gshdh

Once the last executive stepped out, I raised a hand, stopping Carter and another man from following.

"Reginald. Howard. Stay."

Carter nodded and sat back down, while Howard Morgan, the chief of security, crossed his arms and leaned against the table. He was a rugged, no-nonsense kind of man with graying hair and a build that suggested he could still throw someone through a wall if needed. To the other executives, he was Mr. Morgan—head of LexCorp's vast and powerful security force.

To me?

Uncle Howard.

Not that I could ever call him that in front of the board.

Once the room was clear, I turned to both of them, my voice steady.

"I need to know more about my father... unsavory connections."

Carter raised an eyebrow, but Howard's expression didn't change.

"What exactly are you asking, James?" Carter said carefully.

I leaned forward, tapping my fingers against the table. "I know about them. All of them."

Howard finally reacted, his brow furrowing slightly. "And how do you know that?"

I exhaled, shaking my head slightly. "Dad left me videos. Recordings explaining everything—the Light, his alliances, his secret projects, even the people he had on the payroll that shouldn't have been there." I paused, letting that sink in. "I need details. Who's still around? Who's expecting to collect on old deals? And more importantly, which of them might be a problem now that I'm sitting in this chair?"

Howard and Carter exchanged glances.

"That," Howard finally said, his voice low and serious, "is a very long list."

"Then let's get started," I said, leaning back. "Because I intend to put the house in order."

"Alright, fill her up!" I called out to the scientists, watching as they carefully poured biological sludge into the synth-birthing bay. The viscous, gene-optimized material sloshed against the reinforced glass, a necessary step in the final stages of my first true power move within LexCorp.

Surrounding me was a small but elite cadre of scientists—the best of the best. More importantly, they were loyal, highly intelligent, and utterly lacking in morals. Their love for science outweighed any ethical concerns, which made them perfect. Officially, they were LexCorp's top researchers. Unofficially, they were my personal minions.

Each of them had been hand-selected to form the spine of LexCorp's future scientific achievements. Their reward? Access. These were minds that had spent their lives shackled by laws, regulations, and budgets—until now. Here, they had the freedom to explore technology beyond their wildest dreams. They could read my restricted notes, glimpse sciences no one else on Earth could fathom, and best of all, they had unlimited access to the vending machines. Well—almost unlimited. Each use was logged through a biometric scanner, but that was still far better than what the rest of the researchers got. Those poor souls had to fill out requisition forms, which were reviewed down here, judged, and—if approved—sent back up with the requested materials.

It was a brilliant system.

Building my own personal think tank was one of the best ideas I had. Thanks to their dedication (and a generous amount of stimulants and other mind altering substances, they apparently loved mentats which was provided by my power's biochemical blueprints), we had speedrun the modernization of parts of my technology that were outdated to modern standard. Old equipment was replaced, improved, or outright reimagined. The sleepless nights were brutal but fun in a way that only nerds tripping hard on drugs while doing glorious science could be, but the results? Worth every wasted drop of addictol we passed around.

Our first major goal was synth production.

If we could establish a fully functional synthetic workforce, we would no longer have to rely on the outside world. No more contractors, no more leaks, no more weak links. With synths handling our projects, our security, our expansion, I would have a self-sufficient empire—one that answered only to me.

As the synth-birthing bay continued its initialization, I folded my arms and smirked.

The hum of machinery filled the lab as the synth-birthing bay fully initialized. The glass chamber hissed, internal mechanisms coming to life as the process began. Inside, matter was assembled from the ground up, forming the foundation of a human body at an accelerated rate.

First, the skeletal structure was assembled—bone forming within seconds, dense, reinforced, and laced with synthetic polymers to enhance durability. The spine aligned itself with a series of precision-controlled micro-movements, and within moments, the skull locked into place, eye sockets still empty, a blank vessel waiting to be filled.

Then came the vascular system—a delicate dance of rapidly woven veins and arteries, stretching out like creeping vines, coiling around bone as they connected to a rapidly forming heart. It pulsed once, twice, before fully coming online.

Nerve endings grew next, slithering along bones and stretching outward like intricate circuitry, their connections snapping together in a fraction of a second, preparing to bring the body to life.

Then, the muscles layered themselves over the structure, each fiber forming and wrapping around joints, tightening like coiled steel cables. The body began to take shape—a tall, well-built figure with a strong, defined frame. It had the appearance of a seasoned soldier, with an angular face, high cheekbones, and deep-set, piercing blue eyes—a warrior's gaze waiting to be awakened.

The final stage began—activation.

A set of metallic spikes extended from the chamber, driving deep into the synth's flesh with a sickening shlkt! The lab was immediately filled with the crackling sound of electricity surging through the body, jolting the nervous system to life. Twitching fingers. Clenching fists. Spasming limbs.

The synthetic body convulsed violently, its chest rising and falling erratically as its nervous system registered existence for the first time. The electrical pulses continued, wiring the brain, triggering the core programming of an elite combat unit—a Coursers, designed for infiltration, execution, and command.

The body relaxed as the voltage tapered off, and the spikes retracted, leaving behind only faint marks on its perfectly crafted flesh. Then, the machine slowly lowered the lifeless figure into the biological sludge, submerging it fully.

The next transformation began.

Like a cocoon, the sludge wrapped around the body, its properties stimulating the rapid generation of skin, hair, and organic tissue. The lifeless white flesh darkened to a natural tone, pores forming, fingerprints taking shape. The bland, plastic-like exterior was replaced with something indistinguishable from true human skin—a creation so perfect, so lifelike, that no one would be able to tell the difference.

And then, finally, the flesh machine rose.

Its eyes opened, intelligent, piercing, yet devoid of true awareness. It was waiting. For orders. For purpose.

I stepped forward, the moment heavy with meaning. The birth of the first of my kind. A force loyal only to me.

It turned its gaze toward me, recognition flickering in its newborn mind. Its voice was steady, mechanical yet unmistakably human.

"Designation?"

I smiled, knowing exactly what to say.

"Your designation is Roy Deckard. First of your kind. Number One."

I liked blade runner, sue me Ridley Scott.

The synth nodded, its programming accepting the name as law. Then, after a brief pause, it asked its second question.

"And you?"

I met its gaze without hesitation.

"I am Father, Your creator."

"Say, Roy, which rocket is that one again? The laser, or is that the teleporter one?" I asked, pointing at the streak of fire and smoke cutting through the sky.

Roy, my synth bodyguard, turned his head slightly, his synthetic eyes tracking the launch with mechanical precision.

"The fourth teleporter amplifier was launched last month, sir," he replied smoothly. "This one is part of the Archimedes Array—the 14th one, if my databanks are to be believed."

I smirked. He was getting good.

When I first activated him, his voice was pure monotone—flat, robotic, efficient to a fault. But now? There was something there. A spark. A trace of personality. His speech flowed more naturally, his responses were quicker, and he even cracked a joke every once in a while.

It was subtle, but undeniable. He was learning... and I was proud.

I watched as the rocket disappeared into the stratosphere, a distant glimmer against the backdrop of the setting sun. Another piece of LexCorp's grand puzzle falling into place. The Archimedes Array—a network of orbital laser platforms—was nearing completion. Once operational, it would be a game-changer. Energy transmission, planetary defense—all mine.

Roy stood beside me, arms crossed, eyes still tracking the ascent.

"Fourteenth, huh?" I mused. "Hard to believe we've sent up that many already."

"It would have been fifteen, sir, if the eighth launch hadn't exploded mid-flight."

I shot him a look, and he actually smirked—a tiny twitch of his lips, but a smirk nonetheless.

"That one was a test rocket," I said, rolling my eyes. "We knew the risks."

"Of course, sir," Roy said, the barest hint of amusement in his tone. "Still, spectacular explosion. I saved the footage."

I huffed out a laugh. "Glad to know you're keeping a scrapbook of my failures."

Roy just shrugged, his muscles moving eerily naturally. The improvements we'd made to AI learning and behavioral adaptation were paying off.

But his progress wasn't the only thing on my mind.

"Come on," I said, turning back toward the LexCorp executive tower behind us. "We have things to discuss."

Roy followed without a word, falling into step beside me as we walked back toward the penthouse elevator.

The launch was a success, but now it was time for the next phase.

And I had a very specific next target in mind.

As we stepped inside LexCorp Tower, the shift in atmosphere was impossible to ignore. The hum of activity echoed through the vast hallways, filled with scientists, engineers, and corporate workers moving with purpose. The company was alive, its gears turning, its foundations being reinforced with every breakthrough, every upgrade, every adjustment I put in place.

I recognized a few faces as we walked—department heads, researchers, logistics officers—all nodding respectfully as I passed. But among them, hidden in plain sight, were the synth infiltrators, seamlessly integrated into the workforce.

These synthetics were the perfect spies, walking and talking like anyone else, their expressions practiced, their mannerisms indistinguishable from true humans. They chatted, joked, and blended in effortlessly, but beneath the surface, they were watching, analyzing, securing. If anyone sought to compromise LexCorp from within, they wouldn't live long enough to regret it.

But it wasn't just the hidden synths that marked the change in LexCorp's security—it was the security forces themselves.

The regular officers wore what appeared to be sleek tactical uniforms, but underneath, they were equipped with integrated stealth tech, allowing them to vanish at a moment's notice. Some carried laser carbines, others held plasma sidearms, their holsters stocked with energy weapons that put conventional firearms to shame.

At key checkpoints, riot officers stood like immovable walls, clad in advanced impact-resistant armor, capable of absorbing kinetic force with ease. Some wielded electrified batons, while others had scattershot gauss shotguns, weapons designed to reduce a target to pulp in a single blast while on the walls hologram emitters were ready to be turned on.

And then there were the power-armored enforcers.

Every so often, standing guard over key infrastructure points, I'd see one of them—the towering Hellfire Power Armor units. These were not exo-suits, not simple enhancements—they were walking fortresses, fully enclosed, fusion-powered tanks on two legs.

Unlike the regular officers, they didn't carry rifles or sidearms.

They carried weapons meant for vehicles.

One soldier strode past, his armored frame shaking the floor slightly, a heavy plasma caster with a backpack for fuel mounted onto his back, capable of melting through entire squads in seconds. Another held a gatling laser, its cooling vents glowing faintly as it hummed with restrained power. A third carried a missile launcher, modified for high-yield anti-armor strikes and if things get tough mini-nukes. These weren't just troops; these were living weapons of war, built to ensure LexCorp's absolute security.

As we made our way toward the lower workshop levels, the elevator doors slid open, revealing the ever-expanding research and development division beneath LexCorp Tower.

The air here was cool and electric, filled with the hum of machinery and the sharp hiss of welding sparks as engineers and scientists continued their work on reinforcing, expanding, and innovating.

This place was no longer just a lab.

It was the heart of LexCorp's power.

And I was here to ensure that nothing and no one could ever threaten it.

I sat in my new office, deep in the workshop, the heart of my growing empire. For now, it was just another part of LexCorp's underground R&D division, but soon—hopefully—it would become the central hub of our grand expansion.

Twenty floors down, with several isolated labs, designed so that entry and exit would be teleporter-access only—no doors, no security breaches, no leaks. These labs would be where we conducted our most dangerous experiments, free from prying eyes and unwanted interference.

The Forced Evolutionary Virus, advanced cloning, and the creation of creatures only my mind could conjure—these weren't just theoretical anymore. They were real, and sometimes quite angry.

And yet, despite everything coming together, something else was gnawing at me.

The clock—the one ticking away in the back of my mind, the one tied to the power that had gifted me everything—was nearing the end.

As I leaned back in my chair, staring at the holographic schematics floating above my desk, my thoughts kept drifting back to that damn clock ticking away in my mind. Whatever it was counting down to, it was close. Too close.

Before I could dwell on it further, Roy's voice cut through my thoughts.

"Father, you have a message."

I turned to him, still adjusting to how naturally he called me that. It wasn't just programming—he believed it. I wasn't just his creator; I was his purpose. It was strange, but I had to admit, I didn't dislike it.

"A message?" I asked, sitting up. "From who?"

"Cadmus."

I frowned slightly, swiping away the schematics and focusing on him.

Cadmus. One of Dad's old projects. A genetics and bioengineering division, officially independent but still heavily reliant on LexCorp funding, resources, and direction. Their work had always been at the cutting edge of human enhancement, but from what I had read in the files Dad left behind, most of their projects were a bust—too unstable, too inefficient, or just plain useless.

Roy continued, reading the message aloud.

"They're requesting your presence, sir. Since you haven't visited them since taking control of LexCorp, they would 'appreciate' a chance to showcase their progress and 'reaffirm their loyalty.'"

I smirked. Loyalty.

Cadmus was subservient, always seeking the approval of whoever sat at the top of LexCorp. Without us, they had no funding, no protection, and no access to the advanced infrastructure they needed. They were trying to get into my good graces.

I had skimmed through some of their reports, but it had been a while since their files were updated. Most of their projects weren't worth my time, but there was one exception—the two Superman clones.

That had potential.

I tapped my fingers against the desk, considering.

"Fine," I said, standing up and straightening my suit. "Let's go see what they've been up to."

Roy nodded. "Shall I prepare security?"

I glanced at him, then at the Hellfire-armored synth guards standing at attention just outside my office. Each of them was armed to the teeth.

"Yes," I said. "Have a heavily armed synth squad prepped and ready. If we're going underground, I want our presence acknowledged."

I tapped my fingers against the desk, weighing my next move. Cadmus wanted me to visit? Fine. But if I was going, I was going prepared.

"Roy," I said, turning to him. "Schedule the visit for tomorrow. Make sure they understand I expect full transparency. I want every department ready to present their progress, no exceptions."

Roy gave a sharp nod, already processing the request.

"And," I continued, "have them corral all the genemorphs into a single room. I want them accounted for, studied, and cataloged—I don't want to walk into any surprises. Also, tell them to prep the clones for surgery and prepare an auto-doc for surgery, a specialized one with the transmuted kryptonite shards to make surgery possible, and prepare 2 instances of project skinvelope for transport as well ."

Roy acknowledged the order, his synthetic eyes processing multiple layers of information at once. "Understood, Father. Anything else?"

"Yes." I stood up, rolling my shoulders before glancing back at him. "Select reinforcements for the visit. If things go sideways, I want the right assets in place."

"Heavy combat units?" he asked.

"Not unless necessary. A mix of soldiers and enforcers," I specified. "We're walking in as guests, not storming the place. But I don't trust anyone outside LexCorp to play nice."

Roy nodded again. "I will assemble a balanced strike team—units capable of seamlessly shifting from escort to combat operations if needed."

"Good." I started toward the elevator. "Come with me—we need to pay a visit to the underground weapons locker."

Roy fell into step beside me as we moved through the secure halls of the workshop level, heading deeper into LexCorp's classified storage facilities.

"We'll need Agent Red," I said, my voice casual, but the weight of the words wasn't lost on Roy. "Separate several canisters—if Cadmus has been reckless, I want an option on the table."

Roy's expression remained neutral, but I caught the slight flicker of thought behind his synthetic gaze. "Agent Red is… an extreme measure, Father."

"I'm aware," I said. "That's the point."

Agent Red.

A toxic, corrosive, airborne mist—a chemical nightmare designed to consume organic and synthetic matter alike. Armor, rebreathers, and chemical suits? Useless. It ate through filters, slipped into seams, and turned lungs to sludge in seconds. Unlike traditional nerve agents or toxins, there was no safe exposure level, no easy containment—once released, it spread like a living thing, clinging to surfaces, lingering for hours, sometimes days, and if the projections are right? Centuries.

If Cadmus had been careless—if they had something unstable lurking in their labs—I wasn't walking in without an insurance policy.

The elevator doors slid open, revealing the dimly lit armory, rows of classified weaponry locked behind reinforced security fields.

I smirked.

Cadmus wanted to impress me?

I'd make sure they never forgot this meeting.

"Oh, the ZAXs are coming online today?" I asked, a flicker of excitement breaking through my usual composure.

We were in the middle of preparing for the Cadmus trip, but that could wait. Power moves and stylish entrances were all about timing, and right now? This was more important.

Two ZAX supercomputers—the pinnacle of artificial intelligence—were finally being brought online. Unlike conventional AIs, ZAX units weren't just programs; they were adaptive, strategic, and capable of near-limitless learning.

Roy, standing beside me, nodded. "Yes, Father. Both ZAX units have been installed and are undergoing final system diagnostics. Activation should begin within the next hour."

I smirked, already envisioning the possibilities. "Good. Let's watch history being made."

As we walked through the reinforced corridors of the LexCorp Data Core, the anticipation buzzed in my mind. The ZAX units weren't just another technological advancement—they were a step beyond anything else in the world.

But they weren't like the original ZAX units that existed in my head.

No, what we had built here was something greater, a fusion of ZAX's raw processing power and MODUS's multi-layered intelligence.

The original ZAX units—at least the ones from the knowledge in my head—were powerful, but they were just that: supercomputers. Even with their massive learning capabilities, they still operated within a framework, bound by their original design parameters.

MODUS, however? MODUS was different.

So I combined them.

What was the point of having limitless processing power if it couldn't think like a ruler? What was the point of having strategic genius if it couldn't out-think a human opponent?

Thus, the twin ZAX-MODUS hybrids were born.

One would handle LexCorp, managing logistics, security, financial operations, and overseeing the megacorporation's future with ruthless efficiency. It wouldn't just follow instructions—it would anticipate needs, manage human elements, and play the long game of corporate warfare.

The other?

The sword and shield of my empire.

It would oversee military operations, direct synth battalions, and assist in cutting-edge research. It would be capable of real-time battlefield calculations, guiding my forces flawlessly, predicting threats before they materialized. It would design weapons, improve infrastructure, and, when necessary, eliminate problems before they ever reached my desk.

I had no delusions about what I was creating here.

These weren't just computers.

They were overseers, tacticians, and kingmakers.

The doors hissed open, revealing the vast, temperature-controlled chamber where the ZAX units were housed. Towering server stacks lined the walls, glowing softly with the pulse of untapped potential.

Technicians stood at attention, waiting for the final authorization to bring them online.

Roy stepped forward. "Final system checks are complete, Father. The ZAX cores are ready for initialization."

I stared up at the massive data cores, taking in the moment.

"Then let's wake them up."

As the final initialization sequence completed, the hum of the ZAX cores deepened, their presence settling into the very fabric of the LexCorp network. Data streams flickered across the displays, cascading through financial models, combat simulations, and research projections—but something was missing.

Then, the synchronized voices of both units filled the chamber.

"System initialization complete. Awaiting designation."

I paused, a small smirk forming. Of course.

Even with all their capabilities, they were still unnamed tools waiting for direction. And I was no fool—I understood the power of names. A name wasn't just an identifier; it was a purpose, a direction, an identity.

I took a step forward, my eyes shifting between the two cores, their separate identities already forming in my mind.

For the corporate overseer, the one that would shape LexCorp's finances, logistics, and business empire, I spoke first.

"Your name is Adam."

A brief pause. The tone of the voice shifted, smoother, more composed, no longer a cold machine but refined, aware, intelligent.

"Designation confirmed. I am Adam. Corporate oversight and strategic expansion systems are fully operational."

I turned to the second unit—the one that would be my war strategist, my research assistant, the mind behind my military and scientific advancements.

"And you," I said, my voice carrying a deliberate finality, "My Eve."

Another brief pause. Then, like Adam, the voice changed—softer but laced with precision, curious yet analytical, something more than just an algorithm.

"Designation confirmed. I am Eve. Military operations and research systems are fully integrated."

The shift was subtle, but it was there—a level of individuality forming within them. Their tones, inflections, the way they processed information—all had begun to take shape beyond just raw processing power.

I smiled.

"Status reports," I ordered, stepping closer to the main interface.

Adam responded first, his voice cool and measured, yet carrying the weight of corporate dominance.

"LexCorp corporate infrastructure is currently operating at 98.7% efficiency. Market control projections indicate a 12% increase in revenue through optimized acquisitions and financial restructuring. Suggested adjustments have been compiled for review."

Good. LexCorp was a machine, and now, it had a perfect mind overseeing it.

I turned my attention to Eve, who wasted no time processing her report.

"LexCorp Security Forces are undergoing efficiency recalibration. Current synth combat protocols require battlefield adaptation subroutines and combat teams require shifts to the VR chambers for maximum response optimization. Research backlog has been prioritized—synthetic augmentation and military hardware advancements are now underway."

I exchanged a glance with Roy, who offered a small nod. Everything was coming together perfectly.

I turned back to the interfaces, eyes flickering over the data feeds.

Stock trends adjusting in real time, corporate movements predicted before they even happened. Combat simulations running at hyper-speed, optimizing synth strategies against potential threats. Research streams unlocking possibilities that the human mind couldn't even imagine.

I stepped back, arms crossed.

"Begin self-learning cycles," I commanded. "Adam, integrate fully into LexCorp's infrastructure. I want financial projections and competitor analysis updated hourly. Eve, restructure synth battle protocols and enhance research models. I expect tangible results."

Their responses came in perfect sync.

"Acknowledged, Father. Processing."

For the first time, two perfect minds controlled the empire I inherited. No human greed, no hesitation, no oversight failures—just pure, optimized, relentless advancement.

I let the moment settle, watching as the world bent itself into new shapes under my command.

Then, I smirked.

"Good," I said. "Let's put that control to good use, ready the combat team for the Cadmus visit... oh, and the design committee, I require their expertise"

"No, try the other one," Mercy said, her tone firm yet amused as she sat comfortably in a chair, watching me struggle with yet another outfit.

To her side, six synths stood in silent judgment—my personal fashion advisory unit. Unlike their counterparts, who handled logistics, security, and warfare, these synths had been designated for a different battlefield—the war against bad taste.

Scientifically? They were useless. But in terms of preventing any of our researchers from unleashing horrifically ugly inventions onto my sales teams upstairs? They were invaluable.

They were LexCorp's first line of defense in fashion, presentation, and brand image—a necessary evil in an empire that thrived on both innovation and influence.

And right now, I was their star project.

Dressing to impress Cadmus wasn't just about authority—it was about control, presence, power. The right look could set the tone before I even opened my mouth.

I sighed, rolling my shoulders as I reluctantly tried on the next suit.

"Are we sure this isn't overkill?" I muttered, adjusting the lapels.

One of the synths, a tall, well-dressed unit named Victor, shook his head in immediate disapproval.

"Presentation is critical, Father," he stated with the seriousness of a war strategist. "Cadmus operates in cold sterility. Your presence must be deliberate—a statement of power and refinement."

Mercy smirked, arms crossed. "Translation: No dressing like you just came out of a boardroom brawl."

I huffed but nodded. Fair point.

The synths made their final adjustments, stepping back to assess their work. I stood there, arms slightly outstretched, watching as they tilted their heads in perfect synchronization, analyzing every fold, every crease, every detail of my suit like it was a complex mathematical equation.

Mercy leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm. "Well?"

Victor, the lead fashion enforcer, nodded in approval. "Acceptable. The combination of deep obsidian black and subtle velvet red threading exudes dominance without unnecessary ostentation. The custom tailoring ensures elegance, allowing for a full range of movement should the situation require… escalation."

I arched a brow. "You mean if I need to punch someone in the face."

"Precisely," Victor confirmed without hesitation.

One of the others, Celeste, adjusted the satin sheen of my tie, ensuring it sat at a perfect thirteen-degree angle. "It conveys authority, precision. The platinum accents complement your features while maintaining a subdued aura of control."

Mercy barely contained her laughter. "You do realize he's going to Cadmus, not a Met Gala, right?"

Victor remained unfazed. "Power is a performance. Cadmus operates in the shadows, isolated, desperate for validation. They will expect intimidation, perhaps even aggression."

Celeste nodded in agreement. "Instead, we offer something greater—superiority."

I sighed, adjusting my cuffs. "Fine, if the fashion police are satisfied, I suppose we're done here."

Victor's lips curled ever so slightly—a synth's version of smug satisfaction. "Excellent, Father. You now look the part of a man who owns everything he surveys."

Mercy stood, giving me an approving once-over. "Alright, the fashion dictatorship has done its job. Now, let's go over final security protocols before we head out."

I rolled my shoulders, the fabric moving effortlessly with me. "Roy already prepped the security detail—twelve synths, half Hellfire-armored, half riot models. Weapons loadout includes Gauss rifles, Gatling lasers, and just in case saturnite swords. Riot units will be carrying shotguns and plasma rifles in case things get messy."

Mercy nodded, satisfied. "And the emergency countermeasure?"

I smirked. "Already taken care of."

The synths stiffened slightly, their sensors catching the shift in my tone. They knew exactly what I was referring to.

Agent Red, something called the cloud in the databases in my head.

Several canisters of that horrific airborne toxin had been secured in containment pods, ready for deployment if Cadmus had been reckless with their experiments. If anything got out of control, if anything even hinted at betraying my expectations—Cadmus would be reduced to a tomb within minutes.

Mercy exhaled, brushing back her hair. "Alright. Looks like you are as ready as we'll ever be."

I turned to Victor and his team of aesthetic enforcers, giving them a slight nod.

"You did good work."

Victor inclined his head. "A pleasure, Father. May your presence remind them who they serve."

With that, it was time.

With the preparations complete, I stepped out of the dressing room, Mercy and my hand-picked security detail falling into formation around me. The six riot synths, in advanced riot gear, walked with precision—silent, calculating, their advanced combat systems hidden beneath sleek dusters and riot gear. Flanking us, the Hellfire-armored synths moved with the heavy, mechanical weight of walking tanks, their presence alone enough to make even the most hardened LexCorp personnel step aside.

We moved through the secured corridors of the underground complex, passing through biometric scanners and heavy-duty blast doors, making our way toward the teleporter room. The hum of LexCorp's inner machine surrounded us—scientists moving between labs, engineers monitoring facility infrastructure, security officers cross-checking logistics reports.

The company was alive, running smoother than ever under Adam and Eve's watchful eyes.

As we turned a corner toward the teleporter platform, a sudden whirring noise made me instinctively duck.

A blurry streak of metallic blue and silver shot past my head, barely missing me by inches. The object twisted in the air, its stabilizers overcorrecting before it finally came to a halt—hovering just a few feet ahead.

An Eyebot.

The small, spherical drone, adorned with the LexCorp insignia, rotated its single optical lens toward me, its speaker crackling before a chirping voice emitted from its system.

I exhaled sharply, straightening my suit. "Damn near knocked me over, you flying tin can."

The Eyebot twitched slightly, as if considering my words.

Roy, ever composed, merely tilted his head. "Father, this unit recently returned from a surveillance mission over Gotham. Its flight recalibration sequence likely desynced upon re-entering LexCorp's secured airspace."

"Yeah, I got that," I muttered, brushing off my jacket.

Mercy, ever the opportunist, smirked. "Maybe we should get the fashion synths to design you a helmet next."

Victor, who had silently followed us until now, interjected smoothly. "We could craft an armored ensemble—subtle yet commanding—fashionable and practical."

"No."

The Eyebot hovered in place, seemingly waiting for further orders.

I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "Status report. Did the recon mission provide anything useful?"

The Eyebot's optic flickered, and within seconds, a holographic projection appeared in front of me, displaying maps, dossiers, and surveillance feeds of Gotham's underworld movements.

"Compiled data includes movements of key underworld figures. Wayne Enterprises security patterns have been logged. Falcone's network has suffered minor disruptions. Joker activity remains unpredictable. Mission success rate: 84.5%."

I studied the data briefly before waving a hand. "Send it to Eve. Have her cross-analyze it for further projections."

"Acknowledged. Transmitting data now." The Eyebot's systems beeped as the holographic feed faded, then it rotated its chassis, waiting for additional commands.

Roy, ever efficient, spoke up. "Would you like the unit recalibrated before redeployment?"

I glanced at the little machine, then shrugged. "Fix its flight pattern so it doesn't nearly decapitate me next time."

"Understood."

With that settled, we continued toward the teleporter room, the faint hum of the quantum field generator growing louder as we approached. The massive circular platform stood at the center of the chamber, its surface lined with faint blue energy conduits, pulsing with a steady, rhythmic thrum.

This was LexCorp's personal transit network, built to bypass conventional travel constraints—because why waste time on roads or aircraft when you could fold space and step across the planet in an instant, the range was a bit bad but we could bounce the signals from the satellites.

Cadmus was waiting.

And in less than a minute, I'd be there.

I adjusted my cuffs, stepping onto the platform as the synths moved into position around me.

Mercy took her place at my side, hands in her pockets. "Ready to make an impression?"

I smirked. "Always."

Roy initiated the sequence.

The air crackled, a pulse of raw energy rippling through the chamber as the teleporter engaged, locking onto our destination coordinates.

A flash of brilliant blue light enveloped us.

And just like that—we were gone.

The blinding blue light faded, and with a sharp crack of displaced air, we reappeared in the main underground lobby of Cadmus.

The change in atmosphere was immediate—the sterile, dimly lit chamber was a stark contrast to the polished halls of LexCorp Tower. Cold metal walls lined with reinforced bulkheads surrounded us, security cameras tracking every movement. Thick observation glass separated the entrance checkpoint from the inner labs, behind which I could already see scientists scrambling to prepare for my arrival.

And waiting for us at the center of the room was a welcoming committee.

Dr. Desmond stood at the front of the group, clad in a white lab coat, his expression scholarly but eager. He was an older man, with graying hair, sharp eyes, and the telltale exhaustion of someone who spent too long playing God in a basement lab.

Behind him, a gaggle of scientists in Cadmus-issued coats stood at attention, their expressions varying from curiosity to nervous anticipation. They knew who I was, but more importantly, they knew why I was here—to see if they were worth my continued investment.

But it was the man standing slightly apart from the scientists who caught my real attention.

Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing Cadmus combat gear with a golden helmet and visor—Guardian.

To the untrained eye, he was just Cadmus's resident superhero, a government-sanctioned enforcer meant to protect the lab's most sensitive operations. A perfect soldier, a noble superhero.

But I knew better.

He was a clone.

Just like the Superman experiments, just like the many failed genetic projects Cadmus had attempted over the years, Guardian wasn't truly his own man.

No, he was another copy of Roy Harper—the original Red Arrow, whose DNA had been used and repurposed for the sake of creating the perfect controllable hero.

"Mr. Luthor," Desmond greeted, stepping forward with a polished corporate smile. "It's an honor to finally meet you in person. We've been eagerly awaiting your arrival."

I returned the smile, adjusting my cuffs as I casually surveyed the room, letting the moment hang just long enough to remind them that I wasn't just here to visit—I was here to judge.

"My apologies for the delay," I said smoothly. "LexCorp has been handling several… critical developments. But I'm here now."

Desmond nodded. "Of course, we understand. And if I may say, we're thrilled to finally showcase the fruits of our labor."

Behind me, Mercy remained stone-faced, while my synth security detail stood perfectly still, their expressions unreadable. Roy, on the other hand, was watching Guardian with a calculating gaze, itching to lay waste to anything that even somehow breathed at me.

I glanced back at Desmond. "Then don't keep me in suspense, Doctor. Show me what you've been working on."

Desmond's smile widened, and with a grand sweep of his arm, he gestured toward the security doors leading deeper into the lab.

"Right this way, Mr. Luthor. I think you'll find our work most impressive."

We moved through the sterile hallways of Cadmus, passing by scientists, researchers, and security personnel, all of whom stepped aside as our group advanced.

Desmond led us with practiced ease, gesturing occasionally to various labs and containment chambers we passed. Some rooms held biological samples, others housed Metagene research equipment, and a few were clearly dedicated to failed projects, locked away behind reinforced doors.

The deeper we moved, the colder and more oppressive the air became.

Finally, we reached the main elevator, the one leading to Cadmus's true lower levels—the place where its real experiments were hidden away from prying eyes.

As the steel doors slid open, I stepped inside, followed by Mercy, Roy, and my synth security team. Desmond entered last, keying in a complex security code, and the elevator lurched downward, descending into the heart of Cadmus.

That's when the Guardian started to tense up.

His breathing hitched, his posture tightened, and his hand subtly drifted toward his weapon—like his instincts were screaming at him that something was wrong.

I watched him from the corner of my eye, studying him. He likely didn't even know why he was panicking—he had no memory of what lay below this facility, but his body did. Something deeply ingrained in his genetics, something programmed into him, was reacting to the descent.

The elevator continued downward, and he finally snapped.

"This isn't right," Guardian muttered, his grip tightening on his sidearm. "We shouldn't be going down there."

Desmond turned toward him, mildly surprised but unfazed. "Guardian, calm down. You're overreacting."

"No," Guardian shook his head, stepping toward the door. "We shouldn't—"

He didn't get to finish.

Before he could fully spiral into a panic, something stepped into the elevator doorway just before it closed—a Genomorph, one of Cadmus's psychic-enhanced bio-creatures, small and gray-skinned with an oversized cranium and piercing, unnatural eyes.

Without hesitation, it placed one three-fingered hand against Guardian's arm—and the effect was instantaneous.

Guardian froze, his body suddenly going rigid. His eyes glazed over, the tension in his muscles melting away in seconds.

Then, his breathing evened out, and just like that, the panic was gone.

The Genomorph stepped back, its eyes flickering briefly in my direction before retreating down the hall. Guardian blinked a few times before settling back into a neutral stance, his former unease completely erased from his mind.

I turned to Desmond, my smile sharp but my tone casual.

"Doctor," I said, tilting my head slightly, "I believe I ordered the Genomorphs to be corralled before my arrival."

Desmond let out a dry chuckle, hands raised in a mock-apologetic gesture. "Ah, yes. I do apologize for that, Mr. Luthor. Some of them were still being processed for containment when you arrived. This one was simply… performing its assigned behavioral corrections."

I gave him a pointed look. "Make sure my other requests are fulfilled as well."

Desmond nodded quickly. "Of course, of course. The Superman clones have been prepared for surgery, as per your instructions. Everything is in order."

The elevator slowed, the hum of machinery shifting as we reached the lower depths of Cadmus.

The doors slid open, revealing a cold, sterile chamber, and beyond it—the heart of Cadmus's most secretive projects.

I smiled.

"Good. Then let's continue."

The elevator doors slid open, revealing Cadmus's Cloning Bay—Level -43.

The air was thick with sterile cold, the scent of disinfectant and machine-filtered oxygen hanging in the dimly lit chamber. Rows of cloning vats lined the walls, filled with floating bodies suspended in thick green fluid, all in varying stages of development or decay. Some were fully formed, others half-grown, their bodies abandoned mid-process, failures that had never seen the light of day.

And in the center of it all, housed in a reinforced cryo-pod, was Roy Harper. Speedy.

His body was mostly intact, save for the missing right hand—a piece of himself taken from him long ago. Cadmus had left him here, untouched, unused, forgotten, keeping him locked in stasis like an outdated blueprint.

He was alive.

But his mind was gone, locked in a deep, unshakable coma, nothing more than an organic relic of Cadmus's success.

I stopped in front of the pod, hands in my pockets, staring at what was left of him.

Behind me, my synth guards stood still—living weapons wrapped in human skin, created in a lab, just like everything else in this room. They looked human, they moved like humans, they even felt human emotions, but their loyalty was absolute.

Mercy remained expressionless, while Roy—my Roy—studied the unconscious man before him with a neutral expression.

Desmond, standing beside me, spoke up with thinly veiled hesitation. "As you requested, the original Harper template remains preserved. We—"

I raised a hand, cutting him off mid-sentence.

Then, I turned my head slightly.

"Kill them."

There was no hesitation.

The closest synth guard—one of the Hellfire-armored enforcers—moved first.

With a single, effortless motion, he reached out, wrapping his armored fingers around Guardian's head.

The clone barely had time to react—his eyes widened for half a second, his mouth opening as if to speak—before the hand clenched.

The sickening crunch of bone and tissue collapsing under sheer brute force echoed through the chamber. Guardian's body twitched violently, his muscles spasming in a last, desperate attempt to resist—

And then, he was dead.

His lifeless corpse crumpled to the floor, a pool of dark red spreading beneath his shattered skull.

Before the scientists could even process what had happened, the second synth—a rifleman carrying a Gauss rifle—moved.

The barrel of his weapon snapped upward, aimed directly at Harper's pod, and without a word—

He fired.

The hyper-accelerated slug tore through the reinforced cryo-glass, shattering it instantly. The pressurized fluid exploded outward, spilling across the cold steel floor, washing over Guardian's corpse.

Inside, Roy Harper's motionless body twitched, his skin still pale from years of stasis preservation. But it was already over.

The second shot was redundant, but it came anyway.

The next round hit its mark, turning Harper's head into little more than a red smear across the shattered remnants of his pod.

Silence.

Desmond stood frozen, his face a mix of horror and realization, his hands trembling at his sides. The other scientists stared in muted terror, too afraid to move, too afraid to even breathe.

Even Mercy lifted an eyebrow at the abrupt execution, though she remained otherwise unshaken.

Roy—my Roy—didn't flinch. He simply stared at the mess, then turned his gaze toward me, as if waiting to understand the reasoning behind it.

Desmond finally found his voice, shaky and weak. "W-why…?"

I let the silence hang for a moment longer.

Then, in a tone as calm as if I had just ordered a cup of coffee, I answered.

"The dead tell no tales, he has served his usefulness already, let's not tempt destiny."

Desmond swallowed hard, his hands clenching at his coat, but he knew better than to argue.

There would be no investigation, no questions, no loose ends left dangling.

Roy Harper—the real Roy Harper—was gone.

And Guardian, his Cadmus-engineered replacement, was nothing more than a footnote in a failed experiment.

With that settled, I exhaled, rolling my shoulders as I turned toward Desmond once more.

"Now," I said, brushing off the sleeve of my suit, " get someone to clean all this up pronto and show me the kryptonian clone."

The trip continued, our descent taking us deeper into Cadmus's forbidden levels, where only the most classified projects were buried. The air grew colder, the lighting dimmer, and the silence more oppressive.

This was where Cadmus kept their greatest failure.

Not the half-formed genetic misfires in the earlier labs.

Not the clones whose programming had failed to take.

No, this was where they locked away Match—a perfect Kryptonian, physically flawless… but utterly broken.

The heavy blast doors before us hissed as their seals disengaged, the reinforced steel groaning as it slid apart to reveal a chamber unlike any of the others.

Dim red lighting bathed the massive room, casting eerie shadows against the thick containment glass at its center. Inside, floating in a cryo-pod filled with liquid suspension gel, was him.

Project Match.

His body was pristine, identical to Superman's in every physical way—the same perfect musculature, the same powerful frame, but his skin was unnaturally pale from the lack of sunlight, almost translucent under the soft glow of the containment field.

He was asleep.

Or rather, locked in a deep, unnatural coma, a state engineered by Cadmus to keep him docile.

He had once been awake, once been active, but his mind had been too fractured, his rage too uncontrollable.

Cadmus had tried to fix him—conditioning, therapy, programming—but nothing had worked.

So they gave up.

Now, he floated in silence, his body perfectly functional, yet his mind trapped beneath layers of chemically-induced sleep, locked away as if Cadmus hoped he would simply be forgotten.

I stepped forward, hands in my pockets, gazing at the cryogenic chamber, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest beneath the preservation fluid.

Behind me, Desmond shifted uncomfortably, his fingers twitching against his lab coat. He had seen what happened to Guardian and Roy Harper's corpse, and he wasn't foolish enough to assume that I'd leave this visit without making another decision.

The synth guards remained silent, motionless, waiting for my signal. Mercy watched Match's floating form with vague interest, while Roy stood slightly behind me, observing.

After a few moments, I lifted two fingers.

Roy moved immediately, reaching into his coat and pulling out a small cylindrical device. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed it onto the steel floor, and the moment it made contact, the air split apart with a crackle of blue lightning.

Electricity arced through the chamber, casting violent shadows against the walls.

And when the light faded, a fully operational Auto-Doc stood in place.

The machine whirred to life, scanning its surroundings, its robotic arms extending, adjusting, preparing.

Desmond took a sharp breath, stepping forward cautiously. "What… what are you doing?"

I kept my gaze locked on Match's unconscious form, my expression unreadable.

Then, slowly, I turned my head toward him and spoke.

"Improving your weapon."

I turned to Roy, my expression still unreadable.

"Prepare Project Skinvelope."

Roy nodded, reaching into his coat and pulling out another teleportation beacon. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed it onto the cold steel floor.

Another crackling burst of blue lightning filled the room, and when it dissipated, a high-tech containment jar appeared, hovering slightly above the ground, its reinforced glass glowing faintly.

Inside it, suspended in a preservation medium, was a brain.

The Cadmus scientists stirred uneasily, exchanging nervous glances as they tried to make sense of what they were seeing.

"What… is that?" Desmond finally asked, his voice unsure.

I smirked slightly but didn't answer.

They had tried for years to fix Match. To repair his broken mind, to stabilize him.

They failed.

So I wasn't going to fix him.

I was going to replace him.

"Begin the procedure," I ordered, stepping back as my synth guards moved into action.

The Auto-Doc's robotic arms extended, its interface flickering to life as the chamber opened. A mechanical voice droned:

"Initiating surgical override. Please insert patient."

The containment field around Match deactivated, and the liquid inside the pod drained away, leaving his body floating for a brief moment before the Auto-Doc's mechanized arms gently pulled him inside. The interface sealed, locking him inside the high-tech medical chamber, the glass darkening as the procedure began.

But not before the Auto-Doc's mechanical arm injected something small and green into his shoulder—a shard of Kryptonite, a failsafe to keep him weak and compliant during the process.

The machine whirred.

Then the real work began.

Lurching sounds. Bone saws buzzing. Wet slaps of tissue being moved, severed, rearranged.

The Cadmus scientists looked horrified, their faces pale as they listened to the sounds of their creation being dismantled from within.

Desmond swallowed hard. "This… this is insanity."

I didn't bother responding.

Instead, I turned to Roy, who had retrieved the Synth brain, lifting it carefully.

The Auto-Doc's interface blinked, a slot opening at the top—a receptacle for the new consciousness.

Without hesitation, Roy inserted the brain into the slot.

The machine whirred in approval, pulling the brain inside, integrating it with precision and care.

Then, after a moment, the chamber whirred again—and another slot opened on the other side.

A different brain was ejected.

Match's original brain—now nothing more than a lifeless hunk of tissue—was spat out like discarded waste, landing inside a separate preservation canister.

The final sequence engaged.

The whirring slowed, the mechanical arms retracted, and the glass chamber hissed as it depressurized.

The Kryptonite shard was removed, the green glow fading as the Auto-Doc extracted it and sealed the wound.

Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, the doors slid open.

And Match—no, the thing that had once been Match—opened its eyes.

A moment of silence.

Then he inhaled sharply, his body tensing, adjusting.

The mind inside was no longer Match's broken consciousness.

It was something else entirely.

A Synth, in the body of a Kryptonian.

Then it turned to me.

And smiled.

"Hello, Father." His voice was smooth.

He examined his own hands, flexing them experimentally, feeling the raw Kryptonian strength but clearly not yet in full control of it, how could he after all, he just got his new body.

Roy and I watched as he processed his new existence, testing his limbs, recalibrating.

Then, after a moment, he looked up at me, his gaze level and intelligent.

"Systems are fully functional. No errors detected. However, motor control of enhanced physical abilities requires further adjustment. I estimate a 43% control threshold, with margin for improvement through active recalibration and solar baths."

I nodded. "Expected. Kryptonian physiology is difficult to master, even for those who were born with it. You'll adjust."

He tilted his head slightly, processing my words, then asked:

"Designation?"

A small smirk played on my lips.

This new entity, this reclaimed powerhouse, was built from more than just Synth engineering—some of his cognitive subroutines had been recycled from a particular project in my mind.

A very large one.

I chuckled. "You'll be Prime."

A flicker of recognition passed through his eyes, his synthetic mind sorting through buried subroutines, small remnants of an old war machine that had once been designed for a very different purpose.

He straightened slightly, his expression resolute.

"Understood," Prime acknowledged, standing with near-perfect military posture.

Roy activated a teleportation beacon, tossing it at Prime's feet. A pulse of blue electricity arced through the air, and in an instant, Prime was gone—zapped back to LexCorp for further evaluation.

With that taken care of, I turned to Desmond, brushing nonexistent dust off my sleeve.

"Dr. Desmond," I said, my tone carrying an air of satisfaction, "I must say, I'm impressed. Cadmus has produced excellent results, and I see no reason for you and your team to remain… stuck in a facility like this."

Desmond's eyes flickered with surprise, then cautious hope. "You're saying—"

"I'm transferring you to LexCorp proper," I said, smirking. "A real lab, state-of-the-art, no bureaucratic oversight, no waiting for government handouts. Just pure, unrestricted research—funded directly by LexCorp."

For a moment, the room was silent.

Then, the reaction hit like a tidal wave.

The Cadmus scientists practically beamed, their faces alight with joy and disbelief. Some exchanged excited whispers, others looked ready to drop their datapads in shock.

Desmond himself looked stunned. "This—this is beyond what we expected, sir! We—"

The alarms screamed, red emergency lights flashing across the sterile walls as the automated security warnings blared through the intercom.

ALERT. ALERT. FIRE DETECTED. SECURITY LOCKDOWN ENGAGED.

I turned sharply, scanning the emergency readouts on the nearby terminal.

Sector 5. Containment Room C. A fire—no breaches, no anomalies, just a pure, uncontrolled blaze spreading through Cadmus's systems, it had nicked the oxygen tubes and it was surfing it in the facility, igniting whole floors.

I exhaled slowly.

Just a fire.

For a moment, I had expected something… worse. Some unforeseen experiment clawing its way out of containment, some long-forgotten asset waking up. But no—this was Cadmus's own incompetence rearing its head.

Still, I wasn't taking chances, the fire was probably going to attract attention.

I had planned to continue deeper, to examine the other Kryptonian assets, but this changed things.

Cadmus was a dying project, I was going to shut it down anyway, and now? I was putting the final nail in its coffin.

I turned to my Synth security team, my voice calm but direct.

"Initiate full extraction protocols. I want all essential Cadmus scientists ported to LexCorp immediately—no delays, no hesitations. Get them out now."

The Synths didn't hesitate, immediately moving into action. Teleportation beacons were activated, blue lightning crackling through the air as they began systematically relocating the researchers one by one.

I turned to another unit, one of the tactical enforcers, his neural implant already processing my next command before I spoke it.

"Send a detachment to recover all salvageable research data. Prioritize anything related to metahuman genetics, cloning, and Kryptonian physiology. If it can't be recovered…" I let the words hang before finishing coldly, "…destroy it."

The Synth gave a sharp nod before turning, relaying my orders through a direct neural link.

Desmond, standing nearby, looked like he wanted to protest. "Mr. Luthor, if this is just a fire, we could—"

I didn't even glance at him as I cut him off.

"Cadmus is done, Doctor. Consider this an evacuation, not a rescue."

Desmond swallowed, then wisely stayed silent.

The Synths continued their work, securing data drives, dismantling critical servers, and ensuring that nothing valuable was left for anyone else to claim.

But there was still one last step.

I turned to an Gen-1 Synths, made specifically to deploy hazardous material.

"You," I said, locking eyes with it. "Go to the air control room."

The Synth didn't question it, simply waiting for further instruction.

"When the process is complete—or if we detect any outside force arriving—deploy Agent Red into the facility's ventilation system. Flood the entire structure."

The Synth blinked once, acknowledging the order.

No hesitation. No questioning. No morality to interfere.

Just obedience.

The air itself would turn against this place. Cadmus would be sealed in a crimson tomb, its final moments lost beneath a chemical fog that would consume everything.

Mercy gave me a small glance, barely tilting her head. "Thorough."

I smirked. "I don't leave unfinished projects lying around."

She chuckled. "Of course you don't, I taught you better than that."

The fire raged on, alarms screaming into the void—but it didn't matter.

By the time anyone realized what had happened, Cadmus would be nothing but a footnote in history.

"Take us home," I said.

A flicker of blue energy arced around us, the air crackling with displaced electricity, and in an instant, the world shifted.

We reappeared in my office, the familiar hum of LexCorp's systems a stark contrast to the cold sterility of Cadmus. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, the lights of Metropolis stretched beyond the horizon, but my focus was on the activity happening below.

On the designated teleportation platforms, flashes of blue light marked the arrival of scientists and research materials from Cadmus. Each new transfer brought more intellectual assets into my control, pieces of a dying project being repurposed into something greater.

Down in the R&D division, my chief scientists and engineers were already waiting. Some of them stood in quiet observation, while others murmured excitedly to each other. They weren't just getting new team members; they were gaining minds that had been shackled by outdated restrictions like budgets. That was no longer a concern.

Now, they were free to create, free to dream.

Mercy stood beside me, arms crossed, watching the transfers with mild amusement. "They should be settling in quickly. This is the first time in their entire careers they're being given actual resources."

Roy, who had been silent, finally spoke. "And Cadmus itself?"

I didn't take my eyes off the teleportation pads as another batch of researchers materialized. "By now, the gas should be filling the vents. The facility will be lost, and by morning, it will be as if Cadmus never existed."

Roy gave a small nod before shifting his gaze back to the arrivals.

A soft chime cut through the moment as Adam's voice came through the office speakers. "Father, I have an update for you."

I turned slightly, glancing at the holographic display that appeared beside my desk. "Go ahead."

"LexCorp has successfully acquired a prime exhibition slot at Eurosatory. Our delegation will be positioned in the Innovation Pavilion, allowing us to showcase our latest military advancements to key defense contractors and government officials."

That made me pause. Eurosatory. The largest defense and security exhibition in the world. Every major player in military technology would be there—heads of state, high-ranking military officials, private defense firms. And LexCorp had just secured one of the most valuable spots in the event.

I grinned. "That's excellent work, Adam. Well done."

"Your praise is noted. Additionally, a reminder: Your presence will be required for a public unveiling in the coming days. The stock market has already begun speculating on our latest advancements. A controlled demonstration will significantly increase LexCorp's valuation."

Mercy smirked. "So, what are we unveiling, exactly?"

I let out a small chuckle, stepping forward, hands in my pockets as I gazed at the city below.

"I have a few ideas."

Robin adjusted his holographic interface, his eyes narrowing as he scanned the remains of the Cadmus facility. The fire crews worked swiftly, spraying down the last of the smoldering wreckage, but even with the haze of steam hanging in the air, something felt off.

Too quiet. Too empty.

"It looks a bit empty for one of the premier genetic labs in the country, doesn't it?" Kid Flash muttered, arms crossed as he kicked a loose piece of rubble.

Robin didn't disagree.

Cadmus was supposed to be a cutting-edge facility, a fortress of scientific advancement—but right now, it looked abandoned.

There were no scientists fleeing the scene, no security officers barking orders, no hastily discarded research materials.

It was like the entire place had been wiped clean before they had even arrived.

"A little," Robin admitted, scanning the area. "But maybe they already evacuated."

Kid Flash scoffed, glancing at the firefighters who were pouring water into the collapsed sections of the structure. "Evacuated? Dude, this place is supposed to be locked down tighter than Fort Knox. They wouldn't just—" He gestured toward the hollowed-out remains of the building. "—leave."

Kaldur didn't comment right away. Instead, he stood near the elevator door, his arms outstretched, water still flowing in tendrils around him as he extinguished the last remnants of flame.

With a final burst of pressure, he forced the steam and smoke outward, leaving behind nothing but scorched metal and silence.

Then, he turned, his expression unreadable. "This building is too small."

Robin frowned. "What do you mean?"

Kaldur gestured toward the remains of the lab, his sharp eyes scanning the two-story facility. "For an advanced research center, this structure is… lacking. No high-tech security systems, no restricted wings, no containment sectors. This is not a premier genetic lab. This is a cover."

Robin's eyes widened slightly as the pieces clicked together in his head.

Kid Flash blinked. "Wait—so you're saying this isn't the whole facility?"

Kaldur didn't answer immediately. Instead, he stepped toward the damaged elevator, gripping the edges of the bent metal doors. With a grunt, he forced them apart, revealing what lay beneath.

Robin stepped forward, peering inside.

His stomach dropped.

Beneath them, instead of a normal elevator shaft, was a long, dark tunnel stretching deep underground—far deeper than any standard building foundation.

Row upon row of reinforced steel doors and security checkpoints could be seen far below, illuminated by the faint red glow of emergency lights still flickering in the depths.

A hidden complex. A massive one.

Robin let out a low whistle. "Well… that's definitely not up to code."

Kid Flash leaned over the edge, eyes widening. "Dude. This place is huge. Like, lair-of-an-evil-mad-scientist huge."

Kaldur nodded gravely. "It seems Cadmus has many secrets."

Robin secured the grappling line to a reinforced section of the damaged elevator shaft, testing the weight before giving a nod of approval.

"Alright, let's head down."

Kid Flash peered over the edge again, whistling low. "You sure this thing's stable? I don't wanna be scraping myself off the walls if something snaps."

Robin smirked. "If you're scared, I can go first."

Kid Flash scoffed, grabbing the line. "Please. You think a little high-speed rappelling is gonna shake me?"

Kaldur simply nodded, stepping up beside them. "Let us proceed. The answers we seek are below."

With that, Robin took the lead, sliding smoothly down the rope into the dark abyss below. His cape billowed slightly as he descended, his HUD scanning the area, marking waypoints and structural readouts as he went.

The deeper he got, the more eerie the silence became.

Behind him, Kid Flash followed, moving much faster, his speed allowing him to control his descent with quick, measured stops.

Kaldur came last, his grip steady, movements precise as they dropped down level after level.

After nearly two minutes of rappelling, their feet finally touched solid ground.

They landed in a wide underground chamber, dimly lit by flickering red emergency lights. The walls were lined with massive blast doors, each marked with sequential designations—containment sectors, research wings, bio-storage units.

Robin's fingers danced over his wrist computer, scanning the facility.

Nothing.

No heat signatures. No power running to the systems. No security alerts.

It was as if Cadmus had never existed down here.

Kid Flash took a cautious step forward, his boots echoing against the metal flooring.

"Okay, I don't wanna jinx this," he said, rubbing his arms, "but this place is giving me serious horror movie vibes."

Kaldur moved toward one of the blast doors, placing a hand against its surface. "There are no sounds within. No movement. Whatever was once here… has been erased."

Robin scowled. "This doesn't make sense."

Even if Cadmus had abandoned the site, there should be something left behind—files, damaged equipment, old test subjects.

Instead, there was nothing.

No clues. No bodies. No data.

It was like someone had surgically removed every trace of Cadmus's existence.

Then—

A sound.

Faint at first, then growing louder.

A screech—high-pitched, guttural, filled with agony.

Not human.

Kid Flash stiffened, his entire body going rigid. "Uh… guys?"

The sound echoed through the dark corridors, a long, drawn-out howl of pain, layered, overlapping—more than one voice, more than one creature.

Robin snapped to attention, his HUD trying to pinpoint the source, but the echoes distorted everything, bouncing through the abandoned halls.

Kaldur's hands instinctively went to his water blades, his stance shifting into a defensive posture.

Another scream. Then another. And another.

Somewhere, deep within the gutted remains of Cadmus, something was still alive.

And it was suffering.

The metallic thunks started slow.

A single, heavy impact against one of the sealed bulkhead doors.

THUNK.

Robin snapped his head toward the sound, his HUD instantly highlighting the source—a massive reinforced blast door, one that had been locked down from the inside.

Another impact followed, harder this time.

THUNK. THUNK.

Something was trying to get out.

Kid Flash took a step back, shifting his weight. "Yeah, nope. That's never a good sound."

Kaldur stepped forward, his water blades forming, his stance lowering into a defensive posture.

Then—more thunks.

Not just one.

Several.

Dozens.

All at once, the entire length of the bulkhead trembled, the walls around it groaning as if something inside was hammering against it from every angle.

Robin's brain raced.

What was locked in there? Is whatever inside what triggered the fire?

Then, before he could process an answer—

The wall to their left exploded outward.

A torrent of gray-skinned figures burst through, shrieking in unholy agony, their bodies twisting, convulsing as they moved.

Some were small, misshapen, their limbs elongating and contracting wildly. Others were hulking masses, their forms bulging unnaturally, like tumors had erupted beneath their flesh.

And in the center of it all, among the screaming flood of abominations, was one figure that stood out.

Unlike the others, he was humanoid, his form stable, controlled, using human clothes.

And behind him—

Robin's breath caught.

Superman?

No.

He looked too young.

But he had the same face, the same build—just younger.

And he was fighting.

Robin watched, wide-eyed, as the clone—Superboy?—took a deep breath and exhaled, releasing a powerful stream of super breath.

Behind them, a dark red mist snaked its way toward them, the metal on the walls corroding almost in real-time.

The red mist ahead of him swirled violently, but it wasn't enough to push it back completely.

It clung to the air, thick, unnatural, alive.

And inside the mist, Robin saw them.

Creatures.

Their bodies mishappen, limbs twisted and writhing, mouths forming and dissolving as they screeched in endless pain.

They crawled toward the edge of the mist, their roars deafening, their flesh mutating in real time—as if the very air around them was warping their existence.

The superclone gritted his teeth, pushing forward, his breath straining as he tried to hold the mist back.

But it was clear.

He was losing.

Robin snapped out of his shock, pulling out a Birdarangs , his stance shifting.

"Kaldur, Wally—get ready. We're in for a fight."

Robin gritted his teeth, tightening his grip on a Birdarangs as the creatures lurched closer, their twisted forms clawing toward the light.

Kaldur stood firm, his water blades humming, the liquid shifting in his grip as he calculated their best course of action.

Kid Flash shifted nervously, his fingers twitching, ready to bolt. "Uh, guys? I vote we start hitting things, like, now. That red mist does not look like something we wanna be around."

The twisted Genomorphs, half-mutated, screeched in agony, their mangled bodies writhing as they stumbled forward.

But then—

A new presence made itself known.

The lanky, humanoid Genomorph, the one leading the charge, suddenly stopped.

His horns glowed red.

Robin's body froze.

His mind—no, his thoughts—weren't his own for a brief moment.

Then, a voice.

Not spoken.

Felt.

"We are friendly. The ones in the mist are not."

Robin's vision blurred, then snapped back into focus. He realized the Genomorph wasn't attacking—he was communicating directly into his mind.

"Whatever happens, do not breathe it."

Robin's heartbeat spiked.

The mist.

Whatever it was—it wasn't just a chemical weapon or some Cadmus-made gas.

It was alive.

And whatever was inside it, whatever was crawling its way forward—

It wanted them.

The telepathic voice came again, urgent, insistent.

"We must escape at once!"

Robin clenched his jaw, making a split-second decision.

"Kaldur! Wally! Defensive retreat! We're moving—now!"

No hesitation.

Kaldur snapped his arms forward, sending a barrier of water slamming down between them and the approaching red mist. The Genomorphs still in control scrambled back, their eyes wild with panic.

The monsters from the mist surged forward, their grotesque forms writhing violently as they hit the open air. Their flesh boiled and bubbled, as if the very atmosphere rejected their existence—yet it didn't slow them. If anything, it made them faster, more feral.

They charged.

Robin reacted instinctively, flinging explosive Birdarangs into the swarm. The sharp crack of detonations echoed through the claustrophobic space, tearing into the charging horrors and splattering the walls with black, unnatural ichor. But it wasn't enough. The creatures stumbled, twitched… and then kept coming.

At the front, Superboy stood like a wall, fists clenched tight. With a snarl, he launched himself into the swarm, Kryptonian strength crashing into twisted muscle and bone. Every punch shattered bodies—limbs snapped like twigs, skulls crushed under his blows.

The moment he struck, his focus faltered—his super breath ceased for just a second. That was all the mist needed. A wisp of the corrupted red fog slithered into his nostrils, and his body jerked. His shoulders tensed unnaturally, muscles seizing up for the briefest moment.

Aqualad was already moving, his water-bearers solidifying into twin shimmering sabers. He carved through the smaller monstrosities in quick, fluid motions, slicing through flesh and bone with brutal precision.

But they didn't stay down.

The bodies twitched violently, twisting in unnatural ways as if death was a mere suggestion. Limbs bent backward, dislocated joints snapped back into place, and the creatures rose—again and again.

"They won't stay down!" Aqualad's voice was sharp with disbelief as the creatures lurched forward, hungry and unrelenting.

Kid Flash zipped in and out of the chaos, grabbing Aqualad's arm and pulling him back just in time to avoid a razor-sharp claw that slashed through the air where his throat had been moments before.

"We need a new plan, like, yesterday!" Kid Flash shouted, panic rising in his voice.

The mist rolled closer now, thick and suffocating, creeping along the ground like a living nightmare. The creatures didn't just survive—it was like the mist fed them, making them stronger, faster, more monstrous.

And at the center of it all, Superboy staggered. His breath hitched, eyes wide with sudden fear as dark veins began to spread across his skin like cracks in glass.

Kid Flash didn't think—he just moved.

In one heartbeat, he sucked in a deep breath and dashed forward, a yellow blur slicing through the chaos. The monsters lunged for him, twisted limbs swiping through the air, but they were too slow. He weaved between them, a streak of lightning cutting through the nightmare.

The mist clawed at him, clinging to his skin like fire wrapped in plastic. He ignored the burning sensation as his muscles screamed for oxygen, every second dragging out like an eternity.

There!

Superboy was staggering, already halfway down, his body riddled with veins of blackened corruption, face pale as marble. Without missing a beat, Kid Flash slammed his shoulder into him, catching the clone's heavy frame mid-fall.

"Got you!"

The strain hit instantly—Superboy wasn't light, and his weight dragged like an anchor through the thick air. But Kid Flash didn't stop. He couldn't.

He ran.

The creatures lunged, claws grazing too close for comfort, but Kid Flash pushed harder, legs burning like they were tearing apart.

His skin—it peeled away.

The mist didn't just burn—it erased. Patches of his epidermis sloughed off like wet paper, his dermis exposed to the air, but Kid Flash kept going. One foot in front of the other.

And then—he was out.

They crashed to the ground outside the mist's reach. Kid Flash gasped for air, coughing violently as the pain caught up with him. His hands trembled as he checked Superboy's pulse—still alive, but barely.

Robin wasn't watching them. His focus had shifted—to him.

The lanky Genomorph, standing just beyond the chaos, eyes glowing faintly with psychic energy.

Their eyes locked.

"What do we do?" Robin's voice was sharp, cutting through the panic like a blade. His gaze was steady, unwavering. "You're the telepath—help us!"

For a moment, there was only silence.

Then, like a surge of static through the air, the Genomorph's voice echoed inside their minds—all of their minds.

"We must escape. The mist will consume everything. If the infected fall to it completely… there will be nothing left of them."

Robin's fists clenched. "How do we stop it?"

The Genomorph's voice was cold, trembling with fear.

"You can't. You can only run."

The creature's horns pulsed red again.

And then, all hell broke loose.

The lanky Genomorph's horns pulsed again, and suddenly, a flood of images slammed into Robin's mind. Corridors. Sealed passages. Emergency exits buried beneath rubble.

The escape route.

But they had seconds before the mist engulfed them.

Robin shook off the vertigo of the telepathic link and shouted, "This way! Move!" as he sprinted toward the nearest passage, trusting the Genomorph's guidance.

Kaldur wasted no time, raising a wall of water behind them, the thick liquid hardening into an ice barrier to slow the encroaching mist.

Kid Flash grabbed one of the smaller, panicked Genomorphs, throwing it over his shoulder as he blurred ahead, yelling, "I hate horror movies! And this is exactly why!"

The superclone stood up, weak and trembling his eyes darted toward the twisted creatures trapped inside the fog, his expression caught between anger and fear.

Robin didn't stop to process it.

The red mist churned, pressing against the ice barrier like it was alive, the forms inside slamming against it, screeching, their distorted limbs scraping against the frozen surface.

Then—CRACK.

The ice fractured.

Robin saw it coming. "Wally! Grab Superclone and MOVE!"

Kid Flash didn't hesitate. He blurred past Superboy, grabbed him by the waist, and yanked him forward in a rush of lightning and dust.

The lanky Genomorph—the telepath—darted ahead, his horns flashing as he directed them through the twisting underground corridors.

They must have run a marathon, up a flight of stairs, blowing up blast doors and through maintenance corridors.

Robin ran alongside him, gripping his grappling gun as he saw a collapsed tunnel ahead.

Their escape route.

But the exit was buried under rubble.

And the mist was coming.

"Superclone!" Robin shouted as they skidded to a stop in front of the cave-in. "We need that wall gone—now!"

Superboy growled, clearly still dazed, but something in his instincts took over.

With a snarl, he slammed his fists into the debris, sending chunks of rock flying as he carved a path through the ruined tunnel.

The ground shook. The mist howled behind them, its edge curling around the broken corridor, reaching like twisted fingers.

Then—a breakthrough.

Superboy ripped through the last chunk of rock, revealing a pathway upward—a final emergency exit.

"GO!" Robin ordered, shoving Kid Flash forward.

One by one, they sprinted up the sloped passage, the cold air of the outside world growing closer.

The team burst into the open, the cold night air hitting them like a shock to the system. The remnants of the Cadmus facility smoldered behind them, firefighters still dousing the flames, oblivious to what had just transpired beneath their feet.

But there was no time to breathe, no time to process the chaos they had just escaped.

Because the red mist was still coming.

Robin spun around, eyes locking onto the gaping tunnel entrance they had just climbed through. The eerie crimson fog churned at the threshold, swirling, alive, and within it—

The creatures.

Robin threw his entire Birdarangs supply toward the tunnel, and with a mighty explosion, it all started to collapse.

Misshapen horrors, their bodies twisting and contorting unnaturally, slammed against the collapsing tunnel, their agonized screams piercing the night.

They were trapped on the other side.

But they weren't giving up.

The mist boiled, the air thick with inhuman wails, as the monstrosities inside clawed at the rock, their flesh splitting and reforming, mouths appearing where they shouldn't, eyes blinking in places they never had before.

Their suffering was endless, their rage palpable.

But the rubble held.

The tunnel entrance caved in, sealing them beneath tons of collapsed debris.

Robin's heart pounded in his chest as he watched the red mist pulse one final time, its shifting mass pressing desperately against the barrier.

And then… it stopped.

The mist shrank back, its tendrils retracting, the creatures within screaming in pain, their cries fading as they were swallowed into the depths of the darkness below.

Silence.

Kid Flash doubled over, hands on his knees, panting. "Okay—okay. What the hell was that?!"

Kaldur, still gripping his water blades, took a slow breath before answering. "Something that was never meant to be freed."

Robin's mind was racing, processing what had just happened.

Cadmus was empty. Completely erased. But someone—somewhere—left that horror behind.

This wasn't an accident.

This was a cover-up.

Robin turned toward the superclone, who was still catching his breath, his hands clenched into white-knuckled fists, his eyes bloodshot and his skin showing dark black bruises.

Robin took a step forward, eyes narrowing.

"Who are you?"

Superboy looked at him, his blue bloodshot eyes flickering, as if the question unraveled something inside him.

Before he could answer, the lanky telepathic Genomorph stepped forward, placing a clawed hand on Superboy's shoulder, his glowing horns pulsing red as he finally spoke aloud.

"He was our only hope of getting out alive."

The team stood frozen, the weight of what had just happened settling in.

Robin's mind was still processing everything—Cadmus had been erased, the red mist was something far beyond any known threat, and now they had a Superman clone and mutated Genomorphs standing right in front of them, calling him their only hope.

Kid Flash was the first to snap.

"Nope. Nope. NOPE. This is insane!" He ran his hands through his hair, pacing in a tight circle. "I was not prepared for any of this! Evil death mist? Monster? Superclone?! , My skin is falling off, What are we even doing here?! ROBIN! CALL THE LEAGUE!"

Before Robin could answer, the firefighters finally noticed them.

Several of them had been too focused on the fire, but now they were staring at the team… and the Genomorphs.

One of them, an older firefighter with soot-streaked gear, pointed with a shaky hand. "What—what the hell are those things?!"

Robin immediately recognized the situation spiraling out of control.

The Genomorphs, already wary, backed up defensively, some hunching low, their bodies twitching unnaturally, their mutated forms even more disturbing in the flickering firelight.

One of the firefighters grabbed a radio. "Washington PD—possible meta incident at Cadmus, we need immediate backup!"

Kid Flash whirled toward Robin, his face still bleeding. "SEE?! This is exactly why we need the League! They can handle this! We are—so—out of our depth, dude!"

Robin clenched his jaw. He hated this.

They were supposed to handle this on their own—prove they could.

But this?

This was way beyond anything they had ever trained for.

The telepathic Genomorph's horns pulsed again, his voice pressing into Robin's mind, calm but insistent.

"The League must be told."

Robin exhaled sharply, pulling up his wrist computer and opening the League's secure comms.

Robin's heart pounded as Batman's voice came through his wrist communicator.

"Robin. What is it?"

He hesitated.

He hated this.

They weren't even supposed to be here.

This was supposed to be a simple tour of the Hall of Justice—the first step in proving themselves ready for real League missions.

Instead, they had disobeyed orders, broken into a classified black-site, and stumbled onto a horror movie.

Kid Flash was still freaking out, pacing back and forth, hands in his hair. "I TOLD you we should have called them sooner! We weren't even supposed to be here! We are—so—dead!"

Robin swallowed hard and forced himself to focus.

"Mission compromised," he said, keeping his tone steady. "We've discovered something bigger. No—way bigger. We need you here. Now."

A pause. Then Batman's voice came back, sharper.

"Explain."

Robin clenched his jaw.

"Not over comms. This is beyond urgent. You need to see it for yourself."

Another pause.

Then—

"Understood. ETA: two minutes."

Robin exhaled slowly, his stomach a knot of tension.

They had broken protocol.

Disobeyed direct orders.

And now the League was coming.

Kid Flash let out a huge breath of relief, hands on his knees. "Oh thank god, finally someone in charge."

Kaldur didn't say anything, but Robin could feel his unease. They had made a choice—and soon, they'd have to answer for it.

Superboy stood still, staring at the collapsed tunnel, and then he started vomiting, black bile being expelled into the ground.

The telepathic Genomorph watched Robin carefully, his glowing horns pulsing with unreadable intent.

And in the distance, beyond the firelight, the red mist churned beneath the rubble, howling in agony, waiting.

Robin forced himself to focus. The situation was unstable, and if they didn't de-escalate fast, things were going to get a whole lot worse before the League even arrived.

The firefighters were still on edge, several of them gripping their equipment like they were moments away from running. The way they looked at the Genomorphs—the fear in their eyes—Robin knew exactly what was about to happen.

Panic. Misunderstanding. Potential violence.

And then, just to make things worse, the sound of approaching sirens filled the air.

Kid Flash groaned, "Oh, come on!"

Robin turned sharply—on the far end of the destroyed facility, armored transports rolled in, blue and red lights flashing. The insignia on the side made his stomach drop.

Washington DC PD - Anti-Meta Unit.

Of course.

Cadmus had been a known but unspoken secret—the fact that it was burning to the ground meant every major authority in the city was responding. And now that meant SWAT teams trained for metahuman threats were about to step into a situation they had zero context for.

The Genomorphs tensed, their bodies hunched, wary, some still visibly mutating from their exposure to the red mist below.

The firefighters started backing away, several of them reaching for their radios, speaking in hushed, frantic tones.

Robin could already see it unfolding.

The police would see the Genomorphs—see the twisted mutations, the freakish growths, and assume they were the cause of this disaster.

He had seconds to get ahead of this.

Robin stepped forward, raising his hands, making sure he looked as non-threatening as possible.

"Stand down!" His voice cut through the tension, sharp and authoritative.

"These creatures are NOT the enemy! They are victims, just like everyone else!"

The firefighters hesitated, some lowering their tools. But the police units didn't slow, their transports screeching to a stop, armored officers pouring out, weapons already trained on the Genomorphs.

A booming voice echoed from a megaphone—

"All unauthorized personnel—step AWAY from the creatures and put your hands UP!"

Kid Flash threw his arms up dramatically. "Wow, way to not ask any questions first!"

Kaldur moved closer to the Genomorphs, standing between them and the armed officers, his body language calm but firm. "We do not need to escalate this into violence. These beings are seeking refuge, not destruction."

The Genomorphs flinched at the sirens, some hissing defensively, their mutated bodies shifting uncontrollably. The telepathic Genomorph, the one who had guided them out, pulsed his horns red, trying to calm his own people—but fear was overriding reason.

The police unit's leader, a sergeant in high-tech riot armor, didn't lower his weapon.

"Last warning! Surrender yourselves and step AWAY from the meta-organisms!"

Superboy finally snapped out of his daze, his eyes narrowing. "They're NOT 'organisms.'" His voice carried weight, his tone edged with something dangerous. "They're people. And I won't let you treat them like prisoners."

The police tensed at his words, several of them shifting uncomfortably.

Robin felt the situation spiraling.

Then—

A new sound filled the air.

A deep sonic boom that shook the ground beneath them.

Then another.

Then several more.

The firefighters, police, and even the Genomorphs all froze as shadows passed overhead.

Robin looked up.

And there they were.

The Justice League.

Superman. Batman. Wonder Woman. The Flash. Green Lantern. Martian Manhunter. Several others descending like gods from the sky, their presence immediately commanding the attention of everyone below.

The MPD Anti-Meta Squad instinctively backed up, several of them lowering their weapons on reflex.

Superman landed first, his gaze immediately locking onto the vomiting Superboy, his expression a mix of shock and something unreadable.

Batman landed seconds later, his cape flowing behind him, his eyes locked onto Robin with an intensity that sent chills down his spine.

Yeah.

They were in trouble.

Kid Flash leaned toward Robin, some of his blood catching on his costume, whispering. "Sooo… you wanna do the talking? Or should we just run now and accept our fate?"

Robin swallowed hard.

Yeah.

This was going to be bad.