Lex Luthor was not a man who believed in coincidence.
Coincidence was for people who lacked the intelligence to perceive the patterns underlying reality. Coincidence was an excuse, a cop-out, a way for lesser minds to avoid confronting the truth that everything—absolutely everything—happened for a reason, and that reason could be understood, predicted, and exploited by those with sufficient genius.
Lex Luthor was a genius.
This was not arrogance. This was fact. His IQ had been measured at levels that broke conventional testing scales. He had built a corporate empire from nothing, challenged gods and monsters and the most powerful beings in the universe, and emerged victorious more often than not through sheer force of intellect and will.
So when his plans started going wrong in ways that were technically right, Lex knew—knew with absolute certainty—that something was interfering.
Someone was interfering.
And he was going to find out who.
Week One: The Security Robot Incident
The LexCorp Advanced Security Initiative had been in development for three years.
The concept was elegant in its simplicity: autonomous combat robots, equipped with the most advanced weapons systems money could buy, capable of neutralizing any threat without the inconvenient limitations of human soldiers. No conscience. No hesitation. No mercy.
The official purpose, as presented to the board of directors and the various government agencies that provided contracts, was "enhanced facility protection and asset security." The actual purpose was rather different.
Lex had designed the robots to be the backbone of a private army. An army that answered only to him, that could operate anywhere in the world without the political complications of human troops, that could enforce his will with mechanical efficiency. When the time came to make his move—whatever that move might ultimately be—these robots would be his enforcers.
The prototype production run had gone flawlessly. Fifty units, each one a masterpiece of lethal engineering, ready for deployment and field testing. Lex had selected a testing site in a remote area of Nevada, where the robots could demonstrate their capabilities against simulated targets without attracting unwanted attention.
The transport convoy left the LexCorp manufacturing facility at 0600 hours on a Tuesday morning.
It never arrived at the testing site.
Instead, according to the tracking data that Lex reviewed with mounting disbelief, the convoy had somehow ended up in Metropolis's Suicide Slum—the poorest, most dangerous neighborhood in the city—where the trucks had been "accidentally" offloaded at a location that turned out to be a homeless shelter.
The robots had activated upon delivery.
And they had immediately begun... protecting people.
Lex stared at the security footage, his coffee growing cold in his hand, as fifty state-of-the-art combat machines took up defensive positions around the St. Vincent's Shelter for the Homeless. Their weapons systems—designed for lethal engagement against armored targets—had somehow reconfigured themselves into non-lethal deterrent modes. Their threat-identification algorithms—programmed to neutralize hostile elements—had been modified to prioritize the safety of shelter residents above all other considerations.
Within hours, the Suicide Slum crime rate had dropped by sixty percent.
Gang members who had previously terrorized the neighborhood found themselves facing an implacable wall of robotic security that responded to any act of violence with immediate, precisely-calibrated intervention. Drug dealers discovered that their usual corners were now patrolled by machines that could detect illegal substances at a hundred meters and would escort offenders directly to the nearest police precinct. Muggers learned that attacking vulnerable homeless individuals resulted in being gently but firmly restrained until law enforcement arrived.
The local news was calling it a miracle.
"LEXCORP DONATES ADVANCED SECURITY ROBOTS TO PROTECT HOMELESS POPULATION," the headlines proclaimed. "BILLIONAIRE PHILANTHROPIST PROVES TECHNOLOGY CAN SERVE THE VULNERABLE."
Lex's public relations team was ecstatic. His approval ratings had jumped twelve points overnight. The board of directors was sending congratulatory messages about his "brilliant humanitarian initiative."
He had not authorized any of this.
He had not donated anything.
He had been trying to build a private army, and somehow—somehow—that army had become a charitable protection force for the homeless.
"Get me the transport logs," Lex ordered his assistant. "The GPS data. The driver manifests. Everything."
The investigation took three days and revealed absolutely nothing useful.
The drivers had followed their assigned route exactly—right up until the moment they hadn't. The GPS data showed a smooth journey from the factory to the shelter, with no detours or irregularities. The convoy had simply... gone to the wrong place. As though the destination had always been the homeless shelter, even though every document and every order clearly specified the Nevada testing site.
The robots' programming was equally inexplicable. Lex's engineers tore apart the source code line by line, searching for evidence of tampering or hacking. They found nothing. The modifications to the weapons systems and threat-identification algorithms appeared to have been part of the original design—except they absolutely hadn't been, because Lex had personally overseen that design and he knew what he had created.
It was as though reality itself had been edited.
And Lex knew exactly who was responsible.
"Build," he muttered, staring at his reflection in the darkened window of his penthouse office. "That armored freak did this. He said he would. He warned me."
But knowing who was responsible and being able to prove it—or stop it—were very different things.
The robots were now legally the property of St. Vincent's Shelter, thanks to donation paperwork that had mysteriously appeared with Lex's signature on it. Attempting to reclaim them would be a public relations nightmare. And even if he could get them back, what guarantee did he have that the same thing wouldn't happen again?
Lex poured himself a scotch and contemplated his options.
This was just one incident. One setback. He had countless other projects, countless other schemes, countless other paths to power. One time-traveling hero couldn't possibly interfere with all of them.
Could he?
Week Two: The Foster Care Fiasco
LexCorp's Juvenile Development Initiative had been Lex's most subtle long-term investment.
On the surface, it was a charitable program—a network of group homes and foster care facilities that provided housing and support for orphaned and abandoned children. LexCorp funded the facilities, employed the staff, and received substantial tax benefits for its philanthropic efforts.
Beneath the surface, it was something else entirely.
The children in Lex's facilities were being evaluated. Tested. Sorted. Those who showed particular aptitudes—unusual intelligence, exceptional physical capabilities, or certain psychological profiles that indicated... malleability—were flagged for "advanced programs" that bore no resemblance to legitimate foster care.
Lex had been building a talent pipeline. A source of future operatives who would owe their entire existence to LexCorp, who could be trained and molded and deployed in ways that adult recruits never could. It was a long-term investment, but Lex was a patient man, and the returns would be substantial.
The first sign that something had gone wrong was when his head of Juvenile Development resigned.
Not just resigned—publicly denounced the program and confessed to a series of ethical violations that Lex had been very careful to keep hidden. The woman had been one of his most loyal operatives for fifteen years, and suddenly she was on national television, crying and apologizing and revealing details about the "advanced programs" that should never have seen the light of day.
Except... the details she revealed weren't accurate.
She described the program as she believed it had been—exploitative and manipulative—but the evidence she presented showed something completely different. Documents that should have outlined psychological conditioning protocols instead contained progressive educational curricula. Files that should have detailed physical training regimens instead showed therapy programs and recreational activities. Everything that had made the Juvenile Development Initiative sinister had been replaced with materials that made it look like the model foster care system.
The investigation that followed was thorough and found nothing incriminating.
Because there was nothing incriminating to find.
Every document, every database, every piece of physical evidence had been altered. The "advanced programs" now led to legitimate scholarships and career opportunities. The psychological evaluations were now used to match children with appropriate therapeutic support. The physical training was now youth athletics with proper safety protocols.
The children themselves—when interviewed by child welfare authorities—spoke glowingly of their experiences. They had received excellent education, emotional support, and genuine preparation for independent adulthood. Several had already been accepted to prestigious universities on scholarships that LexCorp had apparently been providing for years.
"LEXCORP FOSTER PROGRAM HAILED AS NATIONAL MODEL," the headlines announced. "LUTHER'S INVESTMENT IN VULNERABLE YOUTH SHOWS CORPORATE AMERICA CAN MAKE A DIFFERENCE."
Lex's approval ratings climbed another eight points.
He received a personal letter of commendation from the President.
He was nominated for a humanitarian award that he absolutely did not want.
And somewhere, he knew, Build was laughing at him.
Week Three: The Clone Catastrophe
Project Genesis was Lex's most ambitious scientific endeavor.
The goal was simple: create perfect copies of human beings. Not the flawed, unstable clones that previous attempts had produced, but genuine duplicates—genetically identical, mentally complete, indistinguishable from the originals. The applications were endless. Spare bodies for transplant. Expendable soldiers for dangerous operations. Replacements for individuals who had outlived their usefulness.
And, eventually, immortality for Lex himself.
The project had been running for seven years, consuming resources that would have funded a small nation, conducted in facilities so secret that even most of LexCorp's executive team didn't know they existed. Progress had been slow but steady. The early failures—mindless husks, unstable genetics, subjects that aged decades in days—had gradually given way to increasingly viable specimens.
The latest batch was the closest to success yet. Twelve clones, grown from carefully selected genetic templates, showing stable development and cognitive function that approached human normal. They weren't perfect—there were still issues with long-term viability and psychological integration—but they represented a breakthrough that justified every dollar Lex had invested.
And then the laboratory exploded.
Not violently. Not destructively. The containment systems failed in a way that was technically a malfunction but resulted in no casualties, no injuries, and minimal damage to equipment. The explosion was more of a... release. A liberation.
The twelve clones escaped.
Lex mobilized every resource at his disposal to recapture them. Tracking teams, surveillance networks, mercenary units on standby. The clones were valuable assets—years of research walking around unsecured—and he would not allow that investment to be lost.
He found them three days later.
In hospitals.
All twelve clones had, independently and without any apparent coordination, made their way to different medical facilities across the country. And they had begun... helping.
It turned out that the cloning process had an unexpected side effect. The clones weren't just copies of human beings—they were medically perfect copies. Their organs were pristine. Their tissues were ideal for transplant. Their bone marrow was a universal match for any recipient.
And they were volunteering to donate.
Not dying. Not sacrificing themselves. The clones, thanks to the same accelerated healing that had been part of their design specifications, could donate organs and tissues repeatedly. A kidney today, regenerated within a week. Bone marrow this month, fully replenished by next. Skin grafts, blood transfusions, partial liver donations—each clone had become a one-person medical supply chain.
The impact on the transplant waiting lists was immediate and dramatic.
Patients who had been waiting years for compatible organs were suddenly receiving them. Children with leukemia were getting bone marrow matches that had previously seemed impossible. Burn victims were receiving skin grafts that integrated perfectly with their bodies.
Lives were being saved. Hundreds of lives. Thousands, potentially, as the scope of what the clones could provide became clear.
And the clones themselves—when interviewed by the increasingly astonished medical community—explained that this was what they had been created for. That LexCorp's Project Genesis had always been a humanitarian initiative, designed to solve the organ shortage crisis through ethical, sustainable biological production.
They had documentation to prove it.
Research papers that Lex had never authorized, showing years of development aimed at creating "renewable organ donors." Ethics board approvals that had never existed. Regulatory filings that had never been submitted. Everything necessary to make Project Genesis look like a legitimate medical research program instead of the morally bankrupt personal immortality project it had actually been.
"LEXCORP CLONING BREAKTHROUGH REVOLUTIONIZES TRANSPLANT MEDICINE," the headlines screamed. "LUTHOR'S 'GENESIS PROJECT' SAVES THOUSANDS."
Lex received the Nobel Prize in Medicine.
He was forced to give an acceptance speech in Stockholm, thanking the scientific community for recognizing LexCorp's "commitment to human welfare."
The entire time, he was mentally composing increasingly elaborate revenge fantasies about what he would do to Build when he finally got his hands on the armored hero.
Week Four: The Weapons Development Disaster
By this point, Lex had recognized a pattern.
Every project he touched was being transformed. Every scheme was being redirected. Every plan was being twisted into something helpful and constructive and absolutely not what he had intended.
He decided to run an experiment.
The Advanced Weapons Division was developing a new type of energy weapon—a portable plasma projector capable of cutting through even Kryptonian-resistant materials. The official purpose was "industrial applications." The actual purpose was killing Superman.
Lex had been working on this project personally, keeping it off the books, conducting development in facilities that weren't connected to LexCorp's main networks. If Build was somehow accessing his records, monitoring his communications, interfering with his logistics—the classic approaches to this kind of sabotage—then an isolated project should be immune.
He was wrong.
The plasma projector worked perfectly in testing. It generated exactly the power levels Lex had specified, with exactly the penetration capabilities he required. Every system functioned as designed.
And then he tried to use it against a Superman-analog target dummy.
The weapon fired. The plasma discharged. And instead of a cutting beam that could slice through Kryptonian flesh, the projector produced... a healing ray.
A healing ray.
The medical applications became apparent immediately. The plasma, somehow reconfigured at the molecular level, stimulated cellular regeneration rather than destruction. It could close wounds instantly. It could destroy tumors without damaging surrounding tissue. It could reverse degenerative diseases that had been considered untreatable.
LexCorp's Advanced Weapons Division had accidentally invented the most advanced medical technology in human history.
"How?" Lex demanded, confronting his head of weapons development in a secure conference room. "How is this possible? I designed this weapon myself! I personally specified every parameter! There is no way the result should be anything other than a death ray!"
The scientist—a woman who had been developing lethal technologies for LexCorp for two decades—shook her head helplessly.
"Sir, I've analyzed every component. The design is exactly as you specified. The materials are exactly what you ordered. The construction followed your plans precisely. But the output is... beneficial. It's as though the laws of physics themselves decided to make the weapon helpful instead of harmful."
Lex stared at her.
The laws of physics.
Build's catchphrase echoed in his mind: "The laws of victory have been decided."
"Get out," he said quietly.
"Sir?"
"Get out. Now. I need to think."
Month Two: The Descent Into Paranoid Philanthropy
The following weeks saw an escalating series of involuntary humanitarian successes.
Lex's surveillance network—designed to gather blackmail material on politicians and business rivals—somehow began reporting exclusively on corruption and abuse. The information was automatically forwarded to investigative journalists and law enforcement agencies, resulting in the arrests of dozens of corrupt officials and the exposure of multiple criminal enterprises. LexCorp was credited with "anonymous tips" that cleaned up significant portions of the Metropolis power structure.
His money laundering operations—complex financial structures designed to hide illicit funds from regulatory oversight—were repurposed into microfinance networks that provided low-interest loans to disadvantaged entrepreneurs. The same complexity that had made the structures useful for hiding criminal proceeds now made them effective at distributing capital to communities that traditional banks refused to serve.
His political influence campaigns—sophisticated systems for manipulating elections and controlling legislators—began promoting candidates who actually represented their constituents' interests. The campaign contributions he sent to purchase favorable votes instead funded grassroots organizing and voter registration drives.
Every evil thing Lex tried to do ended up making the world a better place.
His approval ratings reached historical highs. He was being called "the conscience of corporate America." There was serious discussion about drafting him to run for President.
And he couldn't stop any of it.
He tried isolating projects completely—running them off-grid, using personnel who didn't know they were working for him, conducting operations in locations that had no connection to LexCorp. The results were the same. Whatever he touched turned to philanthropic gold.
He tried doing nothing—sitting in his office and refusing to initiate any new schemes. But his existing operations continued to be transformed, and his inaction was interpreted as "quiet confidence in his humanitarian infrastructure," which somehow made his reputation even better.
He tried actively trying to do good things, theorizing that Build's interference might work in reverse. But when he genuinely attempted to help people, nothing special happened. The assistance was appreciated, but it wasn't transformed into anything extraordinary. It was only when he tried to be evil that his plans became supernaturally beneficial.
The psychological toll was significant.
Lex Luthor had built his entire identity on the conviction that he was the smartest, most capable, most in-control person in any situation. He had faced gods and monsters and emerged victorious through sheer force of will and genius. He had never—never—encountered an obstacle he couldn't eventually overcome.
Until now.
Build was doing something to him that he couldn't understand, couldn't predict, couldn't counter. The hero had somehow gained the ability to interfere with reality itself, to rewrite the outcomes of Lex's plans at a fundamental level. It wasn't hacking or surveillance or any conventional form of interference. It was something else entirely.
And the worst part—the absolute worst part—was that Lex couldn't even complain about it.
What was he supposed to say? "Someone is forcing me to help people against my will"? "My evil schemes keep accidentally saving lives and I demand that it stop"? Any attempt to expose what was happening would only reveal his own malicious intentions, destroying the philanthropic reputation that Build's interference had created.
He was trapped.
Trapped in a prison made of good deeds and public approval and the genuine, measurable improvement in human welfare that his involuntary charity was producing.
It was, Lex reflected bitterly, the most elegant torture imaginable.
Month Three: The Confrontation
Lex found Build waiting for him in his office one evening.
The hero was sitting in Lex's chair—his personal, custom-designed, ergonomically-perfect chair that cost more than most people's houses—with his feet up on the desk and a container of takeout noodles in his hands. He wasn't transformed, just a young man in a white lab coat, eating dinner in the private office of the most powerful businessman on the planet.
"Hey, Lex," Build said cheerfully. "Want some lo mein? It's really good. I got it from that place on Fifth Street—the one with the weird cat statue out front. Apparently, they've been in business for like forty years. Family-owned. Great stuff."
Lex stood in the doorway, his fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tight with fury.
"How did you get in here?"
"Temporal manipulation. I walked in yesterday, but I'm experiencing it today. Or is it the other way around? Time stuff is confusing."
"My security systems—"
"Are very impressive. Seriously, I mean that. The biometric locks, the pressure sensors, the AI threat detection—top-notch work. But they're designed to stop people from entering through space, not time. Bit of an oversight, really."
Build slurped his noodles with exaggerated satisfaction.
"You should try these. Really. Life's too short for bad food, even when you're planning to live forever through cloning."
Lex walked into the office, his movements controlled, his expression carefully neutral despite the rage burning in his chest.
"You're doing this," he said. "All of it. The robots. The foster program. The clones. The weapons. Everything."
"Yep."
"How?"
Build set down his noodles and leaned forward, his expression becoming slightly more serious.
"You want the technical explanation? Okay. I have a form called SpaceTime—it lets me manipulate temporal causality with a fair degree of precision. I've been going back through your various projects and making... adjustments. Small changes, mostly. A different line of code here, a revised blueprint there. The kind of modifications that snowball into completely different outcomes."
He picked up the noodles again.
"For example, your security robots. Originally, they were programmed with lethal force protocols optimized for combat engagement. I went back to the initial design phase and tweaked the core directives—just a few lines, really—to prioritize protection over elimination. The engineers who built the robots have no idea anything changed. As far as they're concerned, the protective version was always what they were building."
"That's impossible. You can't change the past without creating paradoxes, without—"
"Without what? Alerting the timeline police? There aren't any, Lex. The universe is remarkably okay with temporal manipulation as long as you're not directly contradicting established events. I'm not changing things that have already been observed—I'm changing things that happened behind the scenes, in moments that no one was watching closely enough to notice the difference."
Build grinned.
"It's like editing a document before anyone reads it. The final version is the only one that matters."
Lex lowered himself into one of the chairs across from his desk, feeling suddenly exhausted.
"Why?" he asked. "Why do this? If you can manipulate time, you could simply... stop me. Prevent me from ever becoming a threat. Why this elaborate torture?"
"Because killing you—or erasing you, or whatever—wouldn't solve the problem. You're a symptom, Lex, not the cause. The systems that created you would just create someone else. Some other genius billionaire with too much power and not enough oversight."
Build's expression softened slightly.
"But if I can turn you into a force for good—genuinely, measurably good—then I'm not just removing a problem. I'm adding a solution. Your resources, your infrastructure, your influence—all of it redirected toward helping people instead of hurting them."
"Against my will."
"For now. But here's the thing, Lex—and I want you to really think about this—have you noticed how it feels?"
Lex blinked. "What?"
"The approval ratings. The commendations. The genuine gratitude from people whose lives have been improved by your 'philanthropy.' Have you noticed how that feels compared to the paranoid isolation you were living in before?"
Lex didn't answer, but something flickered in his expression.
"You were miserable," Build continued. "You had everything—money, power, genius—and you were absolutely miserable. Because you spent all your time fighting, scheming, trying to prove you were better than everyone else. And no matter how many victories you achieved, it was never enough. The emptiness never went away."
He stood up, walking around the desk to stand in front of Lex.
"I'm giving you a chance to experience something different. Not because you deserve it—you really, really don't—but because I think there's a version of Lex Luthor that could be genuinely happy. A version that uses his genius to help instead of hurt. A version that finds meaning in contribution rather than domination."
Build placed a hand on Lex's shoulder.
"I could have just stopped you. Removed your resources, exposed your crimes, let the justice system grind you down. But that would have been a waste. You have so much potential, Lex. So much capability. I don't want to destroy that—I want to redirect it."
Lex looked up at the hero, his expression unreadable.
"And if I don't want to be redirected?"
"Then you'll keep trying to be evil, and I'll keep turning your evil into good, and eventually you'll either give up or have a genuine change of heart. Either way, people benefit."
Build patted his shoulder and stepped back.
"The choice is yours. That's what I keep telling everyone. Free will is real, Lex. You can keep fighting this, keep trying to find ways around my interference, keep wasting your genius on schemes that will never accomplish what you want them to. Or you can accept that helping people actually feels better than hurting them, and start doing it on purpose."
He headed for the door.
"Think about it. Take your time. I'm not going anywhere, and neither are you. We've got all the time in the world."
He paused at the threshold.
"Oh, and Lex? The noodles really are good. You should try them sometime. Life's little pleasures, you know?"
He left.
Lex sat alone in his office for a very long time, staring at the container of lo mein that Build had left on his desk.
Eventually, almost against his will, he picked up the chopsticks and took a bite.
It was, he had to admit, really good.
Month Four: The First Intentional Good Deed
The transition was not instant or dramatic.
Lex Luthor did not wake up one morning transformed into a humanitarian saint. He did not have a sudden epiphany that erased decades of megalomania and resentment. He did not become a good person in any conventional sense.
But he did start... experimenting.
The first intentional good deed was small, almost invisible. A research project that he had been planning to weaponize was instead directed toward its stated purpose—developing more efficient solar panels for use in developing nations. No temporal interference was involved. No external manipulation. Lex simply... decided to do what the project paperwork had always claimed he was doing.
The results were unremarkable. The solar panels worked as designed. They were deployed to several villages in sub-Saharan Africa. People's lives improved marginally.
And Lex felt... something.
Not happiness, exactly. Not satisfaction. Something subtler—a sense of completion, perhaps. The project had achieved its goal. The goal had been beneficial. There was a logic to it, a cleanness, that his usual schemes lacked.
The second intentional good deed was larger. A pharmaceutical division that had been developing a drug specifically to be expensive and addictive was instead directed to produce a generic version that would be affordable and effective. The profit margins dropped significantly. The human benefit increased substantially.
The board of directors was confused but supportive. This was consistent with the "new Lex Luthor" that the public had come to expect—the philanthropist, the humanitarian, the reformed villain. They assumed it was part of some long-term strategy they weren't clever enough to understand.
In a way, they were right.
Because Lex was experimenting. Testing a hypothesis. Gathering data on what it felt like to help people deliberately rather than accidentally.
The data was... interesting.
The third intentional good deed was the most significant. LexCorp's Advanced Research Division was working on a cure for a rare genetic disease that affected children—a project that Lex had originally funded as a cover for more sinister research. But the cover project had made genuine progress, developing a therapy that could save hundreds of lives per year.
Lex authorized full funding for human trials. He pushed the project through regulatory obstacles. He personally involved himself in ensuring that the therapy reached the patients who needed it.
When the first child was successfully treated—a seven-year-old girl who had been given months to live—Lex received a letter from her parents thanking him for saving their daughter's life.
He read the letter seventeen times.
He didn't understand why it affected him so much. He had received thousands of letters over his career, most of them from people trying to manipulate him in various ways. This one shouldn't have been different.
But it was.
Because this one was real. This family genuinely believed he had saved their child. And the thing was... he had. He had made choices that led to that outcome. He had used his resources and his influence to produce a result that was unambiguously good.
Not accidentally. Not through Build's interference. Intentionally.
Lex Luthor, the villain, the megalomaniac, the would-be conqueror of humanity, had deliberately saved a child's life.
And it felt... it felt...
He didn't have words for it.
Month Five: The Unexpected Conversation
Build found Lex on the roof of LexCorp Tower, staring out at the Metropolis skyline as the sun set.
The hero wasn't transformed—just his civilian form, white lab coat and all, walking up to stand beside the billionaire like they were old friends rather than adversaries.
"Nice view," Build said.
"I've seen it thousands of times."
"Does it ever get old?"
Lex considered the question. "No. It's mine. I built this city, in many ways. Every time I look at it, I see my accomplishments."
"And now you're starting to see different accomplishments."
Lex didn't deny it.
They stood in silence for a while, watching the sky turn from orange to purple to the deep blue of approaching night.
"The girl," Lex said eventually. "The one with the genetic disease. Her name is Emma."
"I know."
"She sent me a drawing. Of me and her together, holding hands. She drew me as a superhero."
"Kids are perceptive."
Lex's jaw tightened. "I'm not a superhero. I've done terrible things. Things that can never be forgiven."
"Probably not," Build agreed. "But forgiveness isn't really the point, is it? The point is what you do next."
"You really believe that? That someone like me can change?"
Build turned to face him.
"Lex, I'm from a universe where you're a fictional character. I've read hundreds of stories about you—some where you're an irredeemable monster, some where you're a misunderstood antihero, some where you actually become Superman's friend and helps save the multiverse."
He smiled.
"The interesting thing about fictional characters is that they can be written any way the author chooses. They're not locked into a single version of themselves. Every new story is a chance to be different."
He turned back to the skyline.
"You're not fictional here. You're real. But the principle is the same. You're not locked into being the villain. You can write a different story for yourself. It's harder—much harder than just having an author decide you're good now—but it's possible."
"And if I don't want to change?"
"Then you'll keep being miserable, and I'll keep turning your schemes into charity, and eventually you'll die wealthy and powerful and completely alone. Your choice."
Lex was quiet for a long moment.
"I don't know how to be good," he admitted finally. "It's not something I ever learned. Every relationship I've ever had, every interaction, has been transactional. I don't know how to... care about people. Genuinely care, not just as assets to be managed."
"That's okay. Caring about people is a skill, like any other. It can be learned."
"At my age?"
Build laughed. "Lex, I met a woman last week who's been alive since ancient Greece, and she's still learning new things about human connection. You're not too old. You're just inexperienced."
He reached into his coat and pulled out a card—similar to the one Batman had given Build months ago, but with different information.
"There's a support group. People trying to reform, to be better than they were. Villains, mostly, but also some regular people who made terrible choices. They meet every Thursday at this address."
Lex took the card, examining it skeptically.
"You want me to attend a support group."
"I want you to try something new. Talk to people who understand what it's like to want to change. You might be surprised how much it helps."
Lex stared at the card for a long moment.
"I'll... consider it."
"That's all I ask."
Build turned to leave, but Lex's voice stopped him.
"Why do you care? About me specifically. You could have just neutralized me and moved on to other threats. Why invest so much effort in... whatever this is?"
Build looked back over his shoulder.
"Because I believe in second chances. And third chances. And as many chances as it takes. Because I think every person has the potential to be better than they are, and it's worth finding out if that's true."
He smiled.
"And because, honestly? Watching you accidentally become a philanthropist has been the most entertaining thing I've experienced since I got to this universe. I want to see what happens when you start doing it on purpose."
He left Lex alone on the roof, holding the card, staring at the city he had built.
Month Six: The First Meeting
The support group met in the basement of a church in a quiet neighborhood of Metropolis.
Lex had spent three weeks telling himself he wasn't going to attend. He was Lex Luthor. He didn't need help from anyone. He was perfectly capable of figuring things out on his own.
And then, on the fourth Thursday, he found himself walking through the church doors.
The basement was modest—folding chairs arranged in a circle, a coffee pot on a table in the corner, fluorescent lights that cast unflattering shadows. A far cry from the corporate boardrooms and penthouse offices Lex was accustomed to.
The people in the chairs were... unexpected.
He recognized some of them. Minor villains he had encountered or employed over the years. A woman who had been a henchman for one of Gotham's crime lords. A man who had developed weapons for various underground organizations. People who had done terrible things but were now, apparently, trying to be different.
And one face that made Lex stop in his tracks.
Poison Ivy looked up as he entered, her expression shifting from surprise to something that might have been dark amusement.
"Luthor," she said. "I didn't expect to see you here."
"Dr. Isley. Likewise."
They stared at each other for a moment—two people who had been on opposite sides of the law for decades, now sitting in the same church basement, attending the same support group for reforming villains.
"Build?" Ivy asked.
"Build," Lex confirmed.
She nodded, as though this explained everything.
"He talked to you too."
"He dismantled my entire worldview in approximately three minutes. You?"
"Similar experience. He has a way of making you question everything you thought you believed."
The meeting facilitator—a middle-aged woman with kind eyes and visible burn scars—called the group to order, and Lex found himself sitting in a folding chair, surrounded by former criminals, preparing to talk about his feelings.
It was, without question, the most surreal experience of his life.
But when his turn came—when the facilitator gently asked if he wanted to share—Lex found himself speaking.
About the emptiness that had driven him. About the desperate need to prove himself better than everyone else. About the loneliness of being the smartest person in every room and having no one who could truly understand him.
About Emma, the girl with the genetic disease, and the drawing she had sent him.
About how it felt to save a life on purpose.
The group listened. They didn't judge. Several of them nodded in recognition, their own experiences echoing his in ways he hadn't expected.
And when the meeting ended, Lex found himself shaking hands with people he would previously have dismissed as beneath his notice. Exchanging phone numbers. Making plans to meet for coffee.
It was strange. It was uncomfortable. It was completely foreign to everything he had known.
But for the first time in longer than he could remember, Lex Luthor didn't feel alone.
Month Seven: The Press Conference
LexCorp's quarterly earnings call was typically a performance—Lex presenting carefully crafted narratives about corporate success while journalists looked for cracks in the facade.
This one was different.
Lex stood at the podium, looking out at the assembled press corps, and set aside his prepared remarks.
"I want to talk about something that isn't in the quarterly report," he said.
The journalists leaned forward, sensing a story.
"For the past several months, LexCorp has been undergoing a transformation. You've all reported on it—the robots protecting homeless shelters, the foster care program, the medical breakthroughs, the various humanitarian initiatives. The general assumption has been that this is a strategic repositioning, a calculated shift designed to improve our public image."
He paused.
"That assumption is partially correct. But it's not the whole truth."
The room was absolutely silent.
"The whole truth is that I have spent most of my adult life pursuing power for its own sake. I told myself I was building something great, that my ambitions served a higher purpose, but the reality is that I was driven by ego, by resentment, by the need to prove myself superior to everyone around me."
He took a breath.
"The humanitarian initiatives you've been reporting on—most of them began as something else. Something selfish. Something harmful. They were transformed into beneficial programs through circumstances I still don't fully understand. But their origin doesn't change what they've accomplished. Lives have been saved. Communities have been helped. Good has been done, regardless of the intentions behind it."
He looked directly into the cameras.
"I'm not going to pretend that I've become a saint. I'm not going to claim that decades of questionable choices can be erased by a few months of involuntary philanthropy. But I am going to make a commitment—publicly, on the record, with no ambiguity."
He straightened his spine.
"From this point forward, LexCorp will prioritize beneficial outcomes. Not as a strategy. Not as a public relations exercise. Because I have learned—been forced to learn—that helping people feels better than hurting them. That contribution is more satisfying than domination. That the legacy I actually want to leave is one of improvement rather than conquest."
He smiled slightly.
"I have no idea if I can maintain this commitment. I have no idea if I'm capable of genuine, sustained goodness. But I'm going to try. And I invite all of you—the press, the public, my former victims—to hold me accountable. To call me out when I fail. To remind me of this moment whenever I'm tempted to return to old patterns."
He gathered his papers.
"That's all I have to say. Thank you for your time."
He left the podium to a room of stunned journalists, all of them simultaneously trying to figure out if this was a trick, a scheme, or the most unexpected character development in the history of corporate villainy.
Month Eight: The Visit
Build found Lex in his office again, but this time he knocked first.
"Come in," Lex said.
The hero entered, looking around at the office that hadn't changed much since his last unauthorized visit.
"Saw your press conference," Build said.
"I assumed you would."
"It was good. Honest."
"It was terrifying. I have no idea what I'm doing."
Build sat down across from the desk—in the guest chair this time, rather than Lex's personal seat.
"Nobody does. That's the secret. Everyone's making it up as they go along. Even Superman. Even Batman. Even me."
Lex raised an eyebrow. "You seem fairly confident for someone who's making it up."
"Confidence is a performance. Underneath it, I'm constantly terrified that I'm going to screw something up and make everything worse. The difference is that I keep trying anyway."
He leaned forward.
"How's the support group?"
"Surprising. I never expected to find common ground with former henchmen and minor supervillains. But they understand things that my corporate colleagues never could."
"That's the point. Shared experience creates connection in ways that status and power can't."
Lex nodded slowly. "I've started attending regularly. Every Thursday."
"And how does it feel?"
Lex considered the question.
"Strange. Uncomfortable. Like wearing a suit that doesn't quite fit. But also..." He searched for words. "...necessary. I spent so many years alone. Not physically—I was always surrounded by people—but emotionally. No one who actually knew me. No one I could be honest with."
"And now?"
"Now I'm learning. Slowly. Painfully. But learning."
Build smiled.
"That's all anyone can do. Keep learning. Keep growing. Keep trying to be better than you were."
He stood up.
"I'm going to stop interfering with your projects."
Lex looked up sharply. "What?"
"The temporal manipulation. The reality edits. I'm going to stop. You've demonstrated that you're willing to try doing good on purpose. You don't need me forcing the outcome anymore."
"What if I fall back into old patterns?"
"Then I'll start interfering again. But I don't think you will. Not completely, anyway. You've seen what the other path looks like. You've felt what it's like to help instead of hurt. That experience doesn't just disappear."
He headed for the door.
"Besides, some of my interference was getting lazy. Turning death rays into healing beams is funny, but it's not exactly subtle. If you hadn't figured out what I was doing, I would have been disappointed."
Lex laughed—a genuine laugh, not the calculated chuckle he usually deployed in social situations.
"You're insufferable, you know that?"
"So I've been told." Build grinned. "Keep going to the meetings, Lex. Keep trying. And if you ever need someone to talk to—someone who isn't a former supervillain or a corporate subordinate—you know how to reach me."
He opened the door.
"Oh, and Lex?"
"Yes?"
"Emma's eighth birthday is next month. Her parents are throwing a party. You're invited."
He left.
Lex sat alone in his office, staring at the closed door, feeling something unfamiliar in his chest.
It took him a while to identify the emotion.
It was hope.
The Present: A New Normal
Six months after Build's intervention began, Lex Luthor's life was unrecognizable.
He still ran LexCorp. He still wielded enormous power and influence. He still had more money than most countries.
But he used those resources differently now.
The security robots had expanded from one homeless shelter to a network across the city, providing protection for vulnerable populations without lethal force or intimidation. The foster care program had become a genuine model for youth development, producing graduates who were healthy, educated, and prepared for independent adulthood. The medical clones were saving thousands of lives per year, and the research had expanded into other areas of regenerative medicine.
The death ray was now a healing ray, standard equipment in hospitals across the country.
The surveillance network monitored for corruption and abuse, providing anonymous tips that kept powerful people honest.
The political influence was directed toward policies that benefited the public rather than enriched the already-wealthy.
LexCorp was still profitable—enormously profitable—but its profits came from doing good rather than doing harm.
And Lex himself...
Lex was different.
He still had a long way to go. Decades of ingrained patterns didn't disappear overnight. He still sometimes caught himself thinking like the old Lex—calculating, manipulative, seeking advantage at others' expense. The support group helped. The new relationships helped. Emma's drawings, which arrived regularly and featured increasingly creative superhero costumes for "Mr. Lex," helped most of all.
But the fundamental shift had occurred.
He was no longer trying to prove himself better than everyone else. He was no longer consumed by resentment and rage. He was no longer desperately seeking power as a substitute for connection.
He was just... Lex. A man with enormous resources and abilities, trying to use them well.
It wasn't a fairy tale ending. He wasn't cured or redeemed or transformed into a saint.
But he was trying.
And for the first time in his life, that felt like enough.
Build watched the press conference announcing LexCorp's latest humanitarian initiative—a global clean water program that would provide safe drinking water to millions of people in developing nations—from the comfort of his Watchtower quarters.
The Lex on screen was different from the one he had confronted months ago. More relaxed. More genuine. Less like a mask and more like a person.
"You're looking smug," Diana observed, entering his quarters with the easy familiarity that their relationship had developed.
"I'm feeling smug. Have you seen this?"
She looked at the screen, watching Lex describe the technical details of the water purification systems.
"He seems sincere."
"He is sincere. That's the amazing part. I started out forcing him to be good against his will, but somewhere along the line, he started wanting to be good on his own."
Diana sat beside him, her shoulder pressing against his.
"That's the difference between control and inspiration. Control only works as long as you maintain it. Inspiration creates change that sustains itself."
"Did you just quote Batman at me?"
"It's possible. He has occasional wisdom between bouts of paranoid surveillance."
Build laughed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.
"You know what the best part is?"
"What?"
"Lex thinks he figured it out on his own. He knows I was manipulating his projects, but he thinks his emotional growth was independent. The meetings, the connections, the genuine change—he believes he did that himself."
Diana raised an eyebrow. "And did he?"
Build smiled.
"Mostly. I might have nudged a few things. Made sure the support group had members he could connect with. Ensured that Emma's first letter reached him at exactly the right psychological moment. Small interventions, nothing major."
"So you manipulated him into genuine growth."
"I created conditions that made genuine growth more likely. There's a difference."
"Is there?"
Build considered the question seriously.
"I think so. Free will is real, but it operates within constraints. We're all influenced by circumstances, relationships, chance encounters. I just... optimized the circumstances around Lex to make positive choices easier."
He turned to face her.
"Is that wrong? Manipulating someone for their own good?"
Diana was quiet for a moment.
"I've wrestled with similar questions for centuries. The Amazons were created to guide humanity toward peace, but we've always disagreed about how much guidance is appropriate. How much intervention. How much respect for mortal self-determination."
She took his hand.
"I believe you acted with good intentions and produced good results. Whether the means were justified... that's a question philosophers will debate forever."
"And what do you believe?"
She smiled.
"I believe that Lex Luthor is helping people who would otherwise have suffered. I believe that lives are being saved and communities are being strengthened. And I believe that the man on that screen is happier than the one you first confronted, even if he doesn't fully understand why."
She leaned in and kissed him gently.
"I believe you did something good, my love. Even if you had to be sneaky about it."
Build smiled against her lips.
"Sneaky is kind of my specialty."
"I've noticed."
They sat together, watching Lex Luthor announce programs that would improve millions of lives, and Build felt something warm spreading through his chest.
He had come to this universe with the power of science and the determination to be a hero.
But this—turning a villain into an ally, not through force but through patience and intervention and the careful cultivation of better choices—this might be the most heroic thing he had ever done.
The laws of victory had been decided.
And everyone had won.
To Be Continued...