Follow The Ladder

Obligatory Disclaimer : I do not own anything (except maybe OC characters) all characters, places, worlds, universes…etc mentioned here belong to their respective owners and/or companies. 

This is purely a work of fiction. Not meant to offend or incite, but to entertain and (maybe) inspire.

BEGINS AT HOME

'From whence comes my help?' The acknowledgement of a wise man.

March

 "Boy you done goofed." The slap comes in faster than my defense—both physical and verbal. The sting makes my eye water, it hurts more when I rub at it. 

 "I was trying to make it better." I said, cupping the back of my head.

 "And I have told you times without number that it does not need bettering." 

 "But I--"

 "If it ain't broken don't fix it! Dammit!"

 "I was helping." I wasn't.

 "Who? Who were you helping? The fucking mechanic who's going to overcharge me for this piece of shit? Or me who has to fucking pay it? Look where your 'help' left us." He pointed at the immobile, smoking lawnmower. That phrase made me imagine a lawnmower with cigarettes which nearly made me laugh. "Get your stupid ass inside, you're grounded for the foreseeable future."

 "Yes pops." What will it be lawnmower; Marlboro or Camel? 

 I should slap myself sometimes.

 "For the love of God, don't fix anything else you idiot!" He yells as I leave the shed for the house. I walked through the back door and into the kitchen.

 "Hey Ma, dad's pissed off again." I said to the lady by the kitchen counter.

 "Oh and what did you do to make him?" She sighed at me. 

 "I was just trying to make the lawnmower run better."

 "Alex, did anyone ask for you to make it better?"

 "Well not really, but I thought I should."

 "Did you end up helping?"

 "…no." She knows me too well.

 She placed the pan of batter down on the counter, wiped her hands on her apron and cupped my face. 

 "If you can't build, don't destroy. If you're going to help, then do, but you have to consider it properly, you're not a child anymore, you're a growing young man, and you'll understand that the world is a much more complicated place than you think. Sometimes you help people by doing nothing." She offered wisdom worth its weight in gold, kissed my head and shooed me off to my room. 

 I am well aware that the world wasn't black and white, I had a past lifetime of lessons for that. It's obvious that my attempts at fixing things sometimes made them worse. Did that mean I had to stop? How could I learn what worked if I never got to make mistakes? 

 I wound the door knob making an LED on the handle blink green, the locks slid with a click and the door opened. I walked into my humble abode: shelves by the walls were lined with gadgets, science magazines and electronic trinkets, a desktop with an array of linked GPUs sat expectantly in a corner waiting for my input. 

 I emptied my pockets of the machine parts and flopped into the bed. I could fix the lawnmower and put it back together like I found it but I needed the starter and ignition assembly for a project. I needed parts, and parts cost money, money I had not. So, I understood my father's frustration. 

 I stashed the recorder and made myself more comfortable by propping my head on a cool pillow as soft as a stripper's thigh and placing my Walkman's headphones over my ears. Losing myself in the sound, letting the voice of Queen's wolf, Nas and Detroit's finest, Eminem, cloud my ears as my eyes counted imaginary stars in the ceiling, my mind opened up.

 "Haaa" A deep exhale ripped past my lips. I had to be the sorriest Alex Luthor in existence. I had no F-you money, no super magic intelligence, no bitches, no companies to my name, this wasn't even DC.

Just your average middle class mortgaged home, with your average salesman dad who spent more time trying to get customers than he did giving you or your mom attention, so he'd garner more respect among his peers and rub his success in their seemingly smug faces. 

 With your average housewife mom who obsessively cleaned and cooked and gossiped with her plastic friends to stave away the damning realization that the happy home she constructed and so boasted about wasn't so happy. 

 My mom was more lucid than she appeared, she was smarter than she looked but she refused to exhibit her intelligence among her colleagues to allow her to fit in better. She'd been doing it for so long she even believed it now—that she was just like them. I laugh at the times she'd pull the rug out from under herself by giving a startling insightful observation.

 My dad was smart too, but apparently not smart enough to escape the rat race. His ambitions consumed him, shackled him even. He was too focused on outpacing others and outselling his competitors to even enjoy what he had. Perhaps at a deeper level he felt unfulfilled after all in another life, in a different universe he was in charge of a multi-billion dollar corporation.

 I loved them as people and parents despite their flaws. Another would've despised them for the often neglect and occasional comparison to others, but I didn't, not always. I understood them.

 What about me then? I was an only child, the black sheep even. I had enough merits to warrant praise such as a studious and mature character but balanced with enough independence and stubbornness to attract dislike. Seeing how I grew up my parents decided to never have another child, 'one of me was one more than enough for them' in their own words. Not that it's entirely my fault, they didn't want the responsibility of another Luthor dragging them away from their ambitions and own lives. 

 It didn't bother me, I don't think another child could go through what I did and come better than I had. The constant comparisons and not so subtle expressions of disappointment would crush such an innocent spirit. Not that I was an angel myself.

 How was I so wise? So mature and sensible? I mentioned an earlier life. One filled with a great many experiences, one that ended in…well no need to bring those skeletons out the closet. I lived, I died and when I opened my eyes I was born again. 

 The earlier years of my life were spent in terror, dread and query. 

 Why? Why? Why?  I kept asking. I stopped after no one answered me for the first five years. I chalked it up to reincarnation or something deeper and mysterious, something my feeble mortal mind could not hope to comprehend, like divine intervention or just coincidence.

 I left the fear behind, enough of it for me to function and live as a human being. And I began plotting and scheming. I cooked up strategies targeted to function with the resurgence age­—the era of heroes.

 "Alex, go take a shower and get dressed for dinner." Her voice came from downstairs.

 "I'm not that dirty mom."

 "Yes, you are. Hurry up, we have visitors coming over."

 "Ok Ma."

 Of all places and people, I wondered why it was in the Marvel Universe I found myself in. But I honestly loved it, all of it. I'm not being pretentious, I have no hopes of being a great hero or inspiration, I am too selfish for that, too power starved to allow another hold that level of control over me.

 "It's not even the MCU." I muttered, undressing so I could take a quick shower and powder myself up for whoever our visitors were. As I'd been told implicitly before, they had to see just how good we were living, how better than them we were. 

 We were the Luthor's after all. 

 *.*.*.*

 "I must say old chap, the dinner was quite extraordinary." Said the Brit, all dressed up in a black dinner suit coupled with a monocle over his left eye. His round belly visibly pushed against the white long sleeve and the jacket it was under, putting the two buttons that held his shawl lapel together under immense strain. 

 Sensing my gaze the man readjusted his bow tie and offered me a toothy smile, the exact one he offered my dad over the food and company. I disregarded his existence entirely, deigning instead to look at the wall behind him. I didn't hate him, I barely knew the man, I just disliked the way he looked at me. it made me feel like I took a dip in dirty grease. 

 "That's how the Luthor's do it Creighton." My dad laughed, toasting the man who was also his direct superior and competitor, competitor because Edward couldn't wait to get the man's spot. They laughed and joked and gossiped.

Did my dad even know that this man he tried to kiss up to was just a lower member of the Hellfire club? Someone who just looked like he had power but could barely even make a meep, a fucking foot soldier.

I sighed to myself.

 "Alex, what do you do for fun?" His daughter—which as far as looks went looked nothing like him— was a teenager with shoulder length red hair and a thin enough frame to apply for a modeling spot at vogue. Her lips were a calm shade of rose, freckles were scattered on her high cheeks, her eyes were as blue as the Atlantic.

"I could show if you're ever down." I looked straight at her oceanic eyes, flashing my most practiced brilliant smile. One on one.

"Will you?" She clapped, beaming at me in what I knew to be fake enthusiasm. Did I look that naive to her?

 "Just say the word, Meredith." My dad shot me a side eye. 'Behave yourself boy' his gaze said. I appreciated the politics of this dinner, I was savvy to the ins and outs, the gestures and meanders that however did not equate to a patience for it. 

 It was a waste of time, a never ending status game that no one won at. But we all had to play the same.

 "The damned thing won't turn on!" The boy—a male replica of the girl—cursed at his phone, slamming the thing against the table to his father's annoyance and to mine's amusement. 

 "Gareth, we are among company." Creighton chided the seventeen year-old.

"Sorry father, it's the phone, it wouldn't..." Seeing his father's eyes, he quieted down and bowed, focusing on piercing through the table with his eyes.  

 "Let me look at it." I drew the attention away from him. I pitied the bastard, he had it hard enough as it was with everyone eyeing him down. 

 He handed me the device, a brand new Motorola flip phone with a rotating camera on its back. I pried the back cover off, removed the battery, wet its dead leads with my tongue and scraped away the metal with the silver fork by my plate. I licked it again and confirmed it was alive when it tingled over my taste buds. 

 Putting everything back together, turned it on to the iconic startup tone and handed it back to the boy, who looked visibly impressed and thankful. 

 This was the age of keypads, landlines and flip phones, proper smartphones were nowhere on the market yet, they were still being invented.

 "Make sure to charge it before it runs out." I reminded him.

 "Thank you." He said again, burying his head in the phone. He was playing snakes, I wanted in too but refrained, Edward wouldn't approve and I wanted to avoid another verbal hazing considering I pissed him off plenty this afternoon.

 "You have a smart boy on your hands, Edward." Creighton praised. 

 "Yeah, too smart sometimes." He smiled in a way that held something back. What did I do to piss you off now. 

 "Nonsense old chap, if my Gareth had a quarter of young Alex's sense I'd be a gladder man." Creighton—whose name was beginning to tire me out—shook his head. 

 The boy paused at the statement, stared at me with downtrodden eyes and refocused on his phone with visibly sunken shoulders. 

 Don't do it Alex. Don't be a hero. I told myself.

 "Oh, he's not that bad." Edward laughed. Taking a win wherever he could even if it meant a kid had to have their self-esteem shattered at his dinner table.

 Don't you dare do it Alex. I warned again.

 "I'm actually an idiot though, with the number of times I get called it in a day you'd think it was my name." I mimicked their laughter albeit with more enthusiasm than necessary.

 "Hahah, always the joker this kid." My dad laughed back, murder in his eyes. 

 "Indeed, the lad is humorous." Fuck you mister. I should go outside and cut your fucking breaks, lets see you laugh then. 

 Perhaps sensing my murderous intent, the sweaty man turned away from my eyes. 

 "Talking about humor, what do you think of the mutants lobbying for a seat in congress."

 "It is absolutely reprehensible, I cannot believe those abominations have been even allowed to present their case." The Brit got heated up, banging a fist on the table. His daughter uneasily shifted in her seat—hmm, interesting. 

 Edward chuckled, egging the brit on, successful at changing the subject and digging into his competitor's psyche. 

 The man himself didn't hate the mutants other than just a general dislike but his colleague, however, was a hardline believer in eugenics against said abomination.

 Wouldn't it be ironic if his unsettled daughter was one? 

 I kept my thoughts and chuckled to myself.  

 Talking of mutants, they were known to exist, yet hated as well. I'd love to meet them if I ever got the chance, it seemed like a good way to entrench myself with the powerful but their leader, a man capable of accessing the minds of every single person on earth, would violate my mind for the meta-knowledge I held.

I was aware of his pledge to never manipulate someone's mind against their will but how would you know? How the fuck would you know if he read your thoughts and rewrote them? How would you know if the most powerful telepath on the planet made you his bitch and programmed your psych to believe that you were so from birth? Yeah, exactly. I don't know what he's been through, I don't know what this world has done to him. I only possess meta-knowledge of his life and other information I obtain from the internet and the dark web.

"…Did you sight the blue monster they call the beast? What an aptly named, appalling figure, that is a creature that needs to be put down and if…" 

 "…You don't say Creighton…." 

 What else did I know? The Avengers weren't a thing yet. Tony Stark still sold weapons. Daredevil ran about Hell's Kitchen.

I'd never seen or heard of Thor apart from Norse mythology and some stray accounts of the god ever visiting earth. I had no idea where Banner was, or if he was even the hulk yet. Captain America might either be dead or still lost in the ice. 

 SHIELD's existence was something confirmed just like the CIA or the FBI. 

 "…Why yes old chap these beasts must…."

 "…Hahah that's very…"

 The pillars that made the MCU existed here but so did the wider Marvel. That meant that whatever meta-prophetic knowledge on the future I had was rendered tentative at best, yet knowledge was knowledge having it was better than not. Nothing in life was truly guaranteed save for death and I can't allow myself to die again.

Marvel was as much of a wonderful place as it was downright terrifying. Since I did not know what threats were to come, it was of the utmost importance for me to obtain strength and power. 

 "Alex…"

 I cared little for politics, where would being a CEO or the president leave me if the earth was turned to ash? I needed to ensure my survival, I needed to make sure I was alive for whatever came, I NEEDED to make sure I survived it. 

 "Hey Alex…"

 I don't have cheats or super abilities, I can't download info into my head, I read, I study, I learn—maybe a bit faster than others, I plan and scheme to the best of my ability. The things I build fail more than they succeed, but I can't stop trying to learn. It's how I get better. It's how I'll stay on top once I get there. Not if but when I get there.

 "Alex Luthor, are you in there?"

 Why can't you just let me think in peace? Meredith was poking at my head with her handbag. I held her lithe finger. "Yes beautiful." I knew it was cheesy, of course it was cheesy, but it's the fact that it's said. It's the gesture and the way it's put, the intent and tone is all that matters.

"…You're weird." She pulls her finger away, a tint of pink colored her cheeks and neck. "I came to say we're leaving." She pushed back a lock of her hair. They'd already gone out the door, she and I were the only ones at the table, "Well, it's been a pleasure." I rose and shook her hand. 

 "Can I have your number?" She said,

 "Huh?" I was surprised. I know I'm charming but that was still a bit too smooth.

 "Your phone number." She asked again.

 "Why?"

 "It's for Gareth, he was too shy to ask."

 "Oh, sure then." I jotted down my dial on the small pad she handed me. 

 "Meredith we're leaving." Her mother called. I hadn't seen the woman since dinner as she'd left with my mom to go browse her personal collection of teas and recipe books.

 "Coming mother." She retrieved the pad, "Thank you for standing up for him." She smiled, genuinely this time "I'll text you; we should find out what you really do for fun." She winked and waved as she left. 

 I sat up, fixed the chair into place and loosened my tie. 

 I actually had an important day tomorrow which made this dinner even more exhausting for me. I flopped face down into the bed and stayed there.  

 I got myself undressed and proceeded to complete my night routine of pushups and squats before taking a shower, brushing my teeth and putting myself to bed. I offered a prayer of peace and protection and closed my eyes, sinking my head into my aforementioned soft stripper-thigh-like pillow. 

 "Alex! Get down here!" Edward yelled for me. He sounded drunk. 

 Ah shit.

 "Here we go again." I went down the stairs. In the living room he sat in his favorite, beige colored recliner couch. A glass of burgundy liquor in one hand and a belt in the other.

"C'mere boy." He downed the glass. I stepped up to him. A frown settling on my brow.

"You disrespected me. You disrespected my guest. You made a fool of yourself at my dinner table!" Edward bellowed, a bull ready to strike, his breath which sounded like the emptying of a leather barrel reeked of the harsh liquor, it was strong, bourbon, the cheap one, the one he likes to down by himself. The one that makes his mask slip, when he can no longer lie to himself or anyone else.

"How?" I ask. A foolish question, how is a cat disrespected by the cry of a mouse? How is the heat of the sun disrespected by the cool wind? How is water disrespected by an empty cup?

"Don't question me boy!" His eyes go in rage, red as red gets dotted by a black that is sin, his chair tips dangerously, the glass cup falls and rolls on the carpet. He is up and over me, a head taller than I, his shadow stretches, wrapping over me.

I step up one more. I look the man in his eyes. Fear? What was I to be afraid of? If violence was what he wanted to use then so be it, I would defend myself as best as I could, but I would not attack him. Fear? I do not have it in me, I left it a while ago. He may claim my body but not my soul.

I should say sorry, I should apologize even if I'm not wrong. But that is something mother does and look at her life. No. Pride rears its ugly head and I cannot stop myself from admiring it. I want to help myself, I do, but I cannot allow him to walk all over me, I am not the better man, just a stubborn one.

Maybe it's cause I'm so close to him, but the whip turns to a strike. I feel his knuckles pound my jaw. The world is rocked around me. My feet stagger back, my eyes sting, I taste blood and smell copper. With the distance, the belt flashes, I cover my face and keep backing away. Fire sears my right shoulder, then my left, a lash of the belt locates my back, it burns hotter. He reaches down, grabs my shirt and pulls me back to my feet, the shirt is ripped off me. An insidious act to inflict more pain.

I stay quiet save for the groans that run past my throat. He yells and cusses and shouts, whipping me as he does. It hurts more without the thin layer of my wool shirt to protect me but pain is relative. This is nothing. I have no fear of it or him.

"Rude little bastard!" He finishes with a wicked lash, a burning welt grows on my forearm, it is a raw imprint of the belt buckle, it's also bleeding at the edges.

He walks away, done and proud of himself after disciplining me. All because I wouldn't let him embarrass a kid?  "Big fucking guy you are." The words break past my lips. He stumbles hearing it and continues walking.

Standing by the living room entrance was mother. She saw but did not interfere. I neither needed nor wanted her lecture at this time. I walked past her, it's not her fault. I tell myself. Don't blame her for being quiet. I try not to, but damn, she's my mother, stand up for me will you.

I turn the lights off, leave the bundle of my evening clothes in a clothes bin and hop into my bed. The fire in my chest won't let me close my eyes. The hurt on my body, the marks on my ebony skin set my teeth against each other. The pain only inspires me to do the same.

"Argh" I groaned off the foam and reached beneath the bed frame to retrieve a gunmetal-gray gauntlet. My attempt at making an Ironman armor had only resulted in this paltry arm piece, put together with a generous amount of tape. I trace a finger over the very rough ridges and the actuators and motors situated at its joint, their mass of wires moving down to the back of the hand where the repurposed taser pack sat in a black box.

 I wore rubber gloves and slid my hand into the cold, weighty metal gauntlet. Moving my fingers within the gloves without the support of the motors required immense effort. I flipped the switch on the black box, a green LED mounted to the side went green and with it came the much easier operation of the gauntlet. The motors and actuators whirred loudly in arduous support of whatever finger motion I took. 

I knew Edward was black out drunk, I could simply walk over to his bed, place my hand over his neck and…

 I gripped my bed's frame and squeezed, the strain made the motors squirm and whirr. When I released my hold, visible digit prints remained on the wooden frame and the green lit LED had turned red. 

It be that easy…but the clean up would be a bitch. And what type of person would I be to kill those that brought me to this world?

 The gauntlet, as I took to calling it, needed another charge. I plugged it into the cord under my bed and left it stashed. 

Tomorrow's a big day, I need all the rest I can get.

**--**--**--**

Shinsosasageyo fuuugha! That's Japanese for this looks delicious fuuu.

This is part of the new ones. A simple story about a guy reincarnating in the Marvel Universe. A universe that looks like the MCU but with comic books elements in it. His life isn't perfect but whose is? I write because it's interesting, I chose his life and his parents because it's also interesting. Everything placed here will lead to something else in the future.

Why the name Luthor? For some reason, it was the name the character wanted, it held the connotations I'd need to expand on their future…deeds. For those unaware, I associate Luthor with the obsessive, borderline psychotic drive for power. Can you spot it growing inside of him? Maybe yall'er different but I believe in honest motivations, this man who finds himself in this amazing world will surely try to do amazing things. Now I never said those things would be good, but I'm not saying it'll be bad either, you'll have to watch and find out.

So this universe, like I said, looks like the mcu but isn't. Now I'm not one for a depressing reality, neither am I one for the endless edginess of stuff, all these things have their place, yes ofc, but in a super hero comic where people fly and whatnot, I think we are allowed to appreciate the beauty and sheer wonder of life the universe holds. So expect consequences and a hefty dose of realism but not one that tramples on the essence of the story or the wonder of its world, we see enough of that in the real world, and I believe we're here, reading this story together to be entertained.

I apologize for being wordy, it's 4am in the morning as I write this honey. A bit in my feels from how close some of the things mirror things I've seen. Or maybe I just place myself so well in Alex's shoes that I feel his emotions. It's not okay to get beat up, it hurts, so stop being the problem! Just kidding, just kidding, just kidding. It really does hurt especially if it's from a person you love and you know loves you. But Alex needs to learn to take a stand, he loves his parents but doing nothing in the face of abuse prolongs your suffering only.

I'll end it here and ask you to like what you like, fave and save the story if you enjoyed it, leave a comment or review if you have thoughts, words, or love to throw your favorite author.

PS I'll try to do the advanced chapters on pa—tre—on as thanks to my citizens. 

Till next time, Rain (the best ever) away!

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