Stalker Boy

     Standing at five-foot-five, Shiera Sanders might not be expected to be the most intimidating girl at Golden Eagle High, but her unnecessarily tough attitude made up for it.

     An eighteen-year-old boy watched her from further down the hall as she opened her locker, standing under the shadow of a broken lightbulb. Same as always, he thought, looking her up and down. Red hair, very athletic, ceaselessly beautiful, even without wearing makeup. It was no wonder she kept up her constantly-annoyed persona; she had to fend off a hundred idiotic high-school boys every day. Then again, he thought, she's always been like that.

     Shiera closed her locker to see the boy standing one foot to her right. She almost jumped.

     "Hello," he said, a slightly creepy grin on his unshaven face. "I'm Carter."

     "...And I totally don't care." Shiera spun on her heel and walked away.

     "Hold on," Carter said, following her.

     Shiera stopped to turn back and glare at him. She had to stare almost directly upward to make eye contact; Carter was six-foot-three.
     "I've seen you watching me all day, you creep. Leave me alone or I'll tear your eyes out."
     Carter suppressed a chuckle, as if he found her more amusing than threatening. Shiera hated that.
     "You don't know who I am yet," Carter said, staring entirely too deeply into Shiera's eyes, "but we have a past together. And a future. Let me show you."
     Shiera stared at him, bewildered and weirded out. "Yeah, I'm thinking you're destined for a restraining order and maybe a psych ward."
     Shiera turned around again and walked as fast as she could without technically running.
     Carter silently watched her leave, then went his own way.
     A third party, a man, watched them both from the shadow of the school.

     Carter pushed open the front doors of his home with a loud creak and went inside.
     Shiera watched him from a nearby alleyway. She'd followed him here, all the way to the middle of downtown Midway City. She was thoroughly creeped out by Carter, but she also knew that whatever obsession he had with her wasn't normal. She followed him home mostly because she wanted to know exactly how twisted he was. If he had a shrine to her or something.
     Carter's home was... an old museum. Likely closed decades ago. The dark wooden front doors were almost rotting, but they were so thick it'd probably take another few decades until they fell off. The old "Midway Museum" sign was so faded it was barely legible.
     Shiera snuck towards the front door and pushed. It wasn't locked. She resisted the urge to shudder. It was almost like Carter wanted her to come inside. Shiera looked around; no one was anywhere to be seen. Just empty wood-paneled hallways lined with dust. Shiera walked down one of the halls quietly, arriving at a large room.
     The room was full of weapons. Medieval weapons. Maces, axes, swords, daggers, spears, glaives, throwing stars... more weapons than Shiera could recognize. Most of them were in glass cases, others hung on wall racks. But some of them were laid on tables around the room, almost like they were used recently and just dropped there. Shiera was very, very concerned at this point. Carter was apparently a literal axe murderer. She started to go back for the door, but stopped when a glint of gold caught her eye across the room. On the far wall, inside a large closet-sized compartment, hung a set of armor. Shiera walked warily towards it.
     It was small, thin, and curved for a woman. The main body was made of leather and very thin chain mail; it had no sleeves, neck, or midsection. Gauntlets, armored boots, and a helmet shone bronze-gold in the pale light from the window. Shiera found herself mesmerized by the helmet. It was arrow-shaped, like the head of a hawk, perfectly crafted with curved lines and sharp angles. The metal looked ancient, yet also brand new. "Eternal," Shiera thought.
     Shiera shook off the feeling. She took an overall look at the armor. Who would wear something like this? It didn't even entirely cover its wearer. With a muffled gasp, Shiera saw what hung on the wall behind the armor: a huge pair of feathered wings. Was that why the armor was so light? With this armor, was someone supposed to... fly?

     "Now do you remember who you are?" a voice said from behind.
     Shiera spun around. "No, actually, I don't,"
     "Shiera..." Carter said. "You're my wife."

The Plant, Part 2

     Metallic echoes, somewhere between scraping and tapping, showered from the blackened fog-hidden ceiling like raindrops.

     Clark looked up into the dark, but couldn't focus enough to see anything. "Those... sound like steps. Something's walking on the ceiling."

     Lex listened hard to the rapid tapping. "Six legs. Metal, probably steel or a composite of some kind."

     Clark looked at Lex incredulously.

     Lex explained. "I caught references in the computer files to... things. Biological experiments. Not just with the meteors, but with mechanical elements. Before this place was shut down, it was being run by people from all of Luthorcorp's science divisions: bio-engineering, cybernetics, and weapons."

     Clark tugged on Lex's shoulder. "Lex, look up."

     Crawling down the wall, towards the exit door, was something outlined with glowing green. A six-legged metal creature descended from the fog, its movements eerily organic. Three feet long, it snarled, its triangular "head" turning a full 360 degrees as it looked for the perfect angle to pounce. Green luminescent liquid dripped from its jaws.

     Lex and Clark turned and ran down one of the hallways. A wall of glass shattered beside them as they passed; they ignored the shards hitting their sides and kept moving.

     Something stepped through the glass behind them.

     Clark tripped over a pipe and slammed into the floor. The pipe twisted and slithered closer; it was a metallic snake. It struck at Clark, clamping its jaws on his arm. The fangs bent as they hit his skin, but left bruised flesh. The snake struck at Clark's head and hit him like a punch in the face. Clark snatched the snake out of the air, glared down its throat, and poured heat vision into its belly. The snake exploded in a shower of sparks, metal shards, and seared flesh. Clark felt the burning sting of kryptonite in the snake's blood touching his skin.

     Clark turned to find Lex; he was gone.

     "LEX!" Clark called.

     "CLARK!" Lex answered. His voice was faint; he was somewhere on the other side of the room.

     Clark stood up and suddenly realized there was someone else in the room—another human. The silhouette of a man slowly walked forward from the smog, his steps jerked and uneven. One eye was covered with a glowing green orb, and bits of both his arms appeared to have green fluid pulsing through them like adrenaline.

     Clark knew he couldn't just punch or fly his way out of here. He could barely walk, let alone fly straight.

     He looked up, focused as best he could on one part of the ceiling, and threw as much heat at it as possible. The concrete exploded upward, leaving a one-foot hole. Clark pulled out his phone, quickly tapped at its buttons, then threw the phone through the hole of sunlight into empty sky.

     Diana's phone buzzed in her pocket. She had a text message.

     TRAPPED AT LUTHORCORP WITH LEX. HELP WOULD BE NICE.

     Lex worked his way back to the computer room and shut the door, barring it with a chair. It might not hold forever, but hopefully he could figure out a way to contact someone with the computer.

     A red flash lit up the middle of the room; Lex couldn't see what it was. He ignored it and went back to the computer. Hopefully Clark was still alright.

     The mutated man stepped closer and closer to Clark. It raised an arm, with some kind of illuminated gauntlet attached—a gauntlet with a gun barrel built into it. Clark felt the concentrated radiation from kryptonite-infused bullets in the barrel beaming towards him. He heard the click of the trigger mechanism being pulled.
     A pair of navy boots landed in front of Clark with merely a whisper. The kryptonite bullet bounced off something with a CLANG, and Clark looked up to see Diana standing over him.
     "Hey," Clark said. "Nice if you to get here so fast."
     Diana didn't feel that she had time to respond. She glanced around, saw a dark corner of the room where the green glow wasn't so bright, picked Clark up by the collar, and threw him over there. Clark landed with a thud, barely conscious from the radiation and from using so much energy with that heat vision blast.

     Diana stepped closer to the mutant man, confident that she could take him on. The man stepped forward ever so slowly, gradually moving into the beam of sunlight from the ceiling-hole.
     He wasn't so much a kryptonite mutant as some type of... cyborg. He had metal parts surgically embedded all over his body, the kryptonite acting as a kind of poisonous glue holding him together. For a split second, Diana let herself feel a bit of pride. It was a distinctly Amazonian trait to be unafraid of the bizarre and grotesque. As Diana saw the cyborg's face, however, that pride melted, and Diana quickly felt her spine chill. The cyborg was Floyd Lawton, Deadshot.
     The cyborg-Deadshot fired shot after shot at Diana, his face unnervingly still, never blinking, no hint of emotion.
     Diana felt shellshocked, letting herself be pushed backwards, only blocking the bullets out of instinct and reflex. What had they done to him? Was he still alive? Did they just use his corpse for whatever was going on here? 

     Diana took a deep breath and steeled herself against her fear. She leaned forward, deflecting one of the bullets straight into Deadshot's arm. The bullet passed through his muscle like it would have done through a piece of paper. Deadshot didn't even flinch. The mechanical components were more than enough to compensate for a small amount of muscle loss.
     Diana moved in close, taking a spinning jump-kick straight at Deadshot's head. Out of either instinct or programming, Deadshot twisted to the side, reducing the kick to a glancing blow. As Diana landed, Deadshot's metal-coated arm slammed into her face, sending her into a steel beam a few feet away. The cyborg kicked Diana's stomach with the force of a sledgehammer, making her double over and slump to the floor. As Deadshot raised his arm cannon for the execution shot, Diana grabbed the barrel and crumpled it in her hand. She began to jump up, but Deadshot's other arm hit her alongside the head and sent her back to the floor.
     The six-legged drooling metal dog-thing crept up, watching the fight with whatever passed for glee among its animalistic thoughts. Soon there would be a new dead body here, and it would have food.
     With his left hand, the cyborg held Diana down, and with his right, he raised his fist, revealing razor blades on his knuckles.
     Diana's eyes went wide. I could die here.
     Diana grabbed at the metal dog's throat, shoving its face directly onto the cyborg's arm. The glowing saliva was apparently acid; it ate straight through the arm, leaving it a melted stump.
     Diana rolled aside and stood up, snapping the dog in half with the same motion. She watched as the cyborg inspected its missing arm, then seemed puzzled as to what it should do with its newly-impaired body.
     Reaching for her belt, Diana pulled out her lasso. Stepping behind the cyborg, she kicked it in the back of its legs, sending it to its knees. She wrapped the lasso around Deadshot, pulling it tight so his arms couldn't move.

     "Floyd? Are you still in there?" she asked.
     No reply. The cyborg merely stared forward.
     "Are you still human? Can you talk? Give me a sign?"
     Nothing.
     Diana felt a sudden weight fall on her shoulders. If there was even a shred of humanity or sentience left in this body, he would have responded. The lasso would have compelled him to do so. But since he didn't respond in any way whatsoever, that meant that this truly was just a machine using Floyd Lawton's body and brain. And it now fell upon Diana to ensure that this disrespect for the dead ended here.
     Diana put her foot on the top of the cyborg's spine, held the lasso tightly, and pulled while pushing with her foot. She heard and felt the spine, along with several other mechanical components, break under her heel. The body fell over, completely dead and inactive.

     Diana ran to the dark corner.
     "Clark! Are you okay?"
     "Yeah. I'm fine." Clark looked absolutely horrible, but he was conscious and not dying at the moment.
     "We need to get you out of here," Diana said, lifting him off the floor.
     "No," Clark said. "There's a door over on that wall. Just break it open for us, and Lex and I can get out. Fly out the ceiling again; if people see you here they'll have questions."
     Diana nodded. She helped Clark walk to the door, then kicked it open and flew out the hole. All the fog and smoke neatly covered her escape.

     "LEX!" Clark called. "The door's open!"
     Lex came running. "How did you open the door?"
     "I, uh... kicked it really hard."

     Clark stood in the loft of his barn, feeling the last bits of warm sunset light heal the few cuts and bruises that still remained. Footsteps on wooden stairs signaled Lex walking up behind him.
     "Hey Lex."
     "Clark. I, uh... I don't... I don't really know what to say about today."
     "So don't. What's done is done."
     "...I don't think I can accept that. What we saw in there... I still can't believe it. And I can't believe I put you through it."
     "You had no way of knowing what was in there."
     "And that's what scares me. I didn't know at all. All this time, my father's people were turning dead bodies into weapons. I talked to the investigators today; it wasn't even just Floyd Lawton. The other things in there, the snake, the dog... those were dead animals."
     Clark almost shuddered. "Why Lawton, anyway?"
     "From what I read, because Lawton's brain was a perfect storm for marksmanship. He'd have made the perfect sniper, if the work on him had been finished. But also... I'd guess that my father wanted payment for Deadshot not completing his mission. So he took his body."
     Lex casually looked around the loft. It was filled with random memories, mostly of Clark and Jonathan. Family photos, furniture that Jonathan and Clark built together, old toys, and a jumble of other things. Lex picked up a signed baseball, no doubt from a game Clark and his dad went to together.
     "You know, the only time I ever went to a baseball game was just after my father bought the Metropolis Monarchs. He said we needed to make an appearance at a game for PR purposes. We sat in the closed box at the top of the stadium; he spent the entire game talking on his phone. I used to think that things like that were what made him a bad father."
     "Lex, you don't need to focus on all the bad your father did."
     "Why not?"
     "Instead, why don't you focus on all the good you can do?"
     Lex paused. "I... don't know what you mean. I'm doing good, by cleaning up my father's messes."
     "And what about after that? Your father put together a team that practically brought the dead to life. Think about what that could mean for medical technology."
     Lex shook his head. "It's dependent on the chemical from the meteors, and that's radioactive. Putting it in someone's bloodstream could give them cancer in just a year."
     "So find another way. If those scientists could make that work in less than a year, imagine what a new team could do with five years, or ten. Maybe they can find a way to make it work, without stepping over the line."
     "...So you're saying I should try to redeem Luthorcorp? I don't think that's possible anymore. Too much blood."
     "So start your own company instead."
     Lex gave Clark a sarcastic look. "What am I gonna call it? Lexcorp?"
     Clark shrugged.
     Lex shook his head at the silliness of that idea, then paused for a moment. "Actually... that might work."
     Clark noticed a distinctly different look in Lex's eyes. Something... hopeful. Driven, in a good way.
     "When my father built Luthorcorp, he said that his goal was to make the world better through science. To improve peoples' lives. He was lying through his teeth, but... I can actually do that. I can make the difference my father never cared enough to make."
     Lex turned to Clark. "Thank you. I think without you... helping me along, I'd either be dead in that green room or alive out here, but living without a purpose. Now I know what I need to do."
     Clark suddenly felt unsure if Lex was genuinely having a split-second life turnaround or just going mad.
     Lex turned and walked down the stairs without another word, feeling that each step led him towards a new destiny.

     And to think that just this morning, I considered ending my own life. No... now I have purpose; I have reason. I will not merely fade away, the victim of my father's shadow. I will change the world; better it, as my father never would. Economics, social ills, government... they are all flawed. Broken. I can fix them. I will change them for the better. The world will not forget the name Lex Luthor.

The Plant, Part 1

     The Luthorcorp fertilizer plant stood like a flat, gray, boring monument, entirely hidden from Smallville's view by trees and hills.
     Clark and Lex stepped through the front door, promptly greeted by the plant's manager.
     The manager clearly had no idea why Lex felt the need to personally perform a "surprise inspection" all the way out in Smallville. Knowing the reputation of Lionel, it stood to reason that Lex was here because he was unhappy with the plant.
     The manager led Lex and Clark through six gigantic rooms filled with hundreds of workers and large whirring machines. They seemed to be traveling along a somewhat zig-zagging path, weaving between rooms via dozens of small hallways. Lex would frequently request that they stop and check one room or another. Although Lex didn't explain why, Clark knew that Lex was merely checking all potential hiding spots—large rooms that were used for "storage," especially with easy access to the outside; smaller hallways that led off into other areas, etc.
     It was at this point that Clark began to realize something about himself: he was looking into rooms before they walked inside them. If he focused, he could mentally will his vision to "move forward," directly through solid objects. More than that, he was seeing things he'd never seen before. Light that passed straight through the building walls, made of colors that went beyond the normal spectrum. A faint glow from the internal antenna of every cell phone; another from a walkie-talkie strapped to the manager's belt. And on top of all that, Clark found he could selectively "cycle" through his vision. If he only wanted to see certain types of light, that's all he'd see. Like a switch being turned on and off.
     Clark swept his gaze across the entire building, taking it all in. Despite being one of the most colorless, mind-numbingly boring places someone could be, to Clark it was suddenly vivid and fascinating. The whole plant was a swirl of rainbow-light—all except for a large, rectangular chunk of the building at the far side. Not only was it devoid of all color, but Clark couldn't see through it at all.
     The group walked into the last large room. Clark stared at the opposite wall; this was the one he couldn't see into.
     "What's that wall made out of?" Clark asked.
     The manager and Lex turned and looked at Clark quizzically.
     "Well," the manager said, "that wall is the same as all the others—though it was made with a concrete/lead composite."
     "Why just that one wall?" Lex asked.
     "It's not just the one wall; it's all four walls surrounding that chunk of the building, as well as the ceiling and floor. It's to keep the rest of the building from being irradiated."
     "Irradiated?" Clark and Lex both said in unison.
     "Yes," the manager replied, nervously stiffening a little, "we use radiation to treat some of the fertilizer to make sure it's safe for use."
     Clark pulled Lex aside.
     "Lex, he's lying," Clark whispered. "Irradiating fertilizer would make it useless."
     Lex nodded and turned back to the manager. "Let's see what's in there."
     The manager didn't do a great job of hiding the fact that he was trying to think of good reasons not to go in. Before he could get a word out, Lex interrupted him.
     "Let me stop you before you say something stupid. Take us in there."
     The manager shook his head. "No, sir. I'm sorry, it's just too dangerous."
     Lex practically sneered at the manager and tried to shove his way past. When the manager stopped him, Lex kicked the man in the stomach and stepped past. Clark followed.
     They approached a door, seemingly-unimportant, hidden in a corner of the large wall. Lex tried to unlock the door using his personal code on the keypad lock; it wasn't working.
     Clark grabbed the doorknob and pushed. It cracked in half.
     "Lex; it's broken."
     Lex raised an eyebrow. "That's not a good sign."

     Inside, they found along hallway with a label on the wall:
     HAZARD WARNING: RADIATION. MORE THAN TWO HOURS OF EXPOSURE MAY CAUSE PERSONAL HARM.
     "Well," Lex said, "I guess we're not staying for more than two hours."
     They continued down the hallway, reaching a second door. Stepping through that, Clark and Lex found themselves in a dark hallway made of glass, staring directly into a cloud of green-brown fog. It was actually one gigantic room, with glass walls that reached all the way to the ceiling. The walls divided up the room into hallways where passersby could observe the interiors of the fog-filled rooms. This seemed like a testing facility... or a demented zoo.
     Clark suddenly felt a sinking feeling in his stomach and a tingling sensation on his skin. There was kryptonite in this room—a lot of it. Was that why the fog was green?
     Clark didn't want to simply run out of the room; he wasn't about to leave Lex alone here. He pulled out his phone and dialed Diana. Help would be nice right now. Clark felt his stomach sink a bit more as he realized that he had no cell reception in here; the walls blocked it out.

     Lex walked toward a concrete-reinforced room in a corner. Inside, he found a wall of computers. A hand-scanner sat on a desk beside them. It was a Luthorcorp scanner, one of their more famous inventions. It could almost-instantaneously read someone's DNA to within a 75% accuracy margin. Only the designated subject or a close blood relative could activate it. Lex put his hand on the scanner. Three seconds later, the computers booted up.
     "Luthor, Lionel: Recognized," one of the smaller displays read.
     Clark walked in after Lex.
     "Are you okay, Clark?" Lex asked. "You look like you're about to throw up."
     Clark changed the subject. "What is this?"
     "I'm about to find out."
     Lex quickly sorted through the computer's unique operating system. Luthorcorp's research computers all used a unique OS, each one tailored to center on exactly what needed to be done. All the computer's commands and information lines fed directly into its primary function like a funnel. At the core of this particular system, Lex found a series of files organized by project and date. He quickly opened one text file and scanned it in two seconds, moving on to the next, and the next.
     Clark was having trouble focusing; he couldn't keep up.
     "Are you actually reading all that?" he asked.
     "Don't need to read it all," Lex replied. "Just find the key words and extrapolate. Once you know the language these research scientists use, you don't need to..."
     Lex sat in his chair, stunned.
     "What is it?" Clark asked.
     "...Luthorcorp has been experimenting with the meteors that fell here in 1997."
     "Yeah. I can tell."
     "But not just the meteors themselves; they've been testing the meteors' radioactive effect on plant life, animals, and... humans."
     "Humans?"
     "Yes. Humans."
     "...What did they do?"
     Lex turned away from the computer. "I don't think I want to know."
     "Lex, there could still be people here."
     Lex slowly turned back to the computer and looked through the list of entries.
     "It looks like the last entry was in December... right after my father died. This must have been a project closely tied to him."
     "Does it say what happened to the test subjects?"
     "Looking... it says they were put into 'stasis.'"
     "Stasis? What, like frozen or something? Drugged?"
     "It doesn't say. Without reading and watching every entry, I can't tell."
     "If they're still here, we need to let them out. Now."

     It wasn't often that Clark found himself wary of anything, but this was one of those rare times.
     Clark nodded towards the door they came through. "We should go back outside for a minute to call someone, just so people know where we are."
     "Good idea."
     As Clark and Lex approached the door, however, they saw the handle completely melted by some type of green acidic glowing liquid. As it dripped from the handle, it burned holes in the floor. Clark felt kryptonite radiation seeping out of it into the air; he couldn't touch it.
     Lex looked up towards the ceiling, trying to find where the liquid had fallen from, but the ceiling was completely obscured by darkness and brown fog.
     Clark looked closer at the door; it had deep claw marks running upwards along its surface.
     "Lex... I think this door was sealed shut on purpose. There's something inside here, and it doesn't want us getting out."

Prepare to Be Bored

     Seven-thirty in the morning on a Saturday. As usual, Jonathan and Martha were already out working on the farm. Clark sat at the kitchen table, contently eating a bowl of cereal. He heard a loud metal scraping sound from the other side of the barn; apparently Jonathan hadn't fixed the tractor yet.
     Diana walked into the kitchen and reached for a bowl, her bare damp feet quietly smacking against the wood floor. Clark glanced up at her; she was wearing only a bathrobe and her hair was still wet from taking a shower. This was the fourth or fifth time she'd done this. Clark sometimes wondered if she was trying to be provocative on purpose, or if she was just naive enough not to realize what she was doing.
     Diana sat down across from Clark and poured herself a bowl of cereal. As far as Clark could tell, she was just oblivious. He thought about telling her she should, perhaps, wear a little more clothing, but that definitely wasn't a topic he wanted to delve into. He wished someone else were here to pull her aside and have that conversation, but who? Martha? Sure, Martha could—wait, no, bad idea, BAD idea. Don't need to have mom walking in and seeing a hot half-naked girl in the same room with her teenage son. Bad idea.
     "Clark?" Diana said. Clark was relieved to have the one-way tension broken, though the look in Diana's bright blue eyes was a bit concerning. "Why are you being so nice to Lex?"
     "...I think he can use a friend right now."
     "I know, and I think that's great of you to try and be a friend for him, but... this is Lex we're talking about. Just last year, we were doing everything we could to stop him and his father. Bruce used to tell us stories about how twisted Lex was."
     "Yes, but that was before he found out about Lionel's crime empire."
     "That's what he says, but... Clark, I don't think we can trust him on that."
     "What do you mean?"
     "It's all over his face. He's a jumble of half-truths and lies. And now that his father's dead, I think he's lost. There's no telling what he'll do."
     Clark shrugged. "All the more reason he needs a friend."
     "I know, I'm just saying... be careful."
     Clark was surprised. Diana didn't show this level of concern often, if ever.
     "Are you worried about me? You know I'm bullet- and car-proof, right?"
     Diana's voice softened. "No, you're not. Not if those meteors—"
     "Kryptonite."
     Diana sighed. "...Kryptonite... is nearby. You nearly died in that garden fighting one girl... And I couldn't help you either."
     Clark smiled. "I guess we need to keep Chloe around to save the both of us."
     "Clark, I'm serious. There's kryptonite all over this town, so if circumstances are wrong, Lex could be really dangerous."
     Clark paused for a minute to think. "My dad says that doing the right thing is almost always hard, and that being a good friend can sometimes be the hardest thing in the world. But at least with friends, you don't have to go through it alone. Lex is going through about as hard a time as anyone can. If I can help, I want to. And as long as he's willing to let me, I'm going to."

     A knock at the door jolted Lex awake. He glanced at the clock, saw it was 9:37 AM, and groaned. Who on earth would be bothering him this early in the morning? He looked out the window of his hotel room. A town full of early-to-rise farmers, that's who.
     Lex walked to the door and opened it.
     "Hey, Lex. Did I wake you?" Clark said.
     Lex rubbed his eyes. "Just a little."
     Clark shifted uncomfortably a little bit. Lex could tell he had something he wanted to say, but it was awkward saying it through a half-open door in a hotel.
     Lex opened the door and stepped aside. "Come in, I guess. How'd you know where I was staying?"
     "This is the nicest hotel in the city," Clark said as he walked inside. "And my dad knows the owner."
     "Of course," Lex said with a mental eye-roll. Everyone here seemed to know each other, and Lex was a mysterious stranger to be poked and prodded with questions and obvious stares.
     "So, Lex, I was wondering if I could ask you a favor."
     Lex raised an eyebrow. "You finally thought of something you want so I can alleviate my guilt over nearly killing you?"
     "Um... sort of. I work for the Smallville High newspaper, the Torch."
     Lex nodded. "Right, yeah. You're a journalism student."
     "Yeah. And I was wondering... could I come with you? When you go to the Luthorcorp plant?"
     Lex snapped out of whatever weariness he still felt.
     "Clark, these people are dangerous. Do you have a death wish?"
     "Do you?"
     "That doesn't matter. This is for me to do. It's my father's company—"
     "And it was my girlfriend who died trying to bring him down. She'd want this seen through."
     A long, silent moment passed.

     Lex sighed, sitting down on his bed and hanging his head in mock-defeat. "Fine. You can come. There's basically no chance anything will happen anyway, though, so prepare to be bored."

Guilt and Twisted Conscience

      The sensation of falling, combined with the kryptonite radiation getting closer and closer, made Clark feel like he was being drugged—with the distinct impression that once he fell asleep, he wouldn't wake up.
     Clark landed alongside the car in the river. Now several feet under, he reeled against the feeling of irradiated water against his skin, but shoved the pain out of his mind as much as possible. Someone was trapped inside the car, and it looked like he was unconscious.
     Clark grabbed hold of the car door. As he pulled on it, his muscles screamed at him, as though he were tearing his own arm off. Clark looked through the window; the driver was going to die. Clark pulled as hard as he could manage; the door ripped off its hinges instantly. The car immediately filled with water; Clark snapped the seatbelt off the driver and pulled him out.
     "Flying" through the water to the shore felt like it took forever. When they were out, Clark was thankful to see that the driver was still breathing.
     "Thanks," the driver said weakly as he coughed up water.
     "No problem," Clark said, breathing heavily. He hadn't felt this tired since he was five years old. Fortunately, the river was wider than the bridge was tall, so he was plenty far from the meteors. He felt himself getting stronger every second.
     Clark looked at the driver for the first time clearly: he was young—about Clark's age—well-dressed, and bald. Clark was stunned when he recognized him.
     The driver held out his hand: "Lex Luthor."
     Clark slowly shook Lex's hand. "We've... met."
     Lex narrowed his eyes, thinking. "...Oh. You're... you were Lois's..."
     "...Yeah."

     An ambulance sat atop the bridge; paramedics tended to Lex's cuts and bruises while Sheriff Miller interviewed him.
     "It was my fault; I was distracted and driving too fast," Lex said. "I could have sworn I hit Clark, but I must have just missed him. I was barely conscious, but I remember him pulling me out of the car when it sank."
     Jonathan, Chloe, and Diana arrived.
     "Son, are you okay?" Jonathan asked Clark.
     "I'm fine. There were some meteors in the river, but I got away from them before anything bad happened."
     "Where is he?" Diana asked, a slight rumbling fire in her voice.
     "Over there," Clark said, pointing to Lex. "But Diana, it was an accident."
     "He could have killed you!" she countered.
     "No he couldn't. I got hit, and I'm fine."
     "But he doesn't know that!" Chloe said. "It was dumb luck that he hit the only Kryptonian in existence. What if you were human, like everyone else?"
     "He deserves to be locked up in prison, at best," said Diana.
     "Hey, now," Clark said, "there was no harm done. Besides... I think he has enough problems. That's Lex Luthor."
     Everyone was visibly shocked. Chloe felt her reporter's fire shrink down, and she fell silent. Jonathan put his arm around her. "Let's go back to the car, Chloe."

     Lex and Sheriff Miller walked over to Clark and Diana.
     "Clark, Lex says he thought he hit you. Is that true?"
     Clark almost winced. He hated lying and wasn't even good at it. "If I'd been hit, would I be standing here?"
     The Sheriff was surprised at Clark's flippant response. Clark had always been such a respectful boy.
     "So... you dove in after him, and pulled him out of his car, is that right?"
     "Yes sir."
     "Clark, I didn't think you could swim."
     Clark thought about it. Technically, he couldn't swim. "I learned the Summer before last, sir," Clark said, thinking of when he learned to fly.
     Sheriff Miller didn't like this at all. He'd known the Kents all his life, but this seemed... off. But there wasn't a single concrete thing to point to, so he let the matter go.

     Clark glanced at Lex. Lex was still shaken from the crash, but there were much worse things going on than he would admit. Just from what Clark knew about Lex's life, he knew that Lex had to be at rock bottom by this point.
     "Clark," Lex said, "I really want to apologize again."
     Clark smiled. "Hey, don't worry. Everybody drives their car off a bridge sometimes."
     Lex and Sheriff Miller didn't even chuckle at Clark's stupid joke.
     "Actually, would you like to come over for dinner?"
     Lex was a bit unsure how to react for a second; no one had invited him over for anything before in his life. "Um... no, no, that wouldn't be right."
     "Come on. You wanna pay me back for almost hitting me with your car, come over and help us eat my mom's rhubarb pie. She always cooks way too much."
     Lex awkwardly shrugged. "Okay?"

     Dinner was slightly awkward, but the Kents had a way of making everyone feel like family that even Lex couldn't shake.
     "So... Lex," Martha said, "what brings you to Smallville?"
     "I, um... I came to see the Luthorcorp plant a few miles west of here."
     Everyone fell silent; no one wanted to continue the conversation about Lex's father's company.
     "Um, mom? Is the pie ready yet?" Clark asked, breaking the tension.
     "Not for another fifteen minutes or so," Martha replied.
     "Well," Clark said, "I think it'd be nice to get some fresh air before dessert. Lex?"
     Lex nodded. "Sure."
     Clark and Lex politely stood up and walked outside.
     Diana looked at Jonathan and Martha. "Do we... trust him? Lex, I mean?"
     Jonathan and Martha exchanged a look.
     "Well, we don't have a reason not to yet," Jonathan said.
     "But... he's Lionel Luthor's son," Diana said. "How do we know he's going to be any different than his father?"
     "Lex took a stand against his father when he tried to save Lois," Martha said.
     Diana didn't find that much comfort. Lex killed his father after Lois was already dead. The fact that the Kents were able to find a silver lining in that said a lot about their character.
     "But..." Jonathan added, "if you want to stay close by, I wouldn't be terribly upset."
     Martha stood up to take a peek at the pie, gently patting Diana on the wrist. "You might want to grab your bracelets."
     Diana smirked.

     Clark and Lex stood in the barn's loft, staring at the stars.
     "You know," Lex said, "I don't think I've ever actually seen the sky before. The stars, I mean. My whole life I've lived in big cities. Metropolis, Gotham, New York. I don't think I've ever been anywhere where there weren't a thousand lights filling the sky."
     Clark nodded. "Yeah. It's nice."
     Lex mentally drifted off, depression showing in his face.
     "Lex..." Clark said, "Why are you going to the Luthorcorp plant?"
     Lex rubbed his bald head, pushing away a stress headache. "I'm trying to stamp out all my father's old... 'business' ties. Most of them fell away from the company as soon as he died, but a few are still using Luthorcorp resources."
     "Isn't that a job for the police, or the FBI?"
     "Yes, but... I want to do it myself. Besides, I have easy access to every plant, factory, and office building, and I won't alert anyone like the authorities will."
     "But isn't that dangerous? Confronting crime bosses like that?"
     "Oh, I don't confront them. I just find out how they're using the company and how to find them. It's pretty easy, actually. I look through the books, check building blueprints, and make sure every room in the place is clear. I just say it's a surprise inspection and no one stops me."
     "You read blueprints and check financial records for the entire plant? That must take weeks."
     "Nope. Takes a day or two."
     "...How?"
     Lex turned to Clark. "Give me a math equation. Anything."
     "What's two thousand, three hundred seventy-one times seven-hundred ninety-two divided by the square root of two hundred eighty-nine?"
     "One hundred ten thousand, four hundred sixty point seven zero five eight eight two."
     Clark was genuinely impressed.
     Lex tapped his head with his pointer finger. "I'm a genius, or so they tell me. I use exponential statistics to find anomalies in the records, and I have a photographic memory, so I can recall every room in the building and check it against the original blueprints or vice-versa."
     "All in your head?"
     "All in my head."
     "That's... wow."
     Lex stared up at the sky again.
     "Why are you doing it, really?" Clark asked.
     Lex lowered his head. "I hate my father. I really do."
     A slow, chilled breeze flowed through the barn. Clark couldn't ever imagine speaking those words; he'd never had anything but a wonderful father.
     Lex stared at his feet. "I want to cut off every last bit of his twisted corruption and watch it die under my heel."
     "And what about when you're done?"
     Lex stared out across the horizon. "Then... I'll be done."
     Clark was a bit startled; he knew what Lex meant. Once his mission was done, he didn't have a reason to live. Lex was planning to kill himself.

Drive

     As much as Clark loved flying, he wasn't able to do that much during daylight, so he spent a lot of time walking. He never felt tired, so walking was almost as effortless as flying for him—just anchored to the ground. In any case, the winter clouds over Kansas were breaking up, so he could enjoy soaking up the sun's rays without going above cloud level. Today, he felt like taking a path he normally avoided. A long curved road went over a 150-foot-high dam—the only one in Smallville's area. Clark felt uneasy every time he went over it as a child—because he was afraid of heights, or so he thought. But that had been well before Clark learned of his flight ability. Now he wanted to test himself.

     Clark walked to the center of the dam, leaned over the railing and felt his stomach sink.

He was surprised at himself. He didn't feel afraid, but... wait. He was never afraid of the height. He felt sick because there were meteor rocks nearby.
     Clark looked everywhere, focusing his vision as best he could. He always had unusually keen eyes, but never knew if that was because he was young or because he was Kryptonian. He scanned the waters below the dam... bingo. As Clark focused harder, he could see past the surface of the water into the riverbed. Large chunks of meteor, with exposed green crystals glowing, were sitting calmly at the bottom. They'd probably been there since the meteor shower. Clark started to feel worse—apparently the effect of the radiation was cumulative—but before he left he decided to test something. He was safe here, for the moment, after all.

     Clark picked up a rock from the road and squeezed it. He felt a surge of pain as he did, but kept going. He struggled for a moment, but eventually the rock crumbled.

     So, he thought, my powers don't actually fade when I'm near the rocks. They're just harder to use.

     Clark turned to leave when suddenly he saw an oncoming car barreling down the road, its driver nowhere to be seen. Clark focused his eyes and somehow saw someone inside the car, leaning down to grab something that had fallen over. As the driver leaned back up he bumped the steering wheel, sending the car swerving out of its lane and straight into Clark—and off the edge of the dam, a hundred and fifty feet in the air.

Over The Edge

     Bruce felt the wind behind him carry him forward as he sprinted for the entrance to Nanda Parbat. He passed the blood-soaked body of the guard near the entrance and felt a tinge of regret. If he'd realized Ra's plan before, maybe he could have warned the monks. Maybe this man didn't need to die.

     Bruce ran through the tunnel, steeling himself against what he knew would be a massacre. But as he passed through the opening, he saw something entirely different. A few bodies of monks lay on the ground, but dozens more were very much alive.
     The hundred-or-so assassins sprayed a hail of bullets in every direction, but the monks dodged, flipped, and spun through the air, dancing around them in every which direction. One assassin reached forward and grabbed a monk's robe; the monk merely twirled around and shoved his palm into the assassin's chest, sending the assassin flying backwards a full fifty feet before landing on the ground, unconscious. Another monk used a staff to knock away three assassins at once, as though he were swatting flies out of the air.
     Bruce was astonished, but still concerned. Where was Ra's?
     The temple doors were flung open. There.

     Bruce entered the temple with no interference from either the assassins or the monks. They were too busy with each other, and Bruce suspected the monks knew Bruce wasn't a threat.
     Ra's stood at the altar, reaching for the treasures that lay upon it. Before he or Bruce could even see what had happened, the master suddenly stood on the other side of the altar.
     "So," the master said, "you return to steal from this temple. This cannot be allowed."
     Ra's laughed.
     The master narrowed his eyes. "One should not laugh in the face of his elders, young one."
     Ra's glared into the old eyes of the master and grinned. "You are not my elder. And I did not come here to steal from the altar; I came to break it!"
     Ra's kicked the altar, sending a large blue glass orb tumbling onto the floor.
     The master gasped and fell to the ground, unconscious.
     Bruce heard the sounds of battle behind him fade. The monks had lost consciousness as well.

     "RA'S!" Bruce yelled across the temple.
     Ra's turned around in angered surprise. "Should I ask how you escaped, young detective? Did you overpower my daughter, or did you seduce her in my absence?"
     "What did you do?!"
     "Do you not know what this place truly is? It stands upon a nexus of energy, the intersection of lines of power that run across the earth. This altar focuses that energy and gives this place its mystical nature."
     Bruce understood. That was why time moved more slowly here.
     "So you just removed the altar's keystone."
     "Yes," Ra's replied, picking up the orb. "These monks have long lived on borrowed time. Their lives are now tuned to to its power. Without it, their life force ceases to exist."
     "So you came all this way just to kill some monks?"
     "No, I came here for that's beneath. I told you that lines of energy intersect here; the earth underneath this temple is the source of immense power. The kind of power that no amount of wealth or force can grant. True power."
     Bruce glanced at the master's still body. "The power of life and death."
     Ra's grinned. "Precisely, detective."

     Bruce heard the commotion of assassins running towards the temple doors. He half-turned towards the door, kicked it closed, then jammed it shut with a knife.
     Ra's was somewhere between surprised and impressed. "Do you intend to try to stop me?"
     "You're damned right."
     Ra's laughed. "Very well, boy."
     Bruce ran forward while Ra's steadied himself. Bruce threw a flurry of precise jabs and kicks, but Ra's merely dodged them, all while holding the orb in his left hand. Ra's kicked Bruce to the floor, then threw the orb to the ground with his full strength. It hit the hard wood with a loud thud, but didn't even crack.
     "Well, then," Ra's said, "if I can't break the orb, I might as well toss it down the nearest bottomless ravine."
     Ra's threw the orb onto an upper balcony in the room, then began climbing a long tapestry that hung from that level. Bruce grabbed a parallel tapestry and followed. They both landed on the second level at the same time, but Ra's quickly ducked into a nearby hallway. Bruce ran after him, around a corner and through an open window onto the roof of the temple.
     Ra's stood at the edge of the roof, directly over the ravine. The wind gusted across the roof, filling the air with so much snow that it clouded Bruce and Ra's' visibility. Bruce ducked behind a nearby chimney and reached for the pouch on his belt.
     "Hiding, are we, detective?" Ra's yelled over the wind. "Come now, face me!"
     "Put the orb down safely, Ra's!" Bruce yelled back.
     Ra's laughed. "Why? What use do you truly have for it? Think, boy! I have already told you what lies beneath this temple; why would you instead choose the monks? In all your time here, what have they actually taught you? What supposedly great knowledge have you learned?"
     Ra's felt a sharp pain in his left leg, and glanced down to see a large shuriken—one of the League's designs—embedded in his thigh. Before he could look up, Bruce's foot hit his face, sending him off his feet.
     Bruce picked up the orb and stood over Ra's.
     "I learned to be quiet."
     Ra's snarled at Bruce as he pulled the shuriken out of his leg and painfully stood up.
     "Fine," said Ra's. "You want to face me? You want to match your strength against mine? I will oblige."
     Bruce wrapped the orb gently in a scarf and put it aside, then set himself in a fighting stance.

     Ra's ran at Bruce. Bruce turned to dodge, but Ra's caught him with a locked elbow and twisted Bruce around, throwing him ten feet across the roof. Bruce rolled and caught himself, jumping back up and sprinting forward. He threw a kick at Ra's head, but Ra's easily countered it with a jab of the knuckles into a nerve in Bruce's thigh. Bruce fell, halfway paralyzed by the blow. Ra's raised his foot to stomp on Bruce's throat, but Bruce rolled aside and struck Ra's on the back of his knee, sending Ra's toppling down.
     Bruce struggled to his feet. He glanced at the bloodstain on Ra's' leg; it was getting bigger. Good. Ra's would be getting weaker now.
     Ra's and Bruce threw a flurry of jabs and kicks at each other, causing little more than bruises. Bruce felt himself getting weaker, while Ra's only looked more menacing, the look in his eyes growing madder and more malicious like an ancient feral animal.
     Ra's grabbed hold of Bruce, threw him into the roof with enough force to crack it, then jumped, ready to deliver a powerful kick. Bruce pushed himself through the pain and moved aside, barely missing Ra's foot as it punched a hole in the roof.
     Ra's pinned Bruce down, grabbing the shuriken he'd tossed aside before and clasping it between his fingers. Bruce reached inside the hole in the roof, grabbed a broken piece of wood, and smashed it across Ra's face. Ra's recoiled for a moment, long enough for Bruce to grab the scarf holding the orb. Bruce rolled on his stomach, holding the orb inside the hole in the roof.
     Ra's held Bruce down with his knee, shuriken in hand, ready for the killing blow. Bruce dropped the orb through the hole. With a loud glass-on-metal CLANG, the orb landed directly on its perch on the altar.
     The air around them immediately stilled, and the snow seemed to clear.
     Ra's looked over his shoulder to see the master, standing perfectly calm and still on the edge of the roof. Ra's growled, then ran for the master. The master neatly deflected Ra's momentum with a single sidestep and the tip of his finger. Ra's toppled over the edge, falling into the abyss.

     All across Nanda Parbat, the monks stood up and fought back once again. The assassins, caught off guard, were defeated in seconds.

     Bruce struggled to get up, but couldn't. The master closed his eyes and touched four points on Bruce's back. Suddenly Bruce realized he could stand up.
     "What did you do?" he asked the master.
     "Something you may learn, if you choose to stay."
     "...I can stay?"
     "Yes. We knew you did not attempt any deception. However, we wished to test what was in your heart." The master nodded towards the ravine. "Had you chosen to ally yourself with the assassins, you might share his fate."
     Bruce walked to the edge and looked down. Ra's was nowhere to be seen. Neither was the bottom of the ravine.

     "Why did you tell me you sought power and vengeance when you first arrived?" the master asked. "I have seen you seek nothing but the opposite."
     Bruce sighed. "I don't want to be a murderer. But I do want people—criminals, thieves, murderers—to pay for what they've done. For as long as I live, I'll never stop fighting them. No matter what it takes."
     The master nodded. "You deprive yourself of many of the desires of life—family, companionship, love—in exchange for a greater focus on your task. To sacrifice worldly desire is a good thing, young one. But what of your anger? Save for not killing, you are unwilling to let it go."
     "I forge my anger into a weapon. I turn it away from the innocent and focus on the corrupt."
     "But you cannot turn it away from yourself. You will always be the true victim of your anger, far more than any adversary."
     "...I don't care. I'll do it anyway. My life is less important than my mission."
     The master stood silently for a long moment.
     "Very well. Rest, young one. We have much to teach you in the morning."
     "...I need to check on something first."

     Bruce stood in the snow-covered, empty remains of the assassins' camp. The main building had been burnt to the ground, leaving nothing more than a charred pile of ash and metal. Talia was nowhere in sight. Bruce was momentarily concerned. Did something go wrong? Did Talia die here?
     Bruce turned and walked back toward Nanda Parbat. He stopped, however, when he saw a set of snowmobile tracks headed away from the camp and out of the mountains. So she made it, Bruce thought. Wherever she is, she's better off now. Free from her father's madness.

Betrayal

     Bruce was tied to a chair in the control room. Talia watched over him from across the room, her arms crossed.
     They were alone in the room; Ra's and his army had left for Nanda Parbat, leaving only a few men at the base. Bruce didn't want to even think about the slaughter that was taking place.

     "Why, Talia?"
     "Why what?"
     "Why kill?"
     "Don't be so naive. Do you really think the world can change without the death of evil men?"
     "I believe men can change for the better."
     "All of them?"
     "...Maybe not all. But some. The others can rot in prison. But they don't have to die."
     "Why not, Bruce? Why not? Your parents were killed, were they not? Would you hesitate to kill the man who killed your parents?"
     "...I wouldn't kill him, no."
     "You wouldn't want vengeance for your parents?"
     "Of course I want it. But if I killed him, I'd be no better than he."
     "Oh, spare me the philosophy! Would the world not be a safer place without him in it? Why not execute every rapist and serial murderer in your accursed city?!"
     "Because every one of them might have a family, like I did. Like you did. Killing them all would only create more empty homes, and ruin those mens' chances for redemption."
     "And what if your justice system judges those men guilty and executes them?"
     "That's the prerogative of the law. We elect representatives to help decide what justice is."
     "Is every judge unbiased? Is every jury? There are things the law cannot do. You yourself know this. Your parents' killer was never caught, correct? My father told me you came to this place seeking vengeance for them. If the law is so perfect, why is your journey necessary?"
     "There are flaws in the system, like any system. But it's better than wholesale slaughter. I seek justice above and beyond what the law is capable of doing, yes. But not through murder."
     Talia shook her head. "I can't imagine you're upset that Deadshot was 'murdered.' He even escaped that supposedly-inescapable prison they put him in the first time."
     "...I'll admit, I'm not sorry he's gone. But that doesn't give you the right to execute him. What right have you over the life and death of others?"
     "You don't understand, Bruce. My father and I... our league... we have no country. No home to go to. We hold no allegiance to any laws of any country. And we will kill those who are evil."
     Bruce noticed Talia's voice quiver slightly over her last few words.
     "Talia, if your father says he only wants to kill those who are evil in his quest, then why is he killing the monks out there right now?"
     Talia didn't respond for a long moment. Bruce saw doubt and sadness creep into her face.
     "My father... says that the monks are impeding his progress in his quest. That they stand in the way of knowledge."
     "The monks of Nanda Parbat are the most peaceful people in the entire world. They hold no malice whatsoever. And your father is going to kill them... for what? Some vague great knowledge?"
     Tears welled in Talia's eyes. Bruce had seen tears like that only once before, once when his mother visited dying veterans in one of their family's hospitals.
     "You don't like killing, do you?"
     "...I care not if I kill those who deserve it."
     "But the people that don't... the people your father steps on in his quest for personal gain..."
     Talia looked into Bruce's eyes for a moment. She wasn't sure she could trust him. There was no one in the world she trusted with her inner thoughts. Not any of Ra's' men, not Ubu... not even her father.
     She relented. "I love my father," she said, her voice trembling. "...But I do not share his apathy for innocent blood. He claims that... that it is necessary. That every life we take in our quest is justified by the righteousness of our cause."
     "But you don't believe that."
     "...I... no. I do not."
     Bruce recognized the look on her face.
     "Because of your mother?"
     Talia looked up, surprised at first. But of course Bruce would understand this, she realized.
     "Yes. My mother was a selfless woman who cared for my father despite his harshness. She loved me and raised me when my father was too busy at war or planning the next battle. She never deserved to die. Not even if her death had been 'necessary' for the cause... she would never have deserved to die."
     "Then stop your father. Help end this madness."
     "...I cannot. I may not agree with him, but... I love him. I could never fight him."
     "Then let me."

     Talia wiped the tears from her face, walked across the room, and cut Bruce's ropes.
     "Go," she said, turning to the computers. "I will divert the troops still in the base away while you head for the temple. The armory is on the way; make use of it."
     Bruce put his hand on Talia's shoulder.
     "Thank you."
     Talia nodded, doing her best to retain her resolve and ignore her betrayal.
     "Hurry."

Detective

     Bruce lay in his bed, turning over everything in his mind.
     Ra's claimed to be a man seeking knowledge in order to peacefully aid mankind toward advancement. He also claimed that he was here in the mountains because Nanda Parbat was the source of powerful knowledge. Both Bruce and Ra's had been accused of trying to steal from the temple. Bruce knew he hadn't stolen anything, but Ra's had already lied to Bruce once before. And Bruce doubted that the monks would have made up that story or been mistaken.
     There was another thing. Ra's said that the men under his command were simply there to help the cause, but they were obviously under a military structure. Ra's said that they were largely there as a security force, and considering Talia's story about the attack that killed her mother... it could be true. If Bruce could have hired a small army to protect his parents, he would have. But... no. These men weren't prepared for an outside attack. The base wasn't laid out in any defensive pattern, nor was there anything resembling a radar dish to watch for an aerial assault. And even more disturbing, who would attack the camp here in the Himalayas? In the African desert, where water is scarce and tribes can be violent, sure, but here? Who on Earth would have the resources to do that? What kind of enemies did Ra's—a supposed humanitarian—have that were so dangerous?

     Bruce got up and left his room. In the few weeks he'd spent at the temple, he'd learned almost nothing that he'd consider practical, but he did learn quite a bit about spiritual and physical balance. The monks were insistent upon total silence unless necessary—especially in the temple walls—so Bruce quickly learned how to walk silently. As he carefully stepped through the dark hallway, his footsteps less audible than a whisper, he heard Ra's' bedroom door open. Bruce quickly ducked behind a corner, using the warped reflection of a nearby vase to see down the hallway. Ra's stepped out of his room, wrapped in a green cape. Bruce risked a glance around the corner. Ra's stood taller and prouder than before, his hair and his beard well-groomed. His hair, at a certain angle, almost seemed shaped into horns. His cape was a dark emerald, with golden lines of Arabic text woven into the edges. A large curved sword was sheathed on his belt, which was covered by an elaborate sash. He might have seemed kingly to some. Bruce knew, however, that all it meant was that Ra's believed himself a king.
     Ra's said something quietly to Ubu at his side, then left out the main door. Bruce quickly went to Ra's' door, checked to make sure it wasn't rigged with an alarm, then quickly stepped inside. The room was definitely laid out for royalty. Golden artifacts from a dozen ancient civilizations were arranged across the room, almost like an Egyptian tomb. Bookshelves lined one wall. Bruce glanced at them and almost instinctively recoiled. They were books of alchemical black magic. Some were simple scientific research on mystical rituals from around the world, but some of them seemed to be legitimate tomes of dark mysticism.
     The closet door had a keypad on it. Bruce typed in "TALIA." Nothing happened. Bruce went to the bookshelf and pulled out a book of ancient Arabic translations. He looked up "Ra's." Arabic translation: "رأس." Literal meaning: "head." That figured. Bruce guessed that it was likely a name Ra's chose for himself, rather than one he was given. Next, Bruce translated "Al Ghul." Arabic translation: "الغول." Literal meaning: ...Bruce nearly felt a shiver reading it. He went back to the keypad and entered the full translation:
     "THE DEMONS HEAD"
     The door slid open.
     It was a dark room filled with computer displays, maps, and a large illuminated glass table. Bruce went to the nearest computer and looked through its system. It was a database, apparently, filled with folders named for events organized by date and geography. Bruce was shocked when he glanced at the current date on the system: March fifth. That wasn't possible. He looked at every other computer and saw the same thing. Bruce had arrived at the temple on March third and spent over five weeks there. It should be April seventh. Either every clock in this incredibly advanced base was somehow off by a month, or something truly bizarre affected the passage of time in Nanda Parbat.
     Bruce opened one folder on the computer named "STRYKER'S ISLAND 23-11-09." A video file was inside; Bruce accessed it.
     The video showed a darkened prison cell, with Floyd Lawton, Deadshot, strapped to it. A lone young woman stood before him—it was Talia.
    "You failed, Lawton," she said.
     "Yeah, sue me." Lawton flippantly replied.
     "It's a shame, really. Had you succeeded, you might have been on your way to one day joining us."
     "Joining? Who, Luthorcorp? Yeah, I 'aint the businessman type. Look, are you done? Are you gonna get me out of here, or what?"
     "I speak not of Luthorcorp."
     "Wait, what...? Aw, seriously? You're upset over that job? Come on; that was a stupid plan anyway! I mean, why'd you need—"
     "My father's designs are not to be questioned, least of all by you. Your assignment was merely a small part in his grand plan."
     "Huh. Okay. Well, little girl, you go tell your daddy I'm sorry, and that I'll do better next time."
     Talia didn't blink.
     "The League of Assassins does not allow failure, Floyd Lawton."
     Talia reached behind her back, slowly pulling a short sword from its sheath. With a single swift motion, she stepped forward and stabbed, slipping the blade gently into Floyd's heart. She then stepped back, wiped her blade, and sheathed it.

     "Apparently you are quite the detective," a voice said from behind Bruce. It was Ra's.
     "And you're the head of a league of assassins," Bruce said as he turned around.
     Talia stood behind Ra's, her stance firm as if to support her father, but her face slightly dismayed.
     "Yes," said Ra's, "it was unfortunately necessary for me to hide the truth from you. My League is indeed often known—whenever it is known at all—as the League of Shadows, for many do not appreciate the fact that for the world to truly rise above its state of dismay, many must die. There are few who truly know its real name, the League of Assassins."
     "I've heard of the League of Assassins before," Bruce said. "There've been whispers about you in Gotham for decades. I ran into some of your people once—the hooked ones."
     Ra's almost sneered. "Those imbeciles were not my men! That pathetic hooked assassin's guild was made of mere pretenders. Children playing at a master's game. They were defeated by the local police, were they not? No, my league is made of only the finest; those who truly understand the art of death."
     "Like Deadshot?"
     "An unfortunate and rare error in judgment on my part. He was never truly part of the league; we used him to unbalance the scales of economic power."
     Bruce caught on instantly. "You wanted him to kill all of us at Excelsior. Me, Oliver Queen, Lex Luthor..."
     "Yes, in fact, I did. You underestimate the true power you wield with merely your family name. The Wayne and Luthor names notably have great influence in America."
     "And without heirs to either company, you figured you could slip in and control a huge chunk of American industry, and have easy access to the best medical, biological, and weapons technology in the world."
     Ra's grinned. "Once again I must credit you, detective. You truly are a remarkable young man. But I must leave you now; I have an invasion scheduled for tonight."
     Bruce had feared this, but hoped he was wrong. Ra's had indeed tried to steal from Nanda Parbat under the false guise of a humble student, and now that he'd failed, he was going to use a small army to invade the temple, armed to the teeth with every modern firearm known to man. The monks were all going to die.

A Better World

     "What kind of name is Raysh Al Ghul?"
     "A very old name. Arabic, if you must know."
     As Bruce and Ra's walked through the camp, the men in black stopped in place to bow towards Ra's. Although they were all fully masked, Bruce had the biting feeling that they were all staring daggers at him.
     "Who are these people?" Bruce asked.
     "They are my devoted servants. Their lives are pledged to me."
     As Ra's walked among his servants, Bruce noticed his stance became more proud. If Bruce didn't know better, he'd have thought Ra's was royalty. Even Ra's' speech patterns and accent were different. More European. Mostly British, mixed with Romanian.
     "Why did they pledge their lives to you, exactly?" Bruce asked.
     Ra's grinned. "I do not exaggerate when I say that I am a man of great influence. Many simply find it in their nature to follow me wherever I command. Are you so different from me?"
     "I don't keep servants."
     "No? Your wealth, combined with your parents' reputation, makes you a very powerful young man indeed, mister Wayne."
     Bruce stopped in his place.
     Ra's turned and gave Bruce a patronizing look. "Young boy, among the elite of society, your fame is far-reaching. For someone as obviously well-connected as I, how could I not recognize the prince of Gotham City?"
     Bruce uneasily continued walking. He already didn't trust Ra's, but now he was beginning to feel threatened.

     Bruce and Ra's entered one of the makeshift buildings. The interior looked like the inside of a mansion. Wood paneling and floors, fine carpet, antique furniture, and not a hint of the weather outside.
     A large bald man in a white robe bowed to Ra's. "Master, I have a bath and a change of clothes ready for you."
     "Thank you, Ubu," said Ra's. "Please, extend the same courtesy to our guest." He gestured to Bruce, then pulled Ubu close and whispered in his ear. Ubu bowed both to Ra's and Bruce, then walked down the hallway, gesturing for Bruce to follow.
     "This is your room," Ubu said as they approached a door.
     Bruce nodded politely and reached for the handle. Ubu suddenly clamped his hand on Bruce's wrist and glared into his eyes.
     "If you dare... try anything," Ubu said with a whisper, "anything... threatening... to my master, I will kill you."
     Bruce glared back into Ubu's eyes. He had always been able to make people back off or in some cases recoil in fear if he stared hard enough in just the right way. He didn't know why, but he suspected that most people simply hadn't seen that level of anger and pain before. But here... Ubu didn't flinch. Apparently, Ubu's dedication to Ra's ran more deeply than anything Bruce had seen before.

     After Ubu left, Bruce dropped his things in his room and left to explore the base. He mapped it in his mind as he went, taking note of every detail. There were five separate small buildings in the base. Two were dedicated to housing the omnipresent black-clad troopers that watched Bruce wherever he went. Two others were sheds for sheltering the snowmobiles and other vehicles the troops used to traverse the snowy landscape. The building in the center was five times the size of all the others, and due to its layout Bruce suspected that it was built to recreate a large home elsewhere, similar to how Wayne Tower in Metropolis echoed Wayne Manor in Gotham.
     Bruce found many locked doors in the central building, but he did find one thing that piqued his curiosity: a library. Why would Ra's Al Ghul need a library? Surely he wasn't reliant upon physical media; he clearly had all manner of technology at his disposal. As far as Bruce could tell, despite its ornate nature, no other room in the building was superfluous. Every single room had a purpose. But this one?
     "You seem troubled."
     A dark-haired young woman stared at Bruce from the doorway. Another enigma, apparently. Her voice was... vaguely European. A tinge Romanian. As she walked in the door, her every step fell with perfect poised precision, and her mysterious eyes never wavered from Bruce's.
     "I was wondering why Ra's needs a library out here in the Himalayas," Bruce said.
     "My father likes to think in here," the young woman said.
     "Your father?"
     "Yes," said Ra's, stepping in the room behind the girl. "Talia is indeed my daughter. And she is most correct about this room. I find it difficult to focus elsewhere."
     "Just what is it you need to focus on?"
     Ra's quietly sat in a large chair in the center of the room.
     "What is the real question you're asking?"
    "...Who are you?"
     "You seem to be somewhat of a boy detective. Guess. Guess what I am doing here."
     Bruce narrowed his eyes. He didn't enjoy being tested.
     "You're a treasure hunter. That or a cult leader. Or both."
     Ra's grinned, then burst out laughing. Even Talia smirked a little.
     "I suppose that would be a logical assumption on your part," Ra's admitted. "But no, I am neither of those things."
     "Then what are you?"
     "I am simply a man in search of knowledge. The temple in the mountains contains the most well-hidden knowledge in all the earth. For the sake of humanity, I must obtain it."
     "For humanity?"
     Ra's stood up and walked to one side of the room, where a large framed antique map hung on the wall.
     "Have you seen the world, Bruce? Outside the comforts of your wealth and the safety of your country?"
     "A bit."
     "I have seen all of it. And I see chaos. Everywhere, mankind claws at its own throat. Free peoples, who have no reason to quarrel with one another, find such reason. Murder, war, famine, and destruction rage across the earth. And yet, for every ten civilizations in dire peril, one stands up as a shining example of glorious enlightenment. The advancement of civilization is what will save humanity from itself, Bruce, and I intend to guide it."
     "Guide it how?"
     Ra's paused and turned.
     "I'm sure by now you've noticed. I am a man of rather large influence."
     "Then why haven't I heard of you before?"
     "I care not for the socialite systems of so-called high society. I have long directed my organization in secret, and I intend to remain doing so."
     "What... is your organization, exactly? What do you do?"
     "My organization is called the League of Shadows, so named because I prefer to do good works from the shadows rather than parade my deeds before the masses. Through various methods, I influence the direction of governments and their peoples."
     "Toward 'advancement.'"
     "Precisely."
     "What 'methods' do you use?"
     "A monetary donation here, a whisper in the ear of a young politician there."
     "And you have a small military force... just because?"
     "It becomes necessary at times to use force. There are few who know of me, but some who do consider me an enemy. My men are completely loyal to me and will defend my daughter and myself to their deaths."
     "Why would they do that, exactly?"
     "Because they believe in my cause, Bruce."
     Bruce raised an eyebrow.
     "If you could truly see my father's vision," Talia said, "you would feel the same way."
     "Is that so?"
     "Bruce," Ra's said grimly. "I know what happened to your parents. That might never have happened had Gotham been safer. My vision for the world means that no young child will ever have to see his parents murdered."
     Bruce felt anger boiling in his chest.
     "Really? You think you can stop people from murdering one another?"
     "Man turns to murder out of greed, fear, or desperation, Bruce. In a better world, those cancers will not exist."
     Bruce stood up.
     "If you're so enlightened, go back and stop my parents from being killed. Until you can do that, I don't give a damn about your 'dream.' Don't you dare speak their names to try and provoke me again."

     Bruce heard a knock on his door. He opened it to see Talia.
     "What are you doing here?" he asked.
     "I... wanted to talk."
     Bruce searched her eyes. She seemed to be telling the truth. He let her inside and went back to folding his clothes.
     Talia sat down on Bruce's bed. "I want you to know... I know how you feel."
     "Do you?"
     "Yes. My mother was killed when I was five."
     Bruce paused for half a second. "How?"
     "She was killed by nomadic tribesmen in the Sahara. They raided our camp one night in an attempt to kill my father."
     Bruce stopped what he was doing and sat down.
     "So that's why your father has this entire scheme planned out. He wants to create a world where his wife never would have died."
     "He had his dream before that. The tribesmen were bribed by one of my father's enemies. But my mother's death bolstered his resolve, yes."
     "...Can I ask you something?" said Bruce.
     Talia smirked. "I think you just did."
     "Do you believe in what your father's doing?"
     "I..." Talia found it hard to finish her sentence. "I think my father is somewhat overzealous at times. I worry about him."
     Bruce recognized that sentiment all too well.
     "I know the feeling. My father, Thomas Wayne... he wanted to help people who desperately needed it. He used my family's company to improve life for the citizens of Gotham City."
     Talia smiled. "Our fathers are not so different, I think."
     Bruce sighed. "I hope you're right." But somehow I doubt it, he thought.

Balance

     Bruce stood silently on a wide wooden plank suspended over a deep ravine. His eyes closed, he listened to the wisps of wind as it gently flowed between the snow-covered mountain walls.
     "You listen well," the master said behind him. "But you are not here to listen to the mountains. You are here to listen to yourself."
     Bruce frowned.
     "I saw that," the master said, still behind him. Bruce looked back over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow. The master gestured for Bruce to return to what he was doing. Bruce turned around and went back to his silent meditating.
     "You focus too much on the world outside, young one," the master said. "You must realize that the real conflict is within you."
     "I'm not at conflict with myself," Bruce said indignantly.
     "Why are you here?" the master asked.
     "To gain the skill to avenge my parents' deaths."
     "To what end?"
     Bruce felt slightly furious at the mere question. To what end?! What kind of question was that?
     "Is vengeance not a goal in itself?"
     "What do you seek to gain by enacting vengeance upon another? Contentment? Happiness?"
     "Justice."
     "Justice is an admirable goal, but you speak of vengeance."
     "The two aren't mutually exclusive."
     "Justice brings balance; vengeance further deepens every wound."
     The wind increased slightly, making it a bit more difficult for Bruce to hear the master speak. As he strained his ears, Bruce heard a sharp whistling.
     Bruce's eyes shot open and he ducked low. An arrow sailed directly through where Bruce's face had been, its razor-sharp tip embedding itself in a rock near the master's feet. Bruce lost his balance; the plank below his feet was now a simple rope. Bruce toppled and fell, catching the rope with both hands.
     The master lightly smiled. Bruce eventually realized this was the master's equivalent of chuckling.
     "It seems you lack balance in more than one way, young one," said the master. "When your mind was at ease, the rope seemed as wide and firm as a bridge. When you allowed yourself to become unfocused, you fell."
     "I had an arrow shot at my head!" Bruce shot back exasperatedly.
     "Did you?"
     Bruce looked toward where the arrow had landed; it was missing. Even the hole it should have made in the rock face was gone.
     Bruce worked his way back to the ravine edge. Five weeks here and things were just as confusing as when he arrived.

     Bruce walked quickly but silently down the red carpet towards the altar in the temple. Ambrose was already kneeling there.
     As Bruce knelt, Ambrose turned and smiled. "The master summoned you, too?"
     "Yeah."
     "How is your training coming?"
     Bruce sighed and rolled his eyes.
     Ambrose smirked. "I know the feeling."
     The master suddenly stepped before them. Bruce quickly straightened up; Ambrose did so a bit more slowly.
     "You have attempted to steal from this sacred place," the master said grimly.
     Bruce and Ambrose looked at each other quizzically.
     Bruce began to speak. "Master, I—"
     "ENOUGH!" the master interrupted. "You are hereby both banished from Nanda Parbat. Leave now!"
     Bruce looked at Ambrose in shock. He turned back to the master. "No! I didn't try to steal anyth—"
     "The master has banished you," a monk at Bruce's side said gently. "Please, this humble one does not wish to harm you. Leave now."
     Ambrose stood. "Come, Bruce. Apparently our invitation has been revoked."

     Bruce and Ambrose stood in the snow outside the gate to Nanda Parbat.
     "...Why would they do that?" Bruce asked.
     Ambrose sighed. "I can truly say I do not know. Come with me; I have a camp nearby."
     Bruce followed, but didn't quite understand. A camp? In the snow- and wind-swept mountains? It didn't seem likely that any camp Ambrose set up five weeks ago would still be left standing.
     Twenty minutes of walking later, Bruce saw Ambrose's camp. "Camp" was probably an incorrect term. What Bruce was looking at was more of a makeshift military base. Huge tents and modular buildings were surrounded by a dozen treaded vehicles ranging from snowmobiles to large trucks. Around a hundred men dressed in black walked around the camp, tending to power generators and other equipment.
     Bruce quickly ran through every possibility. This wasn't a scientific expedition, at least not by the look of things. It wasn't military, either, at least not from any country Bruce was aware of.
     Bruce grabbed Ambrose by the arm with a steel grip.
     "Who are you?"
     Ambrose grinned. "I am a man simply trying to gain further knowledge. I am not, however, Damian Ambrose. My real name is Ra's Al Ghul."

Hidden Temple

     So cold. The air is frozen.

     Can't stop.

     The snow is so thick.

     Can't stop.

     It's up to my knees.

     Can't stop.

     Can't feel myself breathing.

     Can't stop.

     Deep in the Himalayas, on the side of a mountain, a man stood before a large round wooden door. Seven feet tall, dressed in thick furs and built like an ox, the man watched over the gateway with the eyes of a hawk, somehow able to see through the blinding snowfall.

     The man saw someone, a boy, trudging through the snow. The boy reached the large man's feet and fell to his knees with exhaustion.

     "What is your name?" the man said.

     "Bruce Wayne," the boy answered weakly.

     "Why have you come?"

     "I seek Nanda Parbat."

     The man lifted Bruce's head with his hand and stared into his eyes.

     "...You traveled the frozen valley and climbed the mountain alone. You have earned the right. Enter."

     The man grabbed hold of the giant circular door by its large handle and pulled it open. Bruce struggled to his feet and walked inside.

     On the other side of the door, a tunnel carved in rock led to a clearing. As Bruce exited the tunnel, his mind fought what he was seeing. Somehow, an entire small city was here inside the mountains, hidden from the outside world. Although the sky was open, the snowy winds did not touch the grounds. Somehow, this entire area felt... warm. Even though there was snow on the ground nearby, Bruce couldn't feel any cold in the air. It was simply peaceful, nothing more and nothing less.

     Bruce had seen the satellite images of this entire area before coming; this city wasn't on any map. Bruce wasn't even sure where he was, truthfully. He'd followed Boston Brand's directions precisely, making every turn along every path through the mountains, but a few of those turns contradicted actual maps of the area; Bruce had traveled along paths that apparently didn't exist as far as science was concerned.

     As Bruce moved closer to the tiny city, he found that it was a monastery. He recognized its architecture: descended from ancient Chinese, similar to classical Kung Fu monasteries. There was one huge rectangular building in the center, with smaller ones arranged symmetrically around it. Fountains, streams, and carefully-trimmed plants were spread across the entire area. Bruce walked along a single stone path leading to the center building.

     Without warning, a man dropped from the sky and silently landed in front of Bruce. Bruce jumped back, instinctively dropping into an Amazonian fighting stance. The man simply smiled gently, completely unfazed. He was bald, slim, Asian, and dressed in a bright orange monk's robe.

     "This humble one apologizes," the monk said, "but you are a stranger to Nanda Parbat. Why have you come?"

     Bruce relaxed. "I was told... that I could learn here."

     The monk nodded. "Yes, that is true. What have you come to learn?"

     "I seek the power to defeat my enemies."

     The monk regarded this for a moment. "Those who seek power will inevitably fail. Those who seek to lessen themselves will find enlightenment."

     Bruce wasn't entirely sure what that meant. Did that mean the monks were refusing to teach him?

     "Follow me, please," the monk said, bowing before turning and walking toward the large building.

     Bruce followed the monk into  the building. It was a temple. Monks sat in rows along the walls, meditating in perfect silence. On the far wall stood a gigantic gold statue of Rama Kushna, the goddess of karma. A long red carpet led from the front door to the altar at the statue's feet. As Bruce walked toward the end of the room, he saw two men near the altar. One was clearly the master of the monks, with his long beard, ornate staff, and golden robe. Another man sat kneeling at the altar near the master's feet.

     "Come," the master said, beckoning to Bruce. Bruce reached the altar and politely bowed to the master.

     "Why have you come?" the master asked.

     Bruce was tired of being asked that question three times in a row.

     "I seek the power to avenge my parents' deaths."

     "Vengeance will not balance the scales, young one," the master replied.

     "It's not only vengeance; it's justice."

     "Ah. Justice. Man's noble attempt to bring balance. But how can any man truly know whether he serves justice or vengeance?"

     Bruce thought for a moment.

     "I... I suppose that's what I need to learn."

     The master smiled. "A wise answer. Sit, here." The master gestured towards the carpet next to the sitting man. "Meditate. Rest. Clear your mind. My monks will bring you to your room later."

     Bruce sat on the carpet and did his best to act like he was relaxing. The master left.

     Bruce turned and looked at the other man sitting next to him. He was vaguely caucasian, with a hint of middle-eastern features. His temples were graying, and his beard was very finely trimmed. As Bruce stared, the man's eyes snapped open and he turned to Bruce. Bruce nearly recoiled; the man's yes burned with a cold fire that was beyond unsettling.

     "My name is Damian Ambrose," the man said, his voice elegant and his every word perfectly enunciated. "And you are?"

     "Bruce."

     "Just 'Bruce'?"

     "My last name isn't important right now."

     "I see."

     Ambrose eyed Bruce. "I am curious... How exactly did you find this monastery?"

     "How did you find it?"

     Ambrose grinned. "A lifetime of searching, my boy. A long lifetime."

     Ambrose looked to Bruce to return the explanation, but Bruce remained silent.

     "Let me guess," Ambrose began. "You're American. Seventeen? Eighteen? By your speech and your clothing, I'd guess East coast, upper-class. I'd guess that you've met one of those people, and offered him a large sum of money in exchange for information on where to find this place. Am I close?"

     Bruce raised an eyebrow. "Not entirely."

     Ambrose smiled. "Ah. Well. I've been here for two weeks as of today; my deduction skills may be a bit rusty."

     "You've been here two weeks?"

     "Yes. Thus far, the monks haven't taught me much besides how to breathe correctly."

     "Great."

     "In any case, it's nice to have another... 'stranger' here. What do you say the two of us stick together? Us strangers?"

     "I don't mean to be rude, but I'd prefer to do things on my own."

     "Oh, I'm sure you would, but trust me. I'm a valuable ally to have, especially in our current situation."

     Bruce turned to Ambrose. "Are you expecting a fight here?"

     Ambrose merely grinned and turned back to his meditation.