# **Earth-Prime — Metropolis**
*(Or: How to Make a Really Terrible First Impression on Interdimensional Heroes Who Probably Have Better Things to Do Than Listen to Your Sob Story About Accidentally Creating Universe-Ending Threats)*
If Alexander Luthor had learned anything from his brief but memorable career as an interdimensional traveler, it was that reality had absolutely no respect for dramatic timing, expensive armor, or carefully planned speeches about cosmic-scale strategic planning failures.
The dimensional transport deposited him in the middle of Metropolis with all the subtlety of a corporate hostile takeover announcement and approximately the same amount of collateral damage. One moment he was standing in his crystalline command center saying goodbye to Dr. Chen and her devastatingly accurate psychological assessments; the next moment he was face-first in a crater that definitely hadn't been there thirty seconds ago, surrounded by shattered asphalt and the kind of interdimensional energy discharge that made every car alarm in a six-block radius start screaming like they'd just witnessed the universe's worst parallel parking job.
"Well," Lex muttered, pushing himself up from the smoking rubble with the kind of dignified grace that came from years of practice at recovering from catastrophic business presentations, "that could have gone better."
His expensive armor—dark blue and silver plating that had cost more than most small countries' annual defense budgets and still hadn't managed to make interdimensional travel feel anything approaching comfortable—had absorbed most of the impact. But apparently no amount of advanced engineering could prepare you for the sensation of having your atoms disassembled, shot through the space between realities, and reassembled in a dimension where everything was subtly, disturbingly wrong.
His first impression of Earth-Prime was that it smelled significantly better than Earth-3. Less smoke, fewer burning buildings, and a distinct absence of that particular atmospheric quality that came from systematic civilization management by people with anger issues and cosmic-level strategic planning capabilities. The air actually smelled like... air. Not the carefully filtered, psychologically optimized atmosphere that the Crime Syndicate had implemented to maximize population compliance and minimize resistance thinking.
His second impression was that the architecture was wrong.
Not catastrophically wrong—not the kind of wrong that indicated immediate existential threats to universal stability. Just... different in ways that made his strategic planning protocols start running damage assessments. The LexCorp building was still there, rising above the Metropolis skyline with the kind of corporate grandeur that suggested someone in this dimension had also figured out how to turn strategic intelligence into quarterly profit achievements. But the design was subtly different. Less aggressive, somehow. Less like a monument to corporate dominance designed to psychologically intimidate competitors, and more like actual architecture designed by people who cared about aesthetics over intimidation factor.
"Huh," Lex said, brushing interdimensional debris off his armor while conducting a systematic visual assessment of his new surroundings. The crowd of civilians gathering around the crater were staring at him with expressions that ranged from curious to alarmed to genuinely terrified, but nobody was immediately dropping to the ground in the kind of practiced submission posture that indicated comprehensive psychological conditioning. "Either I've arrived in a dimension where my counterpart has significantly better taste in corporate headquarters design, or—"
His tactical analysis was interrupted by the sound of approaching sirens, which seemed like exactly the kind of development that would complicate his mission timeline and probably make diplomatic first contact significantly more difficult than Dr. Chen's optimistic sixty-seven percent success probability had suggested.
"Right," Lex muttered, activating his armor's communication systems and attempting to connect to local information networks with the kind of systematic approach that had once made him legendary at corporate intelligence gathering. Except interdimensional hacking, as it turned out, was significantly more complicated than regular hacking, and his armor's systems were having trouble interfacing with technology that operated on subtly different principles than what he was used to.
The data streams that finally filled his HUD were fascinating in the way that comprehensive tactical intelligence was always fascinating, and deeply troubling in the way that discovering your worst enemies were apparently beloved public figures always was.
According to local news feeds, this dimension's version of Ultraman was called "Superman." Instead of systematically terrorizing Metropolis into submission through strategic application of heat vision and really comprehensive intimidation protocols, he spent his time saving people from natural disasters, helping cats down from trees, and giving interviews to reporters who asked him questions about hope and justice without any apparent fear of being vaporized for impertinence.
This dimension's version of Owlman was called "Batman." Instead of turning Gotham into a psychological experiment in systematic fear management with really excellent research documentation, he fought crime, protected innocent people, and apparently had some kind of ongoing collaborative relationship with local law enforcement that didn't involve intimidation, strategic psychological warfare, or comprehensive surveillance of every citizen's daily activities.
"Oh," Lex said, the implications hitting him with all the force of a really comprehensive quarterly earnings report that exceeded projections in every category except the ones that mattered for long-term strategic planning. "Oh, that's... that's really not good."
Because if this dimension's versions of the Crime Syndicate were heroes—actual heroes who used their cosmic-level capabilities to protect people instead of systematically conquering them—then this dimension's version of Alexander Luthor was almost certainly...
"LUTHOR!"
The voice came from above, carrying the kind of authority that suggested someone was about to deliver news that would make his diplomatic mission significantly more complicated than interdimensional crisis management scenarios usually were. It was backed by the distinctive sound of someone moving through the atmosphere at speeds that violated several fundamental principles of aerodynamics and probably made the FAA deeply nervous about airspace management protocols.
Lex looked up to see Superman descending toward the crater with the kind of controlled flight that demonstrated perfect mastery over forces that could level city blocks. He was big—definitely big enough to suggest that this dimension's version of cosmic-level physical capabilities hadn't been diminished by heroic moral frameworks—and he was wearing the kind of expression that suggested he was not particularly pleased to see someone who looked exactly like his presumably villainous counterpart materializing in downtown Metropolis without proper interdimensional travel permits.
"Superman," Lex said, raising his hands in what he hoped was a universally recognized gesture of non-hostile intent while simultaneously running tactical assessments of someone whose capabilities probably exceeded his armor's defensive systems by several orders of magnitude. "I realize this looks suspicious—"
"Suspicious?" Superman interrupted, landing with the kind of precision that indicated perfect control over cosmic-level physical capabilities combined with genuine concern for civilian safety protocols. "Lex, my X-ray vision shows me that Lex Luthor is currently in his office conducting what appears to be a board meeting about quarterly infrastructure development, while simultaneously standing in a crater in downtown Metropolis wearing armor that I've never seen before and radiating energy signatures that don't match any technology in LexCorp's current research portfolio."
His voice was deeper than Lex had expected, carrying the kind of controlled authority that came from dealing with complex situations involving individuals whose motivations were unclear and whose capabilities were potentially dangerous. But there was something else there too—genuine curiosity mixed with concern, like he actually wanted to understand what was happening instead of just neutralizing potential threats as efficiently as possible.
"Your X-ray vision," Lex repeated, because that seemed like the kind of capability that would make corporate espionage and interdimensional infiltration extremely difficult for anyone who didn't have access to really advanced countermeasures. "Right. That's... actually quite impressive from a technological perspective. Also probably explains why this dimension's corporate security protocols are presumably much more complex than what I'm used to."
Superman's expression shifted from suspicious to deeply confused, with just enough underlying concern to suggest that he was running threat assessments that probably involved multiple contingency plans for dealing with individuals who looked like known villains but acted like confused tourists with advanced technology and really questionable strategic planning skills.
"Lex," Superman said carefully, his voice taking on that particular tone that suggested he was trying to be patient with someone who was either lying creatively or experiencing some kind of psychological crisis that required delicate handling, "I need you to explain exactly what's happening here. Because my super-hearing tells me that your heartbeat doesn't match the cardiovascular patterns I associate with deception or hostile intent, but your presence here is... unexpected."
"Unexpected," Lex agreed, his armor's sensors providing detailed analysis of Superman's defensive posture while his strategic planning protocols tried to figure out the optimal approach for convincing interdimensional heroes that he wasn't actually the villain they were expecting. "That's certainly one way to describe interdimensional transport technology designed for emergency diplomatic intervention in crisis scenarios involving cosmic-level threats to multiverse stability."
Superman was quiet for several seconds, and Lex could practically see him processing that information with the kind of systematic analysis that suggested this dimension's version of cosmic-level intelligence was being applied to protecting people instead of conquering them. It was actually kind of impressive, watching someone with enhanced cognitive capabilities work through complex problems without immediately jumping to the conclusion that violence was the most efficient solution.
"Interdimensional transport," Superman said finally, his voice carrying that particular combination of scientific fascination and strategic caution that suggested he'd dealt with impossible situations before and survived them through careful analysis rather than immediate aggression. "Crisis scenarios. Cosmic-level threats." He paused, his blue eyes—definitely blue, not the blood-red that Ultraman used to such devastating psychological effect—studying Lex with the kind of comprehensive attention that made being analyzed feel less like a threat assessment and more like a really thorough medical examination. "And you're claiming that you're not this dimension's Lex Luthor."
"I'm claiming," Lex replied with the kind of careful precision that had once convinced shareholders to invest in obviously risky ventures and was now attempting to convince interdimensional heroes to invest in obviously desperate rescue operations, "that I'm Alexander Luthor from Earth-3, where the versions of people who are apparently heroes in your dimension are systematically conquering our world with efficiency that exceeds our ability to resist."
He paused, running through the strategic calculations that suggested honesty was probably his best approach for diplomatic first contact, even when that honesty involved admitting to cosmic-scale strategic planning failures that would make most people question his competence and possibly his sanity.
"And where my greatest scientific achievement," he continued, "was accidentally creating the most dangerous being in multiversal history by trying to turn an unknown boy with cosmic-level powers into a weapon for justice."
The silence that followed was the kind of silence that usually preceded either brilliant strategic breakthroughs or complete diplomatic disasters, depending on whether the people involved had experience with interdimensional crisis management or were just trying to figure out whether they were dealing with elaborate deception or genuine cosmic-scale strategic planning failures.
"Earth-3," Superman repeated, his voice taking on that particular tone that suggested he was accessing information databases that probably contained comprehensive files about multiversal theory and alternate dimensional variants. "Where I'm presumably not a hero."
"Where your counterpart calls himself Ultraman," Lex confirmed, watching Superman's expression carefully for signs of the kind of moral outrage that heroes probably experienced when learning about evil versions of themselves. "And spends his time systematically terrorizing cities into submission while coordinating planetary conquest operations with the kind of strategic precision that makes resistance mathematically impossible."
Instead of outrage, Superman looked... sad. Actually sad, like learning about evil alternate versions of himself genuinely bothered him in ways that went beyond strategic concern about multiversal threats.
"That must be difficult," Superman said quietly, "living in a world where people who look like us are causing that kind of suffering."
"It's been challenging," Lex agreed, though he was genuinely surprised by the empathy in Superman's response. Most people—even the heroes in his own resistance organization—responded to descriptions of the Crime Syndicate with anger or fear or strategic planning focused on how to fight them. Superman's first reaction was sympathy for what it must be like to live under their rule.
Superman's X-ray vision focused on him again, and Lex could feel the analysis sweeping through his body with the kind of methodical precision that suggested comprehensive biological assessment protocols designed for maximum information gathering with minimum invasiveness.
"Your internal organs are reversed," Superman observed, his voice carrying the kind of scientific fascination that indicated he was documenting phenomena that exceeded his previous experience with dimensional variants. "Mirror images of normal human physiology. Your heart is on the right side, your liver is positioned differently, your entire biological structure is flipped as if..."
"As if I'm from a mirror dimension where everything is reversed," Lex finished. "Including moral alignments, strategic priorities, and presumably corporate management philosophies."
"Right," Superman said, though he still looked like someone who was processing information that required significant adjustment to his understanding of how reality functioned on multiversal scales. "So in your dimension, I'm a villain named Ultraman, Batman is presumably also evil, and you're trying to save the world from people who look exactly like us but with completely opposite moral frameworks."
"That's a remarkably accurate summary," Lex said, genuinely impressed by how quickly Superman had grasped the essential strategic elements of his situation. Most people needed significantly more explanation before they could wrap their heads around the concept of mirror dimensions with inverted moral alignments. "Though I should clarify that my attempts to save the world resulted in accidentally enhancing our greatest enemy with genetic modifications that turned him from a powerful individual with unclear motivations into a cosmic-level strategic intelligence with capabilities that exceed our measurement systems."
Superman was quiet again, his expression shifting from confusion to something that looked suspiciously like the kind of concerned evaluation that heroes probably used when assessing whether interdimensional visitors represented opportunities for assistance or threats requiring immediate containment.
"This enhanced enemy," Superman said carefully, his voice taking on that particular tone that suggested he was trying to understand the full scope of what he was dealing with before making any strategic decisions about how to respond. "What kind of capabilities are we talking about?"
"The kind that allowed him to look at two years of systematic conquest attempts by the most dangerous individuals on our planet," Lex replied, his tactical analysis protocols providing real-time assessment of how much information to share without overwhelming Superman's strategic processing capabilities, "and reorganize their entire operational structure to increase efficiency by approximately three hundred percent across all strategic metrics."
He gestured toward his armor's holographic display systems, which were still trying to interface with local data networks but had managed to pull up some basic tactical summaries of Voldemort's strategic contributions to Syndicate operations.
"Population control, resource management, infrastructure modification, psychological manipulation—he basically turned chaotic destruction into systematic management with the kind of precision that makes resistance theoretically impossible," Lex continued. "And he did it all while apparently having the time of his life, because someone with cosmic-level strategic intelligence found the challenge of optimizing tyranny more interesting than the challenge of preventing it."
"And now they're planning to export their enhanced conquest methodology to other dimensions," Superman said, his voice taking on the kind of grim determination that suggested he was already running strategic assessments for defending against threats that operated on scales that exceeded previous experience.
"According to our intelligence," Lex confirmed, "yes. Earth-Prime, Earth-2, every alternate reality that contains people worth protecting—they're all potential targets for systematic conquest guided by strategic intelligence that I accidentally enhanced beyond our ability to comprehend."
Superman looked up at the sky for a moment, and Lex got the distinct impression that he was probably using enhanced senses to monitor multiple situations simultaneously while processing the implications of interdimensional conquest operations guided by cosmic-level strategic intelligence. It was the kind of multitasking that would make most CEOs weep with professional envy.
"You know," Superman said, his voice carrying that particular combination of authority and genuine concern that came from accepting that some problems required comprehensive strategic planning even when they seemed impossible to solve, "in our experience, the best way to handle situations involving cosmic-level threats and interdimensional crisis management is usually through collaborative effort with people who have experience dealing with impossible problems."
"Collaborative effort," Lex repeated, hope beginning to override the tactical anxiety that had been his constant companion since discovering exactly how thoroughly he'd doomed his own dimension. "Does that mean you're willing to consider providing assistance for strategic intervention operations that might prevent multiversal conquest by enhanced tyranny with really excellent efficiency ratings?"
"It means," Superman replied, and his smile was like watching the sun come up after a really long night of quarterly earnings disasters and hostile takeover attempts, "that you should probably meet the Justice League before we start planning interdimensional rescue operations. Because if the stakes are as high as you're suggesting, we're going to need all the help we can get."
"The Justice League?" Lex asked, though something about the name suggested heroic organization with comprehensive membership and strategic planning capabilities that might actually be sufficient for handling cosmic-level crisis management scenarios.
"Heroes," Superman explained, lifting off the ground with the kind of controlled flight that demonstrated mastery over physical laws while maintaining perfect consideration for civilian safety protocols. "People with powers, training, and experience dealing with threats that exceed normal parameters. Batman, Wonder Woman, Flash, Green Lantern, Aquaman—individuals who specialize in protecting people from dangers that conventional authorities can't handle."
He extended his hand toward Lex with the kind of gesture that suggested partnership rather than custody, which was definitely an improvement over what he'd expected from first contact with interdimensional heroes who probably had better things to do than fix other people's cosmic-scale strategic planning failures.
"Think of it," Superman continued, "as a consultation with people who have experience turning impossible situations into manageable problems through strategic cooperation and really excellent teamwork."
"Strategic cooperation," Lex said, accepting Superman's assistance while his armor's systems provided detailed analysis of flight patterns that exceeded his previous understanding of aerodynamics and probably violated several fundamental principles of physics, "with individuals who specialize in protecting people instead of conquering them."
"Exactly," Superman confirmed, carrying them into the sky with the kind of effortless grace that made flight look like the most natural thing in the world instead of a complete violation of everything Lex understood about gravity and mass distribution. "Though I should warn you—Batman's going to want to run comprehensive background checks on your strategic planning methodologies, Wonder Woman's going to ask really pointed questions about your decision-making processes, and Flash is probably going to make jokes about interdimensional travel that are funnier than they should be."
"Background checks," Lex repeated, watching Metropolis spread out below them as they gained altitude. "Strategic planning analysis. Comprehensive evaluation of my decision-making processes that resulted in accidentally creating the most dangerous being in multiversal history."
"Pretty much," Superman agreed cheerfully. "But don't worry—we've all made mistakes that seemed like good ideas at the time and turned out to have cosmic-level consequences. It's basically a job requirement for heroes with access to advanced technology and really ambitious problem-solving approaches."
As they flew over Metropolis, Lex could see the differences that distinguished this dimension from his own in increasingly sharp detail. The infrastructure suggested collaborative development rather than systematic resource extraction. People moved through the streets without the kind of carefully controlled behavior patterns that indicated comprehensive psychological management. Media displays showed actual information instead of propaganda designed to optimize population compliance.
It was like seeing his world's potential—everything Earth-3 could have been if the Crime Syndicate had chosen protection over conquest, if enhanced individuals had used their capabilities for building instead of destroying, if strategic intelligence had been applied to solving problems instead of creating them.
"Superman," Lex said, his voice carrying the kind of genuine gratitude that came from discovering that infinite realities included at least one where heroes existed to help people instead of systematically exploiting them, "thank you. For listening, for considering assistance, for not immediately assuming that someone who looks like your villainous counterpart is automatically a threat requiring immediate neutralization."
"Lex," Superman replied, his voice warm with the kind of optimism that suggested this dimension's version of cosmic-level capabilities was backed by genuine hope for positive outcomes even in impossible situations, "in our experience, the best way to handle complex problems is usually by working together. And if there's a chance to prevent systematic conquest of multiple dimensions by enhanced tyranny, then that definitely qualifies as the kind of problem that requires our best collaborative effort."
"Even if that enhanced tyranny was accidentally created by someone who made the worst strategic decision in multiversal history?" Lex asked, though he was already beginning to suspect that Superman's definition of "everyone deserves help" was significantly more comprehensive than most people's.
"Especially then," Superman confirmed with the kind of conviction that made cosmic-scale strategic planning failures seem like opportunities for comprehensive problem-solving through heroic intervention. "Because everyone deserves a chance to fix their mistakes. Even mistakes that threaten the stability of infinite realities."
"No pressure," Lex said, though for the first time in two years, the weight of cosmic-scale consequences felt like something that might actually be manageable with sufficient assistance and really excellent strategic planning.
"No pressure at all," Superman agreed, and his laugh was the kind of sound that made you believe impossible problems might actually have solutions if you worked with the right people. "Just the fate of the multiverse hanging in the balance of whether we can figure out how to handle enhanced tyranny with cosmic-level strategic intelligence and capabilities that exceed our measurement systems."
"When you put it like that," Lex said, watching the Justice League facility grow larger as they approached—a structure that looked like it had been designed by people who understood that saving the world required both advanced technology and really comprehensive meeting room facilities, "it almost sounds manageable."
"Almost," Superman confirmed. "Of course, we'll need to figure out how to coordinate interdimensional intervention operations while preventing your enhanced enemy from analyzing our strategic planning and using the intelligence to improve the Syndicate's conquest methodology. But I'm sure that won't be a problem."
"Superman," Lex said, processing the implications of strategic planning that had to account for opposition whose intelligence capabilities could probably redesign entire tactical frameworks just for entertainment value, "has anyone ever told you that your optimism about impossible situations is either really inspiring or slightly terrifying?"
"Both," Superman replied cheerfully. "According to Batman's psychological assessments, my tendency to maintain hope in mathematically impossible situations is either my greatest strength or my most dangerous weakness, depending on whether the outcome supports comprehensive strategic planning or results in cosmic-scale disasters that require cleanup operations."
"And which outcome does his analysis suggest is more likely for our current situation?" Lex asked, though he was pretty sure he already knew the answer wasn't going to be particularly comforting.
"His analysis," Superman said, his voice taking on the kind of matter-of-fact tone that suggested he was delivering information that would make strategic planning significantly more complicated, "suggests that interdimensional crisis management involving enhanced tyranny with cosmic-level capabilities represents what he clinically describes as 'high-probability disaster scenario with acceptable risk factors for heroic intervention and really excellent learning opportunities for strategic planning improvement.'"
"Learning opportunities," Lex repeated.
"Batman's psychological profiles suggest that the best way to handle impossible problems is by treating them as educational experiences that provide valuable data for future crisis management scenarios," Superman explained. "According to his analysis, even spectacular failures generate useful intelligence about what doesn't work, which theoretically improves our success probability for subsequent impossible situations."
"So if this interdimensional rescue operation fails catastrophically," Lex said, "at least we'll have learned valuable lessons about why interdimensional rescue operations fail catastrophically."
"Exactly," Superman confirmed. "Though Batman's contingency planning suggests that catastrophic failure would probably result in enhanced tyranny gaining access to our dimensional coordinates and strategic intelligence, which would make the learning opportunities significantly less useful for future applications."
Lex was quiet for a moment, working through the implications of strategic planning that had to account for failure modes that included multiversal conquest by cosmic-level intelligence with enhanced capabilities and really excellent efficiency ratings.
"Superman," he said finally, "remind me why you're willing to help fix problems created by cosmic-scale strategic planning failures from other dimensions?"
"Because," Superman replied with the kind of conviction that suggested this dimension's version of enhanced capabilities was guided by moral frameworks that actually worked, "protecting people is what heroes do. Even when those people are in other dimensions. Even when the threats exceed our previous experience. Even when fixing the problems requires strategic planning that might not work."
"And if it doesn't work?" Lex asked.
"Then we'll try something else," Superman said simply. "Because the alternative is letting enhanced tyranny conquer infinite realities, and that's not acceptable."
As they approached the Justice League facility, Lex realized that for the first time since he'd found that boy in the Nevada crater, he was working with people whose strategic priorities actually aligned with protecting the things that mattered instead of systematically destroying them for efficiency optimization.
It was, he reflected, probably the best he could hope for when attempting to fix the worst mistake in multiversal history.
Time to find out if heroic strategic planning could overcome enhanced tyranny with cosmic-level intelligence and really excellent efficiency ratings.
No pressure.
Just everything that had ever existed, hanging in the balance.
Again.
But this time, at least he wasn't facing it alone.
—
# Earth-3 — The Fortress of Justice
*(Or: How to Conduct Interdimensional Manhunts When Your Strategic Intelligence Is Both Cosmic-Level and Slightly Annoyed at Being Ghosted by a Teammate)*
If Voldemort had learned anything from his years of being an evil overlord (and trust me, there were a lot of years), it was that dramatic entrances were absolutely essential to maintaining your reputation. So when he teleported into the command center, he made sure to include the full package: mysterious fog, emerald flames, and enough magical sparkles to make a vampire romance movie jealous.
His black-and-emerald armor caught the light like he'd raided Tony Stark's closet and decided it needed more "dark lord" vibes. The helmet was his personal favorite—silver horns (because subtlety was for people who didn't rule dimensions), and a faceplate that could go from "friendly neighborhood evil genius" to "you're about to have a very bad day" depending on his mood.
Right now? Definitely leaning toward option two.
Because the command center was emptier than a cafeteria after someone announced they were serving mystery meat. Alexander Luthor—the guy who probably had contingency plans for his contingency plans—was nowhere to be found. What Voldemort *did* find was the kind of scene that made his eye twitch: an abandoned workspace, a half-empty coffee mug (still warm, which was just insulting), and the lingering energy signature of dimensional transport technology.
In other words, Luthor had packed up his toys and left without so much as a "gone fishing" sign.
"Well," Voldemort muttered, using the same tone most people reserved for discovering their best friend had eaten the last slice of pizza. "That's rude."
His magical senses kicked into overdrive—enhanced by enough genetic modifications to make Dr. Frankenstein weep with envy. The dimensional travel signature was definitely recent, but Luthor had encrypted the destination so thoroughly it might as well have been wrapped in adamantium and buried in the Mariana Trench.
"Sir?" Johnny Quick's voice crackled over the comms, carrying that special brand of nervousness reserved for when cosmic-level supervillains were contemplating violence.
"Johnny," Voldemort said, his voice deceptively calm as he studied the energy readings like they were a particularly challenging sudoku puzzle. "Search the facility. Dr. Chen should still be here somewhere. Luthor's got a soft spot for his pet therapist—he wouldn't just abandon her."
"On it, boss," Johnny replied, his words immediately speeding up like someone had hit the fast-forward button on reality. "What do I do if I find her?"
"Bring her to me," Voldemort said, inspecting the dimensional transport array with the kind of focus most people reserved for defusing bombs. "Gently, Johnny. She's got information I need, and information extraction works better when the source isn't, you know, terrified into a coma."
"Copy that," Johnny said, his words blurring together in that way that made Voldemort wonder if speedsters ever got tongue-tied.
The transport array was honestly impressive—the kind of tech that made quantum physicists curl up in corners and question their life choices. It looked like someone had taken Einstein's theories, fed them espresso, and taught them how to break the laws of reality for fun and profit. Classic Luthor, really.
"Uh, sir?" Johnny's voice cut through his technological appreciation session, sounding slightly out of breath (which was literally impossible for a speedster, but whatever). "Found Dr. Chen. We've got a problem."
"Define 'problem,'" Voldemort said, though his tone suggested he already knew he wasn't going to like the answer.
"She's in Luthor's private lab, but it's locked down tighter than Fort Knox. And not just with tech—there's magic involved. Like, serious magic. The kind that makes my teeth itch just standing near it."
Voldemort paused, letting that information percolate through his brain like really bitter coffee. Magic. Luthor had somehow gotten his hands on magical defenses without mentioning it to his magically-enhanced business partner.
This was either going to be really interesting or really annoying. Possibly both.
"What kind of magic are we talking about?" Voldemort asked, already calculating the odds that this day was about to get significantly more complicated.
"Protective spells," Johnny reported, his voice Doppler-shifting as he zipped around the lab's perimeter. "Anti-intrusion, anti-interrogation, and something that feels like it's specifically designed to give people like us a headache."
Of course it was. Because Luthor was apparently the kind of guy who planned for the possibility that his own allies might need to be kept at arm's length. Which was either brilliantly paranoid or just plain paranoid—Voldemort hadn't decided yet.
"Pull back," he ordered, his voice carrying that dangerous calm that meant someone was about to have a very educational conversation about proper communication protocols. "Set up a perimeter. Make sure Chen doesn't leave, but don't trigger the defenses. I want her coherent when I start asking questions."
"Perimeter established," Johnny confirmed, sounding relieved to be moving away from whatever magical nastiness Luthor had cooked up.
Voldemort stood there for a moment, arms crossed, staring at the still-glowing transport array like it had personally offended his mother. So. Luthor had vanished into the multiverse, taken his toys with him, and left his therapist behind wrapped in enough magical protection to frustrate a dark lord.
This wasn't just business anymore. This was personal.
And if there was one thing Voldemort had learned from his years of interdimensional conquest, it was that personal grudges were the most fun kind of grudges to settle.
---
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