VECTOR IN DC

The next morning, news outlets buzzed with the shocking announcement: Lex Luthor had been released from prison. A sentence that should have spanned twenty-five to thirty-five years had been whittled down to just a few short months. The public was, unsurprisingly, outraged yet unsurprised. Luthor had a notorious reputation for wriggling out of legal consequences, whether through technicalities, his wealth, or influence. But this time, even his critics admitted this was a new record—his release had come far sooner than anyone had anticipated.

As always, the man was a master planner.

At that moment, Lex Luthor was at one of his most private estates, a sprawling mansion hidden deep in the hills, far away from prying eyes. He had been fitted with ankle bracelets by the court, a laughable gesture. The authorities should have known that a man who touted himself as the greatest mind on Earth would find such devices child's play.

"Do they really think this will stop me?" he mused aloud, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. Even with the ankle bracelet, even with the watchful eyes of the Justice League, Luthor felt untouchable. True, the League and the Metropolis PD—those not already on his payroll—would be keeping close tabs on him. Random raids of his labs were inevitable, with Superman no doubt spearheading the operations. But Lex Luthor had always been several steps ahead.

His current situation, though, required finesse. Inside the mansion's concealed basement, which had been retrofitted into a high-tech laboratory, he stood before his latest project: an android—no, something far more sophisticated than that—a weapon. 

The basement's walls were lined with lead, blocking even Superman's x-ray vision. Luthor smirked again at the thought. The man of steel might have the power to level cities, but when it came to real intelligence, he was no match for Lex Luthor.

"Professor Ivo has really outdone himself this time," Luthor murmured as his fingers gently traced the cold, expressionless face of the dormant android lying on the table. Wires extended from various machines, plugged into the robot's metallic skull and chest, their steady hum the only sound in the room.

His admiration was genuine—Professor Ivo had indeed created a marvel. But admiration didn't mean trust. Luthor had already decided to make some modifications of his own.

"All that's left now," he said, more to himself than to the android, "is to upload a few custom programs." A malicious grin spread across his face as he inserted a sleek black flash drive into the computer terminal. Lines of code danced across the screen as he began altering Ivo's original programming, overriding core directives with his own twisted ambitions.

Behind him, his loyal assistant Mercy Graves stood silently, observing. She had witnessed Luthor's obsessive tinkering with countless machines over the years, and although he had sworn time and again that each new invention would be the downfall of the Justice League, this time seemed...different. Yet, her skepticism remained.

"What's the plan for this one?" Mercy finally asked, crossing her arms. "You've said before that your tech would bring down Superman. What makes this robot any different?"

Luthor glanced over his shoulder, meeting her gaze with a mixture of amusement and arrogance. "Ah, Mercy, you've always been the voice of reason, haven't you?" He turned back to his work, eyes gleaming as they followed the lines of code being installed. "But this time, I assure you, the Boy Scout and his merry band of do-gooders won't see it coming."

Mercy raised an eyebrow. "Still not telling me, huh?"

Luthor chuckled darkly as he leaned forward and pressed a large red button on the control panel. A surge of power flowed into the android, causing its dormant systems to whirr to life. 

The synthetic skin, developed by Ivo to give the machine a humanoid appearance, began to spread rapidly across its body like molten metal. It wrapped the android in a thin, orange layer, covering the mechanical joints and exposed wiring until, at last, it resembled a humanoid creature with sharp, angular features and pointed ears.

"Let's just say," Luthor continued, as he admired the finished product, "this little creation is the perfect gift for our friends in the Justice League."

Mercy rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed by his evasion, but she remained silent as the machine fully powered up. Its once-dull eyes now glowed with a fierce crimson light, cutting through the dimness of the lab. The android's face, though expressionless, seemed to possess an aura of menace that hadn't been there before.

"Good day, friend," Luthor said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. "There's a little something I need you to do for me."

A beam of blue light shot out from the android, scanning Lex Luthor from head to toe. Within seconds, the machine had registered him as its primary authority. Luthor's modifications to its original programming had given him full control, overriding Ivo's directives entirely.

Mercy stepped closer, intrigued despite herself. "So, what now? You just send it to smash some buildings in Metropolis? Fight Superman head-on?"

Luthor gave her a sidelong glance, that ever-present smirk playing on his lips. "Oh, Mercy," he said, almost affectionately, "I wouldn't waste a masterpiece like this on something so...crude. No, this is a precision tool, not a blunt instrument. There's far more it can do than simple destruction."

The android, now fully functional, stood tall, awaiting orders. Its synthetic skin, now stretched tight across its muscular frame, made it appear almost alien—yet distinctly humanoid. Luthor had given it one specific purpose: to neutralize the Justice League, particularly Superman.

"Washington D.C.," Luthor said thoughtfully, his eyes glinting with excitement. "That's where we'll start. There are a few meta-powered individuals there who've been a thorn in my side for too long. This...machine will handle them, and Superman won't be able to stop it."

Mercy eyed the android warily, but Luthor's confidence was unwavering. There wasn't a hint of doubt in his mind that this plan—unlike the countless others before it—would succeed. Finally, after years of failed attempts, he would see the Justice League crumble, and he would witness Superman brought to his knees, begging for mercy.

The android's red eyes flickered, awaiting its first command. Luthor took a step forward, his grin widening as he imagined the chaos that was about to unfold.

This time, he thought, victory was inevitable.

…

Tom Hendricks, known to most as the enigmatic and ruthless "Ghost," sat alone in the dimly lit room. The space was minimalist, sterile even—just a desk, a few monitors, and a single, old-fashioned rotary phone, giving the room a clinical feel. 

The blue glow from his desktop monitor flickered across his face, casting eerie shadows on his sharp features. On the screen in front of him, a single gray symbol—a stylized "G"—stood starkly against a muted background, a visual reminder of his secretive operations. His voice, masked by a sophisticated voice modulator, was deep, untraceable, and intimidating. Only those he chose could reach him, and once a line was used, it was erased, vanishing into the digital ether as if it had never existed.

On the other end of the call was Stephan Gray, an ambitious assemblyman with his sights set on the mayoral seat of Coast City. The politician's face, however, betrayed his confidence—sweat glistened on his brow, and his usually neat tie was slightly askew. His eyes darted nervously, unable to hide the anxiety that simmered beneath his professional facade.

"I know what you're asking, Mr. Gray," Tom's distorted voice echoed coolly, "and yes, I can make you the Mayor of Coast City." His words were not a boast—they were a fact. His air of confidence was absolute, as though he had already orchestrated the events that would lead to Gray's political ascent.

The change in Gray's demeanor was immediate. His once rigid shoulders slumped slightly, and he let out a visible sigh of relief. Half of the tension that had been suffocating him seemed to dissipate, but there was still something gnawing at him.

"Thank you, sir," Gray stammered, wiping the sweat from his brow. "But... what can I give in return for such help?" He hesitated, nervously glancing at the monitor. "I've heard you sometimes don't take cash payments. So, what... what do you want in exchange for your help?"

Tom's silence on the matter of payment had been troubling Gray since their first exchange. The assemblyman knew that nothing in this world came for free, and especially not from someone like Ghost, a shadowy figure whose reputation in the underworld was one of calculated cruelty. 

He didn't work out of charity; he worked for power. And Gray suspected that whatever price Ghost named would be far more costly than money.

Before Gray could stew in his thoughts much longer, Tom leaned back in his chair, the leather creaking softly under the weight of the moment. His gaze remained fixed on the screen, though his mind was clearly dissecting the assemblyman with razor-sharp precision.

"Before we get into that," Tom said, his voice laced with a cold, almost casual menace, "I have a question for you."

Gray stiffened. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest as a cold bead of sweat slid down his temple. He swallowed, trying to steady himself. "Go ahead," he croaked.

"To make this happen," Tom continued, his tone still neutral but undeniably threatening, "I'll need to pull some strings. Strings that involve a lot of people disappearing... including the current mayor of Coast City." There was a pause, a chilling silence that followed those words. "Their blood won't be on my hands, Gray," he said slowly, deliberately, "but yours. Are you willing to get your hands dirty for your ambitions?"

Gray felt his stomach tighten. This was it. The moment where he would either commit fully to the dark path or back out and live with mediocrity for the rest of his life. But deep down, he already knew the answer. The hunger for power was insatiable, and it had consumed him long before this moment.

"To plant a garden," Gray replied, his voice steadier now, "a gardener must weed out the soil first. I assure you, Ghost, I am willing to do what's necessary." He forced a thin smile, though his hands trembled slightly off-screen.

....

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