Clark floated in the air above the dirty, muddy fields, as the hairs on the back of his neck pricked up. The darkened skies, stormy and grey, made a fitting backdrop for the situation. And, as the armed police waited, set up behind a barricade of cars and ready to move in at a moment’s notice, Superman could take it no longer. He shook his head, gritting his teeth as the muffled screaming and shouting of the children grew louder and louder and louder. Even if he didn’t have time to explain… he couldn’t let these children be harmed. The wind whipped around him, the cops ducking and looking to the sky- and the alien saviour that they had keeping watch over of them was gone. As he took off upwards, he plummeted down towards the roof of the warehouse- if he was correct, this would be one of the weakest structural points of the abandoned building. Although, he doubted any part of this place, no matter how ‘structurally sound’ it was, could handle a hit from him. And that hypothesis was proven true when he crashed through the brick like a blur of blue, the roof nearly caving in completely as he crashed down to the stone, cracking the floor as he looked up, a storm of brick and splintered wood as the saviour of Metropolis rose to his feet dramatically. The sight before his eyes shocked him… a sick, childish game, a long wooden table through the middle of the warehouse, with 3 chairs on the left and right sides, with the two most important head chairs on the north and south ends. 6 children were tied into their chairs, unable to speak due to the duct tape over their mouths. And, on the south chair just before him, sat Lex Luthor.
7 Minutes Prior
“So, Mr Luthor, enjoying the party? Want ta help yourself to some cake?”
The wearied, hopeless voice slipped from the intercom, that must have been sat on the chair at the far end of the table. Opposite him. Lex scoffed, trying not to look at the struggling captives on either side of him, only glaring down the table to the nothingness that resided on the other end.
“Explain your demands, madman.”
The intercom screeched, as it seemed prone to do, as the dusty old voice let out a chuckle that seemed to be mixed with a hoarse cough.
“You don’t play around when it comes to games, do you Mr Luthor? Makes sense. Business is competitive.”
Lex sneered at that remark, looking around to the shelves stacked with dusty toys as he snarked back.
“Doesn’t seem like something you’d understand, from how full this place is.”
The intercom voice continued on, sounding almost wounded, as if trying to brush over Lex’s words. Somewhere, they had found a mark. Good, Lex thought. Some mental probing of his opponent wouldn’t hurt, and what he was dealing with didn’t seem to be a stable mind.
“Anyway, allow me to explain the Rules. ‘Cos all good games have rules, that’s true. And rules best ta be followed, ain’t that right Mr Luthor?”
Lex blinked, narrowing his eyes down to the far end of the table, despite the fact his enemy was not actually positioned there. The empty chair and the radio did seem to be a remarkably effective tactic. He shook his head, averting his eyes as he tried not to play into his hands, refusing to respond to that jab, prompting the dusty old intercom to let out a screeching audio sound, then a sigh. “Once a cheat always a cheat I see. Been cheating through life since the start, ‘aven’t ya?” The Toyman then chuckled, before finally getting into the details. “There are twelve candles on that cake.” Lex gulped as he processed this, instantly making the connection. Twelve hostages. Twelve candles. Six of the children were at this very table, where were the others? “Take a real nice and close look. You might n’t get a lotta chances. ‘Alf of those candles are connected to explosives underneath the chairs.”
A small bead of sweat rolled down Lex’s bald head as he heard those words. Explosives?! A hostage situation was already bad enough, and he had no way of getting this information to the police- how was this even possible, WAS this even possible? Lex took a few deep breaths, trying to regain his composure as he inspected the cake, only just now noticing that rather than flames on the end of the thick different coloured candles, there were… Light Bulbs. Small ones. “You take out one of these candles, and if it’s ‘t wrong one? A little present under the chairs goes off, and one of the little lights at this table goes out.” The squirming and muffled screams of the children only got louder to Lex as the risk became more obvious, even if he tried to shut out the thoughts. “Every minute, you’ve got to either remove a candle, or confess one of yer sins.” Lex cocked an eyebrow at this, staring back down the table again, incredulity in his voice.
“And why would I do that?”
The voice replied casually, in a dry, prepared, and utterly hopelessly bored statement.
“Or the Nutcrackers do their job.”
Such a simple way to explain the consequences, that only induced Lex to once again stare at the face of the one closest to him, towering behind the captive child, expressionless, wooden, with its snapping mouth set up in a way that left the possible punishments to be easily summarised in his imagination.
“Time starts now. ‘Urry up.”
Right on cue, a ticking similar to that of a Grandfather clock could be heard throughout the warehouse. The game was on.
Nearly 1 minute of pure silence and radio static glitches passed as a fraught Lex weighed up his options. And, just as the intercom made its screeching sound, their captor ready to make his warning, Lex already spoke, just as he hit 58 Mississippi in his head.
“Half of Lexcorp owned laboratories are off the books and known only to US Government agencies and officials.” He blurted out in a rushed fashion. While deliberating other whether the risk was worth it, he had prepared something easy to start with. The response from the intercom was momentary silence. It had not expected this. A dusty cough sounded.
“Not a surprise. Nice of y’ta provide statistics, though. Makes my job easier.”
Lex let out a quiet sigh of relief. The man obviously knew he was trying to stall, but it also seemed he hadn’t expected it. No, the Toyman had expected Lex Luthor to take the one in two chance of the death of a child, all to protect his own dirty laundry. This was a sentiment that would offend Lex if even suggested from anyone else. But he could use this here. The risk would get larger and larger the more he tried to cop out. So, if stalling was the plan? Then he would choose only Truth, not Dare. At least, he hoped he would. Lex began to count down in his head again.
1 Mississippi. 2 Mississippi. 10 Mississippi. 30 Mississippi. 50 Mississippi. 55 Mississipi-
“For years I have been completely privately donating money to the Republican Party. Kept it under covers so as to not make my personal political stance public.”
The dusty, hacking cough coming from the intercom was mixed with a chuckle.
“Doesn’t sound too controversial, Mr Luthor. ‘Yer not focusing on the fun in ’t game. So I’m upping the stakes. Unless the next ones are big, I’ll blow a candle out myself.”
Crap. Lex tried to avoid cursing himself under his breath. However, there was a small little tidbit of information he took in from this, as he desperately scrambled to think of a really BAD thing he had done that he could get away with saying here, something he would want to hear- that small tidbit being that his opponent seemed completely unphased by the last one. Either he wasn’t well-versed enough to know that what Lex had been doing was newsworthy and not exactly entirely legal, or the old-timer was just forgetting. He pushed that little thought out of his mind as he spent the next minute racking his brains, causing him to mess up a little on his counting-
“Last chance-”
“I set up the attack on Superman at the Lois Lane interview!”
… Okay, caught out at the 59 second mark and panicking, he had instinctively gone for the most recent thing he could think of. Hopefully the Toyman was just as behind on current events as he was in political logistics. Lex barely felt the cold sweat on his hands, and how loud he had burst that out. The speaker let out a low, croaking laugh at his sudden reaction.
“Attack, ‘ye say? Doesn’t mean much ta me, but the news sure does like the Blue lad, hmm?” So he at least was aware of the damn alien. It was only then that Lex’s mind reminded himself, the aforementioned “Blue lad” was right outside with the police. As much as he didn’t want his involvement… what if he was listening in? Best to avoid the Xenos related “sins” from now on, if this hadn’t already gotten him into hot water.
Lex rung his hands together in the seat as he spent the next minute as he tried to think of something progressively worse, that would automatically SOUND worse to the madman, even if he didn’t properly understand it, and wouldn’t learn much from it himself. After all… if the Toyman didn’t make it out, what use was blackmail material? So, the next slightly less panicked confession was something nobody in the room would understand.
“I’ve been working with the secret government agency Argus for approximately three years.”
“Argos? Like ’t shop? Or ‘t ship?”
“No, kind of like the CIA. Or FBI.”
“Ah. ‘Old up lemme get my notes-”
Lex could actually hear the sound of papers ruffling, a chair creaking and slow, lethargic movements, like a rustling sound. He must have been sat way too close to the other end. A small room. He was hiding somewhere in this warehouse, right? Another detail for Lex to add to his own mental notes.
Lex took a few deep breaths, relaxing in his chair, trying not to think about the panicking children around him, the same ones he had helped previously. Pushing them out of his mind. The temptation, the thought to even risk sacrificing them was something he didn’t want to go near. However, it was then that he realised he hadn’t been bought time.
“I ‘ope ye realise the timers been going. Five seconds.”
“Wait, what? But I was counting and-”
“So ‘ave I. Been counting since you last spoke. Oh, lookie ‘ere. Times. Up-”
As Lex struggled to get a word in edgeways, he was left with no other option but to confess immediately on the spot. Something he knew would really hurt, something he had to choose on instinct, something that had to be WORSE sounding than the other things, something that would satisfy the twisted man's view of Lex- he had to keep him convinced Lex Luthor was the bad guy. He had to SAY something that Lex Luthor had done that made him a BAD GUY- no no, something… h-he… had done… that made him a bad guy. The rational, logical train of thought in his head couldn’t answer this conundrum on the spot, or in time. Lex Luthor is no bad man, it would say. But another part of Lex, one he scarcely knew existed, said something very different, not even stopping for breath. He said this to save lives. The truth.
“After my father passed and I inherited the entirety of Lexcorp, I closed Lexcorp’s entire Astronomy Wing. And… a-anything else to do with it. Space exploration. Meteorology. I put many great people out of jobs… and it was his passion. His dream.”
This emotional reaction was not what the Toyman had expected, and maybe, not even wanted. But, as the speaker crackled, before the Toyman could even comment, Lex… continued. His rambling continued, elaborating.
“B-because I thought it wasn’t necessary. It didn’t make sense, it wasn’t logical, it drove him to an early damn grave, I tore it all down. With only a falsehood, half a reason. I took Lexcorp from what it was meant to be and I-I twisted it. Out of spite, bitterness, hard-heartedness, coldness. Whatever you want to call it.”
Lex… panted, his chest rising and falling, a lump in his throat as he raised his eyes from the poorly made cake, past the haunting image of the captive children, to the opposite empty chair, embodied by the old, hopeless, despairing voice.
“I-Is… THAT what you wanted to hear?”
Lex Luthor’s mind questioned everything he had just said. This served no real blackmail purpose. He had just had some sort of- fit, some childish breakdown, and messed the whole thing up. 50%. He wasn’t sure if a tear had formed in his eye or if it was just more sweat from the stress- How was he only just noticing that NOW?! He had been sweating profusely for ages, it was like he was only now actually opening his eyes to the situation-
The intercom crackled.
“That’s-”
Lex braced, gritting his teeth. His eyes were closed, factually.
“W-well-”
But his eyes, emotionally. Were more open than ever.
“... Nowwww yer really gettin’ into ‘t swing of it. Y’know, I remember good ol’ Lexcorp. A big name. Yer old man wouldn’t have cocked it up so almightily, that’s for sure. What was it you said again- TWISTED it. That’s good, that. Might keep it in for ‘t release. Words from ‘t man himself. It’s like spitting on a grave, y’know. I find that at a certain age, young’uns just… stop caring about the ones ‘t reared em. Always knew ye were the type.”
A muffled, raspy, almost spitting sound could be heard across the monitors.
“Right nasty buggers. World’s cold, uncaring and abandoning everything ‘t was good. Just like you. No home for old men like me. Or Lionel.”
Lex stared down to his lap. Nothing to say. He couldn’t let the words of some old COOT, some MADMAN, some DUMB OLD DREAMER PHASE HIM-... what he was thinking reminded him of old arguments. W-was he really- why was he letting this come up now of all times, this was the worst time to…
“This world could use a little more damn respect, ‘nd heart. Sixty. More. Seconds.”
And, almost as if summoned by the Toyman’s words, something crashed through the roof, nearly bringing down the entire thing. Hopefully, some respect and heart.
The Present
Superman looked down at Lex, as he stood atop the rubble behind him, his eyes having taken in the entire situation with supernatural speed. Yet, he couldn’t think of anything to say.
“L-Lex?”
Luthor twisted his head around, hands planted to the arms of the chair. Unlike the children, he was not restrained, strapped into his chair, yet he felt just as trapped. Unable to move. He blinked the tear out of his eye as the sweating man panicked, trying his best to do the impossible. He had conceded. He was pleading with Superman for help.
“T-the children, there’s six missing. He’s got explosives under the chairs, and I think the dolls can-“
BZZZT.
The intercom cut in with a new, high pitched shriek, handily interrupting and cutting Lex off. Superman clapped his hand to his ear, wincing a little. He had been purposefully trying to hone in his own enhanced senses earlier, and this… uncomfortable one must have been one of the many things muffling the children’s sounds. For the first time, Clark Kent heard the dusty, defeated old voice.
“Ere’s the blue lad. I dunno what you do, but y’best stay still. Let’s not mess up the game now.”
Clark didn’t pay attention to his words, as he worked through the situation as fast as possible.
Six children at the table. The kidnapper was speaking through some device at the bottom chair on the table, opposite Lex. Lex had mentioned explosives, and the giant, honestly creepy life-size Nutcracker dolls behind the children weren’t just for show. Explosives. Under the chairs. Solve that first.
He looked down past Lex to underneath the table, blocked off by the cover draped along the table. Luckily, he could do something Lex couldn’t. He wrinkled his brow, focusing as he stared with intent down to the cover. And, as if naturally, he could see through it. Even through the floor. Glowing infrared outlines showed pipes built underneath the warehouse, the supports. Yet, underneath the table… there was nothing.
“There’s nothing…”
Lex panted in confusion.
“W-what? What do you mean there’s NOTHING?!”
“There's no bomb-”
And as he scanned the room, eyes darting from left to right, he saw the machinery, red hot and pulsing, unstable and ready to move. Inside the Nutcrackers. And, as he looked down to Lex, he noticed the other red heat stamp. A strange device buried in the sloppy, messed up cake. Of course there weren’t that many bombs. But whatever was in the cake was the real threat- and those Nutcracker machines were the real deal.
“LEX! MOVE, NOW!”
The sound of crunching and gears could be heard as the intercom screeched, the Toyman realising the jig was up.
“I didn’t want ta have to do this- But ye leave me no other choice!”
The wooden animatronics(or at least, so it seemed) began to lurch forwards chaotically, the children writhing against the tape and bonds more than ever before, the muffled and horrified screams louder than ever as they attempted to escape. Lex leapt up from the chair, sweating as he looked back again, about to open his mouth and try and tell the Kryptonian what to do- but all he heard was the whoosh of wind past his ears, a blue blur as Superman moved into action, dashing over to the right side of the table. Clark narrowed his eyes as he swung one fist at its gun-wielding arm, crunching Kryptonian skin against wood and metal, ripping it off at the joints, flinging it over the table and across the room. Within less than a millisecond, he swung with his other arm, left fist hitting it square in the chest as he lunged forwards, flinging it aside, the sparking and twitching animatronic crashing into the right wall, the chest cratered in as the limbs spread out upon impact. Lex twisted his head towards the wall, shocked as he saw it, but before he had a chance to react, the Man of Steel had already kept up, moving forwards like an unstoppable juggernaut to the Toyman’s next creation in the row of three, lunging forwards to reach what could very possibly be a real weapon, both hands grasping onto the arm. Gears spun, a sound Clark picked up and took as a sign to move faster and stop it, as he pivoted sideways to the same wall he had crashed the other into, moving his arm with him, the momentum of the speeding blue bullet tossing the heavy Nutcracker like a ragdoll, rotating in the air as it crashed higher up against the wall, completely turned around as the molded face split in two down the middle, nose splintering as shards of wood burst all over the ground, the second Nutcracker effortlessly disposed of. And finally, as the mouth began to wind down on the last one, ready to bite, Clark grit his teeth, pulling his arm back, before swinging it forward as he lunged, the arm of the Boy scout in Blue bursting right through the side of it, splintered wood all over his fist as the elbow began to fall from the socket. He heard the child scream- CRAP that wasn’t enough he needed to- he raised a leg, and swung it upwards to his right, kicking towards the Nutcracker’s head as the momentous impact crashed into its face, and rather than impaling it, it smashed it right off, launching it back towards the wall as loose wires sparked from the neck of its decapitated body, black fluids spluttering. Looking down to the bunched up, squirming child in the chair, he gave a reassuring nod, moving so fast that it was most likely missed. Next, his feet truly left the ground as he glided into the air, dragging the decapitated body with him, and turning to the left, sighting the row of Nutcrackers on the other side of the table, and instinctively choosing to hurl it downwards towards the one on the bottom left, closest to Lex. Twitching wood and metal barrelled into the monstrosity as it was hit square in the chest, unopposable arms spreading as it was pinned to the floor and knocked away from any potential victims.
He then cast his reddened, godly gaze down across the table, to the Nutcracker on the exact opposite side, as he launched himself back downwards, pressing a fist into his other hand as he raised his hands into the air in a hammer arm attack, swinging downwards as he swooped into battle against the animatronic, hammer-fists bashing the ‘hat’ on the top of its head in, the force of the indestructible Kryptonian body crashing square into the machine, both feet smacking against the chest as he bounced it back into the wall, the two point attack displacing the Nutcracker as he landed in its place. Landing crouched behind the child in the chair, he heard the muffled screaming in the room increase. The red mist was coming up. What were the children, Lex, the kidnapper even doing? Who was scaring the victims more in this quick combat dash- the imminent possible threat of Nutcrackers, or him? He grunted animalistically as he turned to the left, the final active Nutcracker in the middle of the row preparing to seemingly bite down and crush the captive child's head- and he leapt upwards to his feet, swinging his left arm around to the front, clenching a steel fist as it punched a hole straight through the ‘heart’ of the henchman, pulling it away just in time as the top and bottom parts of the mouth chattered, attempting to clamp down but unable to, as Superman pivoted to the side… now standing between the chair and the impaled enemy as he finally slowed down to a normal human speed, the room less of a blur as he let out a deep breath… raising his foot, and kicking forwards, bucking the final Nutcracker once again off into the wall, dust puffing out from the slotted stone as it crashed into the warehouse side, the hole in its chest dripping oil. He twisted his head to the side, looking down to Lex, who stood near the child at the bottom left chair at the table, fingers tearing at the straps, attempting to free their arms from the chair, as the Man in Steel nodded, his rampage finally coming to an end as their eyes met. Lex Luthor’s brow was furrowed with stress, and fear. Superman’s expression was cold, steely and stoic.
“I’ll get the children out. Get to the door, open it and get the Police.”
A drop of sweat rolled down Lex’s bald forehead, as he bit his lip, swallowed his pride with a gulp, and nodded.
However, before they could respond, the croaking, coughing, despairing intercom voice spoke out once again.
“Yer breaking the rules… The timer’s starting again. Thirty. Seconds.”
Lex bit his tongue, confused.
“T-timer? Again?”
Indeed, the grandfather clock ticking sounds could be heard again.
Clark panicked, scanning the entire warehouse for heat signatures as he peered through the walls themselves, only to turn back to the very bottom of the warehouse, the wall lined with stacked shelves. The one Lex must have walked right past on the way in. And, in the very corner, he saw it. The hinges on the wall. There was a heavy-duty metal sliding door there, slotted just past the shelves that lined the wall. And he could see the heat signatures in the small room behind it… six more bound children, silent and in fear… and the hunched over figure of a man in a chair. Target located. The twisted Toyman behind the whole thing was in that very same hidden room, overseeing the whole thing, with the last six hostages. He grabbed a shard of sharpened, broken wood from the two nearest Nutcrackers, the ones that had been thrown together, and tossed it to Lex, who barely caught it in his hands.
“Get the kids free and alert the police. I’ll save the others.”
Lex got to work attempting to break the straps and tape binding the six captives, as Clark quickly ran across to the wall, hoping to figure out what exactly this second game was. The timeframe was halved. He had twenty seconds now.
“This isn’t fair, toy man. Explain, quick.”
He hummed out six different things, over another speaker, the first one Lex had come across on the shelf.
“The products. Middle two shelves.”
Within a second, Clark became a blur as he dashed down to the far end of the wall, leaning across to the shelves the closest to the door, observing the middle two shelves. He spotted the signs with his heat vision, and with a single movement, he swiped the last six items from each of those shelves. Jammed into the wall behind them, hidden from view, were twisted metallic heads, tied to thick nail-like bodies, pushed out of the wall, and as the clock began to tick down again, they wormed their way in, the completely hopeless man now at his last straw as he explained.
“Got 10 seconds to pull one out. You get it right, they’ll reset. Pull any of the six wrong ones?”
He made a squishing noise. It was hard to process over the Intercom, but the point was clear. Superman froze. And stopped. And took a deep breath. He knew this was coming. This breakdown. Ever since the media had discovered the existence of Superman, it had been one thing after another. He had tried to avoid as much as possible, but he was a reporter, even if new to the city. Not all of the blowback could be avoided. And then, the blowback was starting to find its way to him. Batman. Corben. Lex and his clone. Clark Kent, no matter what the rest of the world thought, was Superman. And Superman was him. And although the world thought the god-like Superman was deserving for, and ready for all this backlash, Clark Kent was not. It was just too much… it felt like the entire world was against him. He thought he had maybe found someone to confide in with Lois, but he still had to lie to her, right? He was lying to EVERYONE he knew here- H-he just wanted to go back to Smallville, back home and forget it all-
The croaky, dusty, expired voice spoke. Already dead. It was just as disillusioned as himself.
“Press were wrong. ‘Yer a nice, old fashioned lad, I bet… but ‘yer no hero. No Light of Hope. This world won’t let anyone be that. Deck’s always stacked against yer, and something needs to change. This game shows that.”
The rotating nails came close to driving into the wall. Only five seconds left.
“No game is ever really fair here. It’s time for the good men… to go home. Game. Over.”
The final two words landed with an impactful thud as-... a nail was yanked with a powerful grip, ripped from the wall in the hands of Superman. A 50/50 chance. And he won. Complete radio silence was the result on the other end, as the other nails churned themselves back outwards. Resetting. The Toyman had not expected such a sudden burst of determination. The will to go on. Heated fire and rage grew in his voice.
“Is that so? Well… You’ve got me all wrong.”
He took one step across, from the game itself to the metal door protecting Schott.
“I’m not playing your games. And I’m not playing anyone else’s… And I’m damn tired of being the bigger man.”
Each of his moves was a thundering impact. One of a higher being. As his fist smashed against the metal door, and dented the plating almost instantly.
“W-wait, what’re you doing-”
The radio warbled. Clark… Superman… didn’t listen.
“Thirty seconds. Twenty now. You made it very clear. But I play- SMASH- by- SMASH- my own- SMASH- RULES!”
The door caved in, the plating in the middle almost bending in on itself. He wasn’t even going to beat it out of its hinges, but rather tear his way right through the middle.
“Tell me, game-master. Do you think I can break down this door and end you in- say- ten seconds?”
The old voice fumbled, every breath putting his body on the edge with fear and panic.
“You wouldn’t-”
“No. I’d do it in five.”
It seemed he was about to make good on that promise as he reeled his arm back, preparing for one final blow. Then, the door was kicked down.
“EVERYBODY DOWN-”
The police had finally saw fit to breach the building. And they ignored Superman pounding away at the wall- far more concerned with the few released children rushing over to them, crying, begging, sobbing. Scared. Not just of their captor. They shepherded Lex out, they shepherded the children out. And they rushed over to the remaining three strapped to the chairs, desperately and hurriedly trying to free them as the crashing power of Superman’s blows blasted not just the products from the walls, but shook the shelves, and the building itself. Clark’s eyes glew with a red rage, as the overloading of sound to his super-hearing barely allowed him to hear the chaos, but only the last breakdown of his target. The Toyman had thought he knew complete loss of control. Complete despair, complete hopelessness.
He had met it now, and all he could do was hoarsely screech as he stopped caring for even his own rules.
“GAME’S OVER! TICK. TOCK. ‘T TIMER’S UP!”
He was going to do it. Activate the trap early, and kill the six remaining children. And the damn Police didn’t know, pulling Lex away and out of the building as he hurriedly tried to explain, unable to be heard over the chaos and noise.
Lex. Batman. Zod. Corben. The Police. All that was causing him trouble bounced around in his brain, resounding in the rage induced stupor that had overtaken his mind. They were going to ruin this, it would be THEIR fault, and they’d ALL THINK IT WAS HIS FAULT, THEY’D CALL HIM A MONSTER AGAIN-
… it was a monster they wanted.
Batman knew it.
Zod knew it. And hadn’t he been copying Zod’s fighting style ever since? THIS was the root of his power. Bloodshed, and anger.
And at that moment, the burning red rage in his eyes cast itself outwards, the chaos cut out by a sizzling, burning sound. As, from his eyes, blasted something entirely new for Superman. Blood red beams of energy, burning hot, that seared a hole through the door effortlessly. A croaking screech of pain shot out from the bunker-like room. And it wasn’t the children. The police in the room grew silent, prompting the ones outside to do the same, Lex attempting to barge his way past, looking over a shoulder to see, even the children watching. And if they would have seen anything… they would have seen Superman, Metropolis’ controversial alien saviour, a twisted and raw grimace on his face, as the searing hot steady beams of pure death from his eyes systematically bored their way through the doors hinges. Expert control, and ruthless. The door collapsed forwards as it fell from its hinges, the Kryptonian completely untouched. The middle of the frame itself had either been beaten in completely, or melted. He took two steps forwards, as he made his way slightly upwards and over the step into the room. The six bound children sat down against the wall watched on in fear as he took one more step into the small, restricted room, with a desk and comfy chair, multiple complicated mechanisms and monitoring systems set up on the desk. And, curled up in the chair, crushed and panting, screeching and muttering under his breath, was the Toyman. Winslow Schott. Blood bubbled from his bare arm, the wound only visible because the sleeve of his jacket had been cut through entirely, burnt by the beams. The arm rested limply on the desk, fingers only twitching. Entire body twitching, in fact. With the first shot through the door, he had successfully hit him in the arm, most likely as he was attempting to set off the execution. The glasses wearing man, still in his flat cap, shook all over as he stared up at the invader, flinching at his mere presence.
“A-a-are you some kind of monster?”
He grabbed the man by his throat, violently yanking him from the chair and into the air, as his reddened eyes stared down the man, pulling him up in a sudden movement that was only made more unnerving by the fact he could have done it far faster.
The stare he gave threatened to bore holes through Winslow’s head. With his current mood… it was a possibility, that could have happened at any moment in a literal sense. Superman spat out his last remark.
“A kind of monster far worse than you.”
He didn’t even look at the children as he turned around, dragging the Toyman with him as he stomped down out of the bunker to the warehouse, surrounded by police, unsure what to do. They hadn’t been trained on when exactly it was okay or safe to pull a gun on a Kryptonian.
Most likely never, was the answer. He took a few steps forwards, the only sound in the room being the echoing of his titanic stomps, before he dropped Winslow to the cold hard floor. He didn’t fall far, yet his body crumpled, collapsing. He must have passed out completely, from something. Anything. Stress, the heat, his own mental condition, the pain, blood loss… The heated blood still bubbled as it seeped from his searing wound. If one looked closely, steam could still be seen lingering around the destroyed door frame to the bunker, and on the Toyman’s wound. No time for thought was given to these, as a blue and red blur shot out through the hole in the roof, the exact same way he had came in. Superman was gone. And there was no telling what he would do next.
"How the Chimney-sweepers cry
Every black'ning Church appalls,
And the hapless Soldiers sigh
Runs in blood down Palace walls "
"London", by William Blake
7 Minutes Prior
“So, Mr Luthor, enjoying the party? Want ta help yourself to some cake?”
The wearied, hopeless voice slipped from the intercom, that must have been sat on the chair at the far end of the table. Opposite him. Lex scoffed, trying not to look at the struggling captives on either side of him, only glaring down the table to the nothingness that resided on the other end.
“Explain your demands, madman.”
The intercom screeched, as it seemed prone to do, as the dusty old voice let out a chuckle that seemed to be mixed with a hoarse cough.
“You don’t play around when it comes to games, do you Mr Luthor? Makes sense. Business is competitive.”
Lex sneered at that remark, looking around to the shelves stacked with dusty toys as he snarked back.
“Doesn’t seem like something you’d understand, from how full this place is.”
The intercom voice continued on, sounding almost wounded, as if trying to brush over Lex’s words. Somewhere, they had found a mark. Good, Lex thought. Some mental probing of his opponent wouldn’t hurt, and what he was dealing with didn’t seem to be a stable mind.
“Anyway, allow me to explain the Rules. ‘Cos all good games have rules, that’s true. And rules best ta be followed, ain’t that right Mr Luthor?”
Lex blinked, narrowing his eyes down to the far end of the table, despite the fact his enemy was not actually positioned there. The empty chair and the radio did seem to be a remarkably effective tactic. He shook his head, averting his eyes as he tried not to play into his hands, refusing to respond to that jab, prompting the dusty old intercom to let out a screeching audio sound, then a sigh. “Once a cheat always a cheat I see. Been cheating through life since the start, ‘aven’t ya?” The Toyman then chuckled, before finally getting into the details. “There are twelve candles on that cake.” Lex gulped as he processed this, instantly making the connection. Twelve hostages. Twelve candles. Six of the children were at this very table, where were the others? “Take a real nice and close look. You might n’t get a lotta chances. ‘Alf of those candles are connected to explosives underneath the chairs.”
A small bead of sweat rolled down Lex’s bald head as he heard those words. Explosives?! A hostage situation was already bad enough, and he had no way of getting this information to the police- how was this even possible, WAS this even possible? Lex took a few deep breaths, trying to regain his composure as he inspected the cake, only just now noticing that rather than flames on the end of the thick different coloured candles, there were… Light Bulbs. Small ones. “You take out one of these candles, and if it’s ‘t wrong one? A little present under the chairs goes off, and one of the little lights at this table goes out.” The squirming and muffled screams of the children only got louder to Lex as the risk became more obvious, even if he tried to shut out the thoughts. “Every minute, you’ve got to either remove a candle, or confess one of yer sins.” Lex cocked an eyebrow at this, staring back down the table again, incredulity in his voice.
“And why would I do that?”
The voice replied casually, in a dry, prepared, and utterly hopelessly bored statement.
“Or the Nutcrackers do their job.”
Such a simple way to explain the consequences, that only induced Lex to once again stare at the face of the one closest to him, towering behind the captive child, expressionless, wooden, with its snapping mouth set up in a way that left the possible punishments to be easily summarised in his imagination.
“Time starts now. ‘Urry up.”
Right on cue, a ticking similar to that of a Grandfather clock could be heard throughout the warehouse. The game was on.
Nearly 1 minute of pure silence and radio static glitches passed as a fraught Lex weighed up his options. And, just as the intercom made its screeching sound, their captor ready to make his warning, Lex already spoke, just as he hit 58 Mississippi in his head.
“Half of Lexcorp owned laboratories are off the books and known only to US Government agencies and officials.” He blurted out in a rushed fashion. While deliberating other whether the risk was worth it, he had prepared something easy to start with. The response from the intercom was momentary silence. It had not expected this. A dusty cough sounded.
“Not a surprise. Nice of y’ta provide statistics, though. Makes my job easier.”
Lex let out a quiet sigh of relief. The man obviously knew he was trying to stall, but it also seemed he hadn’t expected it. No, the Toyman had expected Lex Luthor to take the one in two chance of the death of a child, all to protect his own dirty laundry. This was a sentiment that would offend Lex if even suggested from anyone else. But he could use this here. The risk would get larger and larger the more he tried to cop out. So, if stalling was the plan? Then he would choose only Truth, not Dare. At least, he hoped he would. Lex began to count down in his head again.
1 Mississippi. 2 Mississippi. 10 Mississippi. 30 Mississippi. 50 Mississippi. 55 Mississipi-
“For years I have been completely privately donating money to the Republican Party. Kept it under covers so as to not make my personal political stance public.”
The dusty, hacking cough coming from the intercom was mixed with a chuckle.
“Doesn’t sound too controversial, Mr Luthor. ‘Yer not focusing on the fun in ’t game. So I’m upping the stakes. Unless the next ones are big, I’ll blow a candle out myself.”
Crap. Lex tried to avoid cursing himself under his breath. However, there was a small little tidbit of information he took in from this, as he desperately scrambled to think of a really BAD thing he had done that he could get away with saying here, something he would want to hear- that small tidbit being that his opponent seemed completely unphased by the last one. Either he wasn’t well-versed enough to know that what Lex had been doing was newsworthy and not exactly entirely legal, or the old-timer was just forgetting. He pushed that little thought out of his mind as he spent the next minute racking his brains, causing him to mess up a little on his counting-
“Last chance-”
“I set up the attack on Superman at the Lois Lane interview!”
… Okay, caught out at the 59 second mark and panicking, he had instinctively gone for the most recent thing he could think of. Hopefully the Toyman was just as behind on current events as he was in political logistics. Lex barely felt the cold sweat on his hands, and how loud he had burst that out. The speaker let out a low, croaking laugh at his sudden reaction.
“Attack, ‘ye say? Doesn’t mean much ta me, but the news sure does like the Blue lad, hmm?” So he at least was aware of the damn alien. It was only then that Lex’s mind reminded himself, the aforementioned “Blue lad” was right outside with the police. As much as he didn’t want his involvement… what if he was listening in? Best to avoid the Xenos related “sins” from now on, if this hadn’t already gotten him into hot water.
Lex rung his hands together in the seat as he spent the next minute as he tried to think of something progressively worse, that would automatically SOUND worse to the madman, even if he didn’t properly understand it, and wouldn’t learn much from it himself. After all… if the Toyman didn’t make it out, what use was blackmail material? So, the next slightly less panicked confession was something nobody in the room would understand.
“I’ve been working with the secret government agency Argus for approximately three years.”
“Argos? Like ’t shop? Or ‘t ship?”
“No, kind of like the CIA. Or FBI.”
“Ah. ‘Old up lemme get my notes-”
Lex could actually hear the sound of papers ruffling, a chair creaking and slow, lethargic movements, like a rustling sound. He must have been sat way too close to the other end. A small room. He was hiding somewhere in this warehouse, right? Another detail for Lex to add to his own mental notes.
Lex took a few deep breaths, relaxing in his chair, trying not to think about the panicking children around him, the same ones he had helped previously. Pushing them out of his mind. The temptation, the thought to even risk sacrificing them was something he didn’t want to go near. However, it was then that he realised he hadn’t been bought time.
“I ‘ope ye realise the timers been going. Five seconds.”
“Wait, what? But I was counting and-”
“So ‘ave I. Been counting since you last spoke. Oh, lookie ‘ere. Times. Up-”
As Lex struggled to get a word in edgeways, he was left with no other option but to confess immediately on the spot. Something he knew would really hurt, something he had to choose on instinct, something that had to be WORSE sounding than the other things, something that would satisfy the twisted man's view of Lex- he had to keep him convinced Lex Luthor was the bad guy. He had to SAY something that Lex Luthor had done that made him a BAD GUY- no no, something… h-he… had done… that made him a bad guy. The rational, logical train of thought in his head couldn’t answer this conundrum on the spot, or in time. Lex Luthor is no bad man, it would say. But another part of Lex, one he scarcely knew existed, said something very different, not even stopping for breath. He said this to save lives. The truth.
“After my father passed and I inherited the entirety of Lexcorp, I closed Lexcorp’s entire Astronomy Wing. And… a-anything else to do with it. Space exploration. Meteorology. I put many great people out of jobs… and it was his passion. His dream.”
This emotional reaction was not what the Toyman had expected, and maybe, not even wanted. But, as the speaker crackled, before the Toyman could even comment, Lex… continued. His rambling continued, elaborating.
“B-because I thought it wasn’t necessary. It didn’t make sense, it wasn’t logical, it drove him to an early damn grave, I tore it all down. With only a falsehood, half a reason. I took Lexcorp from what it was meant to be and I-I twisted it. Out of spite, bitterness, hard-heartedness, coldness. Whatever you want to call it.”
Lex… panted, his chest rising and falling, a lump in his throat as he raised his eyes from the poorly made cake, past the haunting image of the captive children, to the opposite empty chair, embodied by the old, hopeless, despairing voice.
“I-Is… THAT what you wanted to hear?”
Lex Luthor’s mind questioned everything he had just said. This served no real blackmail purpose. He had just had some sort of- fit, some childish breakdown, and messed the whole thing up. 50%. He wasn’t sure if a tear had formed in his eye or if it was just more sweat from the stress- How was he only just noticing that NOW?! He had been sweating profusely for ages, it was like he was only now actually opening his eyes to the situation-
The intercom crackled.
“That’s-”
Lex braced, gritting his teeth. His eyes were closed, factually.
“W-well-”
But his eyes, emotionally. Were more open than ever.
“... Nowwww yer really gettin’ into ‘t swing of it. Y’know, I remember good ol’ Lexcorp. A big name. Yer old man wouldn’t have cocked it up so almightily, that’s for sure. What was it you said again- TWISTED it. That’s good, that. Might keep it in for ‘t release. Words from ‘t man himself. It’s like spitting on a grave, y’know. I find that at a certain age, young’uns just… stop caring about the ones ‘t reared em. Always knew ye were the type.”
A muffled, raspy, almost spitting sound could be heard across the monitors.
“Right nasty buggers. World’s cold, uncaring and abandoning everything ‘t was good. Just like you. No home for old men like me. Or Lionel.”
Lex stared down to his lap. Nothing to say. He couldn’t let the words of some old COOT, some MADMAN, some DUMB OLD DREAMER PHASE HIM-... what he was thinking reminded him of old arguments. W-was he really- why was he letting this come up now of all times, this was the worst time to…
“This world could use a little more damn respect, ‘nd heart. Sixty. More. Seconds.”
And, almost as if summoned by the Toyman’s words, something crashed through the roof, nearly bringing down the entire thing. Hopefully, some respect and heart.
The Present
Superman looked down at Lex, as he stood atop the rubble behind him, his eyes having taken in the entire situation with supernatural speed. Yet, he couldn’t think of anything to say.
“L-Lex?”
Luthor twisted his head around, hands planted to the arms of the chair. Unlike the children, he was not restrained, strapped into his chair, yet he felt just as trapped. Unable to move. He blinked the tear out of his eye as the sweating man panicked, trying his best to do the impossible. He had conceded. He was pleading with Superman for help.
“T-the children, there’s six missing. He’s got explosives under the chairs, and I think the dolls can-“
BZZZT.
The intercom cut in with a new, high pitched shriek, handily interrupting and cutting Lex off. Superman clapped his hand to his ear, wincing a little. He had been purposefully trying to hone in his own enhanced senses earlier, and this… uncomfortable one must have been one of the many things muffling the children’s sounds. For the first time, Clark Kent heard the dusty, defeated old voice.
“Ere’s the blue lad. I dunno what you do, but y’best stay still. Let’s not mess up the game now.”
Clark didn’t pay attention to his words, as he worked through the situation as fast as possible.
Six children at the table. The kidnapper was speaking through some device at the bottom chair on the table, opposite Lex. Lex had mentioned explosives, and the giant, honestly creepy life-size Nutcracker dolls behind the children weren’t just for show. Explosives. Under the chairs. Solve that first.
He looked down past Lex to underneath the table, blocked off by the cover draped along the table. Luckily, he could do something Lex couldn’t. He wrinkled his brow, focusing as he stared with intent down to the cover. And, as if naturally, he could see through it. Even through the floor. Glowing infrared outlines showed pipes built underneath the warehouse, the supports. Yet, underneath the table… there was nothing.
“There’s nothing…”
Lex panted in confusion.
“W-what? What do you mean there’s NOTHING?!”
“There's no bomb-”
And as he scanned the room, eyes darting from left to right, he saw the machinery, red hot and pulsing, unstable and ready to move. Inside the Nutcrackers. And, as he looked down to Lex, he noticed the other red heat stamp. A strange device buried in the sloppy, messed up cake. Of course there weren’t that many bombs. But whatever was in the cake was the real threat- and those Nutcracker machines were the real deal.
“LEX! MOVE, NOW!”
The sound of crunching and gears could be heard as the intercom screeched, the Toyman realising the jig was up.
“I didn’t want ta have to do this- But ye leave me no other choice!”
The wooden animatronics(or at least, so it seemed) began to lurch forwards chaotically, the children writhing against the tape and bonds more than ever before, the muffled and horrified screams louder than ever as they attempted to escape. Lex leapt up from the chair, sweating as he looked back again, about to open his mouth and try and tell the Kryptonian what to do- but all he heard was the whoosh of wind past his ears, a blue blur as Superman moved into action, dashing over to the right side of the table. Clark narrowed his eyes as he swung one fist at its gun-wielding arm, crunching Kryptonian skin against wood and metal, ripping it off at the joints, flinging it over the table and across the room. Within less than a millisecond, he swung with his other arm, left fist hitting it square in the chest as he lunged forwards, flinging it aside, the sparking and twitching animatronic crashing into the right wall, the chest cratered in as the limbs spread out upon impact. Lex twisted his head towards the wall, shocked as he saw it, but before he had a chance to react, the Man of Steel had already kept up, moving forwards like an unstoppable juggernaut to the Toyman’s next creation in the row of three, lunging forwards to reach what could very possibly be a real weapon, both hands grasping onto the arm. Gears spun, a sound Clark picked up and took as a sign to move faster and stop it, as he pivoted sideways to the same wall he had crashed the other into, moving his arm with him, the momentum of the speeding blue bullet tossing the heavy Nutcracker like a ragdoll, rotating in the air as it crashed higher up against the wall, completely turned around as the molded face split in two down the middle, nose splintering as shards of wood burst all over the ground, the second Nutcracker effortlessly disposed of. And finally, as the mouth began to wind down on the last one, ready to bite, Clark grit his teeth, pulling his arm back, before swinging it forward as he lunged, the arm of the Boy scout in Blue bursting right through the side of it, splintered wood all over his fist as the elbow began to fall from the socket. He heard the child scream- CRAP that wasn’t enough he needed to- he raised a leg, and swung it upwards to his right, kicking towards the Nutcracker’s head as the momentous impact crashed into its face, and rather than impaling it, it smashed it right off, launching it back towards the wall as loose wires sparked from the neck of its decapitated body, black fluids spluttering. Looking down to the bunched up, squirming child in the chair, he gave a reassuring nod, moving so fast that it was most likely missed. Next, his feet truly left the ground as he glided into the air, dragging the decapitated body with him, and turning to the left, sighting the row of Nutcrackers on the other side of the table, and instinctively choosing to hurl it downwards towards the one on the bottom left, closest to Lex. Twitching wood and metal barrelled into the monstrosity as it was hit square in the chest, unopposable arms spreading as it was pinned to the floor and knocked away from any potential victims.
He then cast his reddened, godly gaze down across the table, to the Nutcracker on the exact opposite side, as he launched himself back downwards, pressing a fist into his other hand as he raised his hands into the air in a hammer arm attack, swinging downwards as he swooped into battle against the animatronic, hammer-fists bashing the ‘hat’ on the top of its head in, the force of the indestructible Kryptonian body crashing square into the machine, both feet smacking against the chest as he bounced it back into the wall, the two point attack displacing the Nutcracker as he landed in its place. Landing crouched behind the child in the chair, he heard the muffled screaming in the room increase. The red mist was coming up. What were the children, Lex, the kidnapper even doing? Who was scaring the victims more in this quick combat dash- the imminent possible threat of Nutcrackers, or him? He grunted animalistically as he turned to the left, the final active Nutcracker in the middle of the row preparing to seemingly bite down and crush the captive child's head- and he leapt upwards to his feet, swinging his left arm around to the front, clenching a steel fist as it punched a hole straight through the ‘heart’ of the henchman, pulling it away just in time as the top and bottom parts of the mouth chattered, attempting to clamp down but unable to, as Superman pivoted to the side… now standing between the chair and the impaled enemy as he finally slowed down to a normal human speed, the room less of a blur as he let out a deep breath… raising his foot, and kicking forwards, bucking the final Nutcracker once again off into the wall, dust puffing out from the slotted stone as it crashed into the warehouse side, the hole in its chest dripping oil. He twisted his head to the side, looking down to Lex, who stood near the child at the bottom left chair at the table, fingers tearing at the straps, attempting to free their arms from the chair, as the Man in Steel nodded, his rampage finally coming to an end as their eyes met. Lex Luthor’s brow was furrowed with stress, and fear. Superman’s expression was cold, steely and stoic.
“I’ll get the children out. Get to the door, open it and get the Police.”
A drop of sweat rolled down Lex’s bald forehead, as he bit his lip, swallowed his pride with a gulp, and nodded.
However, before they could respond, the croaking, coughing, despairing intercom voice spoke out once again.
“Yer breaking the rules… The timer’s starting again. Thirty. Seconds.”
Lex bit his tongue, confused.
“T-timer? Again?”
Indeed, the grandfather clock ticking sounds could be heard again.
Clark panicked, scanning the entire warehouse for heat signatures as he peered through the walls themselves, only to turn back to the very bottom of the warehouse, the wall lined with stacked shelves. The one Lex must have walked right past on the way in. And, in the very corner, he saw it. The hinges on the wall. There was a heavy-duty metal sliding door there, slotted just past the shelves that lined the wall. And he could see the heat signatures in the small room behind it… six more bound children, silent and in fear… and the hunched over figure of a man in a chair. Target located. The twisted Toyman behind the whole thing was in that very same hidden room, overseeing the whole thing, with the last six hostages. He grabbed a shard of sharpened, broken wood from the two nearest Nutcrackers, the ones that had been thrown together, and tossed it to Lex, who barely caught it in his hands.
“Get the kids free and alert the police. I’ll save the others.”
Lex got to work attempting to break the straps and tape binding the six captives, as Clark quickly ran across to the wall, hoping to figure out what exactly this second game was. The timeframe was halved. He had twenty seconds now.
“This isn’t fair, toy man. Explain, quick.”
He hummed out six different things, over another speaker, the first one Lex had come across on the shelf.
“The products. Middle two shelves.”
Within a second, Clark became a blur as he dashed down to the far end of the wall, leaning across to the shelves the closest to the door, observing the middle two shelves. He spotted the signs with his heat vision, and with a single movement, he swiped the last six items from each of those shelves. Jammed into the wall behind them, hidden from view, were twisted metallic heads, tied to thick nail-like bodies, pushed out of the wall, and as the clock began to tick down again, they wormed their way in, the completely hopeless man now at his last straw as he explained.
“Got 10 seconds to pull one out. You get it right, they’ll reset. Pull any of the six wrong ones?”
He made a squishing noise. It was hard to process over the Intercom, but the point was clear. Superman froze. And stopped. And took a deep breath. He knew this was coming. This breakdown. Ever since the media had discovered the existence of Superman, it had been one thing after another. He had tried to avoid as much as possible, but he was a reporter, even if new to the city. Not all of the blowback could be avoided. And then, the blowback was starting to find its way to him. Batman. Corben. Lex and his clone. Clark Kent, no matter what the rest of the world thought, was Superman. And Superman was him. And although the world thought the god-like Superman was deserving for, and ready for all this backlash, Clark Kent was not. It was just too much… it felt like the entire world was against him. He thought he had maybe found someone to confide in with Lois, but he still had to lie to her, right? He was lying to EVERYONE he knew here- H-he just wanted to go back to Smallville, back home and forget it all-
The croaky, dusty, expired voice spoke. Already dead. It was just as disillusioned as himself.
“Press were wrong. ‘Yer a nice, old fashioned lad, I bet… but ‘yer no hero. No Light of Hope. This world won’t let anyone be that. Deck’s always stacked against yer, and something needs to change. This game shows that.”
The rotating nails came close to driving into the wall. Only five seconds left.
“No game is ever really fair here. It’s time for the good men… to go home. Game. Over.”
The final two words landed with an impactful thud as-... a nail was yanked with a powerful grip, ripped from the wall in the hands of Superman. A 50/50 chance. And he won. Complete radio silence was the result on the other end, as the other nails churned themselves back outwards. Resetting. The Toyman had not expected such a sudden burst of determination. The will to go on. Heated fire and rage grew in his voice.
“Is that so? Well… You’ve got me all wrong.”
He took one step across, from the game itself to the metal door protecting Schott.
“I’m not playing your games. And I’m not playing anyone else’s… And I’m damn tired of being the bigger man.”
Each of his moves was a thundering impact. One of a higher being. As his fist smashed against the metal door, and dented the plating almost instantly.
“W-wait, what’re you doing-”
The radio warbled. Clark… Superman… didn’t listen.
“Thirty seconds. Twenty now. You made it very clear. But I play- SMASH- by- SMASH- my own- SMASH- RULES!”
The door caved in, the plating in the middle almost bending in on itself. He wasn’t even going to beat it out of its hinges, but rather tear his way right through the middle.
“Tell me, game-master. Do you think I can break down this door and end you in- say- ten seconds?”
The old voice fumbled, every breath putting his body on the edge with fear and panic.
“You wouldn’t-”
“No. I’d do it in five.”
It seemed he was about to make good on that promise as he reeled his arm back, preparing for one final blow. Then, the door was kicked down.
“EVERYBODY DOWN-”
The police had finally saw fit to breach the building. And they ignored Superman pounding away at the wall- far more concerned with the few released children rushing over to them, crying, begging, sobbing. Scared. Not just of their captor. They shepherded Lex out, they shepherded the children out. And they rushed over to the remaining three strapped to the chairs, desperately and hurriedly trying to free them as the crashing power of Superman’s blows blasted not just the products from the walls, but shook the shelves, and the building itself. Clark’s eyes glew with a red rage, as the overloading of sound to his super-hearing barely allowed him to hear the chaos, but only the last breakdown of his target. The Toyman had thought he knew complete loss of control. Complete despair, complete hopelessness.
He had met it now, and all he could do was hoarsely screech as he stopped caring for even his own rules.
“GAME’S OVER! TICK. TOCK. ‘T TIMER’S UP!”
He was going to do it. Activate the trap early, and kill the six remaining children. And the damn Police didn’t know, pulling Lex away and out of the building as he hurriedly tried to explain, unable to be heard over the chaos and noise.
Lex. Batman. Zod. Corben. The Police. All that was causing him trouble bounced around in his brain, resounding in the rage induced stupor that had overtaken his mind. They were going to ruin this, it would be THEIR fault, and they’d ALL THINK IT WAS HIS FAULT, THEY’D CALL HIM A MONSTER AGAIN-
… it was a monster they wanted.
Batman knew it.
Zod knew it. And hadn’t he been copying Zod’s fighting style ever since? THIS was the root of his power. Bloodshed, and anger.
And at that moment, the burning red rage in his eyes cast itself outwards, the chaos cut out by a sizzling, burning sound. As, from his eyes, blasted something entirely new for Superman. Blood red beams of energy, burning hot, that seared a hole through the door effortlessly. A croaking screech of pain shot out from the bunker-like room. And it wasn’t the children. The police in the room grew silent, prompting the ones outside to do the same, Lex attempting to barge his way past, looking over a shoulder to see, even the children watching. And if they would have seen anything… they would have seen Superman, Metropolis’ controversial alien saviour, a twisted and raw grimace on his face, as the searing hot steady beams of pure death from his eyes systematically bored their way through the doors hinges. Expert control, and ruthless. The door collapsed forwards as it fell from its hinges, the Kryptonian completely untouched. The middle of the frame itself had either been beaten in completely, or melted. He took two steps forwards, as he made his way slightly upwards and over the step into the room. The six bound children sat down against the wall watched on in fear as he took one more step into the small, restricted room, with a desk and comfy chair, multiple complicated mechanisms and monitoring systems set up on the desk. And, curled up in the chair, crushed and panting, screeching and muttering under his breath, was the Toyman. Winslow Schott. Blood bubbled from his bare arm, the wound only visible because the sleeve of his jacket had been cut through entirely, burnt by the beams. The arm rested limply on the desk, fingers only twitching. Entire body twitching, in fact. With the first shot through the door, he had successfully hit him in the arm, most likely as he was attempting to set off the execution. The glasses wearing man, still in his flat cap, shook all over as he stared up at the invader, flinching at his mere presence.
“A-a-are you some kind of monster?”
He grabbed the man by his throat, violently yanking him from the chair and into the air, as his reddened eyes stared down the man, pulling him up in a sudden movement that was only made more unnerving by the fact he could have done it far faster.
The stare he gave threatened to bore holes through Winslow’s head. With his current mood… it was a possibility, that could have happened at any moment in a literal sense. Superman spat out his last remark.
“A kind of monster far worse than you.”
He didn’t even look at the children as he turned around, dragging the Toyman with him as he stomped down out of the bunker to the warehouse, surrounded by police, unsure what to do. They hadn’t been trained on when exactly it was okay or safe to pull a gun on a Kryptonian.
Most likely never, was the answer. He took a few steps forwards, the only sound in the room being the echoing of his titanic stomps, before he dropped Winslow to the cold hard floor. He didn’t fall far, yet his body crumpled, collapsing. He must have passed out completely, from something. Anything. Stress, the heat, his own mental condition, the pain, blood loss… The heated blood still bubbled as it seeped from his searing wound. If one looked closely, steam could still be seen lingering around the destroyed door frame to the bunker, and on the Toyman’s wound. No time for thought was given to these, as a blue and red blur shot out through the hole in the roof, the exact same way he had came in. Superman was gone. And there was no telling what he would do next.
"How the Chimney-sweepers cry
Every black'ning Church appalls,
And the hapless Soldiers sigh
Runs in blood down Palace walls "
"London", by William Blake
