A month had passed since the Kryptonian invasion, and the world was still adjusting to its new reality.
In Metropolis, massive construction crews worked around the clock to repair the damage caused by General Zod's World Engine. The destruction had been catastrophic, but thanks to Marcus's intervention, the worst effects had been contained to a relatively small area. What could have been a global catastrophe that reshaped Earth's entire surface had been limited to several city blocks of twisted metal and warped concrete.
The human cost, while tragic, had been far lower than anyone dared hope. Marcus's magnetic manipulation had absorbed the worst of the gravity waves, meaning that aside from those caught in the initial pulse, most injuries were treatable. Broken bones, lacerations, and concussions rather than the wholesale slaughter that would have resulted from uncontrolled gravitational manipulation.
But the psychological impact was proving far more difficult to address.
Emergency meetings had been convened in capitals around the world as governments struggled to process what they'd witnessed. The uncomfortable truth was that humanity had been saved not by their own technology or military might, but by the intervention of beings whose power dwarfed anything in their arsenals.
"We can't allow ourselves to be dependent on alien intervention," declared the British Prime Minister during a closed session of the UN Security Council. "What happens the next time Earth faces this kind of threat? Do we simply hope that Superman and his mysterious ally decide to help us again?"
Similar conversations were taking place in Washington, Moscow, Beijing, and every other major capital. The consensus was clear: Earth needed its own defense capabilities against extraterrestrial threats. The problem was that human technology was centuries behind what they'd witnessed in the battle over Metropolis.
The solution, at least partially, lay at the bottom of the Indian Ocean.
The damaged World Engine that Clark had destroyed represented the most advanced technology humanity had ever had access to. Salvage operations were already underway, with every major power demanding access to the wreckage. If they could reverse-engineer even a fraction of Kryptonian technology, it might level the playing field for future encounters.
But not everyone was content to wait for government committees and international cooperation.
In his penthouse office overlooking Metropolis's ongoing reconstruction, Lex Luthor sat behind his desk with a handheld gaming device, his fingers dancing across the controls with practiced ease. To any observer, he appeared completely absorbed in the simple puzzle game, but his mind was working on far more complex problems.
"Mercy," he said without looking up from the screen, addressing the imposing woman who stood silently beside his desk. "I want our people to get to that crash site before the government recovery teams finish their work."
Mercy Graves, Luthor's personal assistant and bodyguard, nodded once. She was accustomed to her employer's unconventional working methods. Most executives held formal meetings and issued detailed memos. Luthor preferred to conduct business while engaged in other activities, as if the fate of nations was no more complex than the game in his hands.
"What specifically should they prioritize?" she asked.
"Everything," Luthor replied, his score climbing steadily on the device's display. "Intact technology, broken fragments, even the surrounding seabed where pieces might have been scattered. I want a complete catalog of every Kryptonian component we can recover."
The electronic music from his game grew more cheerful as he approached a new high score.
"And when they're finished with the ocean salvage," he continued, "send them to Africa. There's a situation there that requires our attention. Something that could prove... educational."
Beep, beep, beep.
The victory music played as Luthor's score hit the maximum possible value. He set the device aside with obvious satisfaction and finally looked up at Mercy.
"Make it happen. And ensure our teams understand the importance of discretion. We don't need government oversight complicating our research."
"Understood, Mr. Luthor."
Mercy turned and walked toward the door, her heels clicking against the polished floor. Luthor watched her go with clinical detachment, his mind already moving to the next phase of his plans.
Once alone, he turned his attention to the large monitor mounted on his office wall. With a few keystrokes, he brought up news footage from the Metropolis battle, freezing the image on a particular frame that showed a figure in distinctive armor manipulating magnetic forces.
"Superman," he murmured to the empty room. "The alien who thinks he can play god among humans. That will be an interesting challenge to solve."
But his gaze lingered on the armored figure whose face remained hidden behind an advanced helmet.
"And you," Luthor continued, pulling up additional images he'd compiled through weeks of research. "You're even more intriguing. No public identity, no clear origin, but plenty of breadcrumbs for someone who knows where to look."
The screen shifted to show photographs of Gotham's Central Church, its distinctive architecture and the imposing statue that stood before its entrance. The statue depicted a figure wielding what appeared to be a flail or incendiary weapon, frozen in a pose of righteous combat.
"The people of Gotham call you their guardian angel," Luthor said, studying the similarities between the statue and the armored figure from Metropolis. "They believe you saved them from some kind of demonic invasion twenty years ago. Fascinating mythology for a city built on crime and corruption."
His research had uncovered the strange history of Gotham's spiritual transformation. Two decades earlier, the city had been even more violent and chaotic than its current state. Then, according to local legend, a passage to Hell had opened somewhere in the city, releasing demonic entities that terrorized the population until a mysterious figure had appeared to seal the breach and drive back the darkness.
Luthor didn't believe in literal demons or angels, but he understood that such creatures could easily be extraterrestrial beings whose technology appeared supernatural to primitive human observers. The important thing was that this armored figure had demonstrated power that far exceeded anything Kryptonian, if the eyewitness accounts were accurate.
"You represent the ultimate challenge," Luthor said, leaning back in his chair. "Technology that makes Kryptonian science look primitive, power that can reshape reality itself, and the wisdom to remain hidden from public scrutiny. When I finally face you, it will be the game to end all games."
His smile was predatory, anticipating the intellectual stimulation of matching wits against such an opponent. But Luthor was far too intelligent to challenge such a being directly. First, he would need to test himself against lesser targets, to understand the nature of superhuman power and develop countermeasures.
Superman would be the perfect training exercise.
Meanwhile, across the bay in Gotham City, Marcus sat in a small café with Bruce and Selina, enjoying the simple pleasure of observing the changes that two decades had wrought on the city he'd helped protect.
"You should be proud of what you've accomplished here," Marcus said, sipping his coffee while watching pedestrians walk past the café's windows. "This is nothing like the Gotham I remember."
The transformation was remarkable. Where once the streets had been filled with obvious criminal activity – drug deals, gang violence, and general lawlessness – now there was something approaching normal urban life. People walked without constantly looking over their shoulders, businesses operated openly without paying protection money, and children played in parks that had previously been controlled by various criminal organizations.
"It took twenty years of very hard work," Bruce replied, his voice carrying both pride and exhaustion. "And we're still not where I want to be. There are still too many people falling through the cracks, too many neighborhoods where hope is in short supply."
"But the progress is undeniable," Selina added. "When we started, just walking down the street in costume was enough to trigger shootouts. Now most criminals think twice before operating openly."
Marcus nodded, remembering the war zone Gotham had been when he'd first encountered Bruce and Selina as children. The fact that they could sit in a public café without witnessing violence was itself a testament to their success.
"The real test," Marcus said thoughtfully, "will be whether these changes can survive without Batman and Catwoman. Eventually, Bruce, you're going to want to retire. When that day comes, will Gotham's improvement be permanent, or will it slide back into chaos?"
It was a question that haunted Bruce's quiet moments. He'd dedicated his life to this city, but he couldn't protect it forever. The hope was that by the time he stepped down, Gotham would have developed enough legitimate institutions and civic pride to maintain order without requiring a costumed vigilante.
Marcus was about to respond when his expression suddenly changed, his attention focusing on something beyond normal human perception.
"What is it?" Bruce asked, recognizing the look of someone using enhanced senses.
"There's a situation you might find interesting," Marcus said, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "About two miles east of here, in one of the abandoned factory districts. Someone in a hospital gown just emerged from the storm sewers, and they appear to be... agitated."
Bruce felt his blood run cold. Hospital gown plus erratic behavior in Gotham meant only one thing.
"Arkham," he said grimly, rising from his chair. "Someone's escaped from the asylum."
Arkham Asylum was Gotham's most secure psychiatric facility, housing the city's most dangerous criminal minds. It had been designed specifically to contain individuals who were both highly intelligent and completely insane – a combination that made them extraordinarily difficult to keep imprisoned.
"I need to get back to the cave and check the security feeds," Bruce said, already calculating the fastest route to Wayne Manor. "If one of them has found a way out..."
"The others won't be far behind," Selina finished. "And Gotham will be right back where it started."
Marcus watched Bruce leave with a mixture of concern and interest. Gotham's criminal element was unlike anything he'd encountered in other cities – not just violent or greedy, but genuinely psychotic in ways that defied rational understanding. The fact that Bruce had managed to contain such individuals for two decades was impressive, but prisons were only as strong as their weakest security measure.
After finishing his coffee, Marcus returned to Wayne Manor alone. He had his own work to attend to, projects that required privacy and concentration. Making his way to the guest room that Alfred had prepared for him, he settled cross-legged on the bed and produced four gleaming Aya Stars from a dimensional pocket.
The crystalline artifacts pulsed with soft light, each one containing enough concentrated void energy to power a small city. Combined with the ten he'd already collected, these four would give him enough resources to create three new Warframe armor configurations – significant additions to his already impressive arsenal.
The question was which armors to prioritize.
Marcus had mastered dozens of different Warframe designs over his years of interdimensional travel, each one offering unique capabilities for specific situations. Some emphasized raw destructive power, others provided support and utility functions, and still others specialized in stealth or crowd control.
After long consideration, he settled on three designs that would complement his existing capabilities: Mirage for battlefield illusion and misdirection, Revenant for spectral energy manipulation, and Trinity for healing and support functions.
"Trinity first," he decided. "A pure support frame could be invaluable for protecting allies."
The Aya Stars rose from his hands, orbiting around him as void energy began to flow through his body. The familiar sensation of transformation washed over him as the crystalline artifacts dissolved into pure energy and began reshaping themselves according to his will.
Gradually, the energy formed a cocoon around Marcus, pulsing with soft, rhythmic light that seemed almost organic in nature. As the transformation proceeded, something strange began to happen to the room around him.
The cut flowers in a nearby vase, which had been wilting after several days, suddenly began to straighten and bloom. Their petals regained their vibrant colors, and new buds appeared along the stems. Leaves unfurled with fresh green vitality, and the flowers' fragrance filled the room with an almost intoxicating sweetness.
When the energy cocoon finally dissipated, Marcus emerged wearing an elegant armor design that seemed to be crafted from organic materials rather than metal or ceramic. The Trinity Warframe emphasized grace over intimidation, its flowing lines and subtle curves suggesting growth and renewal rather than destruction.
"Impressive," Marcus murmured, stretching experimentally and feeling the armor's power flow through him. "Even the residual energy from the shaping process is enough to revitalize dying plants."
He examined the flourishing flowers with scientific interest. Trinity's primary ability involved transferring life force from designated targets to heal and strengthen allies, but even its passive emanations were apparently enough to invigorate nearby organic matter.
The armor's true power, however, required conscious activation and careful target selection. Trinity could drain the life essence from enemies to fuel massive healing effects for friendly forces, but such abilities came with obvious moral implications. Marcus had no intention of testing the frame's capabilities on innocent subjects.