The rest of the event passed in a blur as Joseph drifted through it lost in his thoughts.
He made meaningless small talk with the few people brave enough to approach Killer Croc, likely reassured by the nearby presence of the League. He offered practiced smiles when required, stroked egos here, postponed invitations there, and nodded along to inane conversations without really hearing them.
How anyone had the energy—or desire—for this kind of social choreography right now was beyond him. It was an aspect of this life Joseph had easily mastered but would never learn to enjoy.
Around him were socialites, politicians, millionaires, and even a few billionaires—the richest and most influential people in the city, some in the country. Many of them had likely spent the Hour of Chaos sheltered safely in basements, emerging with their families intact.
Their idle chatter and occasional bursts of laughter stood in stark contrast to the somber crowd of ordinary people gathered just beyond the police barricades only a few feet away—people mourning loved ones while also grieving the loss of the Symbol of Hope. Joseph felt his patience thinning by the second.
"We've got a great internship program at the White House, if the CEO life ever starts to feel monotonous," the president said with a smile.
"Haha. I'll be sure to let you know," Joseph replied.
The man owed his presidency in part to generous LexCorp donations, and it was clear he wanted to remain on Joseph's good side for the next election cycle.
"Well, if you'll excuse me," Joseph said, politely disengaging. Waylon followed close behind, his massive frame parting the crowd with ease.
Aunt Lena noticed immediately and broke away from Emil Hamilton, the director of S.T.A.R. Labs.
"Are you alright?" she asked, resting a concerned hand on his shoulder.
"Yeah. Just… a little out of it after everything," Joseph said. "I'm heading to Gotham to pay my respects to Mr. Jack and take care of some BellCorp business."
"Are you sure that's wise right now?" Lena asked. "I've heard there's been a lot of unrest."
Gotham's usual assortment of lunatics had wasted no time exploiting the chaos for their own ends. At least Harvey was working with the GCPD to keep the streets from completely unraveling.
"I grew up there. I know which streets to avoid," Joseph said, giving Waylon a light pat on the arm. "And I'll have him with me."
Lena, now accustomed to Waylon's presence after seeing him around the office, nodded. "Keep him safe."
Croc grunted. "Will do."
**
| Gotham City - October 19
"You sure you grew up in the East End?" Waylon said from across the seat of the reinforced luxury limousine. "From the way you were cozying up to those snobs, I'd've pegged you for a Diamond District dandy."
The chauffeur steered them toward a neo-Gothic cathedral, where Joseph had paid handsomely to secure a mass funeral for Mr. Jack and the BellCorp employees who had died during the Hour of Chaos.
It was a privilege only the elite could manage—holding a service just two days after millions had died, while bodies were still being pulled from rubble and temporary morgues overflowed. Between donations to the cathedral, security, funeral arrangements, and what felt like a mandatory Gotham corruption tax, Joseph had spent nearly $380,000 to make it happen.
Mr. Jack had died after getting too close to a pillar of fire that had erupted without warning while he was searching for Jason. All that remained was a burned husk.
"Some things have to be done, no matter how much you hate them," Joseph said with a shrug. "If I have to kiss ass, I might as well be good at it."
Gunshots suddenly cracked through the air nearby.
In an instant, Waylon shoved Joseph down onto the limo floor, positioning himself over him to shield him with his bullet-resistant hide.
Joseph calmly extended his senses, pinpointed the source of the disturbance, and psychically put everyone on that block to sleep. The chaos ended immediately.
He tapped Waylon's side. "You can get off now."
Waylon scowled as he straightened. "Relax. This limo's so reinforced it might as well be a tank. Gunshots are normal in the East End. You sure you're not the one who's the upper-crust type?"
Waylon snorted as he rose from his position. "Then what are you even paying me so much for?"
Joseph smirked. "Your big, scary image. Without you, I'd have to do a lot more talking."
**
| Gotham Cathedral - October 19
Jason Todd sat alone in the darkened cathedral, playing Super Mario Land on an old Game Boy Mr. Jack had once given him.
The pallbearers had already carried the caskets away. People had tried to comfort him, offering murmured condolences and gentle pats on the shoulder, but they'd all left eventually—one by one—until the vast space was empty.
It felt like the universe was proving, once again, that hope was a trap.
He'd only known Mr. Jack for a few months, yet the man had become the closest thing to a father figure Jason had ever had. His real father had died in prison long ago.
They'd formed a genuine bond while Jason tested video games. Mr. Jack always asked how school was going, encouraged him to make friends, and—most importantly—held him accountable. He'd given Jason something rare: the safety to just be a kid and play games. That version of life felt forbidden to a street kid like him.
And now he was gone, taken by supernatural fire—something Jason had once believed only existed in fairy tales.
And it wasn't just Mr. Jack.
His mother was gone too.
While Mr. Jack's death was supernatural, his mother Catherine's overdose was quiet, gray, and mundane. The pillars of fire that appeared around the world felt like a movie; the overdose was his life.
Jason had tried to get her to stop using. He'd tried so hard. She'd never been a good mother—he'd always been the one taking care of her—but he loved her anyway. He believed she could change, just like he was trying to.
Instead, she died from a heroin overdose sometime during the Hour of Chaos. Jason came home to her lifeless body, needles scattered across the floor. Maybe the world ending outside had pushed her over the edge. Maybe this was the only way she knew how to cope. He would never know.
The drugs had come from her friend Robby. One small comfort was knowing Robby had also died during the Chaos—he wouldn't be poisoning anyone else.
Two of the most important people in Jason's life were gone, and still he refused to cry.
Instead, he lost himself in the Game Boy.
If the world was chaos, the game had rules. You pressed a button, Mario jumped. You made a mistake, you lost a life, and you tried again. His mother's corpse flickered through his mind. He clenched the console harder, his knuckles turning white.
It was his last connection to a version of himself that was allowed to be a child.
Mario took a fireball. Game Over.
Jason stared at the screen.
It was time to grow up. He was on his own.
The console slipped from his hands and clattered across the stone floor, sliding beneath a pew as he bowed his head.
"Yo, kid."
Jason flinched and turned. He hadn't realized anyone else was still there.
He recognized him instantly. "Joseph Luthor…"
"You dropped this," Joseph said, holding up the Game Boy.
"You can keep it," Jason muttered. "Or throw it out."
"Why?"
"I won't have time for it anymore."
"Why not?"
"I'm on my own now. I need to provide for myself." Jason straightened, defensive. He wasn't letting Gotham CPS get their hands on him. That's how kids disappeared—trafficked, forgotten.
"So what?" Joseph asked calmly. "You're going back to pickpocketing?"
Jason's jaw tightened. "You have money. You're the heir to LexCorp. Your dad's still alive. You wouldn't understand."
Joseph was quiet for a moment. Then he stood and placed a firm hand on Jason's shoulder.
"Take the console," Joseph said, lifting it slightly.
Jason bristled, about to protest—but the pressure on his shoulder brought back a sharp memory: getting caught pickpocketing Joseph and being forced to do fifty push-ups. He stayed still, stubborn but listening.
"We had a deal," Joseph continued. "You stop stealing. I pay you to test games. Who said that deal was over? I'll even make you live with me if I have to—just to make sure you keep your end."
Jason looked up, stunned.
"You're just a kid, Jason," Joseph said softly. "And you're not alone. Mr. Jack cared about you. So live a life that would make him proud. Now take the console."
Jason accepted the Game Boy, the screen at the start menu.
Tears finally spilled down his cheeks.