Not condoning it, mind you, just…appreciating. Not saying it's the refugees' fault, mind, they're victims in all this, too, but we need…something.'

'When I said your name-'

'I thought it was him. I thought, "Finally, we're going to put things right". Five years is a long time and Gotham has been fine, but she needs him again.'

'What about the branding?'

'It's not him,' he growls, turning away from Clark, waving his hand dismissively.

'You're sure?'

'Does he break bones and noses? Sure. Does he put the scare in people? Absolutely. Would he brand anyone? Never.'

'Like you said, five years is a long time, Captain. Maybe something happened while-'

'He left because something happened,' says Harvey, shaking his head. He falls silent and turns his head away slightly. 'He didn't abandon us, though. He made sure the work we had all been putting in…the sacrifice Jim made…what happened with the kid.'

'Maybe that's why he's more brutal,' says Clark, softly.

'Maybe. Maybe. But he's not branding them.'

'I hope you're right.'

Somewhere in the Rockies

Suspended in a large tube filled with a yellow-green liquid is the withered body of a blond man. Wires and IV-lines are attached to him and, every five seconds a scanner scrolls up and down the tube, feeding images and data to an array of computers. X-ray, infra-red, CT, and ultra-sound images are refreshed in time with the scanner and show that the body is regenerating, slowly.

Muttering to himself, Lex walks through the lab, head bowed slightly and hands behind his back. Dr Teng gestures at his team and they step away from their various work stations and make their way to the tube array. Lex looks up and smiles.

'Dr Teng. Team. How is Project Happenstance coming along? From the top.'

'Of course, Mr Luthor,' says Dr Teng. 'Our analysis of the ice in the cave indicates that the body was in situ for more than eighteen thousand years, the same as the ship that was discovered prior to the Kryptonian invasion.' He presses a few buttons and displays images of the body as it had originally been – withered, with skin taut over its bones and wasted muscles. 'It was basically mummified, but it's quite clear that it had experienced a massive amount of trauma before dying.'

'The scar on the face is old, and we're convinced it was formed long before he got to Earth. The area has reacted differently to the nutrient bath you devised than the rest of the body, except for these two parts here – whatever it is that etched this sigil into the chest somehow doesn't allow the flesh to heal properly.'

'And the hand?' The right hand of the body is somewhat deformed, with the skin raised and bumpy as if something is growing out of it.

'Something is embedded in there. Some kind of crystal. The layers of scar tissue show that he tried to dig it out but then-'

'His durability kicked in.' He taps on the glass and asks, 'Is it anything like the xeno-minerals on the island?'

'No, sir. So far the tests have shown it to be quite different.'

'But that may be because of interference from the body?

'Perhaps.'

'And extraction?'

'We used a sliver of the green xeno-mineral to take some samples from the body but the genetic and tissue degradation was immediate, which is why we haven't risked exposing his hand to it in order to-'

'I know, I know. Eighteen thousand years is a long time.'

'We're working on a way to repair the damage, including simulating variations of the nutrient bath and-'

'Splicing?'

'Nothing terrestrial has worked so far.'

'Nothing?' Lex doesn't look surprised, rather he looks quite amused.

'The closest we had was with Bison DNA, but even that-'

'But you've inserted what I asked?'

'Of course, sir. Once his brain has regenerated enough we'll be able test it and-'

'Of course, of course. And the genome project?'

'It's too early to say. We've had to come up with new sequencing methods. There's so much we've never seen before, so much to understand.'

Lex nods and smiles and says, '"The end then of Learning is to repair the ruines of our first Parents by regaining to know God aright", you're doing good work here, all of you, but there is still much to do. Still much.' He reaches out to the tube again but doesn't touch it. His smile looks more like a smirk as he walks away, gesturing for everyone to continue.

Daily Planet, Perry White's office

Perry and Lois are standing on either side of a table set up away from Perry's desk. It's one of several he has in the office, each one covered with material dealing with certain parts of the regular edition of the newspaper. One table is dedicated to 'special projects', however the table Perry and Lois are at is usually for the sports section.

'We still can't run this, Lois.'

'I know, it's just – gah! It doesn't make sense! Swanwick said the bullet was a WayneTech design from the late 80s-'

'And that the project was scrapped,' says Perry, holding up a sheaf of papers, 'and destroyed because the casings were unstable.'

'So where the hell did this stuff come from? It's exactly the same design but the techies say the material is new.'

'Maybe someone from WayneTech moved elsewhere, took the designs with them.'

'Winton was the only one working on this stuff.'

'He was the one developing the alloys, Lois, he wasn't the one deciding their application.'

'So maybe WayneTech hasn't stopped working on military tech?'

'That would be corporate suicide.'

'Would it? 'Super'-Gun purchases have gone up across the globe. You wrote an editorial on it. Superman basically created a market for them. If WayneTech is making these 'super-bullets' and people believe it's because of him, they are going to buy them.'

Channel 52 News

'Waters continue to rise after the breach of Grand Coulee, and tens of thousands of people are currently without power. Moses Lake, Cheney, Spokane and Opportunity have been evacuated and reports have been coming in of massive trenches appearing across the area, diverting the cascading waters away from other towns and cities in the floodplains. There has been no visual confirmation but it presumed that Superman has been changing the courses of mighty rivers.

'A spokesman from the Bureau of Reclamation said:

'"We are looking into what happened and are confident that there was no breach. There is ongoing monitoring at the dam, and what we currently understand the situation to be is that there was a flood further upstream and the dam couldn't hold back the excess water. We're confident that there has been no breach.'

Press conference at WayneTech Metropolis

Luke Fox is still considered to be a newbie in the corporate world, trapped under his father's shadow, even though he guided Wayne Foods through a difficult seven years and has made it the sixth largest company in the Wayne Enterprises family.

'The events in Metropolis showed us there is much that can achieved by working together, however WayneTech, in line with Wayne Enterprises and its subsidiaries, will continue to not provide direct services to the military.'

'But why is that? Surely your shareholders-'

'Military R&D is lucrative and, generally, very good for business. We have never denied that, but we believe we are in a position to do other things. LexCorp has made huge advances in cybernetic technologies, for example, and this partnership can help in making those advances viable and accessible options for people across the world. If this past year has taught us anything it's that we're all in this together and it's up to us to make the world a better place. WayneTech doesn't need to be working on military contracts to do so.'

'How does this impact your relationships with S.T.A.R.?'

'It doesn't. All of us are continuing to work together on other projects and developments – from biotech to construction and foods and so on. This is merely a branch from that tree.'

The Batcave

Bruce stands in the cave, watching satellite footage of Superman hovering near the island and the remains of the World Engine. He frowns when he sees Superman suddenly drop a few feet before maintaining his hover. He presses a couple of keys and the screen divides into six feeds, each displaying the footage under a different filter, and replays the footage. In one of the filters Superman is displayed as a golden figure but, as he drifts closer to the island he flashes black for a split second, and falls.

'Hnh.'

The Shugel Advancement Trust Charity Auction, Metropolis

A crowd of press and paparazzi is gathered outside the newly opened West Wing of the Natural History Museum in Metropolis. Sections of the museum had been affected by the pulses from the Black Zero and, as part of a restoration initiative, the new wing had been added. The inaugural event is in honour of the late Gerard Shugel in order to accommodate one of the requests in his will – the establishment of a trust and the initial selling of artefacts and antiques he had collected over the years in order to do so. In among the distinguished (and wealthy) guests comprising corporate and technological leaders, politicians, lawyers and doctors, are those specially invited from Shugel's various shelters from across the country.

'And what did you think when you were told about your invite,' Clark asks a couple of blushing teenagers. Their clothes are a little ill-fitting but they are well-presented.

'Honestly, Mr Kent,' says a dark haired boy, 'I didn't think much of anything. It was a little sad.'

'Why was that?'

'I never met Mr Shugel. I heard about him at the orphanage in Fawcett City, and read about him, but I never met him. But without him, I don't know where I would be and… I can't thank him, but it's like you said before, in one of your articles a few months ago. In the Planet's Junior Supplement? "We can thank others by being better", so that's what I'm going to do. That's what we,' he gestures at the children around him, 'are going to do.'

Coloured lights start to dance over the attendees and music from Handel's Messiah plays and a spotlight tracks across the floor and stops on the stage, and on Lex Luthor. He's standing with one hand raised in the air, and his head slightly bowed. The guests begins to quieten and the music softens, and Lex lowers his arm and raises his head and speaks:

'Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, friends and friends. Thank you for coming tonight to help us pave the way to a better tomorrow.

'As some of you know, Gerard Shugel was like a father to me. It's in his honour that we're here today, and I'm humbled and privileged to have been asked to open this evening's events. I hope you don't mind, but I thought I would take this opportunity to tell you a little about Gerard and how… how our paths crossed.

'Years ago, as I tinkered away in a small workshop in the old docks, a man walked in and changed my life. I was building toy robots to sell for Christmas. I know that might surprise a lot of people but despite my father and his wealth and the ease it may have provided, one of the things he instilled in me all those years ago was reliance of self. Reliance of self but an awareness of knowing there was much to learn and others out there can guide and help. Not do but support.

'It's one of the reasons why we're here today – to support the people of Metropolis and other parts of the world, not to do things for them. We are the shoulders they need rather than the hands that will do.

'So, I was tinkering away, finalising half a dozen designs, when Gerard Shugel by-passes my security and, um, booby traps – I was still young, and booby traps were a thing – and walks into my work room, scaring the living daylights out of me.

'I thought it was a prank and, I'll be honest with you all, I thought it was something my father had come up with as a little test. I mean, this was Gerard Shugel. This was the man who had had the ear of every President since Johnson and had sourced out the team for NASA's development divisions. He was one of the wealthiest men in the world, a veritable genius, and would have no time to sneak into my little workshop like this.

'But it was him.

'As he stood there, looking over the room, I knew it was him, and I couldn't breathe. Then he picked up one of my robots and said: "The problem with genius, Lex, is that it is lost far too quickly. It's lost because, more often than not, we hold back. It's lost because we direct it at things that are better left to others."

'He held up the robot and said, "This is genius. It is. Yet it's wasted. The time you spent putting this together, putting all of these together, could have been spent in challenging that great brain of yours with other things."

'"Genius doesn't always need a follow-through. More often than not, it only needs oversight."'

'I didn't know what he was talking about. There I was trying to prove to my father that I could be independent, and Gerard Shugel was telling me I should be doing…something else. It took me a few years to appreciate what he was trying to tell me, and it's a lesson I'm imparting, on his behalf, onto Metropolis and the rest of the world.

'When the aliens came, he reached out to us – to me, to Stagg, to Kord, to Wayne, to Queen, and to so many others – he reached out to us and pulled us together. The sum of our parts and all that. When it was all over, he reached out to us again, and that led to the creation of S.T.A.R. Labs – a places where genius and achievement would go hand in hand and we could make the world better. A place where molecular biophysicists wouldn't have to stymie themselves in trying to put together models and -

'I'm going off on a tangent, aren't I? I'm sorry.

'Gerard Shugel taught me so much. He inspired me to take the initiatives to diversify LexCorp and take the company to new heights. He showed me how the ideas that were bubbling away in my head could be brought to life by others and that I didn't have to do things alone.

'When the attacks happened he showed us all,' he gestures widely, 'that we were all in this together.

'And that's why we're here today. Here, where hundreds of pieces of the history of mankind show us how we came together time and time again and grew from strength to strength. Here where, though part of me doesn't want to, we will divide these treasures in order to bring people back together again.

'I can see I've spoken a little longer than I should have, and I apologise for that. I'm going to chalk it up to grief and just ask you all to bid highly, dig deeply and help bring about a new and better tomorrow.'

The crowd – from guests to wait-staff to the musicians and so on – applaud and Lex smiles and descends from the stage.

The auction exhibition room is like a modern museum – there are pieces of artwork and swords and masks and other items on the walls, and plinths and pedestals displaying boxes and statues and other large pieces at various intervals. Some of the pieces have an attendee standing nearby and most have 'barriers' and 'do not touch' signs.

Bruce wanders through the display, unnoticed by most of those around him. He isn't paying much attention to the displays as he nurses a drink – or, at least, it seems like he's not paying much attention.

'I know I've asked this before, Master Bruce,' says Alfred, speaking to Bruce via a small ear piece, 'but is it really likely that Shugel would have arranged for his genetics research to be sold at this auction?'

'It's the only thing that makes sense right now, Alfred.'

'But after you and Master Dick put ruin to Cadmus-'

'Shugel took the projects underground.'

'We don't know if any of the…the enhanced you've uncovered this past year-'

'Right now, it's the only thing that makes sense, Alfred.'

'Well, the facial recognition software is running and I'll alert you if anything comes up.'

Bruce stops in front of a statue of Achilles, prompting an attendee to stand to attention as his leg brushes the rope barrier. He glances at the exhibit number, opens the auction guidebook and turns to the description of the display. In front of the statue, resting on a marble-esque stand, is a short sword. The metal of the blade is faded, but it's still sharp. The handle is a mixture of leather wraps and metal embedded with semi-precious stones.

'That's not the Sword of Peleus,' says a young woman, smiling. Her voice is soft and accented. She nods at the attendee, who smiles shyly and steps back.

Bruce looks up from the booklet, frowning. 'No? But the auction guide-'

'Is somewhat wishful in the magic it tries to claim.'

Bruce turns on the spot, gesturing at the exhibits – and casting his trained eye over the exhibition and everyone in sight – and says, 'So what else here isn't what is seems, Ms..?'

'Prince. Diana Prince.'

'Confirmed, Sir,' Bruce hears Alfred says. 'She's an expert in antiquities and…seems to have ties to – one moment, the databases are updating. Your little turn-around has sparked quite a bit of activity.'

'Bruce Wayne,' he extends hand, smiling widely.

'Mr Wayne,' she takes his hand, shakes it firmly, and then lets go and takes the guide book from him, tutting and awing as she flicks through it. 'Mr Shugel had a truly impressive collection, not just of Grecian artefacts, but from across the civilisations of the world.'

'So no magic?' His smile is a smaller one this time.

'Oh there's magic, Mr Wayne,' says Diana, her eyes serious and the smile leaving her mouth as she walks around him to stand on his left. She nods her head at the statue and holds out the guidebook. Bruce takes it from her and Diana says: 'Just not in that particular replica.'

'A replica? Of the real sword of Peleus?'

'The whole thing. The statue, the shield, the sword. This is all symbolic. No, the real sword has a haft of ivory. A forger would know that and make sure that the replica had one, too.' She lifts the sword and twirls it quickly before holding it horizontally, frowning slightly and then placing it back on the display. 'No, this is a replica of Kronos' scythe.'

Bruce laughs a little, 'You do realise,' he says, pointing at the "Do Not Touch" sign.

'That Mr Shugel left instructions for me to be the curator of his collection in the event of his passing?' She shrugs and smiles, too.

'So it's mislabelled? It doesn't look like a scythe,' says Bruce, continuing the conversation.

'Quite. He was very protective about his collection. Kronos' scythe is made of Adamantine and could easily cut through the metals and alloys your company produces.'

Bruce frowns at Diana's awareness and feels a little uncomfortable at being "ill-prepared". 'The scythe isn't listed, and as for metal like that...' His voice trails off as he notices several men in different parts of the room watching them.

'No, but it is here. Somewhere.' Diana begins to walk away, as if distracted by something or lost in her own thoughts.

'Ms Prince,' says Bruce as he tries to follow her, frowning as he analyses the men, watching them ostentatiously 'trace' their hands over some of the exhibits.

Diana turns a little and waves. 'I'm sure you have better things to do with your time, Mr Wayne. Enjoy, and bid high.'

As Bruce steps away from the statue his eyes are focused on a large plastic sign-stand that, because of the dark clothes of someone standing just behind it, is a little like a mirror from certain angles. What has caught his eye is the reflection of a blond man whom he had noticed had been observing the exchange Diana. His lip turns up a little, like a small snarl, as he reads his lips: "Wayne's clean. Continue sweep."

'Alfred?' mutters Bruce.

'There are at least half a dozen government agents in attendance. The computers –'

'Keep going.'

Bruce turns and –

'Mr Wayne. Clark Kent-'

'Daily Planet, I know' says Bruce, smiling and taking Clark's hand enthusiastically. 'Missed out on acquiring that one.'

'Ah, acquiring?' says Clark, confused and a little bemused.

Bruce chuckles and waves a little dismissively. He steps back and stumbles a little on the rope barrier behind him, spilling his drink as Clark catches him. 'Your work precedes you,' Bruce smiles a little more and, standing a little taller, looks for somewhere to place his glass.

'My-'

'The trucker rapist a couple of years ago – that was exceptional detective work.'

'The...the trucker?'

'I'm a sucker for detective stories and that one…that one was really well done.'

'I wouldn't exactly call it a story, Mr Wayne. I know that's-'

'No, no, you're right. Terminology aside, it was good work, although I have to wonder why you never had your picture alongside your by-line, even at the Planet.'

Clark adjusts his glasses and begins looking around the room a little.

'Ah, right,' Bruce laughs, patting Clark on the shoulder. 'The discomfort of having caught the attention of a billionaire playboy philanthropist.'

An elderly woman a few feet away beams at them and Clark coughs and his eyes widen a little.

'Not that kind of attention, Clark. Can I call you Clark?' he gestures for Clark to walk with him. 'No, not that kind of attention. Your pieces in the Planet this past year, especially about Suicide Slum and the ah, shall we call them the "gentrification proposals"? I think that sounds about right, yes.'

'You really have me at a disadvantage here. I just had a couple of questions and I'm only accompanying-'

'Lois!' says Bruce, loudly and cheerily, stepping past Clark with his arms wide.

'Bruce,' says Lois, smiling and quickly giving Clark a questioning look. 'Good to see you. It's been-'

'An age, I know. Slumped back into my reclusive habits for a while.'

'But now you've come out of your cave?' asks Clark, his voice a little deeper.

Bruce frowns at Clark's words but then says, a little pensively, 'You could say that, Clark. You could say that.' He steps to the side slightly, so the two are standing in front of him. 'Lois, I was just telling Clark how much I admired his Suicide Slum pieces.'

'He does good work,' she says, a little distracted as she checks her purse and pulls out a notebook.

'Yes, he does.' He stares at Clark's profile and his jaw clenches. 'Out of this world.'

Lois laughs and says, 'Well, I think he has his feet firmly on the ground, Bruce. Don't try to make your praises go to his head.' She looks out over the attendees and then says, 'I'm sorry, boys, but there's another billionaire I have to go see.' She holds up the notebook and says, as she excuses herself, 'unfortunately, he doesn't let anything get recorded so I have to do this the old-fashioned way.'

Clark and Bruce watch Lois disappear into the crowd before Clark tries to continue their conversation.

'Mr Wayne-'

In his ear, Bruce hears Alfred say: 'There's a lot of missing data on Mr Kent. I'm having trouble finding a photograph of him after his high school year book.' He reaches out for another drink and says, 'Bruce, please.'

'Okay. Bruce. What made you change your mind about teaming up with LexCorp over-'

'Times have changed, Clark.'

Clark frowns slightly at how sharply Bruce said his name. 'In what way?'

'Conspiracy bears fruit. There are now, among us, people of immense physical power.'

'There have always been people of power.'

'Of influence, I'd argue. Not physical power. Not in this way.'

'So it's because of fear-'

'It's because of balance. It's because of what we don't know.'

'And what's your opinion on The Batman and his activities?'

'Excuse me?'

'He seems different to before. The increased violence-'

'If he's back,' says Bruce, shrugging a little, 'then he's probably doing what he did years ago.'

'Civil liberties are being trampled on in your city and the people are living in fear. He thinks he's above the law.'

'The Daily Planet criticizing those who think they're above the law is a little hypocritical, wouldn't you say? Considering every time your hero saves a cat out of a tree you write a puff-piece editorial about an alien who, if he wanted to, could burn the whole place down.'

'Most of the world doesn't share your opinion, Mr Wayne.'

'Maybe it's the Gotham City in me, we just have a bad history with freaks dressed like clowns.'

'Be that as it may, The Batman spent years as an urban myth. Despite being revealed to be true five years ago, and then disappearing, why the brazen appearances now? Why shed the mystique? Why-'

'I can't pretend to know The Batman's mind, Clark, but I'd say "escalation". That's likely what it boils down to.'

'How so?'

'Your alien friend maybe created a power vacuum. There's him,' Bruce holds his hand high in the air and moves to stand next to Clark rather than facing him, 'advanced military' he brings his hand down level to Clark's neck, 'militia,' a little lower, 'mafia, gangs, and then us, the little people. The ordinary people. The ones in this area,' he circles his hand around the height of his and Clark's torsos, 'probably don't like the power shift so they're out there looking to pull things back.'

'And that's why The Batman has become so brutal? Why he brands people now?'

'Don't believe everything you hear, son. Some things aren't what they appear to be. Now, if you'll excuse me.'

Bruce walks away, nodding at a few people, and Clark, frustrated, scowls. His head snaps up, though, as he hears Bruce say: 'Alfred, dig up everything you can find on Clark Kent.' Clark turns and sees the group from Fawcett City waving at him, and he returns the wave, looks towards Bruce one more time, and mutters, smiling a little, 'about time.'

'But now you've come out of your cave? I'm more than I seem, sir. I can promise you won't be disappointed.' The words roil about in Bruce's head and he stops beside a pillar and leans against it. Images flash in his mind's eye:

The rooftop encounter all those years ago.

'I didn't mean to startle you. I…I thought you might have heard me approaching or something. I've been looking for you and I want you to teach me.'

'Go home, kid.'

'Please.'

His mind carries him forward a little and this time he sees a massive corridor lined with glass tubes and cubes. Inside each one is an animal or person and, in the largest cube, is a massive albino gorilla.

'This place is in-sane!'

'It's time to bring Cadmus down.'

The third series of images are more violent, and Bruce gasps and hunches over a little:

The building is a smoking ruin but the large metal door has bent inwards and formed a canopy of sorts. Bricks and metal are strewn all over the place and a pair of dark-gloved hands heaves on a large block and clears an area before grabbing hold of the bent door and pulling it upwards.

Huddled on the floor is a teenager in a torn and bloodied costume. His face is caked in blood and dust, and the domino mask covering his eyes is shredded.

'Jason,' says a rough voice.

A dark-gloved hand reaches out and touches the boy's neck.

'No. Oh, God, no.'

Bruce pushes himself to stand upright but his breathing is shaky. He touches his brow and then rubs the beads of sweat between his fingers and thumb.

'Master Bruce?' asks Alfred. 'Are you okay?'

'I'm fine, Alfred.' Bruce moves away from the exhibition, towards a wide flight of marble stairs, and sits down.

'Sir, I can see you on the cameras.'

'I'm fine,' says Bruce, looking up and saluting. 'Anything on Kent?'

'Snippets from across the country, but nothing concrete at the moment, sir. Other than his move to Metropolis.'

Images of the ruins of the Wayne building in Metropolis flash and then of two coffins. Bruce hunches over again, breathing slowly. In his hands he clutches and twists the auction booklet – tearing it. He shakes his head, forces himself to his feet and heads back into the auction-exhibit room.

'Anything on the agents?'

'Systems identify one as Steve Trevor, and agent of A.R.G.U.S and another as Andre Chevard of-'

'The French are here?'

'Apparently so.'

'So there has to be something happening-'

'It could be anything, sir. Shugel was involved in a number of…initiatives.'

'More than we'll probably ever know.'

'Dad, seriously? This looks like something out from an old sci-fi movie or something,' says a broad-shouldered young man. He's wearing a suit but doesn't look comfortable in it.

'I know, Vic,' says his father, 'but this is all part of our history.'

'It doesn't quite fit in the "natural" side of things, though, does it, Silas,' says Lex, as he approaches. Mercy is standing a little behind him, watching some of the attendees nearby. Lex touches the keyboard, tracing his fingers over the red, blue and green buttons around it. 'The IBM 1130 mainframe computer looks out of place among all these antiquities, but your father's right. This is all part of our history.'

Vic looks stunned and stammers, 'Mr Luthor?'

'World history. Local history is you, though, Vic. Seven running touchdowns in a game?'

'I didn't realise you were into football, Lex,' says Silas, as he puts his hand on Vic's shoulder.

'I like to keep an eye on as much as I can, Silas. I don't exactly have the build to play the game,' he says, spreading his arms wide, 'but I can appreciate the physicality. I hear the scouts were very impressed and are ready to tender offers, but, what I'm curious about,' he pulls out a small yellow disc. Engraved in it is an image of a double helix, 'is when you're going to return to the project your father told me about. We already have engineers working on the base casing, but-'

'You told him?' Vic hisses, shrugging off Silas' hand.

Silas quickly puts his hand on his son's arm and says, 'Vic, the math was-'

'I'm not your experiment anymore, Dad. You promised.' Vic steps away and mutters a 'thank you' as Mercy turns to the side to let him pass.

'I'm sorry, Silas. I thought I might have been able to encourage him to work with me on finalising the short-range teleportation equation.'

'It's okay, Lex. Like I said to you before, he's fixated on sports at the moment. Sports and tactics and manoeuvres. He'll come around soon, I'm sure.'

It's the arrangement of the statues, busts, and murals that catches Bruce's attention – from a distance they look like they belong together but, up close, it's clear that they've been forced together, and not just by being placed in the same area of the room and lining the temporary walls.

One is a beardless statue of Tinia – god of the sky and the highest god in Etruscan mythology. On his shoulder is the remains of an eagle and, in his right hand, is a 'rod of power'. At his waist is a thunderbolt.

Against a reinforced wall, differentiating itself from most of the other statues by its vivid pinks and yellows, is a grinning statue of Kala Bhairab, the Black Shiva the Destroyer. Four of its six arms are spread wide and in one hand is a large sword. A thick yellow rope trails from one of its other hands and across its chest.

A statue of Xiuhtecuhtli, the Aztec Lord of Fire, squats on a plinth, its arms resting on its knees. Beside him is a mural of the Ometeotl, the Two God of the Aztec religion, coloured in yellows and browns and turquoise.

Facing them on an opposite wall, a cauldron at his feet and a massive club in his hand is the Dagda of Celtic mythology.

The bust of Khonsu, the ancient Egyptian god of the moon, sits slightly turned towards the walkway between the exhibits. It has the head of a falcon and holds the crook and flail in its hands.

In amongst the various figures and idols is an array of ancient weapons and, on a pedestal and seated on a slate of black marble, is a stone roughly the size of a person's palm. The plaque on the edge of the pedestal says: Cain's. Bruce shakes his head a little as a he passes the pedestal, but then he stops in front of a small cluster of statutes:

The two-faced Isinu of Sumerian mythology, the winged Papsukkal of the Akkadian pantheon, Turms, Hermes and Mercury, standing side by side, Agni holding fire in one of his hands, Hermod riding Sleipnir, and Zaqar of Mesopotamia.

Each one has their hands outstretched and, resting across and held up by them, is a scythe.

Bruce opens the twisted auction book, the pages tearing as he turns them. 'I didn't see anything on these statues in the book, Alfred,' he mutters, his lip curling as he watches Steve Trevor pass his hand over another exhibit. 'This might be what Shugel arranged.' Glancing to his left, Bruce reaches out and picks up the scythe, and his eyes turn white.

A gravelly, rumbling voice, with strange hums layered within it, says, 'It grows darker throughout the universe, mortal...and there shall be no dawn.'

From a distance it looks like a massive sandstorm is approaching. The air is thick with dust and the sky is a myriad of oranges. Dark specks drift across the sky, with some swooping down suddenly, disappearing, and then reappearing slightly larger than before.

'Resistance is foolish. All it does is delay the inevitable. All it does is make things hurt.

'Most of you are beneath my notice.'

In the orange light, the figure standing on a mound looks like a devil-horned man in a trench coat - Batman. He lowers his arms as the sandy wind eases. He reaches his left hand into a compartment in his belt and pulls out a batarang. He passes it over to his right hand and places the batarang in another compartment on the belt.

'Convoy is two clicks away,' says a voice in his ear.

'I see it,' growls Batman. 'Does your scan confirm?'

'Package is onboard.'

The scene shifts and:

The convoy pulls up and several men stand by the back of a truck. They're wearing 'helmets' – ones where hands cover their mouths, eyes, and ears. They're caked in dirt and their uniforms are torn. The back of the truck opens and a man wearing goggles looks down on Batman and grins, gesturing at the metallic-looking box behind him, and then bowing theatrically.

A screeching sound pierces the air and the man in the truck jumps down, brandishing his gun.

There is a boom and dozens of armed men swarm into the area, all wearing similar helmets to the others, but with much cleaner uniforms. They don't say anything as they rush at the convoy, guns raised.

Batman spins low on the ground, swinging his left arm and tossing several bat-shuriken. A red-haired woman barrels through the armed men, rolls on the ground and comes to a crouch next to him. She nods and begins firing taser bolts at the helmets.

There are more screeching sounds and massive winged creatures swoop in and pick up the downed men and carry them away. Some land and advance on fighters.

The scene shifts again, and:

'The shields aren't going to hold!' shouts a voice. It's distorted, part man and part machine-sounding. Batman is standing over the metallic box, shifting from side to side as the truck heaves and lurches.

'How long?' roars Batman.

'I-' the voice is cut off and Batman turns to see what has happened.

'No!' he shouts out, helpless and enraged. A thick blade juts out of the metal-encased chest of a cyborg. Sparks and dark fluid fritz and spurt and the left eye blinks rapidly. A head cowled in yellow and red looks over the shoulder of the cyborg and says, 'May the Source preserve and guide you.' It reaches out a green-gloved hand and releases bands of metal and light, and the Batman snaps his trench coat at a lever and is catapulted out of the truck. Miniature jets fire from him boots and carry him up into the sky. Dozens of parademons are in the air around him. The tendrils stream out of the truck and wrap around him, smothering the jets.

There is another scene shift, and:

Batman snaps awake in a dusty chamber, gasping. His arms are chained above his head and his gloves, gauntlets and boots are on the ground behind him. To his right, arms and legs contained within a metal frame which, in turn, is surrounded by a copper cage, is the cyborg. The hole in its chest is no longer fritzing but its artificial eye blinks and pulses slowly. To the Batman's left is the red-haired woman, chained and unconscious.

He looks forward and snorts. Beyond the chamber is a corridor, lined with armed men wearing military-esque helmets. On their shoulders is the S-shield. They all stand straighter for a second and then, at the far end of the corridor, Superman descends, slamming into the ground, his cape wide as it falls back around him. He stands and, with gentle whirring sounds, the armed men kneel and lower their gazes.

Superman walks forward, his mouth grim and the dark-lit corridor shadowing his face makes it look as if he's angry. He passes a glance over the red-haired woman and the cyborg and comes to a stop in front of Batman. They look at each other in silence and then Superman lowers his gaze a little.

'I tried to help you, Bruce. I know you know that. I tried, but it's over now.'

Superman reaches out and takes off Batman's cowl, and Bruce glares at him.

'This stood for something,' says Superman, and his eyes glow red for a couple of seconds. He looks at Bruce and continues, 'for all the fear you instilled over the years, you gave hope.'

Bruce growls and looks to his left and right.

'The Bat is dead. Buried.'

Superman says something more but it is inaudible, masked by the strange voice as it says, reverberating through the vision: 'Resistance is foolish, but there is always resistance.'

He places his hand on Batman's chest and the voice says:

'Go and conquer the universe for me.'

Bruce screams.

Bruce snaps back to reality, gasping and perspiring, as Diana takes the scythe from him. His hands shake as he tries to reach out to her to stop her from leaving.

'Two minutes and twenty four seconds,' she says, wrapping the scythe in leather. 'Be careful of what you think you've seen, Mr Wayne. Although Titan of Time and Fate, Kronos enjoyed his games, hiding truth with lies to see if we could still make Justice prevail.'

'Master Bruce!' shouts Alfred through the earpiece. 'What's going on?'

Groggily, Bruce shakes his head and whispers, 'What happened?'

'You touched an exhibit-'

'Where's the woman? Diana?'

'She's left the exhibit hall and is heading to the valet area. There's a car waiting-'

Sidestepping some of the attendees, Bruce dashes towards an exit and says, 'Put Kent on hold. Diana Prince is now the priority.'

Flashes of light as he runs out of the building force him to cover his eyes for a second, and a swarm of paparazzi surrounds him. Beyond them he sees Diana look back at him before she gets into a sports car and drives way. As he watches, the unmasking scene flashes in his mind again. He turns away from the paparazzi and signals to the valet, closing his eyes to the images of the fight in the desert and the winged creatures in the sky. He hands some money to the valet as his car approaches and he hears the voice again:

'Go and conquer the universe for me.'

Channel 52 News

Seventeen men, twenty-two women, and twelve children are seriously ill in hospital after a fire broke out in a tenement in the east end of Mexico City. Police say the blaze broke out across several floors and have voiced arson as a potential cause.

[Translated from Spanish] 'The buildings in this area are old and run down, but a fire like this is not normal. Even if it had been in something like a temporary lab, it would not have spread like this. We have a number of witnesses who have described the fire as starting from several locations.

'We are currently aware of three deaths, but there would have been many, many more if Superman had not arrived and helped. There are many here, residents and rescuers, who are alive right now because of him.'

The Batcave

'He challenged me, Alfred,' says Bruce, shrugging off his jacket as he hurries down the platform to the computer array where Alfred is waiting with a tray of food.

'Who did, sir?'

'Superman.'

'Su-? I've been watching the proceedings and Superman wasn't there. In fact, he-'

'He was there. I know who he is now. He made sure of it.'

Alfred sets down the tray and gestures at the large chair. 'Master Bruce, please.'

Bruce tosses his jacket aside and rolls up his sleeves. 'Winton was originally based in Kansas City before he came to my father with his ideas and formulas.'

'He was, yes, but how does-'

On screen are pages from Professor Winton's journals and notes, and on one of the pages is a drawing of the Kryptonian Command Key. He keys in a few instructions and runs an audio playback, adjusting it to be octave lower and a deep baritone:

'The Batman spent years as an urban myth. Despite being revealed to be true five years ago, and then disappearing, why the brazen appearances now? Why shed the mystique?'

On the screen it says: 96% match.

'And Kent's a Kansas farmboy.'

'My word.'

'I have to take him down,' says Bruce, keying in more commands.

'Excuse me, sir?'

'Look at what he's been doing – ignoring laws, borders-'

'One could quite easily give you examples of times you have done the same.'

'This isn't about breaking and entering or hacking or-'

'Terrorism?'

'This is the world, Alfred.'

Concern furrows Alfred's brow as he asks, 'What happened?'

'What do you mean?' Bruce doesn't look at him, instead he keys in further searches and opens up more sub-screens.

'At the auction. Twice you-'

'I saw something. Realised something. A truth.'

'"Truth", sir?'

'That I have to do more. I should never have stopped. What's out there never changed.'

'Oh, yes it has, sir. Everything's changed. Men fall from the sky, the gods hurl thunderbolts, innocents die.' He looks at the screens, frowning at the requests Bruce has been inputting. 'That's how it starts. The fever, the rage, the feeling of powerlessness.'

Bruce squeezes his eyes shut and hunches forward as images flash through his mind. Of Robin, bloodied and broken, of Dick's gravestone, of Superman and his fiery eyes, and of Bruce screaming.

'That turns good men...cruel.'

'It's not cruelty, it's necessary.' Bruce pulls up schematics of a range armoured suits, and others of various weapons – hypersonic canons, missiles, tasers, and so on.

'You're going to go to war.'

The image of Bruce screaming flashes in his mind again and he turns to Alfred and snaps: 'He's the one that brought the war to us. Count the dead. Thousands of people. What's next? Millions? He has the power to wipe out the entire human race, and if we believe there is even a one percent chance that he is our enemy we have to take it as an absolute certainty...and we have to destroy him.'

Alfred punches a button and the display changes to images and feeds of Superman doing various feats and rescuing people. Fires and floods, collapsed mines and capsizing ships, motor accidents and aircraft.

'He is not your enemy.'

Breathing out heavily, Bruce squeezes his temples with his thumb and index finger. 'You're right. You're right. He's not. Today. Yet.' His head snaps up and his lip curls as he says: 'Twenty years in Gotham, Alfred, and we've seen what promises are worth. How many good guys are left? How many stayed that way? He says he's here to help, but I know...I know otherwise…and I'm going to kill him.'

Alfred mouths 'why' but, instead, asks, 'How?'

'I'll find a way.' Bruce crosses his arms and looks over the schematics. 'There's always a way.'

Daily Planet offices

Perry White stalks down the row of cubicles, clutching some papers tightly in his hand. 'Kent,' he says, his voice firm and a little louder than it would be for a regular conversation, 'where's the pre-exhibition piece?'

Clark pulls out a thin folder and turns to Perry, smiling, 'The Shugel-'

Perry snatches the folder from Clark's hands and says, louder still: 'The football! Gotham versus Metropolis!'

Clark's smile vanishes and he adjusts his glasses. 'I'm working on an angle.'

'I told you the angel – Victor Stone, teenage tactical genius and how he turned his school team into the most sought after players ever.'

'I know, Perry, I'm just trying to plug some gaps in his-'

'With what?' snaps Perry, holding out the sheaf of papers and stabbing at the heading: "Bat-Threat in Gotham".

'Batman's changed, Perry, and-'

'Drop the story. I hired you for the way you seem to have insight into people, Clark, not for something like this. Nobody cares about Clark Kent taking on the Batman.' He holds out his hand as Clark stands. 'Drop it. Now.'

S.T.A.R. Labs, Metropolis

'I'm still quite giddy over you being here, Bruce,' says Lex, grinning, 'but I'm glad you finally decided to take a look at all the work we've been doing together.'

'I figured it was about time, Lex.'

'You know, childish as it may seem, but I feel like Willy Wonka right now. I think you're going to be quite impressed.' He nods at Mercy and she keys in a series of codes and opens a large door. 'Now, we're going to go on a ride first, our key labs are just outside Metropolis-'

'But S.T.A.R-'

'Is full of the boring stuff. The fun,' Lex gestures theatrically, 'is this way.'

Mercy leads the two billionaires to a well-lit tunnel and an underground bullet train. The doors open silently and the three of them step and sit down. There's a hum and rapid bursts of light followed by a low whining sound and the doors open again.

'Welcome to Thebes,' says Mercy.

Stepping out of the train, Bruce looks up and around a massive rectangular underground chamber, around a hundred feet high. There are five floors on either side and the chamber extends ahead of them for over a kilometre. At intervals on each floor there are walkways connecting the two sides.

'Thebes?'

'The city where weapons are forged and heroes are born.' Lex grins and rubs his palms together, gleefully.

'Lex, what the hell is this?'

'This is the other side of S.T.A.R. but before it. Government sanctioned but off the books. You need to see this if we're truly going to work together.'

'Explain.'

Lex adjusts his jacket and steps away a little with his hands behind his back. 'Mercy?'

Mercy smiles and begins to walk further into the chamber, gesturing Bruce to follow. 'Advancements come in different forms but not all of them are accepted by society. Fisher developed a pen that could write upside down, under water, over grease, and all he wanted to do create a pen that would write under any circumstance. Others, however, wanted an ink that would write itself, under any circumstance.'

'You're not making sense, Ms Graves,' says Bruce, gritting his teeth.

'You're deliberately being obtuse, aren't you?' Lex sighs. 'Come, come. I've wanted to share this with you for years.'

The part of the floor they are standing on rises up and becomes a hovering platform. It rises up further and hovers by the balcony to the second floor.

'This world isn't the way it was when our fathers were around. In their time the gods were human. Now…well, now, it's like it was before.'

'Before?'

'Titans and Olympians, avatars and anthropomorphism, beings from realms beyond the sky.'

'Superman?'

'Throughout, we've strived to be better, and strived to achieve more. We made wings and soared, only to be cast back down to earth. We built a tower and reached the heavens, only to have it all shattered beneath us as we became divided. We kept moving forward, Bruce, despite all the times we fell.

'We've fought nature and nature fought back, and the fight keeps going. Here we've been pushing things for decades-'

'"Decades"?'

'We're not the first to work to lift humankind, Bruce. From even before the Ancient Egyptians, there have been people – basically, Bruce, what I'm saying is that we are, each of us, standing on the shoulders of giants.'

'Okay, I can agree with you on that.'

'But now, despite everything we've achieved,' he gestures at the labs the platform allows them to look into, 'tackling heart disease, infant deaths, processes to clean water, spinal injuries, genetic defects – I hate that description, I do, it's not their fault. All the things we've achieved and are achieving-'

'So this is about Superman.'

'That's a name given to him to humanize him, but you and I both know he can never be human. Some have called him a force of nature, but he's beyond that. Sure, we sometimes describe it as 'Mother Nature' and highlight its gentleness, but he isn't that. He's something else.'

'At least he's on our side, right?' Bruce watches a weapons test as the platform moves alongside the corridor

'And what if he changes his mind, Bruce? What happens when he decides he knows what's best for us? What happens when he looks at us and thinks that the fact that so many of us strive to make this world better isn't enough? How many times have people in power – humans – broken their word?'

'So you don't believe him?'

'We would be fools to accept him solely on his word.'

'Well, he has been saving people, Lex.'

'And ignoring others. He has the technology to change the world, and that's not hyperbole.'

'So what do you propose?'

'Here's the thing, I'm not interested in bringing him down.'

'You're not?'

'No.'

'Then?'

'I want to bring us up.'

'How?'

'You've seen some of what we have here. That's just a sliver of what we can do, but the world's not ready for it yet.'

'It wasn't ready for Superman, either.'

'He has been foisted on us. All of us – everyone – deserves a chance at greatness, Bruce, none of us are born to it. That's a lie people tell to stop others from achieving. Belief is key. Belief that we can be better. It's the belief that a boy in a tenement slum in Mexico has of being a doctor that drives him to make it a reality and grab on to the slimmest of chances. All of that is threatened now, because of him. Now, people look at him and the desire for greatness is…it's not there anymore. Because we can't be him. We can't win.'

'So it's over?'

'No. No, no, no, no, no. Now we expose him for what he is, and ground him in reality, so that we can believe in ourselves again.'

The platform comes to a stop and Lex steps off, followed by Bruce and then Mercy.

'I'm quirky, Bruce, I know that, but I believe in humanity, and it's that belief that has pushed me further since the Metropolis Incident.' A door slides open and he walks through, arms wide, and a thin green beam of light moves up and down him. He steps through another set of sliding doors and waits for Bruce and Mercy to follow.

The lab is darker than the others they had passed on the platform and there is a strange green glow emitting in various parts of it.

'Now, granted, WayneTech is the world leader in alloys, but you have to admit, some of what we have here is quite impressive. Lightweight and super-durable. Even though you've sworn off defence contracts, I think you'll appreciate the protective elements of what we're working on here in this particular lab. Not missiles or guns, but armour – personal and vehicular – the soldiers and rescue workers, police, firemen…

'We have limits. Time and time again that truth hits us in the face. We have limits, but we're gifted with the ability to overcome them or work around them.' There's a hiss and a large horizontal cylinder rotates and opens. Inside is a suit of dark-gray armour lined with green and purple. It's not bulky – it could actually be considered 'form fitting'.

Bruce reaches out and touches the chest plate and is surprised by how it feels. 'It feels like...baby skin.'

'It's a finish bonded into the molecular structure of the alloy,' says Mercy. 'Rather than it being cold and hard, it was felt that something like this would provide some initial comfort to someone being rescued.

'So it's bulletproof.'

'And grenade-proof, and bomb proof, fireproof and disease-proof.'

'"Disease"?'

'We're trying to cover all the bases, Mr Wayne.'

'And this is all in response to him?'

'No, this is all what we had been trying to do for years. Your teams have been helping over at S.T.A.R.-'

'Helping how?'

'Our alloys aren't as stable as yours. They're close, but…something's missing. Anyway, for him,' says Lex, grimly, 'it's different.' He gestures at a metal arm and at a number of screens displaying computer-generated simulations showing the arm compressing on impact with an object. 'We can punch through concrete, but it's like tearing paper for him. For all the force we can generate, once he braces himself he's like an immovable object. We can't reach him. Not yet.'

'So there's-'

'There's Metal-X,' says Mercy, quickly. Bruce looks at her quizzically and she points to a lab on the other side of the chamber. He leans forward a little, squinting, and sees an outline of a man-sized skeleton.

'It isn't enough,' says Lex from behind some shelving. He pops his head round and signals Bruce to follow. Curious, Bruce walks over to the shelves, glancing over his shoulder to see Mercy leave the lab. 'Here…the piece de resistance that will allow us to resist.'

Lex steps aside to reveal a large meteorite with pieces of green crystal jutting out of it.

'It's a rock,' says Bruce, deadpan.

Lex brushes his hands over it. 'It's salvation.'

'Lex, it's a rock. From outer space, sure, but still just a rock.'

Lex tuts and then, as he pulls back his sleeve and presses his forearm, he says:

'From what highth fall'n ,so much the stronger prov'd

He with his Thunder: and till then who knew

The force of those dire Arms? Yet not for those,

Not what the Potent Victor in his rage

Can else inflict…'

He looks up at the screens he has activated and Bruce looks, too. Displayed are satellite images of Superman flying across the waters near the remains of the World Engine, dipping suddenly, and then correcting himself.

'And to the fierce contention brought along

Innumberable force of Spirits arm'd

That durst dislike his reign, and me preferring,

His utmost power with adverse power oppos'd

In dubious Battel on the Plains of Heav'n,

And shook his throne. What thought the field be lost?

All is not lostl the unconquerable Will,

And study of revenge, immortal hate.

And courage never to submit or yield.'

'You believe this can-'

'It can, it will, and it does. Since Fate by the strength of Gods

And this Empyreal substance cannot fail,

Since through experience of this great event.'

Lex points at the screens again and, this time, they are displaying images and data from the World Engine. Some of the images are similar to what Bruce had been looking at in the cave and all show Superman lose control of his flight for a few seconds.

'In Arms not worse, in foresight much advanc't,

We may with more successful hope resolve

To wage by force or guile eternal Warr

Irreconcileable, to our grand Foe,

Who now triumphs, and in th' excess of joy

Sole reigning holds the Tyranny of Heav'n'

Lex steps over to Bruce's left side and puts his arm on his right shoulder. 'He never goes there, Bruce,' he whispers. 'To the island. He hovers, ever so close, but he doesn't go there.' He turns him round towards the shelves again. 'This is why.'

'How did you get hold of it?'

'It's best you don't know. Plausible deniability and things like that. But you know that men like us can get hold of anything.'

'So you're going to throw a rock at him?'

'Look around us, Bruce. There's always a way.'

ML News 1

G Gordon Godfrey grins at the cameras as he paces the floor of the studio.

'We've said this from the beginning, ever since he first appeared, that this being has no regard for the laws of our world.'

The screens behind him play footage of a rocket launch in Russia.

'Investigations are still underway, but there are many of those involved in the project who have cited a sort of 'extra-normal' sabotage as the cause for this:'

As the rocket's engines ignite, strange energy tendrils snake their way along the frame and up towards the capsule near the nose cone.

'Now, as my viewers and listeners know, a number of countries have made it quite clear that "Superman" is not welcome in their airspace. Those viewers also know that there have been dozens of occasions where he has wilfully ignored the declarations of those countries, and that it is only a matter of time before one of them retaliates.'

The body of the rocket begins to glow and the fins explode and the rocket lurches and begins to collapse in the middle. Small explosions tear away at the capsule and then a massive explosion engulfs the rocket.

As the balls of fire collapse on themselves, quickly exhausting their fuel, a large object moves through the flames – the capsule, intact, and carried through the air by Superman. He descends and slowly lowers it gently on to the ground.

'Now some people, perhaps even many people, would consider this an impressive rescue. It is impressive – an impressive disregard for the sovereignty of a nation. Russia made it quite clear that Superman was not welcome and that he should not set foot on its land, but did he listen? Did he accept their sovereignty?

'What he did resulted in this:

'"America is flaunting its superpower and using its puppet to enforce its will on the world. We have to consider this an act of war."

'Lucky for us, though, the Russians have decided to hold off, but we're all now left wondering: when will enough be enough?'

Images of the rescued astronauts are replaced with a recording of a Russian general:

"'We concede that his actions saved lives, but that does not mean we accept him. We reiterate: Superman is not welcome in Russia without prior approval of the President. This will only be granted on a case by case basis."

'With Superman stepping on the toes of a dozen other countries, well...' Godfrey shrugs and walks away and, on the screens, the fire at the rocket launch continues to burn.

Gotham – Wayne Foundry

Four trucks bearing the Wayne Foundry logo burst through the gates of the foundry and, a little way behind them, one of the outer buildings explodes. At the junction the trucks head in three directions, with two turning right. There is a roar and the Batmobile tears through the flames and follows the trucks.

In the courtyard of the foundry lie seventeen men. Most of them are unconscious, and those who aren't are writhing on the floor, clutching their arms or legs.

In the cockpit, Batman presses a series of buttons, activating various weapons and systems in the car, and says, 'Alfred, track the two headed to the docks and take control of the signals.' He turns left and accelerates. Within seconds a truck is in sight.

A grappling hook fires out of the front of the Batmobile, punching through the lower chassis of the truck ahead. It expands open and Batman presses a button to winch in the cable and there is a scream of metal and some small explosions as the rear axle tears from its moorings and the truck lurches and flips onto its side, skidding to a stop.

Three men scramble out as the car rushes by, and there is a series soft 'pft' sounds and three football-sized balls of goo are fired from the rear of the Batmobile, smothering the men and pinning them to the truck.

The car turns right, then right again, and then a sharp left. The traffic lights turn green all along the stretch of road and Batman grips the wheel and puts his foot down. A mile ahead is the second truck and he presses another series of buttons and various plates around the turbine shift and the Batmobile moves faster than before, only silent.

Two of the raiders open the back of the truck and hurl several barrels of gloop at the Batmobile just as a couple of discs fired from the turret on the front of the car strike the rear wheel arches. Swerving to avoid the barrels, Batman clips a couple of parked cars but the road is too narrow and a barrel slams onto the front of the car, smothering it with gloop, and the engine stops.

'Extract yourself,' says Batman, leaping out of the cockpit and tossing a ball at the truck. He jumps over a car and then quickly scales a wall. The HUD in his cowl shows a street map and the location of the two remaining trucks. Back on the street three small explosions disable the truck by releasing an expanding foam around the undercarriage and over the front of the truck.

The Batmobile shudders and electricity sparks around it. The engine revs and the tyres spin, sending ssmoke into the air. The tyres stop spinning and the car shudders again. There is a soft hum as the front lights shine brighter and brighter and the panels around the lights begin to glow a dark orange. The lights go off and the orange panels slowly shift away from the body of the car, burning away the gunk.

Running along the rooftops, Batman vaults and flips and glides as he tracks the two remaining trucks. Running out of rooftop he fires a miniature missile from his gauntlet, tagging the lead truck, and the explosion forces the rear truck to spin and stall. One of the raiders opens a panel on the roof and begins firing wildly as the driver restarts the engine and gets the truck going again.

Batman somersaults and lands on the roof of the rear truck, slamming his clawed glove into it and bracing himself as the driver takes the turn at speed. His cape billows behind him, the lead-weighted tips hitting the thief's head and knocking him out. His gun falls from the roof and the unconscious body moves from side to side before falling back through the opening.

As the truck swerves, Batman pulls out a grapple gun and fires it at a flag post several stories up. Bullets puncture the roof of the truck, but he's no longer there. The truck barrels into several parked cars and then, on a turn, the rear right-side slams into a lamppost.

Back at the foundry the onsite fire crew try to clear the debris in order to reach the burning buildings. As a fire engine draws close one of the formerly unconscious raiders forces himself to his knees and shoulders a grenade launcher. He aims at the rescue workers and fires.

The grenade explodes in mid-air.

The raider pulls round a mini-gun and fires at the crew, emptying the clip.

No one is hurt.

A casing falls from the sky, followed by another, then another, and another. The raider looks up and Superman descends, his left hand clenched and his right open and dropping bullet casings one by one.

'That's enough of that,' says Superman, hovering just above the raider. Superman looks over the other men and then turns, in mid air, and says, loudly, his voice reverberating throughout the compound, 'Security, if you could attend to these men I'll sort out the fire.'

He rises into the air again, casting his gaze over buildings. He frowns at one of the buildings and descends again, near the foundry's chief of security. 'Excuse me, that building over there, the third on the left, are you sure it's clear?'

'The lead house? Yes, sir, that was vacant tonight. Um...sir, someone hacked into the sprinkler network, so...'

'Thank you,' says Superman, and he smiles reassuringly. He rises up again and drifts towards the flaming buildings, arms wide, and claps his hands together, hard. The shockwave disrupts the flames and shifts the sprinklers active.

'I think you have things under control here. If you'll excuse me.' There is a gust of wind and Superman disappears from sight.

Swerving into the dockyards, the headlights of the Batmobile illuminate the Man of Steel as he stands there waiting. Batman slams his foot on the brake and turns the wheel but his reaction is too late and the car hits Superman's left leg. The Batmobile spins out of control and slams into a concrete wall. The front left side is a mess, with metal plating protruding from the flame-retardant tyres.

Slowly, Superman walks over to the car, checking over it with his vision before stepping on to the hood and pulling off the canopy doors. Batman looks up at him and releases his seatbelt as Superman tosses the doors aside.

'You'll be okay,' says Superman as Batman stands up. 'The car needs some work, though.'

'You were in the way.'

'You were being reckless.'

'I had things under control,' Batman snarls.

Superman shakes his head, but it's barely noticeable. 'You're not the man you once were. There's no need for all this.'

'All this is because of you and what you let happen.'

Surprised and a little confused at the words, Superman arches a brow and then, relaxing a little, he says, 'Fine. I'll accept the responsibility, but you need to back off and let me deal with it.'

'And let guys like-'

'They're being taken care of. I'll drop them off at the-'

'And what happens the next time?

'There's no need for the broken bones and the branding. There's no need for fear.'

'Because they're afraid of you,' growls Batman, poking Superman in the chest.

'They're…I'm not here to make anyone afraid.'

'Ask them. Ask them if they're afraid. Ask them if they look to the sky and worry about a god's gaze sending fire down on them.'

'You know I would never do that.'

'You're a law unto yourself. You've shown that time and time again.'

'What was it you said about hypocrisy before?'

Batman steps forward, his face barely an inch away from Superman's. 'You're not one of us.'

'You…expected me to just stand by and let people die?'

Batman stares at him.

'What happened that day,' says Superman, softly, 'you know I would change everything if I could.'

Both men are silent as they stare at each for a moment. Flames crackle and a gust of wind plays with their capes. Superman cocks his head slightly and then turns to look over his shoulder, frowning at what he sees.

'Next time they shine your light in the sky,' he says, turning his attention back to Batman, 'don't go to it. The Bat is dead. Buried.'

Images from the vision flash in Bruce's mind and he remembers Superman's words and Superman's hands on his chest. He remembers his scream. He clenches his fists and grits his teeth as he pushes the images away.

Superman sighs when he notices the clenched fist, and stands a little straighter before he starts to turn away.

'Tell me,' says Batman, and Superman pauses and looks at him, hoping. 'Do you bleed?'

Superman looks away, saddened, and shakes his head a little before he leaps into the sky. Batman watches him rise and then, as the sonic boom fades, he says:

'You will.'