Life can Change Chapter 89 — Same Old World

"Welcome back to Capital Tonight, where we're diving deep into the aftermath of the Viltrumite invasion that left Gotham in ruins and millions displaced across the nation. Over half the city gone in a single day of destruction, and now relief camps stretch from the outskirts of Blüdhaven to the edges of Metropolis. Joining us tonight are Dr. Elena Vasquez, urban policy expert from Gotham University; Marcus Hale, CEO of Hale Developments; Reginald Thorpe, senior advisor from the Department of the Treasury; and Lena Korvath, community organizer with the Gotham Relocation Coalition. Dr. Vasquez, let's start with you—private firms like LexCorp are lining up to snap up those bombed-out blocks, promising to rebuild with affordable condos and mixed-use towers. What's the real deal here?"

Dr. Vasquez adjusted her glasses with one hand while she gripped her tablet with the other. "This is displacement on a scale we haven't seen since the Great Depression, and it hits the same people hardest, the working-class families, the renters, the service workers who kept Gotham running for decades before the Viltrumites turned it to ash. LexCorp submitted bids last week for over 200 acres in the Narrows, and their plans show units starting at $3,500 a month, with retail spaces leased to chains that pay minimum wage. These aren't homes; they're investments, and the displaced Gothamites in those camps won't qualify for the income brackets those buildings target."

Marcus Hale, seated to her left in a tailored blue blazer with gold cufflinks that caught the light each time he gestured, crossed his arms over his chest and then uncrossed them to point at the screen behind the host, where a graphic showed rising land values in red bars spiking upward. "Dr. Vasquez paints a grim picture, but let's talk facts, those bids from LexCorp and firms like mine aren't charity; they're engines for recovery. We've got architects drawing up plans for 5,000 affordable units in the first phase, subsidized through tax credits, and we'll create 15,000 construction jobs starting next spring. 

Gotham's economy flatlined after the attack; unemployment's at 58 percent in the camps alone. Private capital jumps in where government red tape stalls out, and we build faster, better, with smart tech integration that pulls in tourism dollars. Without us, those lots sit as craters, and the camps turn permanent."

Reginald Thorpe nodded slowly as Hale finished, then picked up his pen and underlined a figure on his top sheet while he cleared his throat into his fist. "Mr. Hale hits the nail on the head, and from the Treasury's vantage, this isn't just about Gotham it's about the fiscal backbone of the entire country. The invasion didn't stop at city limits; Viltrumites have damaged many other small towns and cities across the country, and federal outlays for emergency housing already top $47 billion this quarter. 

If the U.S. taxpayer shoulders full reconstruction we're looking at a deficit balloon that pops the next budget cycle. Private partnerships like LexCorp's bring leverage; they invest upfront, we provide incentives, and the long-term yield is a revitalized tax base that funds schools, roads, defense. America thrives when enterprise leads the charge, not when socialist yahoo's bury us in debt."

Lena Korvath, in the middle seat with her dark hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and a simple green blouse rolled up at the sleeves, slapped her palm flat on the desk as Thorpe wrapped up "Thrive? For who, Mr. Thorpe, America's elite donors who bankroll those incentives, or the citizens rotting in those camps right now? These are people, U.S. citizens with Social Security numbers and voting rights, not line items on your balance sheet. Over half of Gotham's pre-invasion population earned under $40,000 a year, and your 'long-term yield' means they watch from afar as their homes get bulldozed for marble lobbies and high rise buildings. 

Where do they go? Blüdhaven's camps overflowed last month; families sleep on cots in school gyms converted to dorms, we have kids missing school and people getting sick. Gentrification isn't recovery it's erasure of the working class from this city, and LexCorp's fine print shows 70 percent above market-rate units. You talk budget burdens, but the real burden's on the backs of those who lost everything."

Thorpe exhaled through his nose, a short puff that made his papers flutter, and he gathered them into a neat stack with both hands, aligning the edges precisely before he set them aside and folded his arms across his chest. "Ms. Korvath, we get the human angle nobody here disputes the tragedy and the Treasury's allocated $12 billion in direct aid already, covering camp operations, medical tents, job training vouchers that placed 47,000 Gothamites in temp work last week. 

But aid's a bridge, not a destination; private rebuilds accelerate that transition. Families get relocation stipends of up to $18,000 per household for the first six months plus priority leasing when units come online, with rents tiered to income for the initial wave. They won't be priced out; we'll enforce caps through federal oversight, and the overflow goes to adjacent zones with modular housing expansions. This shoulders the load together and in five years, Gotham's GDP rebounds 22 percent, per our models, funding the very services you champion without hiking taxes on the middle and upper classes."

Korvath threw her head back and let out a bark of laughter that crackled through the speakers, her hand flying up to cover her mouth for a split second before she dropped it to point accusingly at Thorpe. "Priority leasing? Rents tiered to income? Mr. Thorpe, that's a punchline from a boardroom fantasy. I talked to a single mom in Camp Echo yesterday, someone who I might add has three kids, was a nurse's aide pre-invasion, who is now now pulling double shifts at a warehouse for $14 an hour and your 'stipend' barely covers the camp's $200 monthly family fee, let alone moving costs. LexCorp's 'caps' in Star City last year? 

They started at 30 percent affordable, ended up 12 after 'market adjustments,' and those units went to tech transplants from Silicon Valley. No one but upper-middle-class commuters, doctors, lawyers, will touch those prices, and you know it. This is the U.S. government laundering gentrification through corporate proxies, sweeping the poor under some rug while you pat yourselves on the back for 'fiscal responsibility.' Gotham's Black and Latino districts took 68 percent of the destruction, coincidence that your models prioritize 'high-value' rebuilds there first?"

Hale interjected from his side, leaning across Vasquez who had been nodding along silently, and he placed his hand flat on the desk midway between them to draw the eye. "Accusations like that ignore the ground game, Ms. Korvath my crews cleared 150 tons of rubble from the Bowery last Tuesday, handed out 500 toolkits to locals for on-site training, and we're partnering with unions to ensure 40 percent of hires come from the camps. Gentrification's a buzzword; what we're doing is infusion, blending income levels in vertical mixed-use so services stay viable, groceries open on street level, clinics in the basements. Your coalition blocked a similar project a few years ago, remember? Delays cost $90 million in holding fees, and families waited longer for roofs."

Vasquez cut in smoothly. "Infusion sounds noble, Marcus, but the math doesn't infuse; it stratifies. That pie chart from the city's own assessors shows 62 percent of new units above $2,800 monthly, and your 'blending' relies on vouchers that expire after two years, dumping families back into scarcity. We've seen this playbook in New Orleans post-Katrina, Detroit after the recession, private influxes spike values 300 percent in five years, and original residents commute two hours or leave state. The camps aren't temporary; they're funnels, herding the vulnerable out while D.C. tallies their savings."

Thorpe leaned forward now. "Vouchers expire to encourage self-sufficiency, Dr. Vasquez not to punish and our extensions cover 85 percent of renewals for verified hardship cases, with data from the pilot in Central City showing 91 percent retention rates. Accuse us of erasure if it fits the narrative, but Treasury simulations project 1.2 million jobs from these partnerships in the next decade alone, pulling camp populations into payrolls that sustain real housing markets. Without private scale, federal bonds flood the market, interest rates climb two points, and every American from Gotham to Kansas pays the premium in higher mortgages. We're not sweeping; we're streamlining for equity that lasts."

Korvath slammed her fist down again, harder this time so her glass tipped and spilled a thin stream of water across her notes. "Equity that lasts? For the contractors pocketing $2 billion in no-bid contracts while camp kids wait six months for dental checkups? Your 'streamlining' evicted 14,000 from temp sites in Blüdhaven last month to make way for 'pilot' towers, and now those families double up in relatives' basements or hit the streets. Citizens don't get 'streamlined' into oblivion; they vote, they protest, they demand seats at the table you're already seating Lex Luthor at. This isn't recovery it's a purge, dressed in spreadsheets, and history will tally the body count you call 'self-sufficiency.'"

Hale jumped back in. "Purge is inflammatory rhetoric that stalls progress my firm's donated $5 million to camp infrastructure already, water systems, solar arrays, and we're training welders from your coalition ranks for the builds. Equity means opportunity, not handouts, and blocking us strands everyone in stasis."

Vasquez interjected once more. "Opportunity for whom? That map marks pre-invasion poverty pockets which is now prime real estate and your donations buy PR, not permanence. Families need deeds and homes, not training seminars that funnel them into low-wage jobs propping up the towers they can't even enter, you're forcing them to rebuild their homes just so they can watch someone else live there!!!"

Thorpe glared at her. "Permanence comes from growth, not grievance, federal audits ensure 25 percent set-asides for legacy residents, with clawbacks on non-compliance, and Gotham's rebound metrics already show 18 percent uptick in inbound investment since bids opened. We're building for all, or we'd forfeit the incentives outright."

The host, who had been jotting notes furiously on his pad with his pen scratching across the pages, set it down abruptly and raised both hands palms out, his chair pivoting as he swiveled to face the camera first, then the panel. "We have to stop it there, folks. Strong words all around, and this debate underscores the stakes in Gotham's fragile hour. That's all the time we have for tonight. Tune in tomorrow for more on national recovery efforts. Good night."

The red camera light winked off, and the panelists slumped back in unison, Korvath exhaling sharply through pursed lips as she smoothed her blouse, Hale loosening his collar with two fingers, Vasquez closing her tablet with a snap, Thorpe sliding his reports into a leather briefcase at his feet.

...

Up on the Watchtower, orbiting silent 22,000 miles above the Pacific's curve, Superman stood before the main viewscreen in the monitor room with his arms folded across his chest as he watched the debate, by his side was his friends Mr Terrific and Wonder Woman. He watched the screen until the feed cut to commercials, then reached out with his right hand to grip the remote control on the console ledge, his fingers curling around the plastic firmly as he thumbed the channel up button three times in quick succession.

Superman's jaw tightened, the muscles along his neck flexing as he lowered the remote to the console with a soft clunk, and he unfolded his arms to rub his hand across his chin, his thumb pressing into the cleft as he stared at the screen where numbers scrolled in white text: 23.7 million displaced worldwide, 47 cities with over 50 percent structural loss, aid pipelines strained to 112 percent capacity. He turned halfway toward his companions and planted his left hand on his hip while his right gestured loosely at the display.

"It's getting worse. I thought it would get better, but it's getting so much worse. The Viltrumites didn't just hit Gotham; they carved through cities across Africa, Asia, Europe, even Australia. Tens of millions without roofs now, and every channel spins the same tale and has the same debates... there are people suffering here, they are homeless and yet it's still all about money..." he said with a displeased look on his face. 

He kept staring at the numbers as they crawled across the screen, each one landing like a stone in his stomach. The glossy banners about "economic revitalization" and "enterprise-driven recovery" played on loop across the networks below, drowning out the raw truth he could hear with his own ears every hour—children crying in overcrowded camps, families huddled under emergency tents in winter night air.

"We're talking about people," he said quietly. "People who lost everything. And the world's arguing about zoning laws and investment portfolios while families are lining up for blankets." He shook his head. "How does this happen? How do we always end up here?"

Mr. Terrific stood beside him, arms folded behind his back as he watched the charts update."This is how humans are, Clark. We adapt. We survive. But we also exploit. Some of us see an opportunity in every crisis." He turned slightly, meeting Superman's eyes. "People take advantage of each other's suffering. It's not new. Not unique to Gotham. Not even unique to humans, but I'd say we do it very well."

Superman's jaw tightened. "But that's not everyone, Michael. You know it isn't. Most people... most of them are out there trying to help. Volunteers, nurses, firefighters, regular folks opening their homes, giving what little they have left." He pointed at the updated figures. "Look at this. Gotham alone has half a million people volunteering in the camps. These people aren't selfish. They're scared. They're hurting. But they're good people... I truly believe that."

Wonder Woman nodded in agreement. "He's right. The world has its share of cowards and opportunists, but it also has countless brave souls. those who fight quietly, without reward. You know this. Otherwise you would've not become a hero." She looked towards Mr Terrific.

Superman let out a long breath, one hand bracing on the console's edge. "Why do the worst voices always seem to be the ones in charge? Why is it always the people with the least compassion making the biggest decisions?"

Mr. Terrific sighed as he picked up a datapad. "Because power doesn't require virtue. And bureaucracy... it rarely rewards empathy." He gestured to the screens. "This is politics. Money. Image. Control. It's ugly. But it's how this world works."

Clark's expression hardened. "It shouldn't be."

"No," Terrific agreed. "It shouldn't." He checked the time. "But right now? The best we can do is keep helping with relief. Search and rescue, infrastructure support, medical shipments. That's where we make the difference that actually matters."

Superman didn't respond right away. His eyes went back to the screens... to the images of crowded camps, long lines for food distribution, tents sagging under the weight of winter frost. A girl no older than six sitting in a cot, clutching a stuffed penguin with a missing eye.

He swallowed hard.

"Is it enough?" he whispered.

Wonder Woman stepped closer and rested a hand on his shoulder. "You have done more than anyone could ever ask of you. You saved thousands since that day." Her fingers tightened slightly. "You carry too much. Let yourself breathe."

He didn't answer. He kept staring at the children on the screen.

Mr. Terrific gathered his equipment and headed for the door. "We'll keep at it, Clark. One crisis at a time. That's all we can do." He paused at the threshold.

The door slid shut behind him.

He lowered his head. "I just... I don't know if it's enough anymore."

The truth was simple.

He wasn't sure if saving people one by one could keep up with the damage being carved across the planet. And for the first time in a long while, Clark Kent wondered whether he could still believe the world would choose the right path.

...

Clark stepped out of the Watchtower's airlock and drifted forward until the artificial gravity let him go. In a breath he was weightless, floating above the curvature of the Earth as the metal door sealed behind him. He didn't rush off. He didn't streak across space. He just hovered there in silence drifting in geostationary orbit around the planet.

Below him the world spun in a slowly and almost peacefully. From up here Earth always looked peaceful, it always looked beautiful. But Clark knew better. He could hear the cries if he let himself. He could hear the arguments. The fear. The children coughing in cold tents. He shut the sound out before it overwhelmed him, and a part of him hated that he even had to.

He folded his arms and stared down.

Ever since he first put on the suit he'd only ever had one goal: help people. All people. A billionaire trapped in a burning high-rise or a janitor stuck behind a collapsed beam. A politician's child or a homeless teen cornered in an alley. It never mattered. A life was a life. He'd save every one he could.

But now... looking down from orbit... he felt something he wasn't used to feeling.

Helpless.

Not because he wasn't strong enough. Not because there weren't people who needed him. But because the villains weren't monsters today. They weren't aliens or warlords or mad scientists building death machines.

The villains hurting the world were the people themselves.

Boardrooms. Committees. Legislatures. Executives with perfect collars and no empathy. People who saw loss as opportunity and suffering as leverage.

He hated that more than any villain he'd ever fought.

'What do I do...?' he thought. After his talk with his father he had been resolute in bringing hope back to the world in showing people a better way, one beyond profit margins and political power. One where his best friend wouldn't be so broken that he now resorts to killing criminals. He knew there was a better way, but how could he show them. 

He wasn't above the law. He couldn't be. The moment Superman made laws, the moment he decided humanity needed him to lead it... that was the moment he stopped helping the world and started ruling it. He wasn't built for that. He wasn't raised for that. Jonathan Kent hadn't taught him how to rule. Martha Kent didn't raise a king. He was a farm boy who just happened to have the power to fly.

But the world below him tempted him in a way nothing else ever had.

He could fix it.

The thought slipped in like a whisper behind his ear.

He could force the governments to rebuild properly. He could make sure every displaced family had a roof tonight. He could shut down the profiteers and the manipulators. He could take every tool of greed and change jt for the better.

A new world. One with no suffering. One that couldn't be twisted by greed or destroyed by selfishness.

He could do it.

He could.

His jaw clenched. His hands curled into fists in the empty air.

He let himself imagine it for a heartbeat.

Then he blinked, and the absurdity of the whole fantasy crashed into him like cold water.

He let out a laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. "Yeah, right," he muttered, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "I really need to stop eating dairy this late at night..."

He exhaled hard and the tension left his shoulders.

He wasn't going to take over the world. He wasn't going to crown himself king. That was the lazy way out. The violent way. The authoritarian way. And it would destroy everything he'd ever believed in. Everything his parents taught him. Everything Lois reminded him of every day.

There was a better way.

There was always a better way. He just had to find it. Not as a ruler. As a citizen of earth. As someone who cared. Someone who still believed the world could choose to be better if they were guided toward that choice instead of dragged there in chains.

He took one more look at Earth.

Then he leaned forward and let gravity take him.

And he angled himself toward the East Coast.

Toward Washington, D.C.

_____________________________________

The Oval Office sat quiet except for the tick of the grandfather clock and the faint rustle of papers under the desk lamp. The President stood near the Resolute Desk with his sleeves rolled up and his tie loosened as he held the phone to his ear with a bright tone that never reached his eyes. He paced between the rug and the windows with a smile that shifted every time the voice on the other end finished a sentence.

"Yes I saw the latest figures and they look promising," he said as he dragged his fingers across a stack of folders laid open on the desk, each one filled with numbers and reports about Gotham and the surrounding regions. "Your projections line up with the committee's expectations and that should help move things forward on our end."

He paused as the man spoke again and he nodded even though no one was there to see it. His smile widened and he leaned a hip against the desk. "Yes I understand and we will handle the authorisations just as you asked so there will be no delays on the transfer. The teams have confirmed the specimen has been secured and they assure me it is intact. It will be ready for delivery once the documents are signed and the chain of custody is finalised."

He lowered himself slowly into the office chair and spun it halfway toward the windows, the phone tucked between shoulder and ear as he thumbed through another file. "No we have not informed the oversight panel and we do not plan to. They will only complicate matters and we need this handled quietly and smoothly so there is no attention drawn to it." His voice dropped to a hush though the office was empty. "You will have full access once everything is arranged."

There was a short laugh from the President. "Gotham is moving along as you predicted and the contractors have already begun the early surveys. The public statements will be released on schedule and that should settle any unrest in the camps. The senators you mentioned have already agreed to back the proposal."

He leaned forward with his elbow on the desk and lowered his voice. "Everything is falling into place sir."

A knock at the door interrupted him and the door opened a crack and his secretary stepped in with a tablet clutched to her chest. She cleared her throat lightly. "Mr President," she said, "Superman is here to see you."

The President straightened in the chair and reached instinctively for his tie as he gave a small polite nod. He spoke into the phone again with that same bright tone. "I have to step away for the moment but it was good speaking with you Mr Luthor." He paused as the man responded. "Yes of course we will talk again soon."

He lowered the phone, ended the call, and let out a breath before he tightened his tie and smoothed his hair back with one hand. He looked toward the door where the secretary waited and gestured for her to bring Superman in. Said man stepped through the doorway when the secretary opened it wider and he moved across the carpet until he stood in front of the Resolute Desk. He offered the President a polite nod and folded his hands in front of him. "Thank you for taking the time to speak with me Mr President," he said with a smile.

President Ellis rose from his chair with a bright smile and reached out as if greeting an old friend he had not seen in years. "Nonsense," he said while moving around the desk, "you know you never have to thank me for anything and you know you can call me David." He clapped Superman on the arm and gestured toward the small sitting area near the windows. "Sit sit please sit. Can I get you anything to drink water tea coffee perhaps something stronger," he said while moving toward the credenza lined with bottles and glasses. "My chef makes an amazing pumpkin pie as well if you want something to eat it is a favourite around here."

Superman offered a warm smile though he lifted a hand in gentle refusal. "I appreciate the offer David but I should decline. I am hoping I will not need to take much of your time today."

The President gave a short laugh and waved off the concern as he ushered Superman toward one of the chairs. "I always have time for you Superman. Come sit down." He waited until Superman lowered himself into the seat and then he settled across from him with an attentive posture. "Now tell me what I can do for you. How can I help Americas greatest hero."

Superman held his polite smile but something inside him stiffened at the phrase Americas hero and it pressed against him in a way he did not enjoy. He never thought of himself that way. He thought of himself as someone who belonged to the world and who would protect anyone who needed it no matter the border and no matter the flag. He did not correct David though. He simply exhaled once and moved to the matter at hand.

"I came because rebuilding efforts are slowing down in Gotham and in the other cities that were hit," he said as he leaned forward slightly in his chair. "I came with a proposition that would hopefully benefit everyone." He paused for a moment, before taking a breath. "The  Justice League and I are prepared to rebuild the homes and residential buildings at no cost to the government and no cost to the citizens as long as certain conditions are agreed upon." He shook his head once as if clearing the noise of other concerns. "We want the people who lived there before the attacks to be able to return to their homes without being priced out of their own neighborhoods. So what I am asking is that the government allow us to oversee the rebuilding and that the previous residents are allowed to take back their leases once the buildings are complete."

He paused to measure the words carefully then continued.

"I also want a restriction placed on all landlords and property owners so they cannot raise rent due to improved building conditions for at least five years and after those five years have passed they should not be allowed to increase the rents beyond the established market rate." He met the President's eyes and held the gaze without wavering. "I want to get as many people back to their lives as possible and I want them to have a home to return to. We will build the structures. We will cover the costs. That is all we ask. And while we do not require anything from the government we would gladly accept any support you are willing to offer," he said with a small hopeful smile that softened the end of his request.

The room fell still while he waited for the President's answer. The President rested his elbows on his knees and laced his fingers together while he fixed Superman with a look that Superman had seen before and didn't like one bit. He drew a slow breath and leaned back in his chair while he smoothed one hand across his tie and let the other fall loosely to the armrest.

"It is a complicated situation," he said with a scrunched up face. "We are dealing with national budgets and international aid agreements and private partnerships that were set in motion long before any of us anticipated an event of this scale. Decisions of this magnitude require coordination across multiple departments and oversight committees and we cannot shift control of entire cities without a long process that ensures stability and continuity. I understand your intentions and I respect them but this involves more than just rebuilding homes. It involves long term strategies for economic recovery, job creation and national security. These things must be considered carefully and handled through the proper channels."

Superman listened in silence despite the fact he wanted to jump in. He waited until the President stopped then spoke with a calm voice that had an almost dangerous tone to it.  "Millions of people lost everything Mr President. They are living in camps and shelters and some of them have not slept in a real bed in months. They are waiting for help and they do not have time for long processes. We can rebuild their homes now and give them their lives back now. I am not asking for control. I am asking for the chance to help them."

The President nodded as if he understood. "I hear you," he said, "and I care about every citizen who is suffering but I have to look at the big picture. The country is under strain and the economy is fragile and if we move too quickly we risk making decisions that create long term problems. We have private investors prepared to take on this burden and they will commit resources that the government cannot. If we disrupt those arrangements we risk slowing everything down and the nation cannot afford that."

Superman's brows tightened and he sat forward in his chair. "People are not burdens. They are not obstacles to a strategy David... There are families living in tents and school gyms and they are waiting for help while companies fight over who gets to profit from the land under their homes. You say you care but you are not listening to them. You are listening to people who see opportunity instead of suffering."

Ellis held up a hand in a calming gesture while he inhaled through his nose and released the breath slowly. "You are letting emotion guide you and there is nothing wrong with compassion but governing a nation requires balance. We cannot dismiss private partners who already have contracts in motion. They are prepared to rebuild at a scale that we cannot match without damaging the national budget. The country needs stability and we cannot jeopardize that."

Superman stared at him for a long moment. Then he spoke again with a quieter tone that cut deeper than any raised voice.

"Who is paying you?"

The President stiffened as if struck. His eyes widened a fraction then narrowed. "I will not dignify that with an answer and I will not accept accusations without basis. I serve the people of this country and no one else."

Superman listened but not to the president, his words weren't worth the air they used. Instead he listened to the heartbeat under the man's ribs that had jumped up at the question. It stumbled and tripped and then raced with the uneven rhythm of someone caught in a lie. Superman sat back slowly and the sorrow in his eyes settled. "People believed in you," he said with a voice that carried no anger only disappointment. "They voted for you because they thought you would stand with them. I thought so too. I even voted for you."

The President opened his mouth as if to answer but Superman was already rising from his chair. He took one step back then another and he offered the President a small nod that held nothing of hope and nothing of trust.

He turned and left the Oval Office without another word while the door closed behind him.

...

Lex Luthor ended the call the moment President Ellis said he needed to go. After which the polite smile he had worn for the duration of the conversation died so fast it looked as if someone had cut it from his face with a knife. He leaned back in his chair and let out a low scoff that curled upward into a thin laugh. "President Ellis... a man with the spine of warm wax," he said while he pinched the bridge of his nose. "A mind that strains under the weight of its own mediocrity. I would have more luck negotiating with a sedated mule. This democracy truly excels at elevating the least capable among its citizens to positions of authority."

Mercy Graves stood at his right in her dark suit with her hands clasped behind her back and an unreadable wxpression on her face while she waited for him to finish.

"He bends at every gust of political wind," Lex went on, waving one hand in a slow circle as if stirring the air. "No conviction, no clarity, no intellectual rigor. A creature of polls and donors and public relations. If he were any more malleable he would drip off the chair he sits in."

Mercy tilted her head slightly. "Did you get what you were looking for."

Lex's irritation smoothed into a satisfied smirk. "Of course. Even a dull tool can be made useful when held properly. They will be sending the specimen today."

Mercy gave a single nod. Lex rose from his desk with a smooth motion, straightened his cuffs, and walked toward the private elevator at the end of the office. The panel on the wall scanned his eyes with a click while a second scanner swept over Mercy. The doors opened and the two stepped inside. The descent lasted only a few seconds before they reached the bottom. When the doors opened they stepped out into a vast sub-basement that spread as far as the eye could see. Rows of workstations stretched across the chamber like the grid of a small city. Engineers and technicians moved between them carrying tablets and components while robotic arms lowered parts into sealed chambers. Sparks flashed from welding bays. Tanks bubbled with chemicals. Giant screens streamed lines of data while teams worked in clusters under harsh white lights.

As Lex and Mercy moved forward the nearest group of researchers spotted them and hurried over in a wave.

"Mr Luthor we have updates on the armor integration trials—"

"Sir the bioweapon prototype is entering phase two we have preliminary—"

"LexCorp drone fleet recalibration is ahead of schedule if you approve the—"

They crowded in from all sides, each one trying to speak over the others.

"Swarming like ants," Lex said under his breath with a curl of disgust.

One reached too close and Lex lifted a hand with a flat gesture that cut them all off at once. "Not today. I am occupied. You will send your reports through the proper channels and I will review them when I require them. Clear a path."

They stepped back at once and he walked through the gap with Mercy at his shoulder. They passed rows of weapons sealed behind transparent alloy panels, racks of armored suits waiting for testing, banks of servers humming with encrypted streams. The projects grew more restricted the farther they went until the noise of the floor faded into an echo behind them. At the very back of the chamber stood a separate structure enclosed in walls of tungsten and titanium thick enough to stop anything short of a nuclear bomb. The door slid open after another brief scan and Lex stepped inside.

A single man stood over a wide metal desk covered in notes and instruments. His white coat brushed the floor and his thin glasses sat low on his nose while he examined a vial of something pale and viscous under a lamp.

Lex clasped his hands behind his back. "Dr Juice," he said. "I hope you have good news for me."

Dr Juice spun around so fast his coat flared like a curtain caught in a draft. His eyes were wide and bloodshot and his grin stretched across his face in a way that made even Mercy shift her weight a little.

After the disaster at Wayne Tower he had been a ghost in the science world, drifting between low level jobs and blacklisted research posts. Armstrong had fucked up that mess with the bioandroids, he had believed for a moment that he was standing on the edge of history. Then the alien boy the Viltrumite hybrid had activated the kill switch and every one of the Doctor's creations had been destroyed. Armstrong died in the fight with Mark and Dr Juice had been left alone with his ruined work and the knowledge that he had failed.

Then Lex Luthor had found him.

Juice had refused at first, clutching at the scraps of pride he still had, but Lex had offered him something he could not turn down. Resources. Freedom. Protection. A lab without oversight and a project that tapped into every obsession he had buried under years of failures. Lex also offered him something he couldn't refuse. Unknown to most people two of the androids had survived; during the fight between Armstrong and Invincible the control panel which controlled the kill switch was destroyed at 98% leaving them alive.

Dr Juice rushed across the room now with his hands shaking and his voice cracking. "Is it here did you get it did you actually get it did they send it tell me they sent it I need to see it show me show me show me—"

Mercy stepped between them and shoved him back by the collar. Juice stumbled two steps then froze in place while Lex calmly took out a folded handkerchief and wiped the places where Juice had touched him.

"Yes Doctor," Lex said while he tucked the cloth away. "I have it. The helicopter is already en route with the remaining bioandroid assets. They will arrive by the end of the day."

Dr Juice clapped his hands together and let out a high laugh that cracked into two different pitches. "They survived they actually survived I thought that damn alien wiped everything I thought it was all gone I thought I was done I thought they were gone forever—"

"Yes yes," Lex said with a flick of his hand. "Rejoice as you wish." His tone made it clear he had no interest in any of it.

Juice paced in quick circles while mumbling thanks until Lex cleared his throat once. The Doctor stopped mid-step as if someone had cut the string holding him up.

"Now," Lex said. "The project."

Dr Juice straightened his coat and pushed his glasses up his nose with both hands. His manic energy dimmed only slightly. "Yes of course the project the project is progressing well all subjects remain stable all markers remain consistent though I must note again that the accelerated development does introduce structural weakness down the line and should they be deployed too early the—"

Lex began walking and Juice fell into place beside him while Mercy followed in silence. The walls of the lab widened into a long chamber where the lights glowed pale and even. Dozens of thick tanks lined the room in two facing rows. Each tank was filled with clear nutrient fluid that churned in slow spirals from the circulation vents. Inside each tank floated a figure suspended in the center with arms slightly raised and heads tilted forward as though listening to something in the water.

Silver letters were etched into the bases of the tanks.

PROJECT V-01

Each tank carried its own number beneath that title.

Lex folded his hands behind his back while he walked past them. "You worry about strength loss in the early models," he said.

"I do," Juice replied. "The accelerated growth forces cellular compromise and the muscles form quicker than intended and the bones lag and the brain maps with erratic jumps though still functional though not ideal but they will be viable subjects in due time."

Lex tilted his head as he stopped before one of the central tanks where the figure inside floated in perfect stillness. "I am willing to accept the diminished quality," he said. "As long as they will be ready soon."

Dr Juice's grin returned. "Yes Mr Luthor they will be ready soon."

Lex's eyes narrowed with quiet satisfaction as he looked down the long row of tanks.

Mark Grayson.

Nolan Grayson.

Rows of them.

Lex Luthor smiled.

(AN: Sounds like Lex Luthor is up to something Nefarious, and he has the help of Dr juice. Anyway androids are here too which I'm sure some of you can guess the two that are going to appear. Anyway hope you enjoyed it.)

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