**Earth-3 — The Fortress of Justice**
*(Or: How to Accidentally Create Your Own Worst Enemy and Still Look Good in Expensive Armor)*
If Alexander Luthor had learned anything from two years of spectacular failure, it was that irony had a really twisted sense of humor and excellent timing.
Standing in his crystalline command center—which he'd named the Fortress of Justice back when he'd been young and stupid and thought that good intentions could somehow overcome really poor strategic planning—Lex contemplated the satellite feeds streaming across his wall-sized display. Each image was a masterpiece of urban decay: Metropolis burning under Ultraman's idea of "city planning," Gotham transformed into Owlman's personal psychology experiment, and Coast City... well, Coast City was now a crater with really excellent drainage.
At the center of it all, coordinating the systematic destruction of human civilization with the kind of efficiency that would make Fortune 500 CEOs weep with professional envy, was the boy Lex had found in that Nevada crater two years ago. The boy he'd tried to turn into Earth's savior.
The boy who'd opened his blood-red eyes, looked at Lex's master plan, and basically said, "Thanks, but the other guys have better benefits."
"Sir?" came a voice from behind him, carrying that particular tone that meant someone was about to deliver news that would make his day significantly worse. "The dimensional transport is online. We can send you to Earth-Prime whenever you're ready to either save our universe or die spectacularly trying."
Lex didn't turn around. He knew that voice belonged to Dr. Sarah Chen, and he also knew that if he looked at her right now, he'd see the kind of expression that scientists wore when they were trying very hard not to say "I told you so" about decisions that had seemed brilliant eighteen months ago and catastrophic ever since.
"Let me guess," Lex said, his accent making even casual conversation sound like he was addressing a shareholder meeting about quarterly losses, "the calculations are perfect, the energy readings are stable, and our chances of success are somewhere between 'statistically insignificant' and 'mathematically impossible.'"
"Actually," Dr. Chen replied, and he could hear her checking her tablet with the kind of methodical precision that had kept them all alive when most of Earth-3's scientific community had been converted into Syndicate research assistants, "I was going to say the calculations are triple-checked, the dimensional resonance is holding steady, and your chances of finding help are approximately sixty-seven percent. The chances of that help being sufficient to handle our current situation are..." She paused. "Let's just say the math gets depressing after that point."
Lex finally turned around, and Dr. Chen was right there in front of him—five feet four inches of compressed scientific brilliance wrapped in a lab coat that had seen better days, her black hair pulled back in a ponytail that suggested she'd given up on impressing anyone and was now focused on the more practical goal of keeping everyone breathing until tomorrow. Her dark eyes held the kind of sharp intelligence that could dissect problems most people couldn't even comprehend, plus just enough exhaustion to remind him that she'd been working twenty-hour days for the past two years trying to solve problems that shouldn't technically exist.
"Sixty-seven percent," he repeated, straightening the collar of his armor—dark blue and silver plating that had cost more than most countries' annual defense budgets and still probably wouldn't stop Voldemort if the boy decided Lex needed a really comprehensive attitude adjustment. "I've built corporate empires on worse odds."
"You've also created our worst enemy through scientific hubris and questionable decision-making," Dr. Chen pointed out with the kind of brutal honesty that came from working with someone whose greatest achievement had turned into everyone's worst nightmare. "So maybe let's not get overconfident about probability assessments."
"Ouch," Lex said, but he was almost smiling. Almost. "Sarah, you realize that kind of devastating analysis is exactly why I keep you around, right? Most people are too polite to remind me that I've doomed our entire dimension through what future historians will probably describe as 'really spectacular stupidity with advanced technology.'"
"Most people," Dr. Chen replied, consulting her tablet again with the kind of focus that suggested she was running calculations that would make Stephen Hawking need a very strong drink, "didn't spend two years watching you blame yourself for every single catastrophic development on a planet that was already pretty thoroughly screwed before you found that boy in the crater."
She looked up from her calculations, and her expression shifted from scientific precision to something that might have been gentle concern if scientists were allowed to have emotions during crisis management scenarios.
"Also," she added, "most people don't have access to the psychological profiles Jester compiled about your decision-making patterns. According to his analysis, you're operating under approximately seventeen different varieties of survivor guilt, twelve types of strategic remorse, and what he clinically describes as 'cosmic-level impostor syndrome with megalomaniacal overcompensation tendencies.'"
"Jester analyzed my psychological patterns?" Lex asked, because that seemed like exactly the kind of thing his resident genius would do when he was bored and everyone else was busy trying not to die horribly.
"Jester analyzes everyone's psychological patterns," Dr. Chen confirmed. "It's how he stays sane in a world where our daily routine involves monitoring global atrocities and planning interdimensional Hail Mary operations. According to his files, Power Tower has 'massive strength with proportional emotional sensitivity,' Savana has 'nature-based powers with chronic anxiety about environmental destruction,' and Venus has 'plant control abilities with deep-seated fears about whether she's just Poison Ivy with better moral boundaries.'"
"And what does his analysis say about you?" Lex asked, genuinely curious about how the world's most cheerful psychopath would classify the woman who'd been keeping their resistance operation functional through two years of systematic societal collapse.
Dr. Chen's smile was sharp enough to cut glass and definitely dangerous enough to make smart people reconsider whatever they'd been about to say.
"According to Jester's files," she said sweetly, "I have 'brilliant scientific mind with authority issues and a tendency to deliver devastating analysis while maintaining perfect professional composure.' Also, 'probably the only person on Earth-3 who could tell Lex Luthor exactly how wrong he is about everything and make him thank her for the educational experience.'"
"He's not wrong about that last part," Lex admitted, because honesty seemed like the best policy when discussing psychological profiles compiled by someone whose idea of entertainment involved turning enemy propaganda into comedy routines. "Though I'd argue with the 'authority issues' classification. I don't have problems with authority—I have problems with people who think they understand complex situations better than I do when they demonstrably don't."
"Right," Dr. Chen said, her tone carrying the kind of dry amusement that suggested she'd heard this particular rationalization before and found it entertainingly predictable. "Because you've never made any strategic errors that resulted in cosmic-level threats gaining access to enhanced capabilities that exceed our measurement systems."
"That," Lex said, pointing at her with the kind of dramatic gesture that had once made board meetings fall silent and stock prices fluctuate, "was one mistake. One admittedly catastrophic, reality-reshaping, civilization-ending mistake, but still technically just one mistake in an otherwise brilliant career of strategic planning and corporate domination."
"One mistake that created the most dangerous being in our dimensional sector and directly led to the systematic conquest of our entire planet," Dr. Chen observed with the precision of someone documenting experimental results that nobody wanted to acknowledge. "But hey, at least your quarterly profit projections were always accurate."
"My quarterly profit projections," Lex replied with the kind of dignity that came from having survived hostile takeovers, congressional hearings, and at least three assassination attempts by people with really poor understanding of proper business ethics, "were legendary. My strategic planning was revolutionary. My resource management was impeccable. My approach to unknown variables with potentially cosmic implications was..." He paused. "Okay, that part could have used some work."
Dr. Chen consulted her tablet again, and her expression shifted from professional amusement to something that looked suspiciously like genuine concern mixed with the kind of scientific fascination that usually preceded really uncomfortable questions about methodology and acceptable risk factors.
"Speaking of unknown variables with cosmic implications," she said, her voice taking on that particular tone that meant she was about to deliver information that would make his strategic planning significantly more complicated, "we've received some interesting data about our friend Voldemort's recent activities. Jester managed to hack into Syndicate communications, and apparently your enhanced creation has been... busy."
"Busy how?" Lex asked, though he was pretty sure he didn't want to know the answer to that question.
"Busy redesigning their entire operational structure," Dr. Chen replied, pulling up holographic displays that showed tactical assessments compiled by intelligence services that probably violated several international treaties about surveillance methodology. "According to intercepted communications, Voldemort has increased Syndicate efficiency by approximately three hundred percent across all operational metrics. Population control, resource management, infrastructure modification, psychological manipulation—he's basically turned them from a group of powerful individuals with anger management issues into a coordinated force capable of managing planetary conquest with the kind of precision that makes resistance theoretically impossible."
The holographic display shifted to show satellite footage of major cities under Syndicate control, and Lex had to admit that from a purely strategic perspective, Voldemort's improvements were genuinely impressive. The chaos and destruction that had characterized the early days of Syndicate rule had been replaced by systematic, efficient, almost elegant management of human civilization's systematic dismantling.
"He's not just helping them conquer the world," Lex said, working through the implications with the kind of methodical analysis that had once made him the most feared corporate strategist on three continents. "He's helping them run it. Efficiently. Sustainably. Like they're managing a really large, really complicated business instead of just terrorizing people until they give up."
"Exactly," Dr. Chen confirmed, her scientific detachment allowing her to discuss the complete success of Lex's greatest failure with the same tone she'd once used for peer-reviewed papers about theoretical physics. "And according to Jester's psychological analysis of intercepted communications, Voldemort isn't just providing tactical support—he's actively enjoying the strategic challenge. The boy who should have been our ultimate weapon against tyranny is apparently having the time of his life helping perfect tyranny."
"Of course he is," Lex said, and his voice carried the kind of weary resignation that came from spending two years analyzing the worst decision he'd ever made and finding new layers of catastrophic failure with each passing day. "Because why would someone with cosmic-level strategic intelligence and enhanced capabilities want to fight against organized, efficient conquest when he could help make it more organized and efficient?"
"The psychological profile suggests—" Dr. Chen started.
"The psychological profile doesn't matter," Lex interrupted, his voice carrying the kind of finality that came from accepting that some mistakes were too comprehensive to analyze productively. "Because whatever that boy was before I found him, whatever I turned him into when I played genetic engineer with forces I didn't understand, the result is someone who looked at everything we represented and everything the Syndicate represented and decided they were more interesting."
He gestured toward the holographic displays, where tactical footage showed Voldemort coordinating multi-continental operations with the kind of casual competence that would make military academies rewrite their entire curriculum.
"I didn't create a weapon for justice," Lex continued, his voice dropping to barely above a whisper as the full scope of his failure became clear once again. "I created the missing piece that transformed the Crime Syndicate from powerful individuals with delusions of grandeur into an actual threat to universal stability. I took a force of nature and gave it strategic focus, cosmic-level capabilities, and apparently a really excellent benefits package."
"To be fair," Dr. Chen said gently, "the Syndicate's benefits package was already pretty competitive. Unlimited power, minimal oversight, comprehensive dental coverage, and the opportunity to reshape civilization according to personal aesthetic preferences. Hard to compete with that from a recruitment perspective."
"Are you trying to make me feel better about dooming our entire dimension?" Lex asked, though he was almost smiling again. "Because if so, it's working. Nothing says 'your catastrophic failure was understandable' quite like pointing out that the other side had better employee satisfaction ratings."
"I'm trying to point out," Dr. Chen replied, her voice taking on that particular combination of scientific precision and personal warmth that had kept him sane during the worst strategic disaster of his considerable career, "that beating yourself up over every single aspect of this situation isn't going to solve our current problems. The genetic enhancement process was based on incomplete data about an unknown subject with capabilities that exceeded our measurement systems. Given the information available at the time, your strategic reasoning was actually pretty sound."
"My strategic reasoning," Lex said, "was hubris with really expensive technology. I found a boy with powers that defied classification, and instead of trying to understand what he was or where he came from or what he might want, I decided to splice his DNA with genetic material from the most dangerous woman on the planet and hope everything worked out according to plan."
"You were trying to save the world," Dr. Chen pointed out. "The Syndicate was systematically destroying everything decent about human civilization, conventional resistance was proving inadequate, and you had access to what appeared to be unlimited power in human form. Attempting to weaponize that power for the greater good wasn't hubris—it was the only rational strategic response to an impossible situation."
"The only rational strategic response," Lex replied, "would have been to try talking to him first. Maybe asking what he wanted. Possibly establishing whether he had any interest in saving the world before I started genetically modifying him to be better at it."
The holographic display shifted again, showing the moment that had changed everything: security footage from the research facility, grainy and distorted but clear enough to show Voldemort opening his blood-red eyes for the first time, looking directly at the camera, and smiling.
It wasn't a cruel smile. It wasn't the expression of someone about to commit acts of cosmic-scale violence. It was almost... amused. Like he'd expected exactly this situation and found it entertainingly predictable.
"He knew," Lex said, the realization hitting him with the same force it had carried the first time he'd analyzed that footage. "From the moment he woke up, he knew exactly what I'd done to him, exactly why I'd done it, and exactly how he was going to respond."
"Jester's analysis suggests that the subject's strategic intelligence was enhanced along with his physical capabilities," Dr. Chen confirmed, consulting her tablet again with the kind of methodical precision that suggested she was delivering a comprehensive briefing instead of just reminding him why he should feel terrible about his life choices. "The genetic fusion appears to have amplified not just his power levels, but his cognitive architecture. His ability to process complex strategic information, analyze behavioral patterns, predict long-term consequences—all of it was enhanced beyond our ability to measure accurately."
"So when he woke up," Lex said, working through the implications with the kind of systematic analysis that had once made him legendary in corporate boardrooms and was now just making him depressed about cosmic-scale strategic planning, "he immediately understood that I'd tried to turn him into a weapon, evaluated both sides of our conflict with enhanced strategic intelligence, and decided that the Crime Syndicate represented a more interesting challenge than saving the world."
"According to the psychological profile," Dr. Chen agreed, "yes. That's exactly what happened."
The silence that followed was the kind of silence that usually preceded either brilliant strategic insights or complete mental breakdowns, depending on whether the people involved had access to interdimensional transport technology and really desperate backup plans.
"You know what the worst part is?" Lex asked, his voice carrying the kind of conversational tone that suggested he was about to share information that would make their current situation even more depressing than it already was. "The worst part isn't that I created our greatest enemy through scientific arrogance and poor strategic planning. The worst part isn't even that he's helping the Syndicate manage planetary conquest with the kind of efficiency that makes resistance impossible."
"What's the worst part?" Dr. Chen asked, though her tone suggested she already knew the answer wasn't going to be particularly comforting.
"The worst part," Lex said, "is that I'm proud of him."
Dr. Chen looked up from her tablet with the kind of sharp attention that suggested she was processing information that required immediate analysis and possibly some light psychological evaluation.
"Proud of him?" she repeated.
"Look at what he's accomplished," Lex said, gesturing toward the holographic displays that showed the systematic transformation of human civilization under Syndicate management. "Two years ago, the Crime Syndicate was a collection of powerful individuals who could level cities but couldn't organize a proper supply chain to save their lives. Now they're running the most efficient conquest operation in documented galactic history. They've transformed chaotic destruction into systematic management. They've turned random violence into strategic resource allocation."
He paused, studying the tactical analyses that showed infrastructure improvements, population management protocols, and resource distribution systems that would have made the most advanced civilizations jealous.
"He took my genetic enhancement, combined it with his own capabilities, and used the result to solve logistical problems that would challenge supercomputers," Lex continued, his voice taking on that particular tone he'd once used when describing quarterly profit achievements to admiring board members. "He's revolutionized everything from urban planning to psychological manipulation. He's created management systems that could run a galactic empire. He's basically achieved everything I've ever wanted to accomplish, except he's doing it for the wrong team."
"So you're proud that your greatest failure is succeeding spectacularly at destroying everything you've tried to protect?" Dr. Chen asked, her voice carrying the kind of scientific precision that could make even casual observations sound like devastating analysis.
"I'm proud," Lex said, "that someone with my genetic modifications and technological enhancements is demonstrating exactly the kind of strategic brilliance and comprehensive competence that I'd hoped to see. I'm just disappointed that he's using those capabilities to perfect tyranny instead of preventing it."
Dr. Chen was quiet for several moments, and Lex could practically see her running psychological assessments in her head with the kind of methodical precision that had kept their entire operation functional despite circumstances that would have broken most organizational management systems.
"Jester's psychological profiles," she said finally, "suggest that what you're experiencing is something he calls 'paternal pride in successful strategic implementation with moral framework divergence.' According to his notes, it's a common response among individuals who've invested significant resources in developing someone's capabilities and then discovered that those capabilities are being applied to objectives that conflict with their original intentions."
"Jester has clinical terminology for parental disappointment in cosmic-scale strategic planning failures?" Lex asked, because that seemed like exactly the kind of thing the world's most cheerful genius would develop during his spare time between psychological warfare operations and maintaining everyone's mental health through really dark humor.
"Jester has clinical terminology for everything," Dr. Chen confirmed. "According to his files, it's how he processes complex emotional responses to impossible situations while maintaining the kind of psychological stability that allows him to function effectively as our primary intelligence analyst and backup comedian."
"Backup comedian?"
"Primary comedian is Power Tower," Dr. Chen explained with the kind of matter-of-fact tone that suggested this was perfectly normal information that everyone should already know. "Her sense of humor is apparently classified as 'gentle giant with observational comedy specialization and really excellent timing for defusing interpersonal tension through strategic silliness.'"
"I had no idea we were running psychological profiles on everyone's comedy specializations," Lex said, though he was genuinely impressed by the comprehensiveness of their personnel assessment protocols.
"We've been stuck in an underground fortress for two years watching the world end," Dr. Chen replied. "Comprehensive personality analysis and comedy classification systems are basically essential for maintaining group morale and preventing cabin fever from turning into organizational dysfunction. Also, Jester gets bored when he's not cataloging everyone's behavioral patterns, and bored geniuses tend to develop really elaborate hobby projects that sometimes violate several international treaties about privacy rights."
"Fair point," Lex agreed. "And what does his analysis say about my current emotional state regarding our impending interdimensional desperate gamble mission?"
Dr. Chen consulted her tablet again, and her expression shifted from professional amusement to something that looked suspiciously like genuine concern mixed with the kind of scientific fascination that usually preceded really uncomfortable questions about long-term psychological stability.
"According to Jester's most recent assessment," she said carefully, "you're operating under what he describes as 'strategic optimism with underlying existential terror and really comprehensive guilt about cosmic-scale consequences.' He also notes that your decision to attempt interdimensional intervention represents 'appropriate resource allocation for extinction-level problem resolution with acceptable risk factors for personal survival.'"
"So he thinks this mission is a good idea?"
"He thinks this mission is the only idea that has any statistical probability of success," Dr. Chen corrected. "Which is different from being a good idea. According to his calculations, our current trajectory leads to complete civilization collapse within eighteen months regardless of any actions we might take locally. Interdimensional intervention represents our only chance for external assistance that operates on scales sufficient to handle opposition that includes cosmic-level strategic intelligence with enhanced physical capabilities."
"Eighteen months," Lex repeated, working through the timeline implications with the kind of methodical precision that had once made him legendary at corporate crisis management and was now just making him deeply depressed about universal crisis management.
"Give or take," Dr. Chen confirmed. "The Syndicate's current approach to planetary management is systematically destroying the infrastructure they need to maintain long-term control. Voldemort's efficiency improvements have accelerated their resource extraction capabilities, but they haven't addressed the fundamental sustainability issues inherent in their conquest methodology."
She called up additional holographic displays showing environmental data, economic projections, and population statistics that painted a picture of systematic decline disguised as systematic improvement.
"They're essentially strip-mining human civilization," she continued, her scientific training allowing her to discuss the end of their world with the same tone she'd once used for academic presentations about theoretical physics. "Very efficiently, very comprehensively, but ultimately unsustainably. In eighteen months, there won't be enough functional society left to justify continued management. Earth-3 will transition from 'conquered planet' to 'depleted resource site' to 'abandoned wasteland with really excellent archaeological potential.'"
"And then?" Lex asked, though he was pretty sure he didn't want to know the answer.
"And then the Syndicate moves on to their next target," Dr. Chen replied with the kind of matter-of-fact tone that made cosmic-scale atrocity sound like routine business planning. "According to intelligence intercepts, they've already begun preliminary scouting of other dimensional variants. Earth-2, Earth-Prime, several alternate timelines that offer interesting strategic possibilities for systematic conquest and resource extraction."
"They're not just destroying our world," Lex realized, the implications hitting him like a hostile takeover bid from someone with unlimited resources and no scruples. "They're using our world as a testing ground for perfecting techniques they plan to use on other dimensions."
"Exactly," Dr. Chen confirmed. "And Voldemort's strategic contributions are apparently being documented for application to future conquest operations. Your enhanced creation isn't just helping them destroy our civilization—he's helping them develop methodology for destroying other civilizations more efficiently."
The weight of that revelation settled over the command center like a particularly expensive lawsuit that was definitely going to end with massive financial penalties and probably some criminal charges.
"So this mission isn't just about saving Earth-3," Lex said, working through the strategic implications with the kind of systematic analysis that had once made him the most feared negotiator in international business and was now making him realize exactly how much was riding on his ability to convince interdimensional strangers to help him fix the worst mistake in multiverse history.
"This mission," Dr. Chen agreed, "is about preventing the Crime Syndicate from exporting their enhanced conquest methodology to other dimensions. Earth-Prime, Earth-2, every alternate reality that contains people worth protecting—they're all potential targets for systematic conquest guided by strategic intelligence that exceeds our ability to comprehend and enhanced capabilities that exceed our ability to measure."
"No pressure," Lex said, his voice carrying the kind of dry humor that came from accepting that some situations were so overwhelmingly terrible that you either laughed or started crying and never stopped.
"No pressure at all," Dr. Chen agreed cheerfully. "Just the fate of infinite alternate realities hanging in the balance of whether you can convince heroes from another dimension to help us fix a problem that we created through scientific hubris and questionable strategic planning."
"When you put it like that," Lex said, straightening his armor with the kind of purposeful gesture that had once preceded hostile corporate takeovers and was now preceding interdimensional desperate gamble operations, "it almost sounds manageable."
"Almost," Dr. Chen confirmed. "Of course, there's also the minor complication that if this mission fails, Voldemort will probably analyze our dimensional transport technology and provide the Syndicate with enhanced capabilities for interdimensional conquest operations. But I'm sure that won't be a problem."
"Sarah," Lex said, his voice carrying that particular combination of authority and genuine affection that came from working with someone whose brutal honesty had kept him sane through the worst strategic disaster of his career, "remind me why I keep you around again?"
"Because," Dr. Chen replied with the kind of sharp smile that had once intimidated graduate students and was now intimidating interdimensional crisis management scenarios, "someone needs to make sure you understand exactly how terrible your ideas are before you implement them. It's basically quality control for cosmic-scale strategic planning."
"And your professional assessment of this particular terrible idea?"
Dr. Chen consulted her tablet one final time, running calculations that probably involved more mathematics than most universities encountered in their entire theoretical physics programs.
"My professional assessment," she said with the kind of scientific precision that made even devastating analysis sound encouraging, "is that interdimensional intervention represents our best chance for external assistance, your personal qualifications for diplomatic negotiation are actually quite impressive despite recent strategic failures, and the probability of success is high enough to justify the resource expenditure."
"High enough to justify the resource expenditure," Lex repeated. "That's not exactly the ringing endorsement I was hoping for."
"I'm a scientist," Dr. Chen replied. "Ringing endorsements are for people who don't have access to comprehensive statistical analysis of cosmic-level strategic planning failures. What I can tell you is that this mission has better odds than anything else we've tried, better potential outcomes than any alternatives we've identified, and definitely better survival probabilities than staying here and hoping the Syndicate gets bored with systematic civilization destruction."
She paused, her expression shifting from scientific precision to something that might have been genuine warmth if scientists were allowed to have emotions during crisis management operations.
"Also," she added, "according to Jester's psychological profiles, you perform significantly better under pressure when the stakes are high enough to justify your natural tendency toward dramatic gestures and really comprehensive strategic planning. Apparently, saving the multiverse is exactly the kind of challenge that brings out your best work."
"My best work," Lex said, "created the most dangerous being in our dimensional sector and directly led to the systematic conquest of our planet."
"Your best work," Dr. Chen corrected, "also built the most advanced resistance operation in galactic history, kept hope alive when conventional wisdom said hope was mathematically impossible, and developed interdimensional transport technology that could revolutionize our understanding of multiversal physics. Not bad for someone operating under seventeen different varieties of survivor guilt and cosmic-level impostor syndrome."
Lex looked around the command center one final time, taking in the crystalline walls that had witnessed two years of desperate strategic planning and really excellent Chinese takeout during late-night crisis management sessions. The Fortress of Justice—his monument to everything he'd tried to build and everything he'd managed to break in the process.
"You know," he said, moving toward the dimensional transport chamber with the kind of confident stride that had once convinced shareholders to invest in obviously terrible business decisions and was now about to convince interdimensional heroes to invest in obviously desperate rescue operations, "if this works, it's going to make an excellent case study for business schools. 'Strategic Crisis Management Through Interdimensional Intervention: A Case Study in Corporate Problem-Solving When Your Worst Employee Becomes Your Biggest Competitor.'"
"And if it doesn't work?" Dr. Chen asked, following him toward the transport with the kind of professional composure that suggested she was documenting experimental procedures rather than sending her boss on a potentially suicidal mission to save the multiverse.
"If it doesn't work," Lex replied, stepping into the dimensional transport chamber with the kind of dramatic flair that had once made board meetings memorable and was now about to make interdimensional first contact either really impressive or really embarrassing, "then at least I'll die knowing I tried something appropriately ambitious for someone with my qualifications and really excellent armor."
"That's the spirit," Dr. Chen said, her voice carrying the kind of scientific enthusiasm that suggested she found interdimensional transport experiments genuinely exciting even when they involved sending her colleague into unknown dimensions to beg for help from cosmic-level heroes who probably had better things to do than fix other people's strategic planning failures.
"Sarah," Lex said, feeling the energy fields activate around him with the kind of precise calibration that would have impressed even Voldemort's enhanced strategic intelligence, "if this doesn't work out—if I don't come back, or if the help I find turns out to be insufficient, or if interdimensional heroes decide our problems are too complicated to solve—tell the Legion that working with them has been the highlight of my career. Even counting the quarterly profit achievements and that really successful hostile takeover in '98."
"Sir," Dr. Chen replied, her scientific precision cracking just enough to let through genuine warmth and what might have been optimism if scientists were allowed to believe in impossible solutions, "bringing you back safely with comprehensive interdimensional assistance is just another engineering problem. And we've gotten really good at solving impossible problems over the past two years."
The transport engaged, reality folded in ways that would make theoretical physicists weep with professional envy, and Alexander Luthor disappeared in a cascade of light and mathematics and desperate hope that somewhere in the infinite multiverse, there existed heroes who were smart enough, strong enough, and patient enough to help him fix the worst decision he'd ever made.
Even if that decision had created the most dangerous being in multiversal history.
Even if fixing it might require them to face someone whose capabilities exceeded their measurement systems and whose strategic intelligence could probably redesign their entire universe just for fun.
Even if the alternative was watching infinite realities fall to systematic conquest guided by enhanced tyranny with really excellent efficiency ratings.
Some mistakes, apparently, required interdimensional intervention to fix properly.
Time to find out if the multiverse included any dimensions where heroes specialized in cleaning up other people's cosmic-scale strategic planning failures.
No pressure.
Just everything that had ever mattered in any universe, hanging in the balance.
---
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