Night fell over Metropolis. Clark roared down the street in a black Pagani, the engine's roar turning heads and drawing admiring—and envious—gazes from pedestrians. He thrived on this unrestrained indulgence, the thrill of speed, power, and attention.
"This is the life of neon lights and champagne. I like it," he murmured, eyes scanning the flashing streets.
Twenty minutes later, he pulled up in front of the Carol Hotel, one of the city's most opulent buildings. Towering arches, ornate fountains, and gas-lit walkways announced the luxury within. Tonight, an auction showcased priceless art: works by Picasso, Rothko, and other masters. Clark barely cared about the culture; he cared about profit.
At the entrance, luxury cars lined the driveway, and high-society guests mingled, perfectly dressed, their laughter and chatter filling the hall. Clark didn't have an invitation—but that was never a problem. Using his super speed and a touch of mischief, he acquired one and passed the guard with ease.
Inside, a waiter led him to the bustling banquet hall. He had no intention of socializing; he simply observed, sipping champagne, eyes roaming the crowd.
Then he saw a familiar figure. Lionel Luthor, Lex's father, conversed with acquaintances, oblivious to Clark's presence. Clark's gaze flicked away instantly.
Lionel excused himself and approached Dr. Helen.
"Helen, your first public appearance after… everything. Making a spectacle again?" he sneered.
Helen smiled politely, undeterred. "I don't know what you mean."
"Of course you do. Lex's death has your fingerprints, and your tragic love story is laughable."
"I didn't murder Lex."
"Really?" Lionel stepped closer, his eyes cold. "Tell your story again: hijacked plane, parachute, Lex's selfless act, your miraculous survival. Incredible. Even novels can't concoct such plots."
"If you have doubts, call the police," Helen replied smoothly.
"No need. I will expose you myself," Lionel warned before turning to leave. Pausing, he added, "Even the Black Widow can become prey."
Helen's smile never faltered. Lionel walked past Clark, who had overheard everything. His expression darkened slightly, thoughtful.
After a few more glasses of champagne, the auction began. Clark slouched in a corner, disinterested, until the dignitaries started bidding. He moved to the stage, donned his mask, and in a blur, appeared in full view.
"Now, I declare all the artworks here mine!" Clark's voice echoed across the hall.
Security rushed him with stun batons, but Clark flicked his hand, sending them flying into his grasp. One guard screamed as Clark channeled electricity through the baton, then tossed him into the crowd like a bowling pin. Within moments, all security lay incapacitated.
"Anyone still have questions?" Clark asked, the hall silent in fear.
"Bring out the valuable paintings, or I'll show you what happens when you anger me," he warned the host, who nodded frantically and scurried away.
A gunshot cracked the tension. Clark caught the bullet effortlessly, eyes narrowing as he traced its source backstage. A guard had dared to fire. Clark grabbed him by the collar, slammed him into a trash can, and watched him collapse unconscious. Bullets pinged off him harmlessly. A blur of super speed sent the closest shooter flying, turning the once-splendid hall into chaos. Screams and curses echoed as guests scrambled for safety.
Backstage, Clark found the host trembling.
"Where are the paintings?" Clark demanded.
"In…the safe. I don't know the code!" the man stammered, clutching Clark's leg in desperation. Clark shoved him aside.
"Take me to the safe."
Moments later, Clark packed the valuable paintings into a large bag and emerged, only to find a familiar lineup waiting: Wonder Woman, Green Lantern, Supergirl, and Batman, whose ear he had broken days before.
"What a lineup! Kara, Green Lantern, Wonder Woman, and Batman. Planning to team up against me?" Clark asked, annoyed.
"This is a law enforcement operation," Green Lantern said, floating above. "A criminal like you requires all of us."
"You superheroes?" Clark asked, frowning.
"Yes, the Cosmic Police," Hal added, materializing a massive gauntlet with his ring. "We handle superpowered criminals like you."
He swung the gauntlet at Clark—but the speed of the attack was matched by an even faster retreat. Hal crashed into a wall, leaving cracks spiderwebbing across the surface. Dust cascaded around him as he slid down, dazed.
Clark smirked, adjusting his grip on the paintings, fully in control of the chaos.
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