Barbara snatched the pack like it was gold.
"Chewing gum? Li, I absolutely love you! Where did you find it?"
Lex gave her a casual shrug.
"Old convenience store near Burnside. Hidden behind a collapsed freezer."
Barbara turned the pack over in her hands like it was treasure from a lost civilization.
"You have no idea what this means," she said. "Do you know how long it's been since I've had gum?"
"Long enough that you're about to ration it like ammunition," Lex replied dryly.
She grinned, then leaned closer and lowered her voice.
"Seriously, though. Thanks."
Behind her, the former Blackgate inmates unloaded crates under John Black's supervision. No one complained. No one slacked off. Hunger had a way of restructuring priorities.
Lex studied them quietly.
Criminals.
Looters.
Killers.
Now hauling canned beans like obedient warehouse staff.
Gotham had simplified everyone.
Barbara popped a piece of gum into her mouth and closed her eyes as she chewed.
"That's heaven," she murmured.
Then she opened one eye at him.
"So where are you headed?"
"Field test."
Her chewing slowed.
"Dangerous?"
"Yes."
She didn't ask more. Instead, she nodded once.
"Be careful."
Lex gave her a half-smile and walked past the gates of Wayne Manor.
—
He didn't head toward downtown.
He didn't head toward known survivor zones.
Instead, he went west—toward the industrial district where the infection had hit hardest in the early days.
The streets were skeletal now.
Burned-out cars.
Collapsed signage.
Wind pushing debris through intersections like dry leaves.
Lex walked alone.
No Bat-suit.
No Mark 20.
Just civilian clothing and a duffel bag slung over his shoulder.
Inside it—Antitoxin 2.0.
He needed a controlled subject.
Not too decayed.
Not freshly turned.
Somewhere in between.
A test that meant something.
A low growl echoed from an alley.
Lex paused.
Two figures staggered into view.
Rotten skin.
Clouded eyes.
Movement sluggish but reactive.
Mid-stage infection.
Perfect.
They lunged.
Lex stepped aside smoothly and drove one into a brick wall with a sharp elbow strike. Bone cracked.
The second zombie grabbed for him, teeth snapping inches from his throat.
He twisted, swept its legs, and pinned it face-down with his knee.
Efficient.
Clinical.
He pulled the syringe from his bag.
"Let's see if you're worth the effort," he muttered.
He plunged the needle into the base of the creature's neck and depressed the plunger.
The zombie thrashed violently.
Convulsions began almost immediately.
Good sign.
Or very bad sign.
He stepped back as both infected bodies began seizing uncontrollably.
The first one—the one he'd thrown into the wall—started twitching too.
The virus was reactive.
Even without injection.
Interesting.
Veins darkened—
Then lightened.
Skin that had been gray began flushing red.
One zombie let out a guttural scream that shifted pitch halfway through—
Becoming something almost human.
The second one vomited black fluid violently onto the pavement.
Its fingers spasmed—
Then curled inward.
Bones realigning.
Lex's eyes narrowed.
Cellular rejection?
Or recalibration?
The first zombie collapsed.
Still.
The second one arched backward so sharply its spine popped.
Then—
Silence.
For five seconds.
Ten.
Lex approached cautiously.
The first subject wasn't breathing.
Dead-dead.
Total systemic failure.
But the second—
Chest rising.
Shallow.
Slow.
The cloudiness in its eyes was fading.
Not gone.
But receding.
The gray tone in its skin was shifting toward pale.
Not healthy.
But not necrotic.
It coughed weakly.
Air.
Real air.
Its pupils struggled to focus.
Then it looked at him.
Confusion.
Fear.
Human recognition.
"…w-where…" the man croaked.
Lex didn't move.
The subject tried to sit up.
Failed.
Its body was emaciated, muscles degraded from weeks of infection.
But it was alive.
Not undead.
Alive.
Antitoxin 2.0 had not restored him completely—
But it had reversed the viral takeover.
Partial success.
Unstable success.
The man began shaking violently again.
His heart rate spiked.
Lex knelt and checked his pulse.
Erratic.
The body wasn't designed to survive long-term necrosis reversal.
Organ strain extreme.
The man grabbed Lex's sleeve weakly.
"…what… happened…"
Lex looked at him for a long moment.
"You were sick."
The man's eyes filled with tears.
"My… wife…"
His voice cracked.
"…is she…"
He didn't finish.
Lex already knew the answer.
The man's pulse stuttered.
Flatlined.
His hand slipped from Lex's sleeve.
Dead.
This time permanently.
Lex stood slowly.
So.
Antitoxin 2.0 could purge the virus—
But it couldn't repair the systemic decay that had already occurred.
It brought them back—
Just long enough to remember what they'd lost.
Cruel.
Very cruel.
He looked at the first body.
Complete failure.
Second body—
Temporary reversal followed by organ collapse.
Alfred would call it progress.
Lex called it confirmation.
Zombification wasn't just infection.
It was transformation.
Reversal required more than viral suppression.
It required time manipulation—
Or full cellular reconstruction.
Magic.
Or something beyond current biotech.
Lex exhaled slowly.
He pulled out his communicator.
"Alfred."
"Yes?"
"It works."
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end.
"You've confirmed it?"
"It purges the virus."
Silence.
Then, hopeful:
"And the subject?"
"It survived."
A pause.
"For how long?"
Lex looked down at the corpse.
"Long enough."
Alfred's voice softened.
"I see."
Lex didn't elaborate.
He ended the call.
As he turned to leave, movement flickered at the edge of his vision.
More infected.
Drawn by noise.
Three.
Five.
Ten.
Lex slipped the remaining syringes back into his bag.
No reason to waste them here.
The approaching zombies snarled, closing in.
He stepped backward calmly—
Then triggered the micro-beacon on his wrist.
A shadow descended from above.
The Mark 20 landed behind him with crushing force, scattering the first wave of infected.
Armor sealed around him in seconds.
Missile pods rotated into position.
"Non-lethal dispersal," he ordered.
Shockwave pulses erupted outward, blasting the infected into walls without reducing them to pulp.
He wasn't here to exterminate.
He was here to measure.
As the last zombie hit the pavement, Lex lifted into the air.
Below him, the two corpses lay side by side.
One never came back.
One came back—
Just to die human.
Progress.
But not salvation.
Inside the helmet, his eyes hardened.
If science couldn't reverse it—
Then he would have to go further.
The Time Stone.
If it still existed in this broken world.
If magic hadn't died with its guardians.
If someone—
Somewhere—
Still remembered how to bend a moment backward.
Lex accelerated toward Wayne Manor.
Behind him, the industrial district fell silent again.
Above Gotham, the sky darkened.
And somewhere deep in a cell beneath the manor—
The Joker smiled to himself.
Because suffering, after all—
Was still undefeated.
....
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