Superior Lex Luthor

Date: Saturday, June 11th, 2011, 9:00 pm

Location: Metropolis

The grand ballroom, a dizzying expanse of polished marble and shimmering chandeliers, pulsed with the orchestrated murmur of hundreds of conversations. Each crystal facet caught and refracted the light, casting dancing patterns across the opulent decor and the even more opulent attire of the guests. It was a sensory overload of wealth and influence, a meticulously curated tableau designed to impress, to disarm, and ultimately, to serve my greater purpose.

As we descended the sweeping staircase, a ripple of recognition spread through the crowd. My presence, even without a cape or cowl, carried its own undeniable weight. I was Lex Luthor, a name synonymous with innovation, controversy, and a certain undeniable power. My reputation, carefully constructed over these past months, was a blend of philanthropic genius and ruthless pragmatism. Tonight, the former would be on full display.

Mercy, a vision of dark elegance, glided by my side, her composure a stark contrast to the subtle shifts in the crowd's attention. Thea, vibrant in emerald, radiated a playful charm that instantly captivated, drawing smiles and appreciative glances. Zoe, trailing a few paces behind, remained a storm cloud in human form, her dark dress a defiant blot against the glittering backdrop, her arms still crossed in a silent protest. Her reluctance, however, only added a touch of intriguing mystery, a carefully managed counterpoint to our polished front.

We moved through the throng with practiced ease, a quartet of calculated magnetism. My eyes, however, were not lingering on the usual suspects – the fawning sycophants, the eager investors, the social climbers desperate for a moment of my attention. No, my gaze cut through the noise, searching for the familiar faces I had already identified on the red carpet.

Bruce Wayne, ever the elusive ghost, was already deep in conversation near a champagne fountain, surrounded by a swirling eddy of admirers. He held court with an effortless, almost bored air, his disarming charm a masterclass in misdirection. I watched him from afar, noting the subtle flick of his eyes and the nearly imperceptible shifts in his posture that betrayed the keen intellect beneath his playboy facade. He was observing, just as I was, and I felt a faint stir of admiration for his dedication to the role.

Clark Kent, meanwhile, was less overtly dramatic. He stood by a large, arched window, seemingly captivated by the city lights twinkling beyond. Lois Lane, animated and vibrant, was gesturing emphatically as she spoke, clearly engrossed in a discussion that, knowing Lois, was undoubtedly about something far more substantial than the latest celebrity gossip. There was an earnestness to Clark, a quiet strength that was almost endearing. It made his secret identity even more baffling to the masses, yet perfectly clear to those who truly looked. He was a good man, perhaps too good for this world, but a necessary component for the one I envisioned.

Then there was Diana Prince. She was an anchor in the swirling chaos, a still point of magnificent grace. She stood before a display of ancient artifacts, her gaze thoughtful and almost pensive. There was a timeless quality to her, an aura of wisdom that transcended the fleeting trends of the evening. She was speaking quietly with a group of women, her expressions empathetic, her presence commanding without being overbearing. She embodied both the fierce warrior and the compassionate leader, a rare and potent combination. My gaze met hers again across the room, and this time, there was a faint, almost imperceptible nod from her, a silent acknowledgment of something shared, a deeper understanding that bypassed the superficiality of the gala.

Among the group with Diana was Carol Ferris, a striking woman who bore a remarkable resemblance to the actress Nina Dobrev. I had ensured her invitation, not only for her ownership of Ferris Aircraft Inc. but also as a calculated move to draw in Hal Jordan when he inevitably comes back to Earth as the green lantern. This version of Carol held the distinct potential to ignite and become the formidable Star Sapphire.

Then, my eyes caught sight of two individuals I neither recognized nor recalled inviting. Yet, a pleasant surprise rippled through me. They bore the distinct likenesses of actresses from my previous life, a sure sign, in my experience, that they were figures of significant importance in this one. The first, unmistakably the spitting image of Viola Davis, could only be Amanda Waller. While the Deadshot of this world wasn't Will Smith but Tom Hardy, the visual cue was too strong to ignore.

The second individual, a breathtaking duplicate of Angelina Jolie from Mr. and Mrs. Smith, was someone I was definitely looking forward to meeting. She walked with a seductive grace yet held a dangerous allure, wearing a black dress with a slit on the side and some golden accessories. I noticed her examining me, and when she realized I had caught her, she gave me a cheshire grin and a deliberate wave. This meeting would be intriguing.

"Lex," Mercy's voice, a low current beneath the din, brought my focus back. "The media are converging. It's almost time."

I nodded, a sense of anticipation quickening my pulse. This was it. The culmination of months of planning, the moment where the public face of Lex Luthor would intertwine with the clandestine purpose of my ambition.

We began our slow procession towards the main stage, a raised platform adorned with the LexCorp logo and a banner proclaiming, "A Future For All: The Metropolis Orphanage Initiative." As we approached, a hush began to fall over the ballroom, the conversations softening, then dying out entirely, replaced by the hushed clicks of camera shutters and the whirring of video cameras. Spotlights tracked our movement, bathing us in a brilliant, almost blinding, glow.

I stepped onto the stage first, the light momentarily disorienting, before my eyes adjusted. The sea of faces before me was a mixture of curiosity, expectation, and a healthy dose of cynicism. I took a deep breath, letting the moment settle, allowing the anticipation to build. Mercy took her place slightly behind me, her posture impeccable, a silent sentinel. Thea positioned herself to my left, her smile radiant, projecting an image of effortless charm. Zoe, despite her evident discomfort, reluctantly stood to my right, her arms still crossed, but at least she was present.

I scanned the faces in the crowd, letting my gaze linger for a beat on Bruce, then Clark, then Diana. Each met my gaze with varying degrees of composure – Bruce with a practiced mask of indifference, Clark with quiet attentiveness, Diana with an unreadable depth. They were here, they were watching, and that was all that mattered for now.

"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," I began, my voice, amplified by the meticulously placed microphones, filled the vast hall, cutting through the lingering silence. It was a voice honed by countless board meetings, public addresses, and carefully crafted media appearances – confident, resonant, and imbued with an undeniable authority. "Thank you all for being here tonight. Thank you for your generosity, your time, and your belief in a better future."

A smattering of polite applause rippled through the audience.

"Tonight, we gather not just for a celebration of philanthropy," I continued, my gaze sweeping across the faces, making eye contact with as many as possible, "but for a commitment. A commitment to the most vulnerable among us. A commitment to shaping the destiny of our great city, and perhaps, even beyond."

I paused, allowing the words to sink in, to resonate. Then, my voice softened, a subtle shift in tone designed to evoke empathy. "For too long, our communities have wrestled with the shadow of disadvantage. For too long, young lives have been derailed, dreams shattered, and potential squandered, simply for lack of opportunity, for lack of a safe haven, for lack of a guiding hand."

I shifted my stance, my voice gaining a renewed intensity. "We see the consequences in our streets, in our crime rates, in the silent despair that too often permeates the lives of those who have nowhere to turn. But tonight, we say, 'No more.'"

I gestured towards the banner above me, then spread my arms wide, encompassing the entire room. "Tonight, with your support, we launch the Metropolis Orphanage Initiative. A comprehensive program designed to provide not just shelter, but education, mentorship, and a genuine path to a brighter future for every child who passes through its doors."

I could see the nods, the appreciative murmurs. This was the easy part: the public performance of the benevolent billionaire. However, the crucial element, the unexpected pivot, was yet to come.

My gaze drifted to Zoe, who shifted uncomfortably under the spotlight. I took a step towards her, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. She stiffened, but did not pull away.

"Some of you may wonder," I continued, my voice now imbued with a deeply personal resonance, "what truly ignited this passion within me. What truly made me see the urgent need for a facility like this, for a change of this magnitude."

I looked directly at Zoe, making sure every eye in the room followed my gaze on her. She looked utterly mortified, her cheeks flushing.

"The truth," I stated, my voice clear and unwavering, "is that I was inspired. Deeply, profoundly inspired by a young woman who, through no fault of her own, found herself caught in the system, facing challenges that no child should ever have to endure."

A collective gasp rippled through the room. Whispers broke out, curious eyes now fixed solely on Zoe.

"This young woman," I continued, my voice firm, allowing no room for misinterpretation, "showed me the resilience of the human spirit, the quiet courage of those who refuse to be defined by their circumstances. She showed me the deep-seated flaws in our current system, and she ignited a fire within me to do more, to be more, for children like her."

I squeezed Zoe's shoulder gently, a silent reassurance. "Tonight, it is my immense honor and privilege to introduce to you Zoe Lawton."

Zoe flinched visibly, her eyes wide with a mixture of shock and sheer panic. She opened her mouth as if to protest, but no words came out. The bright lights, the hundreds of eyes on her, seemed to freeze her in place.

"Zoe," I declared, my voice resonating with genuine emotion, "has not only inspired this initiative but will also serve as a vital voice in its ongoing development. She is a testament to the fact that with compassion, with opportunity, and with unwavering support, even the most challenging circumstances can be overcome. And tonight, I am proud to announce that Zoe is not just an inspiration, but a new, cherished member of my family."

The applause that followed was thunderous, a genuine outpouring of emotion. It was not just for the orphanage, but for the unexpected, personal touch, the human element I had so skillfully woven into the narrative. Zoe, overwhelmed, stared out at the cheering crowd, her eyes shining with unshed tears, her defiance momentarily forgotten in the face of such public validation.

I allowed the applause to subside, then raised my hand. "Of course," I said, a faint smile touching my lips, "this endeavor requires substantial resources. And that is where all of you come in."

I then transitioned seamlessly into the financial appeal, detailing the project's scope, its long-term benefits, and the various donation tiers. The atmosphere in the room shifted from one of emotional resonance to one of pragmatic calculation. Hands shot up, pledging millions. The philanthropic elite, always eager to attach their names to a worthy cause, especially one spearheaded by Lex Luthor, began a quiet bidding war. Mercy, ever efficient, had her team circulating, tablets in hand, recording every pledge.

As the pledges rolled in, reaching into the tens, then hundreds of millions, I subtly scanned the room again. Bruce Wayne, despite his earlier nonchalance, had a thoughtful expression on his face. Clark Kent looked genuinely moved, a soft smile gracing his lips. Diana Prince, however, was studying me, her eyes unblinking, a faint, almost imperceptible tilt of her head suggesting a deeper analysis.

The philanthropic objective was well underway, exceeding even my most optimistic projections. The Metropolis Orphanage Initiative was going to be a resounding success, establishing a powerful new philanthropic arm for LexCorp and further solidifying my public image as a visionary benefactor.

But the actual game, the clandestine recruitment, had only just begun. The groundwork was laid, and the pieces were in motion. The public saw a charity gala. I witnessed the first gathering of a nascent league, a council of extraordinary individuals who, whether they knew it or not, were about to become key players in a grander design. This design extended far beyond the confines of Metropolis, far beyond the reach of Earth itself. The night was young, and the actual conversations —the real negotiations —were yet to come.