The crowd erupted, a wave of cheers rolling through the massive stadium-sized pavilion like a thunderous storm. Flashes of cameras lit up the air, but beyond the press, it was the thousands of ordinary people—the ones standing shoulder to shoulder, eyes wide with hope—that mattered most.
I stood at the center of it all, bathed in the glow of the massive LED screens behind me, my voice projected across the entire venue.
"And I promise you!" I declared, my arms outstretched as I fed off the sheer energy of the crowd.
"LexCorp is not here to let innovation collect dust on a shelf—hoarded by the privileged few! NO! We are bringing it to YOU!"
The cheers grew louder, fists pumping into the air, the excitement borderline electric.
"Not just for the rich! Not just for the elite! But for the working class! The single parents! The ones who need it most!"
The screens behind me came alive, displaying LexCorp's groundbreaking technology in full cinematic clarity.
A police officer with a devastating wound—a stimpack applied—the wound sealing itself shut within seconds, leaving nothing but smooth, unscarred skin. The camera zoomed in, showing cell regeneration in real time.
A man shaking from withdrawal, body failing from years of addiction—a trained pharmacologist administering Addictol—within minutes, his symptoms fading, replaced by stability and clarity.
A scientist presenting a miniature fusion core, cold nuclear fusion in the palm of your hand—powering an entire building indefinitely with a device no larger than a football.
A wounded veteran with a missing arm sits in a LexCorp medical facility, a doctor carefully implanting a cloned replacement limb—one grown from his own DNA, a perfect genetic match, restoring his body completely.
Construction robots assembling homes in mere days, not years—automated systems ensuring faster, cheaper, and higher-quality housing for all.
This wasn't science fiction.
This was LexCorp's future.
MY future.
I let the moment settle, the roar of the crowd washing over me, their hope, their belief, their desperation for a better tomorrow fueling the fire in my veins.
The press scribbled furiously, cameras locked on me, but beyond them, I wasn't just speaking to journalists.
I was speaking to the people.
And they were eating it up.
Off-stage, Mercy stood with her tablet in hand, subtly nodding—a silent confirmation that the markets were reacting, LexCorp's stock value climbing at an exponential rate.
I smirked.
Piece of cake.
The crowd's energy was intoxicating, a roaring wave of cheers, applause, and sheer excitement rolling through the pavilion. Every word, every promise I made, was fueling their belief—and belief?
Belief was the strongest currency there was.
Behind me, the screens continued cycling through our revolutionary breakthroughs, each image only adding to the momentum.
But I wasn't done yet.
I stepped forward, raising a hand for silence.
Slowly, the roar of the crowd faded, the anticipation thick in the air.
I let the moment hang, letting every single person here feel the gravity of what was coming next.
Then, I smiled.
"But why should I just tell you about the future?"
I turned slightly, gesturing toward the screen behind me as it shifted to a live camera feed.
"Why not show you?"
A murmur of excitement rippled through the audience, eyes snapping to the massive display as it cut to a LexCorp medical facility—a bright, sterile operating room, where a young man sat in a patient chair, his sleeve rolled up, revealing a missing forearm, a document opened up also revealing damage on the spine.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
A timer appeared in the corner of the screen.
00:10
00:09
A doctor carefully brought forward a cloned limbs, a perfect genetic replica of what had been lost. The team of LexCorp specialists moved quickly, precisely, connecting nerves, tissues, and muscles with absolute precision, It was easy for them after all, they weren't human.
00:05
The new arm twitched, his back arched.
00:03
The patient flexed his fingers.
00:01
And as the final second ticked away, the young man lifted his restored arm, moving it with full control—no complications, no pain, no rejection his feet also rise, unsteady but slowly getting up from the wheel chair.
The pavilion erupted.
The cheers were deafening, the weight of what they had just witnessed settling in all at once.
I turned back to the audience, letting my smirk widen just slightly.
"A lifetime of struggle, gone in ten seconds."
The applause swelled, the sheer emotion in the crowd hitting a fever pitch.
I raised a hand again, signaling for their attention.
"This isn't some distant dream. This isn't science fiction." My voice boomed over the speakers, carrying across the entire pavilion.
"This is happening. Right now. And it's happening because LexCorp refuses to accept limits! Because we refuse to let bureaucracy, corporate greed, or outdated regulations stand in the way of progress!"
I let the words sink in, the fire in my voice reflecting the fire in their hearts.
"We will not be shackled by the past. We will not be controlled by those who fear change."
I pointed toward the screen as it flickered through more breakthroughs—the Full dive VR, electric planes, more robots, and life-changing pharmaceutical advancements.
"This is your future. Not just for the privileged. Not just for the wealthy. For YOU! For the people who need it most!"
The stadium exploded with cheers once again, the sheer volume shaking the ground beneath me.
I turned, taking a quick glance at Mercy, who stood just off-stage.
She barely moved, but the slightest twitch of her lips, the subtle glance at her tablet, told me everything I needed to know.
The markets were surging.
LexCorp's valuation was already skyrocketing, and it was only going to climb higher.
This?
This wasn't just a product reveal.
This was a power move.
And it was working perfectly.
I looked back at the crowd, soaking in the energy, feeling the weight of their belief, their trust, their hope.
Then, I stepped forward, voice calm but powerful.
"Welcome to the new era. Welcome to the future."
The stadium erupted once more, and I simply stood there, letting it all wash over me.
This was it.
This was the moment LexCorp stood unchallenged in the arena of commerce.
As the cheers continued to shake the pavilion, I raised my hands one last time, signaling for silence. It took a few moments, but eventually, the crowd settled, their energy buzzing in the air like static electricity.
I let my gaze sweep across the sea of faces, taking in their wide-eyed wonder, their raw excitement, their belief in what they had just witnessed.
This was exactly what I wanted.
A world that looked to LexCorp not just as a company—but as the architects of the future.
I exhaled slowly, then smiled.
"And this?" I gestured to the screens, still flickering through the revolutionary breakthroughs.
"This is just the beginning."
Another wave of cheers, though this time tinged with anticipation.
"What we've shown you today is only a fraction of what's coming. In the weeks, the months ahead—expect more. More innovation. More breakthroughs. More ways that LexCorp will change the world, not for a select few—but for all of us."
I took a step back, spreading my arms.
"Greatness isn't waiting. And neither are we."
The stadium shook from the sheer force of the applause, the energy reaching a fever pitch.
I let the moment linger, then gave a final, confident nod.
"Thank you. And welcome to tomorrow."
With that, I turned and strode off stage, my steps smooth, controlled—powerful.
The moment I crossed into the backstage area, the roar of the crowd was muffled, replaced by the low hum of event staff, security, and my personal team coordinating the aftermath.
I barely made it two steps before I cracked open a cold soda, the carbonated hiss filling the air as I took a long, slow sip.
Mercy was waiting for me, arms crossed, a knowing smirk playing at the corner of her lips.
"You really do love your dramatics, don't you?" she said, arching a brow.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, exhaling. "Of course. What's the point of unveiling the future if it doesn't have a little theatrics?"
She shook her head, amused, then tilted her tablet toward me. "Stock price is through the roof. Shareholders are celebrating. The press is eating out of the palm of your hand. In short? You just made history."
I took another sip of my drink, letting the cool carbonation settle in my throat, then smirked.
"And that was just the warm-up, the Eurosatory is next month right?"
Mercy nodded, scrolling through her tablet. "Right. Eurosatory is in four weeks. We've secured prime floor space in the Innovation Pavilion, and our invitations have already been sent to the key defense contractors and government delegations. You'll be addressing representatives from over a hundred nations."
I took another sip of my soda, letting the carbonation settle as I mulled over the weight of that statement. Eurosatory wasn't just any expo—it was the premier arms and defense trade show. It wasn't about selling gadgets to the average consumer; it was about militarizing the future.
And LexCorp was going to make sure it was leading the charge.
"And I assume our competitors are preparing their best offerings?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
Mercy gave a knowing smirk. "WayneTech, Queen Industries, Holt Holdings—the usual suspects. They all have booths, and they'll be rolling out their latest prototypes. But none of them can match what we're bringing to the table."
I chuckled. "Of course they can't. They're thinking incrementally. We're thinking revolutionarily."
I turned toward the massive LED screens still showcasing the advancements from today's event—civilian breakthroughs that had already sent LexCorp's stock soaring.
But Eurosatory?
That was where the real money was.
"What are we considering for the demonstration lineup?" I asked, setting my now-empty soda can aside.
Mercy flicked through a classified document on her tablet, pulling up a list of LexCorp's latest military innovations.
"Project Photon—our laser weaponry—will be an easy sell. WayneTech and Kord are still stuck in the prototype phase, but our energy-based firearms are already field-tested. Once we showcase their range and precision, we'll have governments lining up to sign contracts."
I nodded. "Expected. And the heavier armaments?"
She swiped to the next file.
"Project Gauss—our portable railgun technology. Lethal at extreme distances, with armor-piercing capability that makes traditional ballistics obsolete. A single infantryman can carry what used to require a vehicle-mounted system."
A small grin tugged at the corner of my lips. "Nothing quite like turning enemy armor into Swiss cheese."
Mercy didn't comment, just moved on to the next briefing.
"Project Sun—our plasma-based weaponry. Still experimental, but we have enough successful field tests to justify a controlled demonstration. If we handle the messaging correctly, it won't just be a weapon—it'll be a deterrent. No country will want to go to war against the military that owns this."
"Collateral risk?" I asked.
"High. But that's part of the appeal. Some governments won't care about the risk—just the fear it generates."
I gave a slow nod. "Good. But we need more than just weapons. What about defense?"
Mercy pulled up the next segment.
"Powered armor. We can demonstrate the newest variants—urban assault, heavy support, and stealth reconnaissance units."
I exhaled, nodding. "And the automation sector?"
She swiped again, bringing up LexCorp's next-generation autonomous systems.
"Combat robots, logistical AI, and fully autonomous battlefield support units are ready for real-world applications. Infantry support robots are being fast-tracked for transmutation. Not replacements for soldiers—but force multipliers. No one else is fielding anything close to this scale."
"Scalability?"
"Already addressed. If we pitch it right, entire divisions could be restructured around our automation framework. Governments don't just want weapons—they want warfare dominance."
I crossed my arms, thinking.
"We need to finalize the demo schedule," I said, my mind already working through the logistics. "High-profile slots, live-fire demonstrations, and a classified session for the biggest players. We give them a taste—just enough to make them desperate for more."
Mercy nodded. "I'll handle the logistics. You focus on keeping the momentum from today's event."
I smirked. "That's the easy part. We just showed the world the future."
I turned, glancing back at the glowing LexCorp insignia.
"Now, let's show them who owns it."
I sighed, staring at the ceiling as the soft hum of medical scanners filled the room, their displays running countless biometric scans, neurological readings, and genetic stability checks.
Roy stood at rigid attention, his arms crossed, gaze flicking between the dozens of medical Synths that moved with machine-like precision around my hospital bed.
"You sure all of this is needed, Father?" he asked, his voice carrying a mix of concern and skepticism.
I glanced at him from the corner of my eye. "Better to be over-prepared than caught off guard."
Mercy, seated nearby, arms crossed, tapped her fingers rhythmically against her armrest, her expression unreadable.
The Synth medics continued their work, adjusting IVs, recalibrating monitors, and analyzing the brain scans that flickered across holographic displays—data harvested from months of acquiring some of the best minds in medicine. Some had been willing contributors, eager to further medical science. Others…
Had to be replaced.
Efficiency over ethics. That's just how things worked.
And right now?
I needed every ounce of efficiency possible.
Because the little clock in my mind—the one I'd felt ticking down for months now—
It was running out. Fast.
"How long?" I asked, my voice calm, controlled, despite the unknown looming ahead.
One of the Synth doctors, a female unit named Dr. Helena, turned toward me, her eyes flickering with the faint glow of her neural implants.
"Minutes. Maybe less."
I felt Mercy tense slightly, but her face remained composed. Roy's fingers twitched against his holster, the closest thing he had to a nervous tic.
I exhaled slowly.
No idea what's going to happen.
Could be nothing.
Could be everything.
"Alright then," I muttered, eyes drifting back to the ceiling. "Let's see what's behind Door Number One."
A sharp breath caught in my throat as my vision blurred, my grip tightening on Mercy's hand. She held firm, steady, but I could feel the tension in her fingers. On the other side, Roy clasped my other hand, his normally impassive face betraying just the smallest flicker of concern.
Outside the observation window, the Synths watched. Hundreds of them, standing in perfect stillness, their eyes locked onto me. They weren't programmed for emotion, not in the way humans were, but even through the impassivity, I could see it—something deeper, something close to sadness.
Then it happened.
A rush. A flood.
The knowledge that had guided me for months, that had given me the science of the atom, the wonders of transmutation, the formulas for war and innovation—was gone.
Torn away, like a book set ablaze, its pages scattering into the wind.
And in its place—
The Future.
Not just any future.
A world of wires and implants, of neural interfaces, of synthetic bodies and digital ghosts.
I saw the cybernetic revolution, not as a dream, not as theory—as reality.
I saw the rise of corporate dominion, not over markets, but over souls.
I saw rebels in the shadows, warriors not of guns and steel, but of hacked networks, of systems overridden, of lives stolen and rewritten in lines of code.
I saw the tools of control—not just money, not just weapons, but the power to rewrite reality itself in ones and zeroes.
I knew what this was, I read the classic that was Neuromancer of course.
And for a moment, I searched.
I searched for the ultimate method.
The one final safeguard against mortality.
The escape from death.
And I found it.
A concept. A whisper in the data flood of my mind.
A place where the flesh was no longer needed.
Where men were not buried, but uploaded.
Where minds lived on, separated from their dying bodies, eternal, unbound.
Mikoshi.
The digital afterlife—not for the weak, not for the masses, but for those who sought to never end.
It was perfect.
It was everything I would have built.
But it wasn't time.
It existed only in this knowledge, a concept of another world, another place, another existence beyond my own.
I let out a slow, shaking breath.
Mercy's grip tightened.
"James?"
Roy shifted, his eyes narrowing. "What did you see?"
I blinked, the rush settling, the visions fading, but the knowledge remaining.
The Synths outside the window still watched, waiting.
For a moment, I just sat there, the weight of what had just happened pressing down on me.
Then, I finally exhaled and leaned back against the pillow.
"I saw our next step," I murmured, my voice steady.
The guitar solo of "Free Bird" wailed through the speakers, filling the lab with that perfect mix of chaos.
I leaned in close, the soldering iron in my steady grip, the faint scent of melting metal and circuits mixing with the hum of high-voltage machinery. The bench before me was a mess of components, some scavenged from my own stockpiles, others custom-designed for one singular goal.
I had a conundrum.
The knowledge in my mind was too vast, too intricate. This wasn't just advanced science—it was civilizational knowledge, the sum of hundreds of lifetimes worth of research crammed into one brain. Entire doctorate-level fields were at my fingertips, engineering, neuroscience, cybernetics, artificial intelligence, and more.
It might take years to write it all down.
And if this was anything like last time, it wouldn't even stick around that long.
Four months. Maybe less.
Which meant typing it out manually? Not an option.
I needed a better way.
A direct link—one that would allow me to offload everything, let the AI sort it, categorize it, and store it before it vanished forever.
And that's why I was here, hunched over my workbench, building my own cyberware.
A modified Netdriver, redesigned to handle direct neural-digital transfers, letting me offload raw knowledge without wasting time dictating or typing.
A pair of Kiroshi optics, augmented with custom HUD elements, neurolink interfaces, and a direct tap into LexCorp's supercomputers, letting me see data in real-time, analyze information faster than any human should be able to.
And for good measure—a Synaptic Accelerator.
If my brain was going to be running at full throttle, I needed the processing speed to match.
I leaned back slightly, blowing away a bit of stray metal dust, my gloved hands steady as I finished the final connections.
A small beep sounded from the workbench display, confirming that the interface components were operational.
I smirked, setting the soldering iron down, flexing my fingers.
"Alright," I muttered to myself, cracking my knuckles. "Let's plug in and see what the future looks like."
The pieces were laid out in front of me—the Netdriver, the Kiroshi optics, and the Neural port—each one a critical step toward making sure this knowledge didn't go to waste.
I had months, at best, before this flood of information disappeared like last time.
Too much to write. Too much to dictate.
I needed a direct link—a way to offload the raw knowledge into my systems before it was lost forever.
The Netdriver would be my interface—a way to upload and extract data directly from my mind, letting my AI sort, categorize, and store it without human error.
The Kiroshi optics would make syncing with systems effortless, letting me see connections, recognize patterns, and access data streams without manual effort.
And the Neural Port?
That was the most critical part of all.
It would be the bridge between my organic brain and the network—a permanent link to my empire of machines, Synths, and AI.
But first?
I needed surgery.
I turned to Mercy, who was already watching me carefully, her arms crossed.
"You know you don't have to do this all at once, right?"
I smirked. "You say that like I have time to waste."
Roy sighed from his post by the door, arms crossed. "This is gonna be one of those things where you nearly die, isn't it?"
I shrugged. "Define 'nearly'."
Mercy pinched the bridge of her nose. "If your brain rejects the port, or if the neural load is too much, you'll fry your own nervous system. You don't think that's worth at least one test on someone else first?"
I let out a mock gasp. "Mercy, please. What kind of unethical corporate overlord do you take me for?"
Roy snorted. "The regular kind."
I pushed up from the workbench, cracking my knuckles. "Well, no sense wasting time."
The Autodoc loomed before me, sleek and clinical, its armored pod designed for high-precision surgical modifications.
One of the Synth medics—Dr. Helena—stood by the console, confirming the surgical parameters as I slid into position, she wasn't the same who supervised me while in the med bay, same donor but different designation.
"Procedure is set for direct neural interface installation. Estimated recovery time: minimal. However, I must warn—"
I waved her off. "Yeah, yeah, I know the risks. I made the thing perfect."
Mercy stood beside the pod, arms still crossed. "Last chance to back out."
I smirked. "If this works, I'll be more connected to my systems than ever. If it doesn't? Well, I'll have a very expensive migraine."
Roy muttered something under his breath but didn't stop me.
The Autodoc whirred to life, its mechanical arms shifting into place as the pod sealed around me.
A small hiss of anesthesia filled the air, and my vision blurred.
Then—
Darkness.
And the surgery began.
A sharp beep echoed in my skull.
I exhaled as my vision flickered back online, a faint red hue settling over my sight as the Kiroshi optics synced with my neural feed.
Lines of data scrolled in my periphery.
The Autodoc was speaking, but I barely processed it.
Because I felt it immediately.
The Neural Port was active.
And the Netdriver?
I could feel my systems. My machines. My network.
I wasn't just sitting in a room.
I was plugged in.
I sat up slowly, rolling my shoulders, feeling the residual effects of the operation wearing off.
Roy was standing nearby, watching me like he expected me to keel over any second.
Mercy raised a brow. "Still breathing?"
I flexed my fingers, watching the data scroll across my vision as my new cybernetic systems synchronized with my LexCorp network.
A slow grin spread across my face.
"Better than ever."
I turned, stretching as I slid off the Autodoc's operating table. My new optics adjusted instantly, displaying security feeds, stock trends, and LexCorp's AI-controlled sectors—all within my field of vision.
Everything was faster.
Smoother.
More connected.
Roy raised a brow. "So… what now?"
I smirked.
"Now?"
I clenched my fist, watching as my systems synced effortlessly, feeling the weight of knowledge still sitting in my mind—waiting to be extracted, processed, and turned into the future.
"Now it's time for the boring stuff, ask one of the synths to prepare an ice bath for me.... and a really long extension cord, make it waterproof if possible," I asked Roy, to which he answered with a nod.
The ice water stung like hell, but I barely noticed anymore.
I sat submerged in the freezing tub, only my head and shoulders above water, my breath misting in the cold air of the private LexCorp server vault.
A thick black cable ran from the back of my skull, plugged directly into my Neural Port, the other end vanishing into the core of my personal AI processing unit.
The room was dim, illuminated only by the faint glow of the holo-displays floating in the air, showing real-time data transfers, storage allocations, and processing speeds that pushed the limits of even my best technology.
My cybernetics were heating up fast, my internal temps spiking, but the ice bath kept things under control—barely.
This was the only way I could manage the full-scale offload of everything that had flooded into my brain.
I exhaled, watching my breath curl into the cold air, then spoke.
"Status report."
A smooth, masculine voice echoed through the chamber.
"Processing at 72% capacity, Father." Adam said
Then, a second voice, a softer, kinder voice continued.
"Cross-referencing data streams with existing LexCorp research archives. Neural integration stable. Memory fragmentation minimal." Eve said.
"And how am I holding up?" I muttered, flexing my fingers beneath the water, my muscles sluggish but still responsive.
Eve responded first.
"Your brain activity is significantly elevated, but within tolerable parameters. However, synaptic strain is slowly rising. If this continues for another four hours, neural degradation could become a concern."
Adam followed up.
"In layman's terms, Father—your brain is cooking itself. And despite your… unique solutions, even you have limits."
I chuckled under my breath, adjusting my position in the freezing bath.
"Good to know. But we're not stopping."
The holograms shifted, displaying live data streams, filtering through the insane amount of knowledge that was now LexCorp property.
Cybernetics, biomechanical engineering, AI advancements, fashion, futuristic military equipment—all of it was pouring into the vault, getting categorized and stored for later use.
Adam spoke again.
"If I may, Father, I must inquire—what is the endgame? The breadth of knowledge you are processing is beyond even our projected models. The applications are limitless, yet your approach is… selective."
Eve chimed in, "You are amassing technological progress at astonishing rates, however, unless the competition reveals groundbreaking inventions we already achieved market dominance."
I exhaled slowly, watching the data streams pulse in the air like a living thing.
They weren't wrong.
I wasn't just hoarding knowledge for the sake of it.
This was bigger than that.
I finally spoke, my voice steady.
"Do you know why I do the things I do?" I asked, my voice calm, steady.
Still, silence.
I smirked, settling deeper into the ice bath, my body numbed by the cold while my mind burned with overclocked neural activity.
"No, I wouldn't expect you to know. My decisions must seem erratic to you—random at times, even contradictory."
I reached out with my thoughts, and immediately the camera feeds shifted, bringing forth a single live shot of Metropolis from one of LexCorp's orbital surveillance satellites.
The AI could see it as clearly as I could.
The city shined brilliantly, a beacon of humanity's progress, glowing towers of steel and glass piercing the sky, standing defiant against the darkness of the void beyond.
It was beautiful.
I let the image linger for a moment, then slowly overlaid it with something else.
Crime statistics. Reports. Maps pinpointing every violent incident within the last twenty-four hours.
Robberies. Assaults. Murders.
Even in Metropolis—a city under the unwavering protection of Superman himself—humanity's flaws still thrived in the shadows.
"Even here, in one of the safest cities on Earth, every thirty minutes a meta-crime is committed. Even more so for mundane violence."
I sighed, zooming out, the image of Metropolis shrinking, replaced by two new images.
One, a diplomatic summit in Atlantis, a vast underwater city sealed away from the surface world, its people arrogant enough to threaten to drown entire nations over political slights.
The other, a recreation of Themyscira, pieced together through fragmented intelligence reports and the last known recordings of one of the only men to ever set foot there.
A man who, not long after his return, mysteriously vanished.
"The other branches of humanity." I let the words hang in the cold air, my breath curling into mist.
"One, an isolationist empire, hiding beneath the waves, armed with technology and sorcery that outclasses anything we have. The other, a society of warriors who serve as puppets to ancient gods."
I tapped my fingers against the side of the bath, my cybernetics humming with stored heat as I shifted the feeds once more.
This time, the stars appeared.
The camera zoomed, stretching past Earth's atmosphere, past the void—until a red planet filled the screen.
Mars.
A cold, unassuming wasteland to most.
To me?
A ticking time bomb.
"Then we have our next-door neighbors."
The image zoomed again, focusing on Martian settlements, hidden beneath the sands, their cities advanced, vast, thriving in ways humanity had never been allowed to witness firsthand.
Shape-shifters.
Telepaths.
A civilization so evolved, so adaptable, that if they wanted, they could replace every single world leader overnight, and we wouldn't even notice until it was too late.
I clenched my jaw slightly.
"They say they are peaceful. Passive. That they have no interest in interfering with Earth's affairs."
I scoffed.
"And yet, their very existence is a threat."
The screen flashed, showing my long-term space expansion projections, the models of a fully colonized solar system, humanity reaching for the stars.
"What happens when humanity finally steps into space? When we begin expanding beyond this rock?"
The answer was simple.
"Then we become competition."
A long silence followed, the hum of the data stream flickering in my mind.
Then, Adam spoke, his voice calculated, intrigued.
"Observation: Your movements align with preemptive strategic positioning. You are preparing for confrontation. You believe it is inevitable."
Eve followed soon after, her tone smooth, yet questioning.
"Clarification needed: What is your ultimate objective? Power is a means, not an end. What is the end?"
I smirked, exhaling slowly.
"Control."
The holographic images folded back, collapsing into a single view of Earth, slowly rotating in the darkness of space.
"I see what others refuse to see. They focus on their immediate problems, on the conflicts right in front of them."
The water rippled, the chill biting into my skin as my cybernetics pulsed, struggling to regulate the flood of data moving through my mind.
The grainy video feed flickered, not from interference, but because it was streaming directly from my thoughts, a raw, unfiltered glimpse into my vision of humanity's future.
It started simple.
A city—shining, sleek, and green, where families walked freely, without fear, without uncertainty. Some were obviously metahuman, their gifts not hidden, not feared, but celebrated—not as weapons, not as vigilantes, but as pillars of a greater civilization.
The image shifted.
Atlantis, its towering structures now partially domed, no longer an isolated kingdom beneath the waves. Instead, humans and Atlanteans walked side by side, working together, learning the mystic arts, technology and magic melding into something greater.
Again, the vision changed.
A woman, tall and strong, dressed in ancient Greek-inspired modern garb, stood with a United Nations flag in hand.
She was planting it into the red Martian soil.
A man embraced her, children surrounding them, cheering, celebrating—not conquerors, not oppressors, but pioneers, bringing humanity's reach beyond the stars.
The image expanded, Mars becoming one of many.
The camera pulled back, revealing alien metropolises, massive spacefaring civilizations, yet among them, humans walked freely, shaking hands—or appendages—with species from across the galaxy.
This wasn't just a dream.
This was the goal.
Pax Galactica.
I let the words hang in the air for a moment, my cybernetics humming as I stabilized my breathing.
"A world where the entirety of humanity is united under a single goal."
I let the vision linger, burning into the memory banks of my AI, of my Synths, of my empire.
"Where we put our abilities, our gifts, toward something greater than petty crime or self-righteous vigilantism. A world where gods are torn down, where our enemies are subsumed, where ambition—human ambition—fuels the stars themselves. Peace and prosperity in every corner of the galaxy."
Silence stretched for a moment before I continued, my voice lowering.
"But it will never happen."
The vision shattered, replaced once again with the cold, stark reality.
Because there were forces standing in the way.
I exhaled, my grip tightening against the metal rim of the bath, my cybernetics heating up again, though the ice water kept me stable.
"We will be stopped," I said, voice colder now. "By the Justice League."
A flicker of Superman's insignia, of Batman's cowl, of the Watchtower hanging above Earth like a silent warden.
"A League that is happy to let the status quo remain forever. A League that is nothing more than a palliative measure, a temporary fix to the chaos of the world—one that will never evolve beyond its own limitations."
I narrowed my eyes, my heartbeat spiking as my mind raced.
"Its ranks? Filled with aliens. Beings with good intentions, maybe. But still, forces of stagnation. They do not think in terms of human ambition, of what we can become. They only seek to preserve, to hold the line, never to push forward."
My fingers curled into a fist beneath the water.
"And then, on the other side… the Light."
The mere thought of them made my cybernetics twitch, my skin prickling with irritation.
"A cabal of lunatics, each more mentally unhinged than the last. Delusions of grandeur masking incompetence and self-interest."
Images flickered in my mind, projected to my AI.
Vandal Savage. The so-called immortal, a caveman who thinks he is fit to command the future. A primitive, someone who should've stayed in the past.
Ra's al Ghul. A would-be messiah, hiding behind mysticism and his immortality to play dress up with his ninjas.
Klarion. A creature of chaos, with no long-term vision, only destruction for its own amusement.
"The only one vaguely competent among them is Queen Bee," I admitted, "but she's just a tyrant, a glorified dictator clinging to her little nation with an iron grip."
My breath slowed, my pulse calming, though the heat in my voice remained.
I exhaled, shifting my posture, before finally delivering the final truth.
"For humanity to win—both of them must lose."
The AI didn't respond immediately.
They were processing, calculating, running their countless models.
Finally, Adam spoke.
"Then the course is clear. We dismantle both. The League and the Light cannot be allowed to shape the future."
Eve followed, her voice cool, calculated.
"And in their place, a new order must rise. One dictated by human ambition, not alien restraint or ancient egos."
I smiled.
I stared blankly at the giant, mechanical nutcracker slamming itself against LexCorp's external defense grid, its oversized wooden jaws snapping at thin air, trying to push through the barrier.
"Is this April Fools, did I take too many mentats? What exactly am I looking at?" I asked, voice flat, watching the ridiculous spectacle unfold on my holographic display.
Adam responded without a trace of amusement.
"It appears that the villain known as Toyman is attempting to steal materials from LexCorp's tower."
I resisted the urge to rub my temples.
The so-called genius whose idea of high-tech crime involved massive, cartoonish death toys instead of practical weaponry.
But despite the absurd presentation, Toyman was still a threat—a dangerous one. His machines, while theatrical, were always lethal, his body count is around a few hundred, being one of the oldest metropolis villains, starting in the 80's.
I watched as automated turrets locked onto the target, sending a hail of Gauss rounds into the wooden monstrosity, sparks flying from the impact points. The nutcracker lurched, its decorative red-and-gold exterior cracking from the repeated hits—
But then, it kept coming.
"Mercy, tell me I'm not about to spend my afternoon dealing with this lunatic."
She sighed over the comms. "Well, unless you want to let him get away with several million dollars' worth of high-end LexCorp alloys, then yes, you're going to have to deal with this lunatic."
I dragged a hand down my face, muttering under my breath.
"Roy, how long until security neutralizes the target?"
His response pinged directly through my cybernetics, his calm, professional tone unchanged.
"Projected time: twenty minutes. The turrets are softening up the main unit, but Toyman deployed support units. He's got heavily armed toy soldiers engaging the security forces. They will hold but this might take a minute."
I tapped my fingers against the desk, considering my options.
Then I made my decision.
"Deploy the security team. I want a full squad of Synth troopers on the ground—give them clearance to eliminate all hostiles. I want this wrapped up before the hour's over."
"Understood. Executing orders."
The ground trembled as the LexCorp shield briefly flickered, allowing twelve armored Synths to storm onto the battlefield in perfect formation.
Toyman's toy soldiers opened fire, but it was pointless.
These weren't normal security forces.
These were my security forces.
Every single one of them had been upgraded, equipped with top-of-the-line cybernetic enhancements, turning them into walking war machines.
Armored skin absorbed gunfire, redirecting the force harmlessly.
Neurolinked targeting systems let them track enemies with inhuman precision, their plasma rifles tearing through the toy soldiers in an instant.
The battlefield shifted in seconds.
One Synth leaped onto a giant toy tank, ripping open the hatch before tossing a high-explosive charge inside—blowing it apart from the inside out.
Another unit activated a stealth field, vanishing from sight before reappearing behind enemy lines, taking out three hostiles with her katana before they could react, her Sandevistan making her seem like a blur.
It was surgical. Brutal. Efficient.
Exactly as planned.
High above the battlefield, Roy stood on a rooftop, perched with inhuman stillness, his Gauss sniper rifle locked onto Toyman's position.
His vision was crisp, enhanced by his own cybernetics, tracking the villain's every move.
Toyman stood atop his staggering, damaged Nutcracker, wildly gesturing as he screamed at his crumbling army.
"You useless piles of junk! Keep fighting! We're not leaving empty-handed!"
Roy exhaled slowly, his synthetic muscles perfectly steady as he adjusted the rifle's scope.
His targeting system lined up the shot.
A single pull of the trigger and Toyman's reign of stupidity would end for good.
A clean shot.
One second, he'd be screaming orders—the next, he'd have a smoking hole between his eyes.
Roy's finger hovered over the trigger, waiting.
"Permission to eliminate the target?" he asked, his voice completely neutral.
I watched through the feed, weighing my options.
A dead Toyman meant no repeat offenses. No more absurd mechanical monstrosities breaking into my facilities.
But a living Toyman?
That meant a message could be sent.
A lesson.
I tapped my fingers against the armrest, considering.
And then, I made my choice.
"Shoot to kill."
The words left my mouth, cold and absolute.
Roy didn't hesitate.
The Gauss sniper fired, the supersonic slug ripping through the air, a projectile moving faster than the speed of sound, engineered to tear through tank armor like paper.
Toyman never saw it coming.
And he never would.
But at the very last second—
A blue and red blur streaked into the shot's path.
The round slammed into an outstretched hand, stopping dead in its tracks.
Superman hovered mid-air, the bullet crushed between his fingers, his piercing gaze locked onto the sniper's position.
Even through the live feed, I could feel the weight of that look.
Roy, still perched on the rooftop, lowered his rifle slightly, his mechanical enhancements adjusting to the impossible turn of events.
"Target interference detected," he reported, his tone completely flat.
I exhaled slowly, watching as Superman's expression darkened, his jaw tightening.
"Roy, stand by. Do not engage."
"Acknowledged."
Superman wasn't alone either—
The Justice League was arriving.
The moment Superman intercepted the shot, the situation changed.
I watched through the live feed, expression neutral, as he tossed the crushed Gauss slug aside, his cape billowing behind him.
And then, like clockwork, the rest of the Justice League arrived.
Wonder Woman landed with a thunderous impact, immediately ripping apart one of Toyman's remaining toy soldiers, her blade cleaving through its metal frame like butter.
The Flash blurred into motion, weaving through LexCorp's security forces, disassembling another dozen mechanical minions in mere seconds.
Even Batman was here, descending from a grapple line, tossing explosive batarangs that immobilized the last few rogue machines.
Within minutes, the battlefield shifted.
What was once a controlled engagement led by my Synth security forces was now a cooperative effort between LexCorp and the Justice League.
Roy, still perched at his sniper position, remained still. Watching. Calculating.
I tapped my fingers against the desk, eyes narrowing.
Superman floated toward the ground, his gaze flicking between the remnants of the battlefield and LexCorp's Synth security squad, assessing them with heavy scrutiny.
Eventually, he landed near Toyman, who was now pinned beneath the wreckage of his own machine, groaning in pain.
I switched the feed to one of my external speakers, my voice broadcasting clearly across the field.
"Well, I suppose I should say 'thank you' for the assistance."
Superman's gaze snapped up toward the nearest camera, his expression neutral, but firm.
"We were already monitoring Toyman. His attack on LexCorp was reckless, but your methods—" he paused, glancing toward the Synth forces, "—were just as concerning."
"Oh, come now, Superman. You didn't expect me to sit back and let my facility get torn apart, did you? I'd think you, of all people, would appreciate a proactive defense."
Superman didn't respond immediately, but his expression hardened slightly.
Wonder Woman, however, spoke next.
"Your forces fight with great efficiency. These… soldiers."
She gestured toward my Synth security, their cybernetic enhancements gleaming under the floodlights of the facility.
"They are unlike any military unit I've seen. Who commands them, they must be a mighty commander?"
I glanced toward Roy's live feed, still monitoring from his elevated position.
I could tell he was waiting for my response.
"They're under my command, of course," I replied smoothly. "LexCorp security must evolve with the times. Criminals are more advanced than ever—my forces simply reflect the need to counter such threats."
Batman, still standing near the wreckage, spoke for the first time.
"There's a difference between security and an army, Luthor."
I smiled.
"Is there? Because from where I'm standing, I just watched your League do exactly what my security forces were already doing. The only difference? My soldiers don't need capes."
Superman folded his arms, his posture firm.
"Toyman is in custody. We'll take him from here. But we're not done with this conversation, Luthor."
I tilted my head slightly, amused.
"Oh, I have no doubt, Superman. But until then—welcome to the future."
I cut the transmission, leaving the League to deal with their cleanup efforts.
Behind me, Adam's voice echoed in my ear.
"Projected outcome: increased scrutiny from the Justice League. Recommendation: Adjust strategy."
I leaned back in my chair, smirking.
"Let them watch. No court on earth would prosecute me."
I paused, my fingers drumming against the desk as Eve's voice carried through the comms.
"Sir, one more thing… an invitation has just arrived. The Light is requesting your presence for a meeting. In person."
That got my attention.
I leaned back, exhaling slowly. The Light.
I had expected them to make a move eventually.
But now? Right after Toyman's little fiasco and the League's sudden interest in LexCorp?
That was interesting.
"Location?" I asked.
"The encryption has been cracked," Adam replied smoothly. "Coordinates place the meeting in Mongolia. Remote. Isolated. Minimal external interference. Logically chosen."
Roy's voice came through the channel next, calm, professional.
"It's a setup. But an expected one."
I smirked. "Naturally. The real question is: how bold are they feeling?"
"Bold enough to invite you into their den," Eve added. "That implies confidence. They believe they hold the advantage in a face-to-face meeting."
The Light didn't seem to be the type to offer invitations freely.
This was either a recruitment attempt—or a test of loyalty.
Likely both.
Adam followed up.
"Declining outright would place you on their adversarial list. However, going alone would be strategically unwise."
"Then I won't be alone," I said, already finalizing my decision.
I turned to Roy's live feed, seeing him still in his overwatch position, rifle disassembled as he awaited further orders.
"Prep a team. Twelve Synths. Full combat loadout."
"Heavy or standard?" Roy asked without hesitation.
"Heavy," I responded. "If they wanted a friendly chat, they would've picked neutral ground. I'm not walking in blind. Power armor, Heavy cyberware, a netrunner, the works."
Eve's voice hummed in my ear.
"A show of force could be seen as provocation."
I grinned.
"Good. Let them think twice."
Adam simply acknowledged the order.
"Assembling reinforcements. ETA for full preparation: Two hours."
Roy's voice crackled through the comms again.
"And if they decide to make a move on you?"
I smirked.
"Then we make an example out of them, a full decapitation strike."
I started leaving the room but I paused when I got to the doorway, "Oh, and Roy? Next time use a laser"
"How long is this going to take?" I asked, half-exasperated, half-amused, as my so-called fashion team fussed around me like a pack of obsessive artists.
They had apparently gotten enraptured by the fashion pieces I pulled from my mind, barely registering the fact that I had an actual mission to prepare for.
And now?
I was their newest canvas.
My reflection in the full-length mirror revealed their latest masterpiece—Neomilitarism draped in absolute precision.
A stylish blazer, sleek, form-fitting, but reinforced with cutting-edge materials. Beneath it, a red undershirt, pulsing faintly with embedded luminescent fibers, making the fabric seem alive with energy.
At first glance, it looked like an expensive, high-fashion ensemble.
At second glance?
It was a walking fortress.
The soft, bullet-resistant polymer woven into the suit blended seamlessly with my nano-plated subdermal armor, ensuring that if something went down in Mongolia, I wouldn't go down with it.
I turned slightly, examining my exposed forearm, where silvery lights pulsed faintly beneath my skin, tiny cybernetic nodes reacting to the subtle shift in movement.
The fashion team took a step back, admiring their work like sculptors studying a nearly finished statue.
Victor, the dramatic lead designer, adjusted the angle of my collar by precisely half an inch before stepping back, nodding in satisfaction.
"Perfect, Father," he declared, as though he had just finished painting the Sistine Chapel.
I exhaled. "Finally. You all act like I'm walking onto a runway, not into a potential ambush."
Celeste, one of the others, smirked as she handed me a pair of gloves lined with discreet tactile enhancements.
"Why not both?"
I shook my head but took the gloves anyway.
Mercy, who had been watching from the sidelines with a mildly entertained expression, finally stepped forward.
"Looking sharp, sweetheart. Now, can we focus on the part where you're about to walk into a supervillain meeting?"
I flexed my fingers, feeling the fabric move seamlessly with the enhancements beneath my skin.
"Relax, Mercy. If they think they have the upper hand, they're about to learn otherwise."
I turned from the mirror, the synth security team already waiting for me.
"Let's go pay the Light a visit."
Vandal Savage steepled his fingers, his gaze scanning the table, his voice carrying the weight of authority.
"Let us proceed."
The gathered members of the Light sat in calculated silence, the room's dim glow casting shadows against the black stone walls.
There was a notable absence, though one they had expected.
The seat once occupied by Lex Luthor remained empty.
In its place sat Black Manta, his helmeted face unreadable, his posture stiff. He had been chosen to fill the void left behind by Luthor's passing, yet there was no mistaking the truth—he was a placeholder, nothing more.
The Light had suffered greatly from the loss of Luthor's influence, resources, and brilliance.
And his son?
James Luthor had ignored them completely.
Ra's al Ghul, the ninja, spoke first.
"We have been patient long enough. He refuses to acknowledge us. We have ample means to bring him to heel. Lex Luthor left behind many secrets—secrets that his son would not want exposed."
His piercing gaze swept the table.
"We must remind him where his allegiances should lie."
Queen Bee, however, merely smirked, lounging in her chair.
"Threats are effective, but not always necessary. The boy is ambitious. That much is clear. What he lacks is guidance."
She gestured toward the holographic display, where video feeds from LexCorp's security footage played.
The Toyman attack, which they orchestrated.
The Justice League intervention.
LexCorp security forces cutting through mechanical soldiers with brutality—weapons and technology beyond even their estimations.
Black Manta's helmet tilted slightly as he observed the footage.
"His security forces are more advanced than we anticipated."
Savage nodded, his ancient expression unreadable.
"Indeed. And they will only grow stronger. The boy has been left unchecked for too long."
Queen Bee leaned forward, a knowing smile on her lips.
"He is already coming to us. The invitation has been sent."
Black Manta turned slightly, his deep, distorted voice cutting through the air.
"And he accepted?"
She chuckled. "Yes. He is on his way."
And at that exact moment—
The air behind them shimmered.
A low hum filled the chamber as the space behind the table warped, twisted—
And then, with a crackle of blue energy, reality ripped open.
James Luthor teleported directly behind them.
He wasn't alone.
Heavily armored soldiers materialized beside him, their forms sleek, metal plating gleaming under the dim lights.
Their armor was a perfect fusion of military engineering and cybernetic augmentation, they didn't know this but most of Chrome squad received the full Borg treatment, their movements fluid, and inhumanly precise, except for one, who was wearing a black full-body leotard with an oversized visor on her.
Their weapons?
Futuristic rifles, plasma weaponry, heavy ordinance, and the woman carrying a katana—all primed and ready.
The Light members reacted instantly, some reaching for weapons, others tensing—
But James simply smirked, his voice dripping with amusement.
"Sorry for being late. Traffic was crazy."
Savage's eyes narrowed slightly, though his expression remained calm.
James didn't stop.
His boots echoed against the cold floor as he strode toward the table, his soldiers moving in perfect synchronization beside him.
He didn't look at Savage.
He did look at Queen Bee but only for a minute.
No.
He locked eyes with Black Manta.
And then, in a voice that left no room for argument, he gestured to the seat Manta occupied and said:
"Get out of my seat."
The room tensed further.
Manta didn't move.
For a second, the tension was palpable, a thread ready to snap.
But James?
James Luthor was not asking.
His soldiers raised their weapons just slightly, not in outright aggression—but in promise.
And in that moment, Manta understood.
Without a word, he stood.
James smirked, stepping forward, letting the moment hang in the air before sliding into his rightful seat at the table.
Lex Luthor's seat.
I settled into my father's seat, my fingers tapping lightly against the cold stone of the table as the room sat in silence.
Behind me, my security team remained at attention, their armored figures casting long shadows across the chamber. Weapons lowered, but ready.
I let the moment stretch, watching them watch me.
The power dynamic had shifted the moment I arrived.
Savage sat at the head of the table, his immortal gaze unreadable.
Ra's al Ghul was studying me carefully, his hands folded neatly together.
Queen Bee, a picture of casual amusement, traced a finger along the edge of the table, but her eyes were sharp— locking them in my eyes, a bit creepy to be honest.
Black Manta stood to the side now, removed from the seat he had briefly occupied, his posture stiff. Silent. Watching.
It was Vandal Savage who finally broke the silence.
"You ignored our outreach. Until now."
I shrugged, leaning back slightly and putting my feet on the table. "Busy. Running a company. But I figured it was time to see what exactly you wanted from me."
Savage held my gaze for a long moment before responding.
"You already know what we want. Alexander Luthor was a valuable member of this council. His loss was… unfortunate."
I exhaled slowly, my eyes shifting to the holographic display at the center of the table.
It was still showing Toyman's attack on LexCorp. The Justice League's interference.
"This invitation," I said, voice casual, "it wasn't about recruitment, was it? It was a test."
No one denied it.
Queen Bee's smirk deepened slightly.
Ra's al Ghul gave a small nod.
"And?" I asked, raising a brow.
Savage's lips curled slightly, an almost imperceptible smirk.
"You handled yourself well. But that does not mean you understand what is at stake."
I tilted my head slightly, studying him.
"I think I understand plenty."
Savage didn't respond right away.
Instead, he simply leaned forward, his fingers steepling together as he watched me carefully.
"Then let's talk, Luthor."
I rested my chin on my fist, my gaze drifting lazily across the table.
"You know," I started, voice casual, almost bored, "out of all of you, only one of you actually intimidates me."
That got their attention.
Ra's raised a brow, Ocean Master made a face under his helmet, Queen Bee's lips curled in amusement, the Brain said something in french, and even Black Manta tilted his head slightly.
Savage simply watched.
"And who would that be?" he asked.
I gestured toward the corner of the room, where Klarion the Witch Boy sat hunched over, absentmindedly picking his nose.
The chaos lord grinned as he flicked whatever he'd found into the shadows. "Awww, that's sweet!" he cackled. "Most people don't respect me enough to be afraid until it's too late!"
I didn't respond.
Because, unlike the others, he wasn't bound by logic, or ambition, or even basic human comprehension.
Queen Bee let out a soft, sultry chuckle, drawing my attention back to her as she leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm.
"And me, young Luthor?" she purred, her voice smooth, practiced in its seductive charm. "Do I not… intimidate you?"
I snorted.
"Not really."
Her expression didn't change.
"Look, Queen, I'm sure you've got some powerful pheromones, but let's be real—you're, what? Mid-to-late thirties? Maybe early forties?"
Her smirk twitched.
"You wound me, James."
I grinned, leaning back. "Flattering, really. But let's not pretend we're in the same age bracket."
Klarion burst out laughing.
"Ooooooh, I like this one!"Nice, plan make the extra dimensional creature like you look like a success.
Savage merely watched the exchange with mild amusement, before Ra's al Ghul cleared his throat, bringing the room back to focus.
"Enough distractions," Ra's said, his tone measured. "You have potential, James. But potential alone is not enough to secure your place here. Your father understood this. Do you?"
"That depends," I said, shrugging. "Are we talking about business, power, or whatever secret handshakes you guys have?"
Black Manta spoke next, his distorted voice low and commanding.
"Your security forces. You've built them fast. Too fast. Where is your supply chain? Your production line? They would accelerate the Light plans by several years."
I smirked. "Trade secrets, Manta. Can't give away all my cards."
Queen Bee was next.
"What of the League? Their eyes are on you now. What will you do when they act?"
"Simple." I folded my hands together. "Let them react first. The League only moves when forced to. If they come for me, it's on my terms."
Savage nodded slightly, his expression unreadable.
Ra's, however, leaned forward slightly, his tone shifting.
"You think you are untouchable, Luthor. That is a dangerous assumption."
I arched my brow. "Oh? And what's the alternative? That I grovel? Beg to be part of your little club?"
Ra's merely smirked. "No. But a demonstration is in order. You are confident. Perhaps too confident. That must be tempered."
He gestured with one hand.
The doors to the chamber slid open silently, and a man stepped inside.
Broad-shouldered, masked, dressed in tactical gear—armed to the teeth.
"Sportsmaster."
I stared at him for a moment.
Then, I burst out laughing.
"I'm sorry—hold on." I held up a hand, wiping at my eye. "You mean to tell me… that your personal assassin… is named Sportsmaster?"
Sportsmaster's hands clenched into fists.
I couldn't stop chuckling. "What's next? Chess wizard? Checkerslord? Maybe dick's raider?"
Queen Bee covered her mouth to hide her amusement.
Even Klarion wheezed.
Sportsmaster, however, looked ready to snap my neck.
"You think I'm a joke, kid?" he growled. "Let's see if you're still laughing after I put you on the ground."
I grinned. "Oh, you wanna fight? Sure. Let's fight."
Ra's gave a small nod, clearly pleased.
I turned, gesturing toward my squad.
"Victoria, you're up."
One of my Synths stepped forward, a lithe, cybernetically enhanced soldier wearing a sleek black bodysuit—a netrunner, enhanced for close combat.
She unsheathed her Saturnite katana, the superheated edge humming with energy, her enhanced fingers traced the blade.
I leaned back in my chair, grinning.
"Alright, Sportsmaster. Let's see if you can handle her."
The room shifted, the long council table retracting into the floor, leaving a wide-open space for the duel.
Ra's al Ghul himself stood between the two combatants, assuming the role of referee.
Sportsmaster cracked his neck, rolling his shoulders, his stance loose, but predatory.
Across from him, Victoria stood motionless, her black leotard clinging to her form like a second skin, the faint glow of her cybernetics pulsing beneath the surface.
She didn't fidget.
Didn't show a hint of tension.
She was calm, surgical—cold as the implants enhancing her form.
Ra's slowly raised a hand, looking between them.
"A test of skill. No weapons past the first blood. No interference. Fight with honor."
The room watched in silence.
Even Savage, though normally apathetic to such displays, seemed interested in the outcome, must be his ancient caveman brain doing the talking.
Ra's lowered his hand.
"Begin."
Sportsmaster exploded forward, his speed impressive, his combat instincts sharp.
His batons whipped through the air, one striking for Victoria's ribs, the other going for a feint toward her shoulder.
A blur of black and silver.
Victoria moved.
Not dodging. Not blocking. Moving.
Her Sandevistan engaged instantly, her perception of time accelerating, the world slowing down around her.
To her, Sportsmaster was sluggish, predictable, an amateur trying to swat at a shadow.
She simply stepped aside, her blade flashing once—
A clean, precise cut.
The batons split in half, clattering to the ground before Sportsmaster even registered the loss.
His eyes widened slightly, but he adapted fast, switching to hand-to-hand combat.
Victoria didn't even blink.
She moved again, a single step bringing her behind him, the edge of her katana resting lightly against the back of his neck.
The entire table watched in silence.
Sportsmaster gritted his teeth, twisting to strike, but the moment he moved—
Another flash of steel.
His legs staggered as the tip of her blade pressed lightly against his inner thigh—right next to the femoral artery.
A clear, unspoken message.
She could have killed him.
Twice now.
Sportsmaster growled, shifting again—
Another blur.
Now the katana's tip pressed against his kidney.
Then his throat again.
Then his heart.
Then his wrist.
Each time he moved, she was faster.
Each attack was interrupted before it even began—her sword resting on a new vital point.
It wasn't a duel anymore.
It was a slaughter.
A demonstration of overwhelming superiority.
Sportsmaster was a seasoned assassin, a veteran killer.
But he was human.
And Victoria was not.
I, still seated in my father's chair, let out a mock yawn.
"Alright, Victoria, cut it out. Finish this."
Victoria tilted her head slightly, as if considering.
Then, in a single motion, her blade sliced through Sportsmaster's mask, cleaving it clean in half, revealing his shocked expression beneath.
She didn't stop there.
With blinding speed, she moved past him, her sword flashing in a blur.
A series of lightning-fast cuts.
Fabric shredded.
Armor fell apart piece by piece.
By the time she stopped, Sportsmaster was still standing—but completely stripped of his tactical gear, his protective plating reduced to ribbons, his combat suit hanging in tatters.
Victoria stepped back, her blade still humming with residual heat from the high speeds, while Sportsmaster stood frozen, eyes wide with disbelief.
I finally stood from my chair, stretching my arms lazily.
"Huh." I smirked. "Guess the name really does say it all. You play sports. You don't fight."
A few chuckles echoed through the room.
Even Klarion was wheezing with laughter, kicking his legs like a child.
Savage finally spoke, his tone dry but amused.
"Impressive."
Victoria simply sheathed her blade, stepping back to my side, unbothered and efficient, just as she was designed to be.
Her cybernetic eyes flickered softly, scanning the room for threats, though none remained.
She turned to me, her voice calm, almost childish.
"Did I do good, Father?"
It was just a simple request for evaluation.
I placed a hand on her shoulder, offering a small nod of approval.
"You did, child." My voice was steady, a quiet, measured tone that carried certainty. "You did very well, in fact."
Victoria nodded once, accepting the praise as fact, then resumed her silent vigilance at my side.
I rolled my shoulders, exhaling slightly before turning back to the table, where the Light's members were still seated—some intrigued, some unimpressed, and some… clearly reassessing their opinions of me.
"Well." I said, letting the weight of the moment settle. "Now that we've established that I don't take threats lightly—shall we get back to business?"
Savage's gaze met mine, his expression impassive, but calculating.
Ra's al Ghul was unreadable, though I could tell he was rethinking his previous assumptions.
Queen Bee? Still smirking, tapping a single painted fingernail against the table, clearly enjoying the spectacle.
Klarion? He was grinning wide, his sharp teeth flashing as if he had just seen the most entertaining thing in weeks.
Black Manta had remained silent, his helmeted gaze fixed on me, unmoving, unreadable.
I turned my attention to him directly.
"Something on your mind, Manta?"
He didn't answer right away.
Instead, he simply tilted his head slightly before speaking, his modulated voice carrying no emotion.
"Just wondering if you have the spine to match your arrogance."
I grinned.
"Bold words for someone that dresses as an aquatic animal to fight Atlanteans."
Then, Savage spoke, his deep, ancient voice cutting through the air.
"Very well, Luthor. Let's see if your actions live up to your words."
I simply smirked, leaning back in my chair, completely at ease.
"Oh, don't worry, Savage. I always deliver, that's the Lexcorp guarantee."
Then, Ra's al Ghul leaned forward, his fingers steepled, his voice smooth and measured.
"Let's dispense with the theatrics. You came here, Luthor, so you must have some interest in working with us. The question is—how far does that interest extend?"
I exhaled slowly, pretending to consider, though we both knew I had already made my decision before setting foot here.
"That depends, Ra's. You called me here because you need something from me. That means I have leverage. So let's not pretend this is some one-sided arrangement."
Queen Bee smirked, amused.
"Bold. But not incorrect."
I folded my hands together, my gaze sweeping across the assembled members of the Light.
"You lost my father. A genius, a strategist, and the financial powerhouse behind a good chunk of your operations. You want me to fill that void."
Savage remained impassive, but I could tell I was right.
Ra's didn't confirm, but he didn't deny it either.
I continued.
"The way I see it, you're all a little weaker without him. Your plans? Your influence? They're still there, but without a financial juggernaut and a research division feeding you cutting-edge technology, you're running at a loss."
Queen Bee chuckled. "And you are offering to be our new benefactor?"
I smirked.
"I'm offering to be… an ally. On my terms."
That made them pause.
Black Manta, who had been silent since giving up his seat, finally spoke.
"And what are those terms?"
I exhaled, leaning forward slightly.
"First? I don't take orders. I don't answer to anyone at this table. If we work together, it's a partnership."
Savage nodded slowly, like he expected that.
"Second? You don't touch LexCorp. My company remains mine. You want resources? You ask. You don't take."
Ra's arched a brow but said nothing.
"Third? No forced loyalty. If I decide your plans are idiotic—like, let's say, trying to crash the world's economy so it collapses into chaos—you can expect me to sit that one out."
Klarion giggled, kicking his legs like a child. "Ooooooh, I like him! This one has a spine!"
Queen Bee gave a soft laugh, but Ra's and the Brain weren't as amused.
Savage, however, simply watched.
He was weighing something. Calculating.
Finally, he spoke.
"LexCorp has been expanding at an exponential rate. Your technological advancements are surpassing even our initial projections. That is… impressive."
Queen Bee added, "You are attracting attention. The League is already watching you. It is only a matter of time before they act."
I exhaled dramatically. "Oh no. Whatever will I do?"
Ra's ignored my sarcasm. "If you align with us, we can ensure that the League does not interfere in your operations. In return, you would provide us with access to select LexCorp resources."
There it was.
I had expected a demand, but instead, they were offering protection.
Interesting.
I leaned back, fingers tapping against the table.
"And if I refuse?"
Savage's expression remained unreadable.
"Then you remain alone. The League will come for you eventually. And if they do—"
"They'll fail." I finished for him, smirking.
Savage studied me, his gaze lingering before he gave a small nod.
"Perhaps. But even the strongest empire cannot stand forever without allies. Choose wisely, Luthor."
I let his words sit in the air.
Then, finally, I exhaled.
"Alright. Here's my counteroffer."
The table stiffened slightly.
I smirked, enjoying the shift.
"I'll consider collaborating with the Light. But on my terms. You don't get access to my full arsenal, you don't get a leash on LexCorp, and you certainly don't get to dictate how I operate."
I let my eyes flick across the room.
"You want access to certain tech? Fine. But I choose what. And if anyone tries to backstab me—"
I gestured vaguely to Sportsmaster, still standing there, humiliated and fuming.
"Well. You saw what happened last time, try fighting twenty of them teleporting to your shitter."
The brain said something in french. Klarion grinned wider.
Savage gave a slow nod.
"Very well, Luthor. Let's see what you bring to the table."
I smirked, tilting my head.
"Pleasure doing business with you. Expect a curated list sent to you soon." I let the words hang in the air, my smirk never faltering. "Don't worry, we will find you."
I moved to rise from my chair but then paused, something coming to mind. My eyes flicked to Queen Bee, who had been watching me with that ever-present, knowing smirk.
"Oh, and Queen Bee? Expect a visit from LexCorp Aid."
Her smirk deepened, intrigue flashing across her face.
"Bialya would be an excellent test case for the wonders of technology that I'm bringing to the world."
A soft chuckle escaped her lips. "How generous of you, Luthor. Humanitarian aid? Or something else?"
I tilted my head slightly, letting the ambiguity linger.
"Let's just say… the world need a taste first."
Savage's expression remained unreadable, but I could tell the wheels were turning in his ancient mind.
Klarion? He just grinned, clearly entertained.
I adjusted my cuffs, giving the table one last glance.
"Well. This has been productive. I'll be in touch."
With that, I tapped the communicator on my wrist.
A low hum filled the air, the teleportation matrix activating, blue energy crackling as the field engulfed me and my security team.
For a split second, the world blurred, and then—
We were gone.
In an instant, we rematerialized inside LexCorp HQ, the familiar glow of the teleportation pads fading behind us.
I exhaled, rolling my shoulders, feeling the shift from that stale underground lair to the clean, humming energy of my empire.
Roy and Mercy were already waiting in the executive suite, watching as I stepped off the platform, my synth guards falling back into position.
"That went well," I said, cracking my neck. "Time to get back to work."