Clex snippit - Altered Reality -2

Here's part two of my very long clex snippit.



If he shot Clark, he could claim it was within his rights, defending himself against an intruder on his property. There were ‘no trespassing’ signs posted along the perimeter. That was assuming the bullet would penetrate. You never knew with Clark - - when he was going to prove intriguingly invincible and when he was going to bleed.

Lex pulled out his phone instead, needing a team down here now, to secure the area where the woman and the security guards had disappeared and see what if anything might be discovered before it faded. He also needed security to escort Clark out and keep him out.

Static hissed out at him from the phone. Not even a dial tone. He cut it off, then on again and still nothing. Perhaps the ripple effect of whatever Clem Rawlins had generated had fried the circuits? He considered hurling it. The crack of the casing against a tree would be satisfying - - but he wasn’t prepared to show Clark the extent of his nerves.

It was damned cold. He shoved the phone back into his pockets along with chilled hands and contained the agitation.

He reached the dirt track, but must have misjudged the path back and overshot the jeep, because it was nowhere in sight. It was a quandary. He didn’t want Clark dogging him back to the facility, but short of physical force, getting rid of him seemed problematic.

“Exactly what,” Lex turned back to where Clark had stopped at the edge of the track. “Are you doing out here? I thought we’d established that you had better things to do with your time than stalk me? Having second thoughts? Or is it just so easy blaming me that why bother spending your time and energy elsewhere?”

Clark stared back at him, eyes shadowed pits in the darkness, mouth a tight line. They had come to an uneasy understanding on that one thing - - that one mutual a aggrievement they both shared. Clark had believed . . .

Clark’s eyes flicked past him. There was the flare of headlights from down the track, approaching from the direction of the facility. Lex let out a breath of satisfaction. The arrival was overdue.

He shoved the useless phone in his pocket and gave Clark a look. “This is not your affair. I’ll make sure you are escorted off this property.”

“Its my affair if you’re holding someone against their will.”

“How so?” Lex kept the snarl out of his voice with effort. He wasn’t prepared to let Clark see just how badly he unnerved him. This location was compromised beyond repair. Between the damage the woman had caused and Clark, who would no doubt run right to the authorities, the back up team that might be fifteen minutes away by now would need to serve double duty as containment and clean up crew. All evidence of the project could be gone by the time Clark convinced the sheriff to gather together a few men and come out here to investigate - - and Lex could put that off a little longer by requiring a search warrant to enter the property. All he needed was a phone that worked to get things moving.

He walked towards the jeep, into the wan light of headlights as men spilled out.

“Stop right there.” A man ordered, and weapons were leveled.

“Lower the weapons.” Lex snapped, not stopping. “I need an escort for - -“

“I said to stop. Hands in the air!” The security guard yelled, four of them approaching around the edges of the headlights, uniforms blending into the night. Black uniforms with the faint shimmer of purple LuthorCorp logos on their caps.

The personal in these low profile projects never displayed incriminating corporate identification. And their uniforms were bland tan.

“What - -?” Lex started, mind racing, creating reasons why official LuthorCorp personal might be here, no few of them involving his father’s duplicity.

He took another half step and the man in the lead fired. Six feet and the electric pulse of the taser hit him in the chest like a fist. He spun, the breath slammed out of him, heart skipping a beat or two as it endured invasive and traumatic shock to his system. He didn’t hit the ground, and it belatedly occurred to him through the fog in his head, that it was because Clark had been two steps behind him when he’ d been hit. Had caught him when he’d spun backwards and held on to him still while his legs splayed like rubber under him.

“Wait - -“ Clark was saying and Lex could feel the soft rumble of the word against his cheek pressed to Clark’s chest.

But they weren’t listening to him any more than they had Lex and he heard the sound of weapons fired, and Clark swearing, and swinging him around, putting his back between Lex and the combined output of more than one electrical impulse weapon. Which of course, mattered less than nothing in the long run, electricity having the tendency to travel, going straight through Clark and into Lex - - blinding, heart-stopping shock to a system already taxed.

He blacked out.

And came back in a wash of disorientation, of sickening vertigo that might have been an aftereffect of the tasers, or might have been from hanging ass over head across Clark’s shoulder. He struggled against the indignity and the motion sickness diminished, almost too abruptly and he was dumped onto the ground. He sprawled in a tangle of roots and leaves, and lay there, vision spinning, staring up at the pale purple of a cloudless night sky through the thin lattice of black branches. He still felt the impact of combined taser hits in his muscles, little spasms of cramping pain.

He didn’t hear the sound of pursuit, didn’t see the dirt road. How had Clark managed to avoid them, after he’d taken several dead on hits was no less a burning question than why they’d fired at Lex in the first place. It wasn’t like he was easy to mistake.

“Having some management/employee issues, Lex?” Clark stared down with that smug superiority that he wore so often of late. “Or is it that sometimes there just isn’t a big enough paycheck to justify some things and maybe they’d had enough.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up.” Lex forced his limbs into cooperation and got up, not in the mood for Clark’s accusatory crap. “There’s always a big enough paycheck. And if you’re feeling so self-righteous, why not just leave me there?”

Which shut Clark up for a moment. And though Lex would have loved to comprehend the mechanics of Clark’s reasoning, he couldn’t complain overly about the end results. If they had been working for his father, or some other insurgent agent within the hierarchy of LuthorCorp, with an agenda that veered towards the type of hostile takeover that required hostility of the violent sort- - he wasn’t certain if remaining in their custody would have been a healthy choice. The thought of ending up in a shallow grave in these woods was not a comforting one.

Clark gave him a scathing look, and stomped away. Which was just fine, because he didn’t want to talk to Clark anyway. He wanted Clark and Clark’s complications gone. Lex could deal with him later.

He needed a phone. Badly. He needed to find out if this was some incredibly unlikely fuck up - - or whether he needed to initiate some very serious housecleaning. He reached the edge of the trees unexpectedly. A surprise since the facility had been deep within the boundaries of the wooded area. How long had he been unconscious, for Clark to get him so far?

He saw Clark’s silhouette, unmoving up ahead, and opened his mouth to inquire - - and then stopped, seeing what Clark was staring at, rising up out of the darkness.

A fence. Twenty-foot high, industrial grade chain link sections between thick iron pylons, all of it topped with razor wire. And it stretched on into the darkness for as far as the eye could see in either direction. Not a structure that might be easily missed, or quickly erected since the last time he’d looked.

Clark walked forward slowly, something vaguely bewildered in his gait, probably more disconcerted than Lex at the thing’s presence, being more familiar with Smallville’s in roads and back country. He reached out a hand to touch the chain link, maybe to test the solidity of its existence.

“No - -” Lex cried, making out the writing on the metal plaque at the edge of the chain link section a moment too late to make a difference.

And Clark did start, surprised, and a spark or two rose off his sleeve, before he pulled his hand back, a cautious aborted motion. A guilty movement, almost. And Lex snapped his mouth shut hard enough to click teeth and stared at the hand that Clark had dropped back to his side. The hand that should, by all rights, be charred and blackened, along with the rest of Clark, after touching a fence charged with twenty thousand volts of current.

“There’s a sign.” Lex said through clenched teeth and Clark looked up at it, the warning that was hard to take notice of in the dark, and clenched the hand into a fist.

“It must be malfunctioning,” Clark said, hardly even trying to get that plaintive air of innocence in his voice that he used to have down to perfection. There had been a time when Clark used to look at him with those eyes, big and blameless, a heart-melting smile on his lips when he spewed his lies. Now it was sullen belligerence and animosity laden, crappy excuses.

There had been a multitude of reasons Lex used to accept the bullshit with a smile, but none of them were viable now.

“You think?” Lex asked. “Let’s see.”

And reached towards it, fingertips a half inch away before Clark caught his wrist and prevented him closing that distance.

“Yeah,” Lex said, pulling his hand out of Clark’s grip, a churning knot of anger/elation growing in his gut. “I can see how the tazers might not have been that much of a problem for you.”

He stood there, waiting for Clark to say something. To come up with another flimsy lie, to take a stab at an explanation - - anything. It was more important in that moment, than the perplexing fence or LuthorCorp personal tazering him or destructive mutants on the loose.

But wasn’t that what Clark was? A meta human, a mutant, an inexplicable something that Lex had always known was there but was always just out of reach?

Clark looked away, offering up nothing, not even trying, like he’d just tied his shoe or recited the alphabet instead of barely reacting to a mega dose of electrical current. And on top of everything else; tonight and the last few hectic months of dancing around federal investigations, colossal property damage and the resulting lawsuits, the harassment from Smallville law spearheaded by Henry Small who still blamed Lex . . .

Lex was simply tired. Too tired to level accusations of his own. Too tired to scream at Clark when it would be a waste of his breath anyway. The anger was fading to numbness. It wasn’t as if this were startling news - - as if he didn’t remember, word for word, every scrap of evidence gathered over the years - - enough to fill volumes. Lex’s personal biography on Clark Kent - - never published, never utilized, when god knew other meta humans had been approached on a fraction of the evidence.

The fence was a blaring presence on the edge of his property. Maybe actually on his property. It had been hard to see the design of the uniforms, other than the overall black, but what he had seen hadn’t been familiar. The LuthorCorp Logo had been - - odd. Same basic design but, different font, maybe? What had Clementine Rawlins done?

He brushed past Clark, walking the perimeter of the fence towards the main road, which was out there somewhere. Thoughts spinning, too many tangents to properly focus on, but maybe that was partially due to repeated taser shocks.

“Lex?” Clark finally said, reluctantly trailing. And Lex didn’t want to talk to him - - wanted to talk so bad it was the like the sudden craving of nicotine after years of abstinence. He ground his teeth and kept walking.

“How did this get here?” The fence. Clark wanted to know about the fence. Lex hoped he choked on the want of knowing. Twenty thousand volts. Not a flinch. Lex recalled other things.

“Damnit, Lex I want to know what happened back there?” Clark caught up with him, hand on his arm, pulling him a little off the straight line he’d been walking parallel the fence.

“So would I.” Lex wrenched his arm and Clark held on, eyes a little spooked, which meant he’d been thinking about what this very intimidating fence and the odd ripple of distortion that Clem Rawlins had sent at them meant. The fingers hurt a little, biting into Lex’s bicep and he had to stop, facing Clark, fighting for the cold impassiveness of expression that would drive Clark mad.

“Whatever do you mean?” he inquired, glancing aside at the fence. “I’m sure you’re imagining things. Or it fell from the sky. Or sprouted from the earth. Insta-fence - - perhaps a new revolutionary product. I’ll have to look into it. It sounds like a money maker.”

Clark glared at him, and the fingers tightened and Lex fought the urge not to try and pry the grip off with his free hand in favor of enduring it and facing Clark down. He’d never tried the route of blatantly ridiculous lies to Clark’s face before and it was interesting to see the reaction to them, from the outside in. Of course, Lex had always - - for the most part - - endured them with more poise. Clark looked like he wanted to shake him. And that would be unacceptable and embarrassing.

“Get your hand off me.” Lex said very calmly, in case Clark might have forgotten it was there.

Clark pressed his lips flat, suppressing a reply or a growl or a curse, - - it might have been any one, Clark had so many mixed emotions crawling across his face, but he pulled his hand back regardless.

Lex resisted the need to massage the life back into the arm Clark had brutalized.

“I don’t know,” he said finally, uncomfortable admission. Lex had suspicions that boggled the mind, but he wasn’t prepared to discuss them with Clark.

“She did something.” Clark said. “I felt it when it passed through me.”

Lex swallowed and started walking again. There was a more than reasonable chance that it hadn’t passed through them, but they had passed through it. But he didn’t know if it were time they had traversed, alternate realities or quantum universes. There had been multiple theories concocted by men with a more intrinsic grasp of scientific hypotheticals than him. He had been interested in the end results and the strategic applications.

There was a rise, a slight swelling of land and beyond that, the lightening sky of pre-dawn. The highway would be past it and the chance for a ride back to - - what Lex dearly hoped would be familiar territory. And when he crested it, he did see the long, straight stretch of road that could take one either to the hamlet of Smallville or the sprawling mass of Metropolis miles and miles the other way.

But there was something else. The fence intersected it and kept going, curving into the distance, and squatting next to the road, was a sprawling compound. At first glance the lay out seemed military in nature. The buildings seemed positioned strategically, and there were what looked like bunkers and depots, and massive hangers. There was a landing strip that spilled out into the flat land on the other side of the highway, and several long-nosed, black helicopters resting idly at the edge of it.

The highway did not pass unfettered through the fence. Not even close. It wasn’t a matter of a barricade, but of a series of heavy duty gates with check points on either side. As if something terrible lay outside that needed confirmation several times over before it was allowed within. Or vise versa. As if this heavily fortified compound was here to over see just that.

And on the tallest building, what might have been an air control tower, was the shining metal logo of LuthorCorp. And now that he’d noted it, when he squinted down at the line of trucks and vehicles closest to the highway, he could make out the symbol there as well.

“What the hell?” Clark said softly, close on Lex’s heel.

A cliché came to mind, but really it didn’t apply. They were still in Kansas, just not the same Kansas they’d started the day in.

“Lex, what did you do?” The accusation was so strong in Clark’s voice that Lex actually laughed. A bitter, humorless laugh, granted. But it was hysterical that Clark thought him responsible.

“The fact that you think so highly of my capabilities is flattering, really,” Lex said, mind racing. LuthorCorp logos. So even if this were some distant future or alternate plane of existence, it was a close match for one he knew. Extraordinarily close, because the trees hadn’t altered when they’d passed through, and the dirt track had been the same-pitted road.

“You need to explain this to me, now.” Clark ground out, angry and probably freaked out. Lex was freaked out, but he was trying to get a handle on it.

“You first.” Lex turned on him. He had an advantage in this situation, which consisted of an inkling of what had happened. He wasn’t above using that as leverage. He wasn’t beyond shuffling that compound down there and the possibilities it represented aside in favor of trying to wring a little truth out of Clark. Because there were priorities and then there were priorities, and Clark constantly shifted about in the order of his - - but never, ever strayed far from the top. The value of the things Lex would be willing to give up in exchange for carte blanche access to Clark’s secrets was ever changing, but always high. The things Lex would be willing to do to get them also tended to fluctuate, depending on the state of his sentimentality.

“What do you want me to say?” Clark threw out his hands, an explosive gesture of anger or frustration.

“You need to ask?” he shot back, calm lost somewhere along the way.

Clark looked past him, to that base down there, mouth a tight line, fists white-knuckled at his sides. “Is now really the time?”

What better time, than standing here in a strange/familiar place, the world likely skewed out of any recognizable balance? Stranded. He laughed again and strangled on it, feeling something close to hysteria rising. He truly needed to look into those priorities.

Clark would ruin him, one way or another. Damnation that he never had been able to deal with in a coolly professional manner.

He remembered a time, when Clark had still been a boy, walking into the study. Maybe the third time he’d been in the mansion, nervous and sincere like he had nothing to hide. Tentatively venturing in because Lex had offered invitation, because Lex was curious - - not obsessively so - - not yet - - but curious still about the boy that had resurrected him. Wanting answers and knowing how to seduce in order to get them. And there were so many things that wealth and sophistication had to offer that would be seductive to the son of a struggling farmer.

Only Clark had come in that day, that third visit, inanely covering his nervousness by babbling about the quality of the shipment he’d dropped off in the kitchen. Remarking about the wall of books that Lex had added to since he’d arrived mere weeks ago, while Lex considered how to veer the subject subtly to what he wanted to hear. And Clark had turned to him, with those incredible, expressive eyes and blurted. ‘My dad doesn’t have a very high opinion of you, and he’d rather I not come in and talk. But I think he’s wrong. And I like talking to you, because none of my other friends talk to me like you do, like what they’re saying really matters. Like they believe in things. And like it matters that I believe too. I just thought you needed to know.’

Lex had never been sure if it was the heartfelt little confession that got to him - - or the earnest application of the word ‘friend’. Like it was more than an easy term to banter around. Like Clark had meant it for all they’d known each other less than a month. It had knocked Lex off his target with ruthless efficiency and kept him wavering on the verge of needing answers and simply not caring for a very long time to come. That had him questioning himself and his motives as often as he questioned the mystery that surrounded Clark.

Until Clark stopped using the word friend and the lies, like all lies, became too big to ignore and Lex no longer had a reason to try.

“You’re probably right,” Lex said, regaining cool, because he had an agenda now and purpose gave him focus.

If he was going to go down there, and try to bluff his way into a LuthorCorp compound that might or might not have some ties with a him of the past or the future or some alternate version thereof, he didn’t need the weight of Clark’s inability to assimilate a decent lie dragging him down.

“I believe Mrs. Rawlins may have created a wormhole of sorts and sent us somewhere - - else. Obviously there are things here that didn’t exist in our world.”

“In our world?” Clark’s voice hit an unusual high note.

“Yes,” Lex said, playing to that growing panic, while his own was a contained in a tight little cage. “In fact, Smallville as we know it, might not exist at all here. The people you know - - might be dead and buried if time is a factor, or simply not exist.”

“Dead . . .” Clark’s face turned a little ashen. It had been a calculated word, a calculated visual to create in Clark’s mind.

Lex dealt with his losses like they were enemies, locked them away in secure boxes inside his head, so that he could bring them out and use them to his advantage if need be, but the rest of the time they were buried deep enough not to hurt him. Clark carried his losses like a cross, burdens he never let himself forget and shouldered the guilt for whether there was guilt to be had or not.

Clark looked into the distance, in the direction Smallville ought to be.

“If you wanted to go and see. I assure you, the lack of your company would be no offense to me.”

Clark cast him a fleeting, annoyed look, before looking back towards Smallville. Lex started walking down the slope, towards the road and the compound. When he glanced over his shoulder a few minutes later, Clark was gone. That was no unusual occurrence either. Clark had a habit of untimely departures. It was what he’d wanted. But still, he suppressed a shudder, from the cold, he told himself.

Lex kept walking. He shoved his hands in his pockets and felt the cool, heavy shape of the gun. Unless they let him through unquestioned, it might not be the wisest thing to walk up to a secure compound armed.

He hated to get rid of it. Hated the notion of walking into the unknown unarmed, even if the unknown in question was plastered with a LuthorCorp logo. But it was the rational thing to do, just like unloading Clark. He hoped.

He tossed the weapon into the grass, where it lay, half concealed.

The compound itself was fenced in with more moderate ten-foot high, razor-topped chain link surrounding the perimeter. He had to follow the line of the fence around to the highway before he came to the guarded entrance, where he walked up to the surprised contingent of on duty guards and announced with unshakable authority that he wished to see the person in charge.

They were understandably shaken at his sunrise arrival. They were in the black, LuthorCorp uniforms that he’d seen back in the woods, with truncheons and holstered pistols at their sides, as well as the formidable military grade tasers hooked to their equipment belts. Apparently security at this base was taken very seriously. He had to applaud that attention to detail, since there were admitted holes in his own. Somebody here was on the ball.

“This is a restricted area. What business do you have at the Perimeter? Present your ID.” The ranking guard stepped into his face, while the others got their shit together and looked on ominously.

All right. One question answered. His face was obviously not recognized here. Maybe the name . . .?

He pulled out his wallet, carefully, because there were too many tense hands hovering near holstered weapons, and handed his license over.

The guard turned it over in his hands like it was crayon drawn on construction paper. “What’s this? This isn’t a Perimeter pass or a Citizenship Identification card.”

“It’s a license. Drivers. The best I can do.” Lex told him mildly, waiting for the man to take a look at the name. Lex saw it when it finally registered. Saw the man take a closer look, brows beetling, then looking back up at Lex with a wary sort of suspicion.

“What is this?” The guard stepped back, hand on the grip of his gun and his movement set every one of his men into similar threatening poses.

“It’s exactly what it says.” Lex said carefully, not moving an inch, trying to look unintimidated and harmless at the same time. Getting shot by jumpy guards was not part of the agenda.

The guard closed his hand over the license and motioned sharply to the men behind him. “Secure this man.”

And guns came out and it wasn’t exactly what Lex had planned, being pushed against the guard house and searched for contraband, while the guard commander was inside on the phone, reporting this bizarre situation.

At least he’d tossed the gun. They relieved him of his phone, keys and wallet - - he’d had nothing else in his pockets - - and escorted him back to the gate in front of the guard house, one on each arm, like he was going to try something rash and violent surrounded by armed men. The guard commander was still on the line, casting Lex looks now and then as he conversed with someone on the other end. Finally he nodded, and gave an affirmative, and stomped purposefully back out, a man with a purpose now instead of a confusing quandary.

“I assume,” Lex said smoothly. “That you’ve arranged for me to speak with someone with authority. Preferably someone with executive power in the company, because I really prefer not to have my time wasted.”

“Cuff him.” The guard commander ordered.

“No. Wait - -there’s no need!“ Lex was willing to argue the point, but they weren’t willing to hear it. They were very efficient, twisting his arms behind him and locking cuffs around his wrists before he could really think about resisting.

The guard commander made a short motion, marching towards the gate and swiping a key card through a lock to open it. There was a jeep racing up from the depths of the compound and it skidded to a stop just past the gates. Three more guards in black uniforms jumped out, trotting forward. Grim faced, square jawed men of the sort Lex liked to employ to manage the less agreeable subjects housed in his biogenetic research facilities.

He was transferred into their care, and he could only hope that they were the conduit between him and some more flexible authority, because this sort of man would hear no argument and no plea for mercy. It wasn’t in the job description.

He shut his mouth and did what they wanted him to do. Got into the back of the jeep, uncomfortable ride with hands secured behind him and tried to figure out if he’d made a horrible miscalculation or if he simply needed to wait it out and see if he could make something of this after all. His name had caught their attention, that was certain. So there still might be advantage to be had.

They drove through the compound, everything about it more military than corporate, and came to a low, long concrete building with no particular designation. He wouldn’t ask questions of them, or confirmations, because that would be the act of a desperate man. A frightened man. And they didn’t need to see that - - even though, God, he was beginning to get that way.

Because they were leading him down a hall lined with what could only be room after room of containment cells with plain metal doors and small grills for viewing. Someone inside one cried out as they passed, claiming ‘it’s a mistake, a mistake. I belong here.’ Which was baffling and unsettling. And someone else was crying softly, the sort of sound you might hear if you walked down the aisle of one of his own containment facilities from a newly acquired test subject.

He flinched, trying to control his breathing, pressing his mouth tight when they opened a cell door and shoved him in, following far enough to uncuff him - - small favor - - before stepping back out and sealing him inside.

Tiny room. Eight by eight foot. A metal bench with no mattress secured to the wall. A stainless steel toilet in the corner. A camera protected behind a grill in one corner of the ceiling. Nothing else but cool concrete and the oppressive air of dread.

He stood there, rubbing his wrists, listening to the fading sounds of boots outside. And when those were gone, nothing else got past the door to the cell. Just silence. For a while, he stood there, blank, then moved to the bench and sat down. He’d been on his feet a long time. It felt good to be off them.

Didn’t think about the smallness of the cell. Didn’t think about how long he would be in it, because that way lay panic and fear and that’s what this sort of place was designed to instill.

Think instead what it meant about this place that the name Lex Luthor meant nothing. Think about how to deal with that. Think about Clark, who had probably taken the safer route, heading towards a place not surrounded in military paraphernalia. Clark was a safety net, because Clark knew he was here and Clark wouldn’t abandon him. But, no, maybe that wasn’t true anymore. Not after this last miserable year - - the last few months of hell. Maybe Clark would just as well be rid of him, because even though he might not believe Lex ordered the act - - he still held him responsible. Which was just fucking unfair - - Lex choked off a breath, refusing, absolutely refusing to unlock that box and go down that path.

He pushed himself up and paced until his knees hurt, sat back down and repeated the process. And waited. Hours. Alternately pissed off and worried.

When he finally heard the sound of boots on concrete again, it was like a rack of stones lifted off his chest. He had to fight back the look of gratitude at the simple act of opening the cell door.

“Its about time. How long does it take to get someone here that knows the Luthor name?” It was brazen, but he was feeling the need to assert a little illusional authority.

The guards of course, said nothing, simply turning him about before they let him exit the cell and recuffing his wrists. He growled a little at that, frustrated, and walked between them to the end of the hall, where there was an elevator with three buttons. 1st floor. 2nd floor. Basement. The basement of a prison complex boded ill, so it was a relief to see them press the 2nd floor.

There were administrative offices here, and meeting rooms and they led him into one of those, pushed him to the middle of the floor and retreated to take up positions by the door. There were two men, both in suits, with their backs to him looking out the window over the base. One of them turned, and he had Lex’s license in hand.

“This is a very interesting identification you have here.” The man said.

“Really? Do you like it?” Lex asked, with a wry arch of the brow.

The man turned it over in his fingers, stopping a few yards away from Lex and studying him. “A very interesting resemblance.”

More intriguing still. “Is it? So does the name Lex Luthor have any meaning here?”

“It did. It still does, if you’re talking about ghosts.” The other man, the one still staring out the window said. “But you see, Lex Luthor is dead and has been for seven years. Unfortunate accident involving a car and a bridge. Shame about the car.” The man turned, a cold smile plying a familiar mouth, familiar eyes holding that same challenging glint that Lex remembered form the last time he’d seen his half brother.

“But I’ve got to tell you,” Lucas Luthor said, padding towards him, circling him, getting close enough in his face that Lex could feel his breath. “You’ve done a damned good job of pulling off the look.”