Date: Friday, May 16th, 2011, 9:00 am
Location: Lex Mansion, Metropolis
The private jet sliced through the early morning sky carrying Mercy, Thea, and me back to Metropolis. By the time we touched down on the private airfield and the sleek black limousine whisked us through still-dark city streets, the first hint of sunrise painted the eastern horizon. We pulled up to my mansion's imposing gates just as the city was stirring. The vast estate loomed, a testament to my power and influence.
Stepping inside, the grand entrance was bathed in the soft glow of automated lights. "Thea," I stated, turning to her as she took in the cavernous space, her eyes wide with a mixture of awe and apprehension, "go ahead and choose any room within the mansion that suits you. Make yourself at home. Consider this your sanctuary."
Before she could respond, a new voice cut through the air, sharp and utterly unimpressed. "Whose is that?"
I turned, a familiar amusement already stirring within me, to see Zoe strolling into the entryway. She held a can of grape soda, her eyes, disturbingly perceptive for a fourteen-year-old, immediately falling on Thea.
Thea, though aware of Zoe's existence, was clearly caught off guard, a nervous tremor in her posture. Meeting the young, unapologetically direct girl in person was a completely different matter. She shifted uncomfortably, her gaze darting between me, Mercy, and Zoe, searching for a lifeline. "Um, hi... I'm Th—" she began, then hesitated, her words trailing off as she clearly struggled with what title to use.
"Zoe," I stated, my voice clear and firm, cutting through Thea's uncertainty and Mercy's almost imperceptible tension, "this is Thea. She's my woman now." The declaration hung in the air, a deliberate pronouncement designed to assert boundaries and clarify relationships, particularly for Zoe, who already knew of my relationship with Mercy.
Zoe took a slow, deliberate sip of her soda, her eyes coolly assessing Thea from head to toe, then flicked to me with a clinical detachment that would do a seasoned pathologist proud. "Okay," she said, her tone flat, utterly unfazed by my announcement.
"People can do what they want. It's not my business." The statement, delivered with the practiced indifference of a teenager who'd seen too much, almost made me smile. She paused, then added, a slight curl to her lip that betrayed her true feelings, "Though you're still a total man-whore, Lex."
I couldn't help but let out a short, genuine chuckle that echoed a bit too loudly in the grand foyer. It was the kind of unfiltered honesty I almost admired, even when directed at myself. "Can't argue with that, Zoe," I admitted, a smirk touching my lips. "A man of my... appetites must maintain his reputation, after all."
Zoe continued her silent assessment of the three of us, her gaze clinically precise, as if she were mentally filling out a hazard assessment form for "Domestic Harmony in a Billionaire's Home," probably deducting points for my perceived lack of foresight in introducing new...variables. She then took another ridiculously long sip of her soda; the can visibly deflating with a theatrical crinkle as if in protest at its sudden vacuum. "Alright, look," she finally announced, a dramatic sigh escaping her. "I knew getting a LexCorp credit card meant accepting a certain level of... unconventional lifestyle around here. It was in the fine print, I think." She waved a dismissive hand. "Just keep the wet, squishy bits out of the kitchen and, for the love of all that's holy, out of my room. Some things, Lex, are best left to the privacy of your 'mad scientist' lab, not where I make my morning toast, or where I can accidentally step on something squishy in my socks."
I practically doubled over, roaring with laughter, the sound echoing a bit too loudly in the entryway, a testament to the raw amusement Zoe consistently provided. "Point taken, Zoe, point very well taken!" I managed, wiping a tear of pure amusement from my eye. "And rest assured, the LexCorp safety protocols apply equally to my... personal endeavors. This mansion has its own zip code, you know; I'm quite certain we can cordon off a 'gross-stuff-free zone' around your cereal bowl."
Mercy, usually so composed and unflappable, her demeanor a perfectly honed mask of professional indifference, had actually gone a shade of crimson, a truly rare and delightful sight. She adjusted her suit jacket, tugging at the lapels as if it had suddenly become too tight, her gaze fixed rigidly on some distant point on the ceiling, anywhere but on Zoe or me. Thea, on the other hand, was a brilliant shade of scarlet, her face buried in her hands, muttering something incoherent into her palms like a prayer. She looked like she wanted the costly marble floor to open up and swallow her whole, her mortification palpable. The contrast between Mercy's quiet embarrassment and Thea's outright humiliation was almost as amusing as Zoe's commentary itself.
"Alright, that's enough, Zoe," Mercy finally managed, her voice strained, though I caught the subtle twitch at the corner of her mouth that betrayed her own struggle to maintain composure. "Go... get ready for your tutoring and try not to expose our guests to the full spectrum of Lex's... unique charm so early in the morning."
Zoe shrugged, utterly unbothered by Mercy's gentle reprimand, finishing her soda with a final, echoing slurp. "Whatever, just remember the rules," she mumbled, then turned and strolled off down the hallway, leaving behind a faint, lingering scent of grape soda and a trail of mortified, stunned silence.
"Well, that was a very interesting way for the two of you to meet," I told Thea, attempting to lighten the lingering awkwardness.
Thea was still squatting on the floor, sulking, hugging her knees to her chest. She peered up at me with a pained expression. "That was absolutely embarrassing," she groaned, her voice muffled. "What's she going to think of me now?"
Attempting to make her feel better, I offered, half-joking, "If it makes you feel better, she doesn't think highly of me either. She mostly respects Mercy and S.E.B.A.S., if 'respect' is even a concept she fully grasps."
Still sulking, she looked at me, a frown etched on her face. "No, Lex, that doesn't make me feel better. Also, whose S.E.B.A.S?"
Grinning, my amusement returning, I replied, "You're in for a surprise. S.E.B.A.S. Introduce yourself."
A calm, synthesized voice, emanating from no discernible source but filling the grand space with its clear timbre, responded instantly. "No need to shout, Mr. Luthor. You know I can hear you."
Thea, utterly surprised, yelped and promptly fell onto her backside, scrambling away a few inches on the polished floor. "Who was that?" she asked, her voice a startled squeak.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Queen, as introduced by Mr. Luthor; I am S.E.B.A.S., Mr. Luthor's personal A.I. butler and integrated estate management system. If you require anything at all during your stay, please do not hesitate to call on me, though you don't have to shout, as my creator has just demonstrated."
"Well, seeing how the two of you are getting acquainted," I stated, pushing off the awkwardness with a decisive air, "I will be heading into my office. I have some rather important business to attend to, so please do not bother me unless the mansion is actively being vaporized. Mercy, please help Thea get adjusted in our home, ensure she has everything she needs, and get her settled into a room of her choosing."
With that all sorted out, I headed to my subterranean lab, a chaotic, buzzing city of invention, plunged dozens of stories beneath the mansion. Gleaming machinery filled the vaulted space, its holographic displays flickering with complex schematics. Robotic arms and bristling consoles hummed with the promise of discovery, a place where ambition met logic, and the impossible seemed merely temporary.
My objective here was clear: to research the burgeoning landscape of metahuman activity, specifically focusing on potential future members of the Justice League. The amount of information I knew I had to sift through was daunting, but essential for proactive threat assessment. To remain ignorant in this evolving world was to invite catastrophe.
Upon arriving at my spacious, minimalist office, whose walls were transformed into seamless holographic displays, I didn't waste a moment. "S.E.B.A.S.," I commanded, my voice cutting through the silence with surgical precision, "Provide me with a detailed, comprehensive list of all main heroes currently active or emerging. Prioritize real-world sightings, confirmed metahuman activities, and any deviations from established timelines." The resulting dossier appeared on my screens like a digital ocean. It was a huge job, but absolutely needed for my plans to be ready for the wild new superpowers appearing in the world.
Naturally, Superman remained my primary, overarching concern. I had long since dedicated substantial resources to uncovering every facet of his existence. His secret identity, Clark Kent, was no longer a mystery to me, nor were the intricate details of his family in Smallville, or the precise nature of his daily activities at the Daily Planet. He'd been a public figure for two years now, a beacon of hope, ever since his highly publicized clash with the energy-absorbing Parasite in 2009. Since then, he has consistently proven himself a formidable force, effortlessly thwarting countless superhuman threats and mitigating the devastating impacts of natural disasters. Yet, the very magnitude of his power presented a terrifying paradox. The risk of an "Injustice Superman," a powerful hero corrupted and turned against humanity, was simply too great to ignore, a potential doomsday scenario I was determined to mitigate at all costs. To that end, I had secretly tasked my men with the difficult mission of locating Kryptonite. Despite its legendary scarcity, they eventually located a substantial, unrefined chunk. It now rests, safely locked away in a hidden, sub-basement vault beneath this very house, accessible only by my encrypted biometrics and S.E.B.A.S.'s secure protocols.
My gaze then shifted, drawn by an almost gravitational pull, to Gotham's brooding vigilante, Batman. I had delved into his enigmatic profile mere days prior, in the immediate aftermath of my unpleasant disagreement with Bane. I found myself quite taken aback by Bruce Wayne's striking resemblance to a younger Keanu Reeves from my previous existence. This curious, unsettling echo resonated deeply within my meticulous analysis of this new reality. He, too, had burst onto the scene in early 2009, his dark crusade against crime running parallel to the Man of Steel's public emergence. Gotham had already witnessed a significant development: he had taken on Dick Grayson as Robin. Intriguingly, Grayson was even friends with Zoe at school—a detail that piqued my interest. The extent to which that friendship was a natural occurrence or subtly orchestrated by Bruce himself remained a question. Batman's first year was undeniably a baptism by fire. After nearly eradicating the established criminal syndicates, he inadvertently created a massive power vacuum. This void was swiftly and brutally exploited by the Falcone family, Black Mask, Penguin, and the Joker, who consolidated their control over the city. It was during this turbulent period that the Falcone family, desperate to regain their lost dominance, resorted to hiring eight formidable supervillains – Killer Croc, Electrocutioner, Copperhead, Bane, Deadshot, Firefly, Black Spider, and Clayface – a gauntlet of challenges Batman had to overcome, solidifying his legend.
My research then focused on other projected future members of the Justice League who have yet to appear in this world.
First, Diana, also known as Wonder Woman. Information surrounding her was remarkably scarce, almost as if she didn't exist. However, when I cross-referenced databases for Diana Prince, a striking match emerged: a woman with the unmistakable likeness of Jessica Green, who worked as a museum director in Gateway City. I wasn't certain this was Wonder Woman, but this woman's background was very similar to one of Wonder Woman's secret identity iterations. Also, a key observation: if they looked like an actor I recognized from my old life, they were very probably a superhero. That is why, just in case, I dispatched a personal invitation to her, hoping to see if this woman was the real deal.
"S.E.B.A.S.," I mused aloud, turning from the holographic display of Diana Prince, "the probability for Ms. Prince being our Amazonian appears to be climbing, despite the lack of direct metahuman activity. Is there any way to accelerate confirmation?"
"Given the highly classified nature of her potential origin and the inherent stealth protocols she seems to employ, direct confirmation remains challenging, Mr. Luthor," S.E.B.A.S. replied, his calm voice filling the office. "However, her attendance at the philanthropic summit you've arranged should provide sufficient data for a more definitive assessment via passive bioscans and behavioral analysis."
Next was Hal Jordan. With his unmistakable resemblance to Glen Powell, he immediately registered as a significant anomaly. My data streams indicated this notoriously daring test pilot had been missing for over a month now. His absence strongly suggested his developing journey toward becoming a Green Lantern was already underway.
"S.E.B.A.S., regarding Jordan," I prompted. "Has Carol Ferris provided any further insights into his disappearance? Any unusual energy signatures around Ferris Aircraft beyond standard flight operations?"
"Ms. Ferris's public statements remain consistent, expressing concern for Mr. Jordan's well-being but no knowledge of his whereabouts," S.E.B.A.S. reported. "As for energy signatures, there was a localized, high-spectrum burst detected approximately one month ago over the Pacific, consistent with theoretical interdimensional travel, but no subsequent emissions."
A similar, equally unsettling silence surrounded Arthur Curry, the presumed heir to the Atlantean throne. His actor lookalike was Alexander Skarsgård. He had been unaccounted for over two weeks; his typical patterns of infrequent surface visits had completely vanished. The disappearance of an individual with such deep ties to a hidden, advanced civilization like Atlantis was far more concerning than a mere absence. I tasked a specialized team with discreetly monitoring coastal anomalies and unusual deep-sea seismic activity.
Then my attention settled on Barry Allen, who bore a resemblance to Lucas Till, still diligently working as a forensic scientist for the Central City Police Department. His life appeared remarkably normal, despite his father being currently imprisoned. The scientific community was making rapid advancements, and the particle accelerator project at S.T.A.R. Labs in Central City had all the hallmarks of a catalyst. His future transformation into The Flash was, to me, an impending "when."
"S.E.B.A.S.," I inquired, "monitor S.T.A.R. Labs' particle accelerator's energy fluctuations with extreme prejudice. Any deviation, no matter how minor, from projected norms must be flagged immediately. We want to be very, very aware of the moment that lightning strikes, so to speak."
"Understood, Mr. Luthor," S.E.B.A.S. confirmed. "Existing protocols for S.T.A.R. Labs already include real-time quantum energy and atmospheric disturbance monitoring."
Finally, Project: Atom remained a wildcard. Its enigmatic nature, coupled with the unexplained disappearance of Air Force pilot Nathaniel Adams—who uncannily resembled Alan Ritchson—led me to assume this highly classified government initiative might very well be the clandestine creation of the superhero Captain Atom.
I knew there was much more out there and important characters I was still missing, such as Martian Manhunter. However, I only had whispers of information about them, and this was enough for now. The pieces of this vast, interconnected puzzle were slowly falling into place, and my preparations intensified, a grand strategy unfolding with each new revelation. This was my world now, and I would leave nothing to chance.