S-27 Is Pretty On The Nose.

I mean, if you can't get it, I'll feel bad.

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As Lex Luthor stepped into the sleek limousine after concluding the press conference, he allowed himself a rare moment of satisfaction. The world had seen him as the architect of their salvation, the man behind the Justice League.

But, as always with Lex, the truth ran far deeper than what the public perceived. He checked his watch, his mind already miles ahead of the smiling facade he'd shown the reporters and cameras.

Sliding out his phone, he dialed a number and spoke calmly into it. "Prepare the tea, Mercy," he said cryptically, the phrase serving as code between him and his assistant. It was a signal—he needed to disappear, and she needed to cover his tracks.

As the limo drove into the underground parking lot of LexCorp, the vehicle seamlessly transformed into an inconspicuous Jeep, just one of Lex's many methods of eluding surveillance. 

Mercy Graves, as always, was playing her part perfectly, ensuring that anyone watching LexCorp would see nothing unusual. But Lex himself had far more important matters to attend to—matters that required secrecy.

The Jeep continued for a while before finally reaching its destination: St. Exthors, a hospital that was anything but ordinary. To the outside world, it appeared to be a typical medical facility, but beneath its sterile halls lay some of Lex's most confidential experiments.

Lex stepped out of the Jeep, donning a different persona for this particular visit. His usually clean-shaven face now sported a neatly trimmed black beard, and his once bald head was covered with a wig of messy, dark hair. He looked nothing like the man the public knew as Lex Luthor.

Walking into the hospital lobby, Lex approached the clerk with the calm confidence of a man who had done this countless times before. "Hello, I'm Ezekiel Forrest," he said, flashing a medical badge that bore his alias. "Here for my usual appointment."

The clerk barely glanced at him before checking him in. "Alright, you're free to go, Sir," she said, waving him toward the elevators.

Lex—Ezekiel—stepped into the elevator, tapping a hidden compartment on his medical badge. The security scanners beeped as they scanned his body and cleared him for access. "Welcome, Lex Luthor," the elevator's robotic voice intoned, the disguise dropping the moment he was securely out of sight. Lex peeled off the fake beard and wig, his true identity now restored.

The elevator descended deep into the heart of the facility. This was Lex's true empire, hidden far from the public eye. The underground lab was a sprawling complex of cutting-edge technology, bioengineering projects, and secrets that would shake the very foundation of the world if they were ever revealed. It was here that Lex Luthor was working on something far more ambitious than mere political power.

As he stepped into the lab, Lex was greeted by Dabney Donovan, a short, black-haired scientist whose genius was only matched by his ethical flexibility. "Ah, Mr. Luthor, you're just in time," Dabney said, pushing his thick goggles up onto his forehead. "Not much progress on S-27, I'm afraid. I've been trying to reduce the Kryptonian DNA to stabilize the subject, but it's causing slower growth. We may be looking at a delay."

Lex waved his hand dismissively. "That's fine, Dabney. After 26 failures, I expect complications. But S-28—the real prize—how's he progressing?"

Dabney hesitated for a moment, shuffling through his clipboard of notes. "Well... S-28 is still not exactly in his right mind. The amount of human DNA wasn't sufficient, and his Kryptonian cells aren't reacting positively to the hybridization process."

Lex frowned as they walked down a corridor lined with large containment tubes, each filled with grotesque, half-formed figures—failed experiments from his many attempts at creating the perfect fusion of Kryptonian and human DNA. "So, is he stable?" Lex asked, his eyes scanning the various inhuman bodies floating in the tanks around them.

"Stable, yes," Dabney confirmed. "But it's a temporary solution. His cellular degradation is inevitable. I estimate his cells will start deteriorating within a few months."

They came to a halt at a massive balcony that overlooked the containment area. Below them was a heavily reinforced vault, marked with the designation "S-28". The door to the vault was riddled with fist-shaped indents, a clear indication of the raw, untamed power contained within.

Lex gazed down at the vault with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. S-28—the culmination of years of secret experiments—wasn't perfect yet, but it was closer than any of the others. This was no ordinary clone or hybrid. This was Lex's attempt at creating a weapon that could rival Superman himself.

"Let me see him," Lex commanded, his voice betraying a rare hint of anticipation.

Dabney hesitated but nodded. "As you wish, but be careful. He's... volatile."

The two men walked down a winding staircase to the base level of the lab, where the massive vault door stood like a fortress. Dabney tapped a series of codes into the panel next to the door, and with a loud hiss, the locks disengaged. The heavy steel door creaked open, revealing a dimly lit chamber within.

In the center of the room was S-28, shackled to a reinforced metal frame. The figure that hung there was both terrifying and mesmerizing. His body was humanoid, but his muscles bulged unnaturally, rippling beneath pale, almost translucent skin. His eyes, glowing faintly red, flicked open as he sensed the presence of others.

"S-28," Lex said quietly, stepping closer to the creature. "How do you feel?"

The figure's head jerked up, and for a moment, Lex thought he saw a flash of recognition in those glowing red eyes. But then the creature growled, pulling violently at the chains that bound him. The force of his strength sent shockwaves through the room, causing the metal to groan under the strain.

"His mind isn't all there," Dabney warned. "The Kryptonian DNA is too dominant. He's rejecting the human components. If we can't balance the hybridization, he'll be uncontrollable."

Lex took a step back, but his expression remained cold and calculating. "He doesn't need to be fully controllable," he mused. "He just needs to be strong enough to kill a god."

As Lex stared into the eyes of his creation, a dangerous thought began to form in his mind. S-28 wasn't just another experiment—he was a weapon. A weapon that could tip the scales in Lex's favor if used properly.

"We'll continue the tests," Lex said decisively. "But it's time to start field trials. I want to know exactly what he can do."

Dabney nodded, though there was a flicker of concern in his eyes. "Yes, Mr. Luthor. But be aware... once he's out of containment, controlling him won't be easy."

Lex smiled, a chilling smile that spoke of ambition and danger. "That's what makes it fun."

As the door to the vault slowly closed, Lex turned and walked back toward the lab's control center. His mind was already working on the next phase of his plan. Superman had returned. The Justice League was in place. But Lex was always three steps ahead, and now, with S-28, he had a wildcard up his sleeve.

And when the time came, Lex Luthor would make sure the world knew that even gods could bleed.

...

As Bruce Wayne sat in the grand yet empty dining hall of Wayne Manor, he quietly ate his dinner, his mind swirling in the familiar solitude. The mansion, once again, felt hollow. It wasn't the cold, stoic silence that came with his typical lifestyle, but rather a deeper emptiness, an absence that gnawed at him. Despite his usual ironclad self-control, there was something unsettling about the quiet that followed Jorno's death.

Alfred, ever the faithful butler and confidant, stood at a respectful distance, watching his master in silence. He had seen this before, many times over the years—Bruce Wayne shutting off, retreating into himself whenever the weight of his dual life as Batman took its toll. The loss of loved ones, no matter how distant or brief their presence, always had a way of closing Bruce off further from the world.

"Master Wayne?" Alfred's voice broke the silence, tentative but caring.

Without looking up from his plate, Bruce responded in his usual gruff tone. "Yes, Alfred."

Alfred hesitated, not sure how to broach the subject of grief with the man who had lived through so much of it already. He knew Bruce well enough to understand that direct confrontation about emotions would get him nowhere. Yet, he couldn't stay silent. "Master Wayne... you can't be sad all day." Alfred's voice was gentle but firm. "You should at least try and be... happy?"

Bruce paused for a moment, his fork hovering above his plate, then lowered it gently. His face, though stoic, carried the weight of unspoken pain. "I am happy, Alfred," Bruce said in his typical detached manner, pushing his chair back as he stood up to clear his plate. "It was a child who was here for less than a month. Growing attached is illogical." He carried his plate to the sink, his voice more robotic than genuine. "What I'm feeling is just a sense of closeness because I expected Jorno to be here for a long time. That's all."

Alfred stood there, watching Bruce's back, the facade as impenetrable as ever. Yet Alfred knew better. Bruce Wayne, the man who took in a lost boy and raised him to be his partner, the man who couldn't save his parents, and the man who buried countless friends, had grown attached to Jorno. No matter how much he tried to dismiss it as mere practicality, there was a deep hurt in Bruce. The quiet grief was palpable, though Bruce would never admit it—not to himself and certainly not to anyone else.

"Well... there was something good happening today!" Alfred said, trying to break the tension as he racked his brain for something to lift the atmosphere. He knew Bruce would need a distraction soon, anything to pull him away from this consuming darkness. Before he could finish the thought, the front door of Wayne Manor swung open.

The echo of small, hurried footsteps filled the hall as a burst of youthful energy cut through the heavy silence.

"Hi, everyone!" came the enthusiastic voice of a child, clearly disappointed when he realized no one was there to greet him immediately.

Bruce turned at the sound, recognizing it immediately.

A moment later, John "Dick" Richard Grayson—a boy with black hair and bright blue eyes—came running into the kitchen, his face brightening as he spotted Bruce. He had just returned from boarding school, still full of the lively spirit that defined him despite his own troubled past.

"Hi, Mr. Wayne!" Dick beamed, oblivious to the storm cloud that had been hanging over Wayne Manor. His enthusiasm was genuine, the kind that came from a child happy to be back home.

For a brief moment, Bruce felt a strange sensation. The weight in his chest lightened ever so slightly. He hadn't expected Dick to return so soon—his last message said he would be coming home, but Bruce hadn't anticipated just how much he needed the boy's presence. Dick, like Jorno, had filled a void, albeit in different ways.

"Welcome back, Dick," Bruce said, his voice softer than usual, though still restrained.

"It's so great to be home!" Dick chirped, his boundless energy filling the room. He looked around, half-expecting to see more people, his frown returning when he realized how empty the place felt. "It's kind of... quiet in here, huh?" he remarked, his keen intuition not missing the somber atmosphere.

"Yes, it is," Bruce acknowledged, unsure how to explain the situation. Jorno's death wasn't something he wanted to discuss with Dick, not right now. The boy had just returned, and Bruce didn't want to burden him with another loss. But Dick was perceptive, and Bruce knew he would figure it out eventually.

"Well, we'll change that!" Dick said, ever the optimist, as he began to rummage through the cabinets. "You guys have any snacks? Boarding school food is terrible. I've been dreaming of Alfred's cooking for days!"

Alfred smiled, finally finding something to ease the tension. "Of course, Master Richard," he said warmly, moving to prepare something for the young boy. "I've made sure to stock the pantry for your arrival."

Bruce watched from the sidelines as Alfred and Dick exchanged familiar banter, their conversation lightening the oppressive atmosphere that had lingered since Jorno's passing. For the first time in days, the manor didn't feel quite so empty.

Bruce took a deep breath and stepped into the conversation. "Why don't we have dinner together tonight, Dick? I'm sure Alfred's got something special in mind."

Dick grinned widely. "Dinner with you guys? That'd be awesome! It's been too long, Mr. Wayne."

For the first time in a while, Bruce managed a faint smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. Dick had always had that effect on him—bringing light into his otherwise dark world.

As Dick Grayson ran upstairs to his room, the familiar excitement of being back at Wayne Manor was bubbling inside him. But his instincts—honed from years of training under Batman—kicked in as he moved through the hallways. He noticed something unusual right away. One of the guest room doors was suspiciously clean, almost too clean. A fine layer of dust typically covered the unused rooms, but this one? Spotless.

"Well, hello, secret," Dick muttered to himself, his curiosity piqued. Pushing the door open quietly, he stepped inside and immediately sensed the airiness of the room. It was different from the other guest rooms. A skylight filtered soft light into the space, illuminating a collection of books and papers scattered around, all focused on topics like air compression, heat, and physics. The room had been lived in, recently, by someone who was clearly fascinated by these subjects.

Weird… Dick thought, rubbing his chin. Mr. Wayne never had visitors over.

As he stepped further into the room, something caught his eye—a photo resting on the desk. It was a snapshot of Bruce, Alfred, and a blonde-haired kid with striking red eyes, grinning with his mouth smeared in chocolate. Dick's brow furrowed in confusion. Who's this?

Turning the photo over, Dick found a date written on the back: "The 27th." He quickly did the math in his head. That was only 9 days ago. His mind started racing, piecing together the clues. This kid was here while I was gone.

Dick glanced around the room again, noticing little details. The books on physics and air manipulation, the carefully arranged items, the way the room seemed meticulously organized—it all pointed to someone young but intelligent. He spotted something else, a tattered jacket draped over a chair. The jacket looked old, the fabric worn, but strangely... it didn't smell or feel dirty like something from Gotham's dumpsters usually would.

Dick lifted the jacket and sniffed it slightly, confirming his suspicions. "Old... from Gotham's dumpster, definitely," he said to himself. "But weirdly, not dirty... it's like he took really good care of it, despite where it came from."

As Dick continued examining the room, the pieces began to fall into place. Who was this kid? A ward? Maybe even a sibling of sorts? It wouldn't be far-fetched, considering Bruce's history of taking in those in need. But something about this felt different. Bruce was in the middle of fighting off alien threats, so this child, whoever he was, must have had some special ability.

The books, the room's airy setup, the focus on air manipulation—everything hinted at something more than just another orphan Bruce had taken in. This kid wasn't ordinary.

Dick's heart raced. He had a gut feeling he was onto something important, and every detail in this room led him to believe that Bruce had been training or protecting someone powerful.

"So... another ward? Or maybe a brother?" Dick mused aloud, his voice soft as he continued to poke through the room.

After thoroughly searching, Dick gathered what evidence he could. The books, the jacket, the photo—it all pointed to a kid who had lived here, and it wasn't just temporary. This kid was special, but something must have happened for the room to be abandoned so suddenly.

Standing in the middle of the room, Dick held the jacket in his hands, thinking hard. "Okay, Grayson," he whispered to himself. "Time to get some answers."

He knew he had to confront Bruce about this, but he also knew Bruce wouldn't be forthcoming right away. He'd need to approach it carefully, to find out who this mystery kid was and why the room felt frozen in time, as though something had gone terribly wrong.

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[Auther: You guys now have the full knowledge of everything happening here, so don't be surprised.]