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From the Private Journals of Lex Luthor
Nov. 13th, 2016 01:33 pmIt's 1:34 p.m. on a Sunday. The middle of the night in Shanghai, almost daylight in Melbourne. I have a number of stock trades and business transactions set to move in both places, so I'm busily putting the finishing touches on the documents so we're ready to go as soon as markets open, both here and there. Timing is everything.
The same applies to this life, too. I fly over Metropolis in my armor, and spot an abandoned factory fire on the city's edge. A quick scan reveals several hobos trapped. I'm tempted to fly on, but I hear this annoying, sanctimonious voice in my head, and I adjust my armor's heat shields and fly through the burning roof, careful not to disrupt the integrity of the burning building. It wouldn't play well to have the homeless gentlemen die or be injured while I'm rescuing them. It would be a marketing nightmare.
The three men stare at me slack-jawed as I descend. I reach out my hand.
"Come with me me if you want to live," I say. I tell them to hold tight, and instantly regret it. Their smell is noxious. But it's too late for regrets. They huddle close, and I extend my forcefield to protect them from the flame as we rise into the sky. I deposit them with the nearby medics.
"God bless you Mr. Luthor," shouts one of them. "God bless you!"
The fire department has everything under control. An old captain shakes my hand and thanks me for saving those men. He tells me a lot of people wouldn't have risked their lives for a handful of squatters. I tell him its nothing. That I'm just happy to help.
Later, I learn the pretender was elsewhere, stopping some tedious supervillain. The news calls him "Superman," and I flinch. "He's not Superman," I say, under my breath. Superman is dead. The pretender ... is something else. Something that may have to be dealt with, eventually. But not yet. Right now, he may be necessary.
He returns to his office, flying in through the automated gateway he's built, and removes his armor, exchanging it for a suit and tie. The paperwork for the Australia and Shanghai deals was finished, and he calculated the astronomical amount his wealth had grown in just a few minutes. Making money was almost too easy. Ultimately, it wasn't enough.
Instead, he opened a private file cabinet to look at a recent acquisition: Something called a Planetary Guide from 1938. He opened the book to the entry on John Cumberland and Jenny Sparks, and began to see a path to a better future. A future worthy of Lex Luthor's protection.
The same applies to this life, too. I fly over Metropolis in my armor, and spot an abandoned factory fire on the city's edge. A quick scan reveals several hobos trapped. I'm tempted to fly on, but I hear this annoying, sanctimonious voice in my head, and I adjust my armor's heat shields and fly through the burning roof, careful not to disrupt the integrity of the burning building. It wouldn't play well to have the homeless gentlemen die or be injured while I'm rescuing them. It would be a marketing nightmare.
The three men stare at me slack-jawed as I descend. I reach out my hand.
"Come with me me if you want to live," I say. I tell them to hold tight, and instantly regret it. Their smell is noxious. But it's too late for regrets. They huddle close, and I extend my forcefield to protect them from the flame as we rise into the sky. I deposit them with the nearby medics.
"God bless you Mr. Luthor," shouts one of them. "God bless you!"
The fire department has everything under control. An old captain shakes my hand and thanks me for saving those men. He tells me a lot of people wouldn't have risked their lives for a handful of squatters. I tell him its nothing. That I'm just happy to help.
Later, I learn the pretender was elsewhere, stopping some tedious supervillain. The news calls him "Superman," and I flinch. "He's not Superman," I say, under my breath. Superman is dead. The pretender ... is something else. Something that may have to be dealt with, eventually. But not yet. Right now, he may be necessary.
He returns to his office, flying in through the automated gateway he's built, and removes his armor, exchanging it for a suit and tie. The paperwork for the Australia and Shanghai deals was finished, and he calculated the astronomical amount his wealth had grown in just a few minutes. Making money was almost too easy. Ultimately, it wasn't enough.
Instead, he opened a private file cabinet to look at a recent acquisition: Something called a Planetary Guide from 1938. He opened the book to the entry on John Cumberland and Jenny Sparks, and began to see a path to a better future. A future worthy of Lex Luthor's protection.
