The following day, news outlets across the country were flooded with reports announcing Lex Luthor's release. A sentence that should have kept him behind bars for twenty-five—perhaps even thirty-five—years had somehow been reduced to only a few months.
It wasn't exactly unprecedented. Lex Luthor had built a reputation for slipping through the cracks of the justice system, rarely serving anywhere near the amount of time his crimes warranted. Even so, this latest release came far sooner than anyone had anticipated, leaving many questioning what strings had been pulled behind the scenes.
For the time being, Luthor was confined to one of his secluded private estates, an electronic ankle monitor secured around his leg under court order. To most people, it was a meaningful restriction. To Lex Luthor, a man who proudly considered himself the greatest mind on the planet, it was little more than an inconvenience. If he truly wished, disabling or bypassing the device would take him only a matter of minutes.
The real obstacle wasn't the monitor.
It was the Justice League.
He knew they would be watching him closely, waiting for the slightest excuse to investigate. While several officers within the Metropolis Police Department remained comfortably on LexCorp's payroll, surprise inspections were still an unavoidable risk. At any moment, League members or law enforcement could arrive to search his properties—almost certainly at the most inconvenient time imaginable.
Even with advance warning, there simply wouldn't be enough time to relocate or conceal the android now in his possession.
That left him with only one practical solution.
He moved it into the underground laboratory hidden beneath the estate, a facility every bit as advanced as those found within LexCorp itself. More importantly, its walls had been reinforced with layers of lead, ensuring Superman couldn't casually peer inside with his x-ray vision.
"Excellent," Luthor murmured with somewhat satisfaction as he slowly ran a gloved hand across the dormant android's smooth, expressionless face. "Professor Ivo truly outdid himself with this project."
The motionless machine rested upon a reinforced platform, thick cables and bundles of wiring extending from surrounding equipment into various access ports across its body. Several of the largest leads disappeared directly into the back of its smooth, bald head, silently feeding data into the artificial being as it remained dormant... patiently awaiting the moment it would finally awaken.
"Alright," Luthor said calmly. "All that's left is to run the final program... and add a few instructions of my own."
A devious smile slowly spread across his lips as he retrieved a black flash drive from his pocket and inserted it into the computer terminal. The monitor immediately came alive, streams of code racing across the screen as he began rewriting the android's core programming. One command after another, Professor Ivo's original coding was systematically overwritten, reshaping the machine's directives to serve a new master.
Standing nearby with her arms folded, Mercy watched the process unfold with little interest.
"So what exactly is this thing supposed to do?" she asked.
She had never been told the full scope of Luthor's plan. The only explanation she'd received was that the android would bring down the Justice League... and, eventually, Superman himself. It sounded no different from the countless promises she had heard over the years. Every supposedly unstoppable weapon, every revolutionary invention, every foolproof strategy had ultimately ended the same way—with the Justice League tearing it apart.
Luthor glanced over his shoulder, a smirk creeping onto his face as his hand drifted toward a large crimson button mounted on the control console.
"I wouldn't want to spoil the surprise," he replied smoothly. "Not even for you, my dear."
Without another word, he pressed it.
Power roared through the laboratory as energy flooded into the dormant machine, causing every system within it to spring to life. Mechanical components hummed in unison while synthetic skin rapidly spread across its metallic frame, flowing over exposed circuitry like liquid polymer. Layer by layer, it sealed itself into place, molding seamlessly around the artificial body until almost no trace of machinery remained visible.
"The perfect gift basket," Luthor said with satisfaction, admiring his handiwork, "for the Boy Scout and his band of Rangers."
Mercy responded with nothing more than a tired roll of her eyes. She had long since stopped expecting straightforward answers whenever Lex Luthor was involved.
As the final lines of code completed their execution, Luthor entered a few last commands into the terminal.
The android twitched.
Then, ever so slowly...it began to stir.
The last traces of exposed metal disappeared beneath a seamless layer of synthetic flesh. What had moments ago resembled an unfinished machine now looked almost organic, a humanoid figure with orange skin, sharply defined features, pointed ears, and an unnerving presence that made it feel distinctly inhuman.
Its eyes suddenly sprang to life.
A deep, sinister crimson glow illuminated the laboratory as the android slowly focused on the figures standing before it.
A broad smile spread across Lex Luthor's face.
"Good day, my friend," he greeted pleasantly, as though welcoming an old acquaintance. "I have a small task I'd like you to carry out for me."
Without responding, the android's crimson eyes emitted a narrow beam of blue light that swept over Luthor from head to toe. The scan lasted only a few seconds before the machine completed its analysis, identifying him as a primary authority figure and granting him unrestricted override privileges—a safeguard Luthor had personally embedded within its operating system.
From this moment forward, it no longer mattered what directives Professor Ivo had originally programmed into the android. Whenever the need arose, Lex Luthor possessed the authority to alter, replace, or completely overwrite those instructions with commands of his own.
Now, resting firmly under his control, stood a near-indestructible artificial life-form engineered specifically to combat and eliminate individuals with a different DNA from that of regular humans.
It didn't take a psychic to foresee what came next.
Washington, D.C., was about to become a battlefield.
Luthor's eyes gleamed with barely restrained excitement as he admired the culmination of years of planning. This time there would be no unforeseen flaws. No catastrophic design errors. No last-minute failures to rob him of victory.
At long last...
the Justice League would fall.
And Superman would beg for mercy.
- - -
[Tom Hendricks' POV]
Operating under his Ghost persona, Tom sat in the middle of a secure call with a politician—one who had been referred to him through one of his more influential underground clients.
On the monitor before him, the screen displayed nothing more than a gray background bearing a solitary 'G' emblazoned at its center. The voice transmitted through the connection was heavily distorted by a sophisticated modulator, while the communication itself remained strictly one-way. Only Tom possessed the means to initiate contact, and once the conversation ended, every trace of it would be permanently erased.
The arrangement, however, wasn't entirely one-sided.
From his end of the connection, Tom had an unobstructed view of the man seated on the opposite side.
Minister Stephan Gray looked every bit as uneasy as Tom had expected. Anxiety clung to him, revealing itself through every subtle twitch of his expression and every fleeting shift in his posture.
"I know exactly what you're asking for, Mr. Gray," Tom said calmly, his voice carrying the subtle confidence of someone accustomed to making impossible things happen. "And yes... I can make you the next Mayor of Coast City."
The effect was immediate as Gray released a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, the tension visibly draining from his shoulders as relief washed over him.
"Thank you, sir," he said, his voice noticeably steadier than before.
The moment of relief, however, was short-lived.
"But..." Gray continued cautiously, choosing his next words with care. "What would you want in return? I was told you accept payment however you see fit... and that money isn't always what you ask for."
Ghost had yet to mention a price, and that uncertainty gnawed relentlessly at the minister's thoughts. Years in politics had taught Gray that favors of this magnitude were never born from generosity. Ghost wasn't some charitable benefactor operating in the shadows, he was one of the underworld's most feared brokers, a businessman whose influence reached the farthest end of the criminal underworld.
Ironically, it wasn't the price that frightened Gray the most.
It was the fact that no price had been named.
"Before we discuss payment," Tom said evenly, "there's something I need to ask you first."
Gray swallowed hard.
"To make this happen," Tom said, his voice sounding calm and unhurried, "I'll have to pull several strings."
He folded his hands atop the desk, his fingers interlacing as an expression of his composure, as though they were negotiating an ordinary business deal instead of discussing a plan that would reshape lives.
"People will die," he continued evenly. "That includes the current Mayor of Coast City." His eyes remained locked on Gray's face, carefully studying every reaction. "And when it happens, their blood won't be on my hands."
He paused deliberately, allowing the weight of his words to settle.
"It'll be on yours."
Silence lingered between them before Tom spoke again, his tone as measured as ever.
"Tell me, Mr. Gray..." he said. "Are you prepared to stain your hands for the sake of your ambition?"
Gray never flinched.
There was no hesitation in his eyes, no tightening of his jaw, not even the slightest trace of uncertainty. Instead, he released a slow, controlled breath and leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows against the armrests of his chair.
"To grow flowers," he replied, "a gardener must first clear the soil."
A faint smile crept onto his lips.
"You don't have to worry about my resolve, Ghost."
For the first time since the conversation had begun, Tom smiled.
It wasn't a warm smile.
It was the subtle expression of someone quietly approving of the answer he'd just received.
"Good," he said. "A lot of people dream big. They set their sights on the top."
He gave a slight shake of his head.
"But when the time comes to pay the price..." he continued, "...they choke."
Reaching for the unopened can of soda resting on his desk, Tom cracked it open. The sharp pssh of escaping carbonation briefly broke the silence filling the room. He took an unhurried sip before setting the can back down, his gaze drifting away for a moment as though savoring both the drink and the significance of the agreement that had just been reached.
"If someone can't stomach the cost of ambition," he said casually, "then they have no business dreaming beyond the limits of their own comfort."
His eyes returned to Gray who began to speak.
"As for me..." A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "I won't choke out, I'll cross whatever line is necessary to get what I want."
"And what is it that you want?" Ghost asked. "Because from the way you talk, becoming mayor sounds like nothing more than a pit stop to your true goal."
The faint trace of ease on Tom's face disappeared. His expression turned cold, his eyes settling on the minister with an intensity that made it feel as though he could see right through his thoughts and were peeling back every layer of the man's thoughts, quietly measuring the limits of his ambition.
"This may sound excessive," Gray said evenly, "but one day, I intend to become member of congress and possibly, the President of the United States."
The declaration hung in the air for several long seconds as neither man spoke.
Then Tom let out a quiet, amused chuckle, shaking his head as though even he found the sheer magnitude of his ambition entertaining.
"I'm curious to see just how far this can go," he continued. "If your resolve truly matches your words, Mr. Gray..."
A smile slowly returned to his face.
It was broader than before, and would have looked quite unsettling if Gray could see his side of the screen.
"Then I can make you the President of the United States, all in due time."
Ghost's response sent an involuntary chill down Gray's spine.
In that instant, Ghost ceased to resemble an underworld broker or a political fixer. He became something far more unsettling—a devil seated across the screen, calmly offering every desire a man could dream of. The price wasn't money. Neither was it influence.
It looked to be his soul, and Stephan Gray found that he was willing to pay it.
After all...
a man only lives once.
"In return," Tom said, his voice once again settling into its calm, businesslike cadence, "you'll owe me favors. And I'll need you to introduce me to a few of your political allies—men who are just as hungry to climb the ladder of power as you are."
Tom remained silent afterward, studying Gray's face with an observatory look and exercising some level of patience.
It didn't take long for him to see what he patiently waited for.
That unmistakable flicker of greed shining in the minister's eyes.
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of Tom's mouth as the hook had been set.
"It's a deal, sir," Gray said without the slightest hesitation.
"Good," Tom replied. "I'll be in touch with a set of instructions. Follow them exactly, do what needs to be done, and watch everything fall into place."
"Thank you, sir," Gray answered, unable to hide the satisfaction in his voice. "I won't disappoint you."
Tom's expression remained unreadable.
"I don't get disappointed," he said calmly. "And I won't waste time making threats." A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "But as the saying goes... fuck around and find out."
The words were delivered so casually that they were somehow even more unsettling.
Gray swallowed hard, feeling the cold weight of the warning settle deep in his chest. He understood perfectly that Ghost wasn't bluffing. And men who crossed him or went back on their agreement with him do not receive second chances.
"We'll be in touch," Tom said.
Before Gray could respond, the connection was terminated.
The screen faded to black, and the room fell into silence.
After a few quiet moments, Gwen's voice broke the stillness.
"Are you sure you want to do business with politicians?" she asked. "They're notoriously unreliable."
Tom leaned back in his chair as a faint hint of amusement flickered across his face in the form of a self-assured smirk which played across his face.
"Never underestimate the power of greed," he replied. "A greedy man is far more predictable than an honest one. You don't have to guess what motivates him, you already know it's his ambition and greed driving him."