"This has 'trap' written all over it," Ollie insisted. "In capital letters. In giant font."
Superman regarded him with a cool expression. "I'm cognisant, Arrow. It has not escaped my notice."
"And yet," Ollie pressed, "you're letting him manipulate you. You're letting him press all your buttons. Am I the only one who sees anything wrong with this?"
"Don't presume to lecture me," Superman said, in a tone of voice that signalled his decisions were not up for debate.
Ollie knew that Lex was stubborn, and it was damn near impossible to change the guy's mind when he'd set himself on a course of action.
A part of Ollie almost wanted Lex to get his ass kicked. Seeing him taken down a peg would be cathartic. But Ollie didn't want Lex dead. If nothing else, Superman's death would be a massively destabilising blow to the present global order, and one hell of a mess to clean up.
But Ollie was starting to think that Superman had a death wish... or at least a huge blind spot when it came to the Joker.
"I have to point out," Ollie said, raising his hands, "that he's already humiliated you once."
"A fluke," Superman said, disdainfully. "I underestimated him."
"You're still underestimating him," Ollie stressed.
Superman's eyes radiated a visible amount of red light, crimson energy bleeding from his irises into his sclera.
Instead of freaking out or being intimidated, Ollie stood his ground. Superman's eyeballs qualified as weapons of mass destruction, and he knew full well what they could do. At the same time, the threat of being disintegrated had rather lost its impact on Ollie, considering he saw the guy pull the same trick all the damn time.
Besides, Ollie was pretty sure that Lex wasn't about to erase him in the middle of Lex's own office, in the heart of downtown Metropolis.
If nothing else, Lex would have a devil of a time cleaning stray bits of him out of the very expensive carpet.
It was very unfair, though. Some guys had all the luck. Lex had heat rays or Omega beams or whatever he called them, built straight into his head. He could instantly go from ordinary mode to intimidating alien mode in a literal blink of an eye.
Ollie didn't have that advantage. He wasn't dressed in his Green Arrow suit. He was wearing a business suit. He couldn't exactly pull a bow and arrow out of his ass.
"The Joker," Lex said, "is underestimating
me. No matter what he's prepared, it will not be sufficient. Meanwhile, in his arrogance, the Joker is handing himself to us. There's no longer any need to find and hunt him down, not when he's been so kind as to give me a time and place."
Ollie leaned forward, placing both of his hands, palms down, on Superman's desk.
He didn't know why Lex had a desk, since he'd never seen the guy do any paperwork or even sit at a computer browsing social media. But the guy did have a desk in his office, one that was the size of a large conference table. Hell, Ollie was sure that he could park a car on the thing.
The sheer surface area of the Kryptonian's furniture meant that there was a fairly large distance separating him from Lex. So Ollie really did have to lean forward in order to narrow that gap, so he could look Superman in the glowing red eyes.
"Just because he's thrown down the gauntlet, mano a mano, you're planning to waltz in there," Ollie said, "alone, by yourself, and.... "
"No," Superman said. "Not alone."
***
"Now listen here, Lane,"
Sterling Morris said, "this is the exact same brand of poor judgement that got you and Perry White in trouble at the Daily Planet. I won't have that happen on my watch!"
Morris tried to glare at Lois, authoritatively, but it didn't work. She could barely see his eyes through his Coke bottle glasses. Besides his visual impairment, her current boss didn't have a very intimidating figure.
He reminded her of Colonel Sanders, specifically a version of the Colonel who'd enjoyed too much of his own chicken.
That was a mean-spirited and unfair thought. She knew Morris was trying to watch his weight. She sympathised, just a little bit. Keeping fit wasn't easy, especially on irregular newsroom hours.
Unfortunately for Morris, his efforts at watching his weight usually stopped at the
watching part, without actually progressing to
doing something about his weight. So while Lois' assessment was mean, it was also accurate.
She was also not very inclined to be nice to Morris, especially in the privacy of her own head. Because he was being all officious, and trying to cover his own ample ass.
"It's news," Lois insisted.
"It's suicide," Morris snapped, thumping a meaty fist on his desk. His little stationery holder rattled, and his collection of stress balls nearly rolled off the table and onto the floor.
Lois tried to keep a grip on her own temper. "The public has a right to... "
"There is no 'public', there's only people," Morris said. "The smart people are staying clear of this subversive Joker business!"
"Batman," Lois corrected.
Morris huffed. "Joker, Batman, whatever he calls himself! Anyone who's unwise enough to talk about this matter is already doing it online. They don't need you to editorialise."
"We're a news outlet," Lois said. "One of the few reputable ones left. Isn't it our job to... "
"We're a dying medium," Morris shot back, with some venom. "We're a secondary medium. If it wasn't for morning and evening drive time, our listener numbers would be even more in the toilet. You know that. The only reason you're here is because Superman ran you out of the papers, and I'm the only one who was willing to take a chance on you. Don't you forget it!"
Lois looked around the office. Morris was right. WHIZ Radio wasn't a growing business. Sterling Morris still owned the building, but the company was now subletting much of the space in the old station tower. WHIZ's actual operations had been relegated to only a couple of floors, the studios, and the broadcast setup on the roof.
Even Morris' own office wasn't the luxurious sprawl it had once been, back in the station's heyday. From what Lois could see, it was obvious that Sterling Morris had tried to cram the accumulated furniture and clutter from his previous office, or offices, into a much smaller space.
When she'd stormed in a few minutes ago, she'd had to squeeze through the partially blocked door, before being forced to scoot sideways past the sofa, banging her shins on the coffee table in the process.
Since Morris was a large man, Lois had no idea how he managed to fit into the room every day. Maybe the WHIZ admin staff airlifted him in through the windows on a daily basis, desk, chair, and all. He certainly looked like he was wedged in permanently, as an unmoving installation.
"You brought me on because I'm a journalist," Lois said. "A real journalist, not like the kind of people at Galaxy or Multiworld. And I'm telling you, this is newsworthy."
Morris took off his glasses. He polished them with the little cloth that he kept on his crowded desk, then pushed the spectacles back in place. He squinted at Lois.
"Alright, Lois," Morris said. "You can cover the story, but... but, but, you listen to me, on one condition."
Lois placed her hands on her hips. "Which is?"
Morris glared at her. "I don't want my station destroyed, but this is for your own good, too. I'm sure you'd still like to have a career."
Lois tapped one high-heeled shoe against the floor.
"You can run the story," Morris said. "You don't even have to be positive about Superman and the Justice League."
Lois arched one eyebrow. "I don't?"
"God, no," Morris said. "I know getting anything praiseworthy out of you is like squeezing blood from a stone."
Lois frowned. "What's the catch?"
"You don't have to be positive about Superman," Morris repeated. "But for God's sake, don't be negative. Neutral, do you hear me? Be neutral."
Lois gave a small smile. "Just the facts, huh?"
Morris groaned. "For the love of Christ, don't make me regret this."
***
"Harleen,"
Hugo Strange said, "this sordid affair reflects poorly on you. Were that all, I could let it pass, but what paints you in an ill light is also deeply damaging to the reputation of this institution."
Harley kept a straight face. "What reputation? As a revolving door for the supervillain set?"
Strange adjusted his glasses, briefly lifting them so he could peer directly at Harley. "It's that very attitude, Harleen, that we at Arkham Asylum must tirelessly oppose. This institution must defend its good name, and that battle is not helped by you, specifically, being known as the mental health professional who claimed that Napier was somehow sane. In your case, I use the word 'professional' extremely loosely."
Harley did her best to remain calm. It was a heroic effort. Sadly, she figured that her boss wouldn't appreciate the amount of energy she was burning to remain in her chair, instead of clobbering him with it.
"At the time," Harley began, "I... "
But the Chief of Psychiatry was not interested in hearing her defence. Harley had the distinct impression that she wasn't in an interview, she was in an inquisition. She didn't have a witch hat or a broomstick, and Strange wasn't wearing a clerical collar and clutching a religious book, but she was feeling pretty toasty.
Although that might have just been the stifling temperature in the room. Hugo Strange kept his office like a baking hot oven, and he refused to open the windows for proper ventilation. All things considered, Harley wouldn't have been surprised if it was some kind of auto-asphyxiation thing. Strange was kind of freaky, and he didn't hide it very well.
After several years of schooling and some time working in the industry, Harley had a theory that a good three-quarters of psychiatric practitioners were certifiably nuts in their own right. Harley included herself in that proportion.
Some doctors and nurses were just better at keeping up the facade.
Strange gripped the computer monitor on his desk and spun it round. He stabbed a crooked finger at the image frozen on the screen.
"Does this," he demanded, "look sane to you?"
Personally, Harley was slightly surprised that Strange even knew about that particular site. The banner advertisements and livery made it obvious it wasn't LexVid or any more mainstream sharing platform. Perhaps someone had sent him a link?
On the other hand, Strange did seem the kind of man who'd go down the Internet's deepest and dankest rabbit holes in search of exceedingly specific porn. So maybe his familiarity with unorthodox Russian websites wasn't that surprising after all.
Harley stared at the motionless face of Jack Napier, alias the Joker, a.k.a. the Batman. She was already familiar with the new video, of course. She'd seen it several times. Too many times.
"You want me to answer," Harley asked, "or you just gonna yell at me some more?"
Strange released his grip on the desktop monitor, and settled back in his office chair. "Harleen, when I brought you on board, I chose to extend the courtesy of believing that you earned your qualifications with your intelligence and academic rigour, rather than your other attributes."
Harley scowled. "Out of line, Strange. Do I need to call HR in here?"
"Oh," Strange said, "I've already called HR. You'll be seeing them once we're done. Believe me, Harleen, we will be done."
Harley snorted. "Am I special, or are you always this creepy when you fire someone?"
"Make light of it if you wish," Strange said, pointing at the screen again. "I think you'll find, Harleen, that our profession has no place for people who are incapable of seeing the blatantly
obvious."
