"Then we really don't have anything to discuss."
Lex shrugged lightly, tone casual but meaning clear.
He'd already helped Phil Coulson once—personally assisted in capturing Spider-Man during that mess weeks ago. He wasn't running a charity. If S.H.I.E.L.D. wanted his cooperation again, they would need to offer something tangible. Lofty speeches about saving humanity weren't currency anymore.
Melinda May didn't argue. She pivoted smoothly.
"Coulson arranged a private room for you here."
That caught Lex's attention—not because he cared about comfort, but because of what it implied.
Over ninety percent of the shelter's residents slept on concrete floors. If you managed to claim a corner large enough to pitch a tent, you were considered fortunate. A private suite inside the shelter wasn't luxury—it was status.
For Lex, it wasn't impressive. There were entire apartment buildings outside Manhattan's perimeter sitting empty and fully furnished. The only downside was the constant risk of roaming infected.
Still, a dedicated room inside the shelter meant access—to information, survivors, whispers.
After a brief pause, he nodded. "Show me."
May turned and led the way.
Behind them, the Joker leaned toward Scarecrow and whispered, "Test her when you get the chance."
"Why me?" Scarecrow muttered.
The Joker's grin widened. "Look at Bane. Look at you. Do the math."
Scarecrow glanced nervously at Bane's massive frame and sighed.
The suite was modest—about four hundred square feet. A small living area, a separate bedroom, a compact bathroom, and a storage room stocked with essential supplies. The door had a metal combination lock.
Functional. Secure.
Bane dropped into a two-seat sofa. The furniture groaned in protest.
May finished explaining the layout. "Coulson asked me to remain nearby. If you need anything, contact me."
Lex opened the fridge, pulled out a beer, and looked at her. "So you're my handler now?"
She gave him a faint smile. "I prefer 'liaison.'"
"Fine," Lex replied. "Liaison."
"I'm next door," she said. "Try not to burn the place down."
She turned to leave.
Scarecrow reached out suddenly. "Wait—"
In one fluid motion, May pivoted, hooked his arm, and threw him over her shoulder. He hit the floor with a solid thud.
She tilted her head. "Did you need something?"
Scarecrow wheezed. "N-no. I'm good."
Her gaze shifted briefly to Bane and the Joker.
"I answer to Lex," she said evenly. "If you have issues, solve them yourselves. And don't approach me from behind."
It wasn't a threat. It was policy.
Then she left.
The Joker flicked his cigarette butt at Scarecrow's chest. "If you're going to ambush someone, don't announce it first."
"I didn't think she'd be that fast," Scarecrow groaned.
"Idiot."
Lex ignored them and walked to the storage room, opening the door.
Inside: canned food, medical kits, ammunition, water, batteries.
"Take what you need," he said calmly. "You have three days. Build me an information network."
Bane stood immediately, grabbed a full cured ham, and walked out while eating.
The Joker pocketed two cartons of cigarettes and followed.
Scarecrow filled every pocket he had, then grabbed a cardboard box and loaded it to the brim.
"Any limit?" he asked weakly.
"As much as you can carry."
Soon Lex was alone.
He lay down in the bedroom, closing his eyes for perhaps ten minutes before a knock sounded.
When he opened the door, Barney Ross stood there with Christmas and Gunnar.
They looked worse than before—filthy, exhausted.
"Heard you were here," Barney said quietly.
Gunnar cut straight to the point. "You got food?"
Lex stepped aside. "Come in."
He placed sandwiches and beer on the table.
They ate in silence at first.
"Handled your business?" Lex asked.
Barney nodded, then shook his head. "We lost men. Didn't get paid."
"Ross?" Lex asked.
"Yeah."
Gunnar slammed his beer down. "He set us up. We should go settle it."
"Calm down," Christmas muttered. "He still has soldiers."
Barney looked older tonight. "I was thinking about asking you to join the Expendables," he admitted to Lex. "But I changed my mind."
Christmas glanced at him sharply.
Barney continued, "We're done. We're too old. It's time to disband."
Gunnar shot up. "Disband? We're not security guards!"
"I heard the Guard is recruiting," Barney replied tiredly. "It's stable."
"Stable?" Gunnar barked. "We're the Expendables!"
Christmas rubbed his forehead. "He's not wrong. We're not what we used to be."
Lex watched them carefully.
Then he spoke.
"I came back with a team of my own," he said evenly. "And I've been considering a name."
All three looked at him.
"If you're willing," Lex continued, "I'll take over the Expendables."
Silence.
Gunnar blinked. "You mean… we don't disband?"
"It won't disband," Lex said. "But I lead."
Barney studied him for several long seconds.
"You'd assume command?"
"Yes."
"And you handle logistics? Weapons? Supply?"
"Yes."
Christmas narrowed his eyes. "You'd better be able to back that up."
Lex met his gaze calmly. "I will."
Barney extended his hand.
"Then from today, you're captain."
Lex shook it.
Gunnar grinned broadly. "See? Problem solved."
A knock interrupted them.
May stepped inside. "Coulson wants to speak with you."
Barney rose immediately. "I'll arrange a meeting with Ross," he said to Lex. "Captain."
Once they left, May placed a device on the table. A 3D projection flickered to life.
Phil Coulson appeared, smiling as always.
"Lex. Good to see you."
"May tells me you still haven't located the Infinity Gauntlet or the Dionysus Factor," Lex replied coolly. "Your efficiency is concerning."
Coulson's smile didn't waver. "We've encountered complications."
"I'm listening."
"The Helicarrier was attacked," Coulson said. "Sustained catastrophic damage."
Lex's eyes sharpened.
"That's not an accident," he said quietly.
"No," Coulson agreed. "It wasn't."
....
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