"I see...." Lex said thinking for a moment and taking in Captain America's account of the story. He then walked over to the briefcase Waller had given him upon entering the S.H.E.I.L.D. Hellcarrier.
"As you know, the public right now are scared stiff. They don't know who to turn to and to be completely honest with you; I don't blame them."
He took out some files from out of the briefcase; two copies of one document and he turned round again.
"First of all; I would like you two, the most outspoken members of the Justice League to apologise for the Stanford Incident and letting your powers come into contact with such dangerous forces and secondly...."
Lex then gave the copies of the document to both heroes.
"....I would like you both to join the Meta-Human Registration Act."
I can't believe it. I never had high expectations for Lex Luthor, but this is low, even for him.
"Luthor, you always were the ultimate opportunist. I thought maybe something of this magnitude, maybe, I'd see a flicker of real emotion out of you, something human. But no... already you're working the angles, thinking of ways to make all that death and bloodshed benefit you and further your own twisted little agenda."
I feel the contempt rising within me, and the total disgust I have for this man is clear on my face.
"You weren't there. You didn't have to taste the vaporised blood and bone that floated around amidst the debris like mist. You swoop in after the fact, and talk about what a shame it is, and then you make this about our pissing contest. This isn't about us, you bald little tyrant! Hundreds of innocent people are dead!"
Hey folks, make sure you get a good shot of this!
No, stop thinking about that!
"I feel terrible about what happened, all those people who died, I... I get this sick feeling in my gut just thinking about them. And I am sorry, genuinely sorry, to all the people I hurt. But I owe them an apology, not you. We're not going to grovel on national television so you can have some jerk-off material, and we're not going to become poster boys for your latest witch-hunt."
I exchange a glance with Steve. I feel like I'm talking over him, he deserves a say too. So I decide to wrap things up.
"We told you all we know, Luthor. That's what this was about, right? Officially. We were here to help you with your investigation. We've helped, and we'll be leaving now. We came here willingly, of our own accord. If you want to hold us here for further questioning, then you'll have to clear it with my batallion of Jewish ninja-lawyers."
Luthor smiles. I don't know if he's going to relent, or ignore my demands and keep us here. Fighting our way out is not an option. As detestable as I find Luthor, he's still the President of the United States. Whatever happens, I hope we get out soon. Who knows what's happening while I'm stuck here...
...
Metropolis
Madame Masque stood on the roof of one of the many unfinished construction projects that had come to typify the Suicide Slums. The home of unrealised ambition. She looked out at the skyscrapers of Metropolis' city centre, towering in the horizon. For the people unfortunate enough to live here, they were a tantalising and cruel reminder of what would forever be just out of reach.
"How do you like Metropolis, Miss Masque?"
Masque didn't even turn round. She knew who it was. Mercy Graves, longtime employee of Lex Luthor during the LexCorp years. She got left behind in Metropolis when Luthor made the jump to Washington, but she remained loyal to her boss, continuing to do some of the dirty deeds he could no longer directly associate himself with.
"It's a miserable cesspool. I hate it. And it's Madame, not Miss. Little girls are called Miss."
"My employer sends his best wishes to your father."
"And my father sends his money to your employer's offshore bank account. The package, please."
Despite the cold reception, Mercy's thin, emotionless smile never faltered. She walked across the roof, stopping next to Masque's side. She sat a briefcase down between them.
"Yes, we recieved the funds. Thank you."
"I don't know why my father has to pay for the power source this weapon of his. Judging by what I've seen on TV, we'll be doing you a massive favor."
Mercy turned to look at Masque.
"With all due respect,
Madame... we both know that you want Tony Stark dead just as much as we do."
For a few moments, Masque made no response. Then, she picked up the suitcase, and opened it up. She gazed thoughtfully at the kryptonite contained inside.
"Yes. Perhaps I do."
...
"I love Tony Stark."
Justin Hammer lets out a grating, high-pitched little laugh.
"No, not in the biblical sense. Don't swing that way, y'all, no sirree. But what I mean is, I love what Tony Stark stands for. No wait, scratch that, reverse it, for sdnars kjarS ynoT, heh heh heh. I love what Tony Stark stood for, past tense. But we'll get back to that. See, it wasn't just the money, though I'll tell ya, I looooooooove money. Sometimes I just.... take a bath in it. Rub it over myself, ya know? It was more than even the weaponry. And I have a passion for that stuff, man, I tell ya. When other kids were collecting baseball cards or... kissing girls, I was learning by heart all the different types and calibres of gun on all the battlefields of the world, past and present, what the cops were using, what the criminals were using, what housewives in Florida were using. The power of holding something in your hand that can kill a man.... wow, it's deep. I wanted to make stuff like that. I wanted to build things that could change the landscape of the world. To be frank, I wanted to blow s**t up."
Hammer let out another salesman's chuckle, adjusting the glasses on the bridge of his nose.
"But back on track, my admiration for Tony Stark.... it was about more than that. More than his money, more than his technical genius. It was him, the man. The charisma, the cool, just... the cut of his jib! Yeah, that's it. I liked the cut of his jib. I liked how he build all these amazing weapons, and he wasn't guilty about it! He didn't apologise, he relished in the attention. Because he knew he was building works of art, man! Man was an artist, still is. But he's not the same. That cave.... it changed him. Broke him, I'd say. Now he doesn't want to share his weapons with the world. No, see... he builds the greatest weapon the world's ever seen, the Iron Man.... then he keeps it for himself, says 'oh no wait, weapons are bad' and hordes the fire of Pochahontas..."
"Prometheus."
"The fire of Prometherus for himself! 'No, you can't have it, fellow weapons dealers, because now I'm better than all of you!' Uncool, man. Way uncool."
No smiles and laughter now. The bitterness and envy was stirring within Hammer as he spoke.
"So I find myself in a position where I've outgrown my idol. See, the world needs a Tony Stark, but now Tony Stark doesn't want to be Tony Stark anymore. So I guess I'll just have to be Tony Stark. Being the Da Vinci of the weapons age wasn't enough for him, oh no. He h, 'Lad to be a superhero too! The ego.... on this guy, I tell ya. Oh who the heck am I kidding, it's the ego that made me like the guy so much, am I right? Am I right? Yeah, I'm right. Well, if he doesn't want that role anymore, fine. I'll take it. And I'll do it better than he ever did. See, I have this... vision, this waking dream that keeps me up at night. I see six letters - H, A, M, M, E, R - in blazing neon lights, fireworks blasting all around them, and it's on a stage, see, screaming crowds dripping with anticipation. And then I rise up from the mist - there's mist, smoke machine, whatever - on a secret platform below the stage, and I rise up onto the stage, and I say, 'Ladies and gentlemen.... the future!' And I pull back the curtain and give them, well... the future."
"That's nice. This won't affect us doing business together, but I hope you know that you disgust me."
Hammer flashed a big smarmy grin at the masked individual hovering in his office.
"But of course. I know all about your reputation, Ghost. That's why I hired you."
He was sickly thin, like a human ragdoll. If he even was human - the helmet he wore made him look more like a cross between a robot and an insect, and nobody had seen what he looked like underneath the mask. But underneath all his tech, he was still human. A very hateful, paranoid, physologically-imbalanced human.
"You represent the military industrial complex that is bleeding this country dry big business running big government no democracy no America only business money dollars dow the stock market using people as sheep and pawns make them think their free because it makes them spend more and war is just another business transaction soulless corporations and conglomerates like a cancer to the world. What's the job?"
"Your technology is truly astounding. You can phase through walls, turn yourself completely invisible. And you can definitely pass undetected through any security system in the world?"
Yes. Wouldn't say so if I couldn't. Proud of my work, yes. Gonna cost you, though."
"Don't worry about that, I've got money. How much will it cost me to get you to break into Stark Industries, and steal me a copy of the Iron Man schematics?"
...
Tonight was the night. After all his waiting and watching, The Controller was ready to claim her, his greatest prize yet. Waiting for her at home was not an option this time. Security was too advanced. He had been watching her, learning her daily routine, and he had concluded that she was most vulnerable in the parking lot of the supermarket where she shopped for groceries. It was risky, a chance of witnesses. He would have to act fast.
This girl was special. She had a beautiful mind. So intelligent, so full of warmth and vitality. But nobody appreciated her. She had no close family or friends, her employer didn't value her like he should, for all he did for her. Nobody appreciated her. Save for him. Oh, he appreciated her. He longed for her. Perhaps this would be the one. This would be the one to make him feel complete, at last.
Here she was! Walking towards her car, talking on her iPhone while handling her groceries, multi-tasking as always. He liked that about her, how she was always doing a bunch of things at the same time. He hid in the shadows, waited until she was fumbling for her keys, trying to get the trunk of her car open, then...
He had her.
His giant hand clamped over her mouth, nearly covering her whole face. She couldn't scream, but she struggled. Oh, she kicked and she thrashed. She kicked him hard in the crotch. And for one sad moment, The Controller wished he could feel it, feel anything there. But that passed, as she tried clawing at his eyes, fighting to escape. Her will to survive, to be free... it was breathtaking. But that will would be broken. He pressed his gun to the back of her neck, and fired the disk into it. Then the struggling stopped. She slumped into his arms, and he dragged her towards his van. Just before he tossed her in the backseat and slammed the doors shut, he whispered lovingly in her ear.
"You're mine now, Pepper."
