Rain poured down as the lead coffin was slowly lowered into the freshly dug grave. The raindrops tapped on the cold metal, breaking the silence in the cemetery. A priest in a dark robe stepped forward to speak, but the sound of the rain quickly drowned out his words.
I stood there, almost frozen by disbelief, overwhelmed by sorrow.
I still can't believe he's gone, I thought, as the reality hit me harder than the storm. He was more than just a man—he was a larger-than-life figure, a brilliant inventor, and a true titan of industry. While some called him a criminal, I knew his intentions were always good, and that he truly wanted to make the world a better place.
But fate was cruel. It wasn't an assassin or even the chaos of an alien invasion that killed him—it was a slow, relentless attack on his body. I had warned him about those glowing green rocks, but he was too captivated by their potential to listen. By the time we realized the danger, it was too late. The radiation he absorbed had triggered multiple cancers, slowly breaking his spirit.
In public, he always appeared unbreakable, his smile never fading even in a crisis. Many times, his confident front made me believe nothing could hurt him. But when we were alone—just him, Mo-Mercy, and me—I saw the truth. In the dim light of our home, I watched his energy drain away. His once-proud shoulders slumped with every labored breath, and his harsh, bloody coughs breaking the silence.
Now, standing by his grave in the pouring rain, I could hardly accept that he was really gone. Every thunderclap and raindrop echoed my inner pain, making it feel like I was stuck in a never-ending nightmare, the man who held me when I was a baby, who rocked me on his knee... gone.
Here lies Alexander Joseph Luthor:
Loving Father, Pillar of the Community
I stood in the rain, my eyes fixed on the headstone, as if the carved words could bring my dad back. The steady drumming of rain on the cement only deepened the silence around me. I barely registered the people passing by—until someone put a hand on my shoulder and spoke up.
"I'm Bruce," a deep voice said. "I know how it is to lose a parent young," he paused thinking a bit" It gets better eventually".
I wanted to reply, to tell him how lost I felt, but my throat was dry, and all I could do was stare at the grave.
One by one, people drifted away until it was just Mercy and me. The moment I realized we were alone, the mask I'd been wearing crumbled. Tears streamed down my face uncontrollably, and I couldn't stop the snot and raw emotion spilling out.
Frustration and grief took over. I slammed my fist against the cold, cement surface of the grave and whispered, "Please! I'm begging you—Jesus, Superman, anyone—bring him back, bring my f-father back." My voice cracked with desperation, echoing off the stone.
I barely noticed when Mercy closed the umbrella and wrapped her arms around me from behind. "I'm here," she whispered softly, trying to soothe the pain. I continued my pounding, pouring every bit of anger and loss into each strike.
With one final, ear-piercing scream, I collapsed my head against the wet headstone. Hopelessness overwhelmed me, and in that dark, desperate moment, my metagene triggered, and I was out cold.
When I woke up, I found myself in our car with my head resting on Mercy's lap. She was gently combing my hair, her fingers soft and reassuring. "Hey, you're finally awake," she murmured. I barely managed a smile. In my groggy state, a stray thought crossed my mind—one half-joking wish that I wouldn't end up bald like Dad. But that fleeting moment of levity quickly dissolved, and I buried my face deeper into her lap, overwhelmed by sorrow.
As silence settled between us, something happened. A sudden wave of clarity flooded my mind, as if secrets were being whispered in my inner sanctum—secrets about science and technology that even the top researchers at Starr Labs could barely imagine. I couldn't help but let out a frustrated, low murmur. "RadAway?… fuck you, power," I muttered, my voice raw with grief and anger. The words tumbled out as if I were cursing the very forces of fate that had robbed me of the one person I loved most, If I had this sooner ... he would still be here.
Mercy's gentle presence anchored me in that moment, even as my mind raced with the weight of what I had discovered. "I'm here," she said softly, her voice steady and compassionate.
"So, uh... I don't know how to approach this topic, Mom," I said plainly, my voice still a bit hoarse from all the screaming earlier.
"You know I told you not to call me 'Mom.' Your father never told me who she was—she could still be out there," she replied softly, continuing to massage my scalp. To me, though, she was Mom; she raised me with Dad, after all.
"Don't worry about my reaction. Just say it," she added gently.
"My metagene activated back there," I blurted out before I could stop myself, my mind still swirling with chemical formulas and technical diagrams.
"Oh, sweetie, I had no idea you felt that badly," she murmured as her hand caressed my cheek. Then she asked, "...so what can you do?"
"That's the weird part," I replied slowly. "It didn't give me energy powers or any wild transformations like it usually does—it just flooded me with knowledge about science."
Mercy's eyes searched mine as she asked softly, "I need you to explain further. What do you mean by 'weird'?"
I took a deep breath, trying to steady my racing thoughts. "It's strange," I began. "I can see faint blueprints and academic texts, visions of technology where advanced stuff and outdated tech are all mixed together. I see things like sentry bots floating with anti-gravity, laser weapons that pack a serious punch, and chemicals that seem capable of wild stuff—stuff straight out of campy science fiction. But then, right alongside those images, there are clunky old computers and machinery that look like they're stuck in the sixties."
Mercy frowned, her brow creasing with concern. "So it's all intertwined? The futuristic tech and the really old stuff?"
"Exactly," I replied. "It's as if someone took the best of tomorrow and the remnants of yesterday and fused them together. And there's something else—I can feel it ticking in my head, like a countdown. It's subtle but constant, as if time is slowly winding down to something, though it feels incredibly far away."
She reached out, gently placing a hand on my arm. "That sounds intense. Do you have any idea what it means?"
I shook my head slowly. "Not really. I just feel it—a persistent tick, like a clock counting down to something. It's unsettling, but I can ignore it."
Mercy squeezed my arm reassuringly. "Alright, we'll figure this out together, I'll schedule a doctor visit for you later. Just remember, you're not alone in this."
I nodded, the steady tick echoing in my mind as I tried to make sense of the strange blend of high-tech wonders and old-world relics that now filled my thoughts.
Trying to defuse the tension I let out a joke," At least I still look normal, Pretty sure there's a villain out there who is just a floating radioactive skeleton"
She gave a quick polite laugh, but I don't think she found it that funny.
We arrived at LexCorp Tower—the tallest building in Metropolis—as our limousine pulled into the private garage reserved for top executives. The tinted windows of the limo caught the glow of the tower's lights, and Mercy and I stepped onto a polished marble floor that led us toward our destination.
Our walk to the penthouse felt formal. Along the corridor, rows of armed LexCorp security guards in tactical gear lined the hall, their helmets on their chests mourning the passing of the torch. They nodded respectfully as we passed, silently reminding me That I was the big boss now.
When we reached the elevator, I stepped inside. The interior was modern and simple, with chrome accents, a digital control panel, a little window to see the floors pass, and soft ambient lighting. I pressed the button and entered our special floor combination: 3, 42, -3, 5, 50.
For a moment, the elevator lights flickered before settling, and then the display changed. What used to be -3 now read -50, and ten new upper floors appeared, numbered 90 through 100.
I lived on 99 with Dad while Mercy had her office on 98. Dad's old office was on the 100th floor, probably full of important documents that I will have to read eventually while his personal workshop was hidden away on the -50 level.
As the elevator climbed, I couldn't help but feel the weight of the building's history. Each passing floor reminded me that LexCorp Tower was more than just a building, offices full of workers passed by, eventually, we reached the laboratories, the non-sensitive stuff, of course.
When the elevator finally opened onto her floor, Mercy squeezed my hand one last time before heading to her office. I waited as the elevator climbed one final floor. Home felt empty—lights were off, and the space seemed deserted. Everything was just as Dad had left it: the big sofa, the TV, the state-of-the-art computer, and the digital assistant.
"Computer, Lights," I said.
A soft chime responded, "Turning lights on," and soon the room filled with a gentle glow.
After a moment, I continued, "Computer, give me a city report."
The digital assistant replied in its usual calm tone, "Report: A robbery took place at the Central Metropolis Bank by The Prankster. Incident was stopped by Superman. Additionally, STAR Labs was raided by Black Spider. That incident was also stopped by Superman."
I nodded, then said, "Computer, any messages?"
"Message from Lex Luthor. Message: 'Go to my office immediately.'" The message appeared on the screen.
I paused for a moment before turning back to the elevator and pressing 100. The elevator ascended steadily until it reached Dad's office floor. At the door, I found a small scanner—a device I had never managed to open on my own because it was keyed exclusively to his hand. I pressed my hand to the scanner, expecting to be denied access. I waited as the machine hummed quietly. Then, I felt a small pinprick on my finger—a brief, almost imperceptible sting. The panel lit up green, and the door slid open with a soft whoosh.
Stepping into the office was like stepping back into a treasure trove of memories—the space where he had tutored me in the sciences and helped me with my schoolwork. I could almost hear his voice saying, "A Luthor is always excellent, never just good," as he ruffled my hair with that warm smile of his. The room was dimly lit by a mix of natural light filtering through tall, narrow windows and the soft glow of strategically placed LED fixtures. Spacious and inviting, the office featured sleek, dark wood paneling and a few carefully chosen pieces of art that added a touch of sophistication.
One side of the room was dominated by a large, polished desk, cluttered with high-tech gadgets, documents, and framed photographs capturing moments of my life: my first day in pre-school, my high school graduation, and even that day when he rented the entire Metropolis Mammoths stadium last year after I got accepted at UM—an incredible achievement at 17. His presence seemed to linger in every detail, from the subtle hum of the state-of-the-art computer system built into the desk to the shelves lined with vintage books.
On the far wall, our digital assistant blinked quietly, its interface waiting for a command. I walked slowly across the room, each step stirring up memories and unspoken words, until I finally reached the central terminal. With a deep, steadying breath, I said, "Computer, read my father's message."
The screen flickered to life, displaying a message in Dad's unmistakable, confident script, then his voice started coming out of the speakers.
"Son, if you're hearing this, then my time is nearly spent. The cancer has advanced further than I ever feared, and I know I won't be here much longer. I've built LexCorp on a foundation of innovation, excellence, and hard work—principles that I hoped would guide you when I'm gone. That's why I've left a series of messages on this computer. They aren't merely instructions on how to run the company; they're lessons, strategies, and reflections meant to help you navigate the arena of commerce."
A harsh cough interrupted his words, and I could almost picture him wincing in pain as he continued.
On the screen, files began scrolling by—thousands of them, really—flashes of department heads, useful contacts, and details on black projects. I caught only glimpses before the list halted on one file, boldly titled:
Light.
The message resumed, and Dad's voice carried a mix of disdain and reluctant honesty:
"Ah, The Light. Useful idiots, all of them. There are seven of us, led by our so-called 'leader'—Vandal Savage, the immortal. My sources have confirmed that he's been alive since the time of the Neanderthals, and his influence on our history runs deep."
Images flickered across the screen: ancient statues reminiscent of Mesopotamian deities, a painting of Genghis Khan, a weathered portrait of Blackbeard—and then, startlingly, a grainy photograph of someone shaking hands with Hitler.
"Damn, Dad—working with Nazis? What were you thinking?" I thought, a bitter mix of incredulity and regret swirling in my mind.
The message continued, its tone darkening further:
"He is a megalomaniac, with a noble-sounding vision—for humanity to dominate the galaxy with him at its head. Be warned, as he has lived for so long, he clings to outdated notions like 'survival of the fittest.' His plan is to cull humanity, leaving only the strongest behind."
A brief pause, as if Dad was gathering his thoughts, then the file scrolled on:
"Next, we have the second—a figure known as Queen Bee, the Tyrant of Bialya. A power-hungry despot, she may seem harmless at first glance, but remember, she carries an entire country on her back."
The screen flickered again as Dad's voice resumed, his tone shifting to one of wry amusement mixed with a hint of disbelief.
"Now, this one might seem far-fetched, but I assure you I still have my mental functions. Klarion the Witch Boy—yes, that sounds ridiculous. I thought so too. I also believed magic wasn't real... but I stand corrected. Klarion is, without a doubt, the most dangerous member of the group. He's an extradimensional being, a master of the mystical arts, whose singular goal is to engulf the world in chaos. I don't have much to say to prepare you for meeting him—just, whatever you do, don't get on his wrong side."
A harsh cough punctuated his words, and for a few moments the message fell silent as he gasped for air before recovering. Then, his voice resumed, now carrying a dry laugh.
"Next one—Ra's al Ghul. This one is a doozy." He chuckled briefly. "Another immortal, but unlike the others, Ra's hasn't lingered on Earth nearly as long. He's a ninja, the head of a cadre of assassins known as the League of Shadows. I know it sounds cliché, but trust me, his influence is anything but trivial. Ra's and his organization operate from a small island in the Caribbean—Infinity Island, as they call it. Should you ever find yourself on his bad side, you'll know exactly where to hit him."
He paused again, and when the screen filled with another series of images, his voice took on a more serious tone.
"Ocean-Master, also known as Prince Orm of Atlantis—Aquaman's brother, if you can believe it. Orm is an Atlantean purist, using the support of The Light to seize control of Atlantis. Consider this a warning: if it ever appears that Orm is winning a succession war for the throne, Atlantis should be wiped off the map. He wouldn't hesitate to make the seas rise and punish us 'dry landers'—ha!"
"And finally, the Brain. Once a brilliant scientist, he's now taken his quest for power to a whole new level by transplanting his brain into a robotic body. His new lair? Gorilla City. Yes, you read that right—Gorilla City, nestled in the heart of Bwunda, Africa. There, he rules with an iron fist, commanding a sizable force of enhanced gorillas alongside his ever-loyal minion, Ultra-Humanite.
Now, before you start questioning your sanity—believe me, I did too—if you ever find yourself facing down these supercharged simians, be ready to bring out the heavy firepower, heavy airstrikes should work."
He continued once again " Now that you know who you will be facing let me tell you of our plan..."
I was sitting atop the skyscraper, legs dangling as I watched the city lights below. The rain had finally stopped, but my mind buzzed with the shock of my latest revelations and schematics. "Damn, Dad, you really screwed the pooch," I muttered to myself, my respect for him plummeting with every new detail.
It turned out that the whole "master plan" of The Light was a wild, convoluted mess. The scheme was to create clones of Superman to serve as enforcers for The Light—though Dad never made it clear if that was his idea or theirs—while also deploying an army of genetically twisted, mind-controlling monsters. Then, there was a superweapon designed to steal all data on Earth, and plans to snatch pieces of a giant, mind-controlling starfish that the Justice League had clashed with ages ago.
And if that wasn't enough, apparently we had a cloned sidekick too—the original is still inexplicably alive somewhere—which was meant to infiltrate the Justice League and bend them to our will through mind control.
The plan escalated even further. After all that, the idea was to lure aliens to Earth using the controlled Justice League to massacre a few planets. Somehow, these extraterrestrials would be duped into researching the meta-gene, forming an alliance, only to be double-crossed, kicked off Earth, and stripped of their research. The same pattern would repeat with other galactic threats—while they were busy with their own chaos, The Light would deliver crippling blows to their homeworlds (though, frankly, that part still seems up for debate among them).
As if all that weren't enough, Dad's grand finale was a soft takeover of Earth. The plan was to use his immense goodwill to become the Secretary General of the UN, then mass test humanity for the meta-gene, recruit supervillains, heroes, and meta civilians into one massive meta army, enhance the rest, and finally conquer the stars.
I shook my head in disbelief. All of these schemes were hatched by a band of lunatics with delusions of grandeur. Sure, making humanity the leaders of the galaxy is a goal I could respect—even an admire—but the plan was so convoluted, with countless points of failure, that it bordered on the insane. Every detail reeked of madness, and yet, in their own warped minds, these lunatics believed they could pull it off. As I sat there, processing the absurdity of it all, I resolved that I'd need to decide soon whether to fix this plan or watch it implode in a spectacular fashion and sweep the ashes.
I glanced around once more before rising from my little perch and heading back to the office. Slipping into the comfortable chair that Dad had installed, I casually propped my feet up on the table.
"Computer, create a new personal file—name it 'James Luthor Idea's Folder,'" I commanded. Instantly, a new folder materialized on the screen.
"Computer, open the aided design software and engage dictation mode," I added. A small microphone icon appeared on the display, and then, almost as if by magic, a tiny tablet emerged from a hidden compartment in the table. It unfolded itself into a sleek, futuristic design pad.
"Alright, final thing: send a request to have some hot chocolate prepared, and order the chef's to send my meals up here," I instructed. A cheerful ding confirmed that the computer had accepted my request.
With a satisfied nod, I continued, "Now, name the first folder of the document: 'James Luthor's: Discipline—Physics, The Atom and You...'" I began preparing to articulate all the scientific principles swirling in my head and transfer them into my personal database. I also picked up my digital pen and started sketching schematics and jotting down chemical formulas. It was going to be a very long session, but hopefully it would be worth it.
