25: Preparations

25: Preparations

Daniel adjusted the jacket he was now wearing. It had been a while since he dressed up to go out. Dinners with Harleen didn't count; those were more informal, just a way to pass the time.

This time, he needed to make a good impression, not because it was a business meeting—although, in a sense, it was—but because he was asking for a favor.

Maybe his mother hadn't been the best, but she had instilled in him basic respect and manners.

So why didn't he do something like this with Harleen? Well, he had done it as Defiant, but this time he wasn't going as Defiant; he was going as Daniel.

And, well, saying that the person he was meeting didn't make things different would be a lie. Tony Stark, Iron Man—over time, his memories of the man had become clearer.

Daniel wouldn't say he was a fanatic, but he did have respect for the man and admiration for his work.

Maybe he wasn't exactly the same guy from his memories, but he didn't differ too much. it was easy to relate them, and Daniel hoped to gain a new and important ally after this.

Any god that existed knew the Earth would need more heroes soon.

He walked through the streets of Malibu until he stopped in front of what seemed to be a club? Restaurant? Well, maybe it was both, though that wasn't really important.

He entered the place and found what appeared to be a receptionist, an attractive woman in her twenties. Remembering the instructions Tony had given him, he approached her and spoke calmly.

"Good afternoon, I have a reservation, table 43." The woman blinked as she looked at him, then glanced down to check some documents quickly, and nodded at him with a smile.

"May I have your name, sir?"

Uh, did he look that old? Or was she just being polite? Unable to help it, he touched his chin, only finding smooth, soft skin, no beard or mustache.

"Daniel, Daniel Evans." That was all he needed, then he was inside being guided around the place.

It was then that he realized it really was more of a club than a restaurant, a strange club.

Rich men, beautiful women—the atmosphere was clear, a place where rich guys went to hang out. That was the description that best fit what Daniel saw.

Fortunately, table 43 was in a secluded spot on one of the upper floors, one with excellent views of the city that was beginning to be tinged with the red of the sunset.

Daniel saw the person he was looking for, sitting and calmly having a drink. He nodded to the receptionist and walked to meet Tony Stark face to face.

"Hey, you look even younger than I expected," the billionaire commented distractedly, lowering his glass.

"And you look more tired," Daniel said, taking a seat. The dark circles under the playboy's eyes were noticeable.

Tony made a gesture, and the receptionist, who was preparing to leave, approached clearly enthusiastic.

"Bring us a bottle of whiskey, a good one," the woman didn't protest and nodded, walking away quickly.

Everyone knew that when Tony Stark was present, the best tips were guaranteed, even if she wasn't a waitress, it didn't matter.

They both looked at each other in a strange silence, studying one another for a few moments.

"Are you an alien?" The sudden question took Daniel by surprise. He blinked, and a small smile formed on his lips.

"What gave it away?" he said casually, and Tony remained still, looking at him with eyes wider than usual. Daniel then let out a small laugh, causing Tony to frown.

"It was a serious question." Tony had made many hypotheses, theory after theory, trying to figure out the secret behind "Defiant." He had ruled out cybernetic enhancements when they first met, which only left some kind of mutation or power, something humans didn't normally have. Therefore, he thought maybe he was dealing with something not human in the first place.

"If you want a serious answer, then I'll say no, I do not believe I'm an alien." Believing and being were different, and Tony noticed this little clue, a spark of interest igniting in him.

"Alright, let's go with that: 'Alien who doesn't think he's an alien,'" the sarcasm was obvious.

Daniel didn't correct him; he wasn't here to reveal all his secrets. Tony could make whatever deductions he wanted.

Soon, the bottle arrived, and Tony poured them both a drink.

"You know, I get that dramatic silences and tense pauses and all that make things flavorful. We all need some drama in life, but I'd like to skip all that. I don't like beating around the bush, and I'll admit I'm curious, very curious. What do you need?"

He looked at him while taking a sip of his glass. Daniel looked at the liquid in his own before taking a long drink. He missed the ability to get drunk; the taste wasn't as good without that included.

"Maybe it will be disappointing for you, but since you want it straight, I'll get to the point. I need to make a public announcement, one where everyone, or at least most of the media, is present. And, well, I heard you were their 'golden boy' until a few months ago."

Tony snorted at the nickname. He had certainly been on more magazine covers and newspapers than any other eccentric billionaire.

"Well, D-boy, you've come to the right person." While it was somewhat disappointing, that didn't mean Tony wouldn't help. After all, this was just the beginning. He wanted to ask many things, talk about race and the "monsters," about technology, about the material Defiant's suit was made of, and about Defiant himself.

There were too many topics, but everything had its time and place, and he preferably wanted at least eight hours of sleep for those talks.

"Does that mean you'll help?" Daniel asked.

"did you expect me not to?"

Well, there was always the possibility that could happen.

"But I want something in return," Tony said casually.

Daniel smiled; of course, he expected something like that. After all, they barely knew each other. and Tony hadn't become a billionaire by doing charity.

"Speak."

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Harleen wondered if she should be upset—days, days without hearing from him, not a message, a call, absolutely nothing.

Sure, they were just "friends" or something like that, but even friends say hello once in a while, right? Maybe she had gotten too used to having him around. Losing contact so suddenly left her feeling numb for a while.

Life had started to become too interesting since she met him, and going back to monotony... it was something that didn't feel very good.

Sure, she had her own things to work on, although, for the most part, everything was progressing without complications. Her projects were undoubtedly a success so far.

She looked at the transparent glass vial, purple liquid inside.

It had taken some effort, but with enough samples, sufficient study, and a few sleepless nights, she had done it.

Now what was she supposed to do with this thing? She'd admit she had only synthesized a copy of Kilgrave's pheromones out of scientific curiosity.

Of course, she had modified it. The real thing made victims susceptible to the control of whoever generated the substance. Her version? It had been made a bit differently.

Theoretically, it still made people obey orders, but only from those with the unique chemical signature with which it was made.

While each human didn't possess "unique" pheromones to the same degree as Kilgrave, they did have unique chemical signatures within them. As a safeguard, Harleen had used her own unique signature to create what she called Obedience Serum.

In a way, it was an unreliable safeguard since she had no immunity to the serum. She had no "powers" to give her resistance, and her unique chemical signature didn't work that way.

The only guarantee was that only she could give "orders"—meaning she could self-fuck her mind but only if she did it herself.

Of course, she hadn't tested it yet; it was unethical, and she wasn't a criminal. She wouldn't use this on other people.

Still, saying she didn't want to know if it worked wouldn't be correct either.

Curiosity was itching quite a bit.

"Something simple, just a test," she murmured, glancing around her office until her eyes settled on a plant, a gift from a woman she once thought she would love forever.

Even after it ended, she had tended to that plant with care. Yet, every time she looked at it, bitter memories as well as pleasant ones flooded her mind. She usually avoided looking at it for that reason.

She had thought about getting rid of it long ago, but every time she tried, old feelings would assault her, making her reconsider, over and over again.

Who would have thought, a psychiatrist with her own problems. Well, in her defense, she wasn't a psychologist.

She sighed, knowing herself too well. She would never get rid of that plant on her own; she would never have the courage.

"So I'll force myself," she muttered, clenching her teeth. She uncorked the vial, nervously bringing it up to her nose. The scent, for some reason, reminded her of herself. She supposed that was the effect of having modified the pheromones.

She inhaled deeply for a few seconds. Her pupils dilated, and she almost felt as if she were suddenly witnessing things in the third person.

It was like being present but not present, yet she could still control her actions easily, feeling things the same way as before.

She capped the vial again, storing it in the inner pocket of her white coat.

Then she looked at the plant. The doubts, the reluctance, the affection—all those feelings were still there but numbed, behind an invisible wall.

"Destroy that plant," she said softly, but it was as if a switch suddenly flipped in her mind.

Suddenly, she stopped being the master of herself, even though she had given the order.

Her body stood up and walked firmly to where the plant rested.

Without hesitation, she squeezed its leaves so hard they began to break. Then she started to pull it out of the pot, the soil staining the floor, and with both hands, she began to tear the plant apart without a second thought.

For some reason, she felt euphoric.

Faster than she would have liked, everything returned to normal. She blinked, somewhat disoriented, and looked at her hands. Soil and remnants of what was once a beautiful plant adorned them.

She thought she would feel regret; after all, she had forced herself to do it.

But she didn't. In fact, she felt better than ever.

She took a deep breath to calm herself, her flushed face returning to normal after several minutes.

"I need to clean this up," she thought absentmindedly, and before she knew it, she was kneeling on the floor, scooping up the dirt with her hands.

"Huh?"

She watched curiously as she cleaned up the mess she had made.

It took only a few minutes, and the place was as spotless as ever.

"Continuous effect?" She noted to herself, this time being careful with her own thoughts.

A side effect? She wasn't too alarmed, knowing such risks existed. Now the question was, was this permanent or temporary?

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It turned out to be temporary. About an hour later, Harleen suddenly felt as if a hangover was threatening to hit her. Fortunately, it was just a threat.

Still, she felt mild chills through her body, a bit of nervousness, and for some reason, her lips wouldn't stop trembling slightly.

She noted it all down. It was valuable information; maybe she could improve the serum and get rid of such effects later.

Her handwriting was somewhat messy, but she managed to do it. Once finished, she sat at her desk, then patted her chest, feeling the pocket where she kept the vial. For some reason, she felt the urge to test it a bit more.

"Addiction?" she realized immediately.

That could be a problem.

She took a deep breath and lowered her hand. She needed to distract herself somehow.

Fortunately for her, someone knocked on her office door at that moment.

"Come in!" she called out, a bit louder than she intended.

The door opened, and she saw her boss entering. The older man with completely white hair, slightly hunched over and wearing thick glasses, walked in with slow steps, a blank expression adorning his stoic face.

"Dr. Quinzel," he greeted, approaching with a thick folder full of papers in his hands.

Probably a lot of work, which was good. Harleen wanted something to distract herself with.

"Dr. Harrison, how can I help you?"

The doctor placed the folder on her desk.

"There's a case, one I believe is most suitable for you."

A new case? That's when she remembered—the new transfers from Arkham had arrived a few days ago, hadn't they?

Curious, she opened the folder, raising an eyebrow at the information.

"Martha Wayne, huh?"

An infamous criminal, one who should have been dead but survived by a miracle.

After everything she had done, what she had done to Gotham, the general public thought she had died a long time ago. Only a few people knew she had actually been rotting in a cell deep within Arkham Asylum.

She studied the information, an interesting case in many ways, a special one.

Well, she wanted to stay busy, didn't she?

"I'll take it."

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"How do I look?" Daniel asked, and Carol looked at him thoughtfully for several seconds.

Her eyes narrowed in concentration before she nodded.

"It's strange, I know it's you, but for some reason, it's hard to tell unless I focus entirely," she said, somewhat confused but still able to discern his true face as long as she looked at him properly. Which, in reality, was quite easy because she always looked at him properly.

"Of course, Kryptonian technology shouldn't be underestimated; something as simple as this is a piece of cake," Lara commented from the side.

Daniel nodded in agreement with her, pressed a button on the wristwatch of his right hand, and then there was a strange effect on his face, more precisely on the light reflecting off it. The distortion lasted half a second, and then everything returned to normal.

He stretched his hands to his face, carefully pinched with his fingers, and began to remove a thin, semi-transparent layer resembling a facial mask.

Although it would probably be more accurate to call it a second skin.

He looked at "his face" in his hands. It was surprising and something he had been thinking about since several of his Superman memories began to surface.

Initially, he had thought of glasses, something classic. But when he asked about technology capable of "masking" his identity, Lara had suggested something much more suitable: a layer of synthetic "skin" that distorted the way light hit his features, making them appear "different."

To anyone else, he would look slightly different once the mask was activated. Not only that, it also worked with electronic devices, so even if someone took a photo or video of him, his identity would still be hidden.

Truly interesting technology. The fortress was quite incredible, and something as "simple" as this was the proof.

While the fortress lacked all the resources it should normally have, it still possessed all the facilities and tools necessary to recreate any kind of Kryptonian technology. Coupled with the database that Carol's parents had compiled, it undoubtedly made it a great treasure, a perfect inheritance.

Still, it took some effort to gather the materials needed to create the "mask." Fortunately, it wasn't something too crazy like a unique element found only on a specific planet in a specific region of the universe, in a specific galaxy.

That would have been a huge pain in the ass.

And well, he wouldn't have had time. Soon, Daniel was going to give a lecture, and for that, he had decided to remove "the mask." so that his words would have more impact. He decided it was best to "reveal his face" to the world.

Of course, he still had to maintain a certain level of privacy, mainly for Carol.

That's what the mask was for.

He wouldn't use it as Defiant; while it was advanced technology, it was still fragile. A strong enough enemy could easily destroy it, undermining his efforts to keep his "identity" hidden.

This was for his identity as Daniel.

"So, all that's left to do is modify whatever images are on the network, is that okay?" he asked towards lara even though he knew he could "order it".

She nodded.

"That's simple. There aren't many images of your real face online, and most of them are from when you were younger, different enough that even if I didn't modify them, it would still be difficult to associate them with you," she said with curiosity in her voice.

Well, that was more due to his transformation into a Viltrumite than puberty or growth. When he reopened his eyes hanging from that rope, his body had transformed significantly.

Scars, small imperfections, all disappeared. While he still looked like himself, he was different enough that no one from his past would recognize him at first glance.

That's why he wasn't too worried about people who had known the previous Daniel.

"Very well, it's almost time." Tony should have everything prepared; now it was just up to him to do his part.

He nodded to Carol, and she returned the smile.

Her confidence in him was appreciated; it gave him more courage.

Speaking in public had never been his strong suit.

Well, he was already taking many things from Superman, so why not steal some of his speeches? That would probably annoy him less than if he fucked his sister.

Eh, it probably wouldn't matter anyway, since he planned to do both.

He stopped. Well, damn it, damn intrusive thoughts, why did they always come at the least opportune moments? He almost sighed but reminded himself to stay strong; it was an important day, after all. He would think about the rest later.

"Alright, let's do this."

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Note:

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