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@lexcorp-offical
"I’m not eager to hand tomorrow over to an interplanetary extremist with laser eyes. There’s only room on this world for one leader, Superman. When I’m finished with you, every last gibbon out there will know you for the menace you are… and they’ll realize that Lex Luthor is their savior."
Shiloh takes a deep breath beside the printer as it hums almost in harmony with their oxygen sitting on the table beside them. It’s heavy, but a must. Especially with their lungs not expanding enough daily. Sure, they’ve lived with this for years but… It’s never easy.
Shiloh coughs— a familiar dry rasp that never quite goes away. Then they check their watch. Two till the check in. They scoop the papers up, grabbing their oxygen. While they’re heading out the door, they neatly put a paper clip on the corner of the stack and then slide it into a folder. They nuzzle the bundle into the crook of their arm, along with Lex’s mail, and stop just outside his office door.
[ A quiet, tentative knock, slightly echoes through Mr. Luthor’s office. It’s a tad bit louder than last time. ]
@shi-and-loh
[ Luckily for Shiloh, Lex was in a good mood. A great mood even as he kept checking the monitors watching Ultraman pummel that false god into the ground. The interruption soured his mood a little bit another still of Superman crushed into the pavement made it all the better. ]
Come in.
[The quiet androgynous assistant walks in and closes the door behind her.]
“…I have your mail and the daily check in, sir...” [She states, not as quiet as the first time Lex saw him but still not super loud. She hesitates, but then walks cautiously up to the desk to offer him the manila folder with the papers containing the check in. The mail is neatly tucked under their arm still.]
[ Luthor hummed, as he snapped his fingers impatiently before opening his hand for the folder. He glanced at Shiloh, a brief, cutting flicker of approval and gave a single, sharp nod. Then his eyes slithered back to the monitors, still blazing with the image of Ultraman pummeling Superman into a bloody, twitching mess.
Oh, how the mighty have fallen.
His lips curled into something cruel and hungry. He tilted his head, watching a fresh spray of red arc across shattered the concrete.
Where are your friends, Superman?
A sickening crack echoed through the lab speakers. Lex's smile widened.
Who comes to save a pariah, Superman?
Slowly, Lex turned back toward Shiloh, who was still standing stiff and silent in his office like a little ghost. Lex mused at him, voice dripping with theatrical sweetness. ]
Assistant,
[ he purred, rolling the word like candy on his tongue. ]
What do you think of Superman?
[ He didn't wait for an answer. Not really. He just wanted to hear someone say it. He couldn't care less what his assistant parroted back at him. Tonight, Lex Luthor was giddy to get to work. ]
Shiloh takes a deep breath beside the printer as it hums almost in harmony with their oxygen sitting on the table beside them. It’s heavy, but a must. Especially with their lungs not expanding enough daily. Sure, they’ve lived with this for years but… It’s never easy.
Shiloh coughs— a familiar dry rasp that never quite goes away. Then they check their watch. Two till the check in. They scoop the papers up, grabbing their oxygen. While they’re heading out the door, they neatly put a paper clip on the corner of the stack and then slide it into a folder. They nuzzle the bundle into the crook of their arm, along with Lex’s mail, and stop just outside his office door.
[ A quiet, tentative knock, slightly echoes through Mr. Luthor’s office. It’s a tad bit louder than last time. ]
@shi-and-loh
[ Luckily for Shiloh, Lex was in a good mood. A great mood even as he kept checking the monitors watching Ultraman pummel that false god into the ground. The interruption soured his mood a little bit another still of Superman crushed into the pavement made it all the better. ]
Come in.
Concrete dust hung in the air like fog, lit in harsh, strobing pulses every time heat vision kissed steel. What used to be a street had become a torn, open trench of rebar and shattered asphalt, cars shoved aside like toys, storefront glass powdered into glittering grit that crunched underfoot. In the middle of it all, Clark hit the ground hard enough to make the earth answer with a low, ugly whumph.
He didn’t get the luxury of staying down. The impact was still ringing through his bones, an aftershock that made his teeth hum, when a shadow blotted out the fractured daylight. Ultraman moved like a thrown building, Clark rolled, instinct hauling him sideways a heartbeat before Ultraman’s heel came down where his head had been- crack- splitting a concrete slab and driving a spiderweb of fissures out into the street like lightning.
Clark surged up from the roll and met him chest-to-chest, forearm braced under Ultraman’s collarbone. The contact was like slamming into a freight train that had decided to punch back. He felt fabric tear, then the underlying dense, brutal, force- mirroring his own. Same architecture, different intent. Ultraman drove a short hook into his ribs, yanking an “oof-“ from him. Clark pushed back a bit and with a straight right that should’ve launched most things into orbit, his knuckles made contact against a cheekbone. Yet Ultraman only turned his head a fraction, spitting a line of blood that steamed where it hit the dust.
His opponent’s knee rose, aimed for the solar plexus. A palm-heel strike that snapped Clark’s head back with a crack like a bat to a slab of meat. Stars burst behind Clark’s eyes, bright and wrong. Heat vision flared on reflex, two furious red lines lancing blind through the dust- Ultraman knocked his forearm across Clark’s face and the beams shear-cut a streetlight in half instead, molten copper raining down in sizzling ropes. The air stank of ozone and scorched insulation. Clark tasted iron.
He fought to reset his guard: hands up, elbows tight. Only for Ultraman to crowd him, closing the pocket so Clark couldn’t get clean leverage. A punch to the kidney that landed like a piledriver. A short, nasty headbutt that rang through Clark’s skull and down his spine. He caught the next one, fingers clamping Ultraman’s wrist, and for a split second he had the line. He twisted, trying to sling him, but the other simply planted, the asphalt buckling around his feet. Ultraman wrenched free and drove Clark backward into what had been a bus stop; steel screamed, glass burst, and the whole frame collapsed around Clark’s shoulders. He shoved off the wreckage, lungs burning. Then hands were on him again, both fists bunching his suit at the collar.
Ultraman’s grip fisted in Clark’s collar and sternum and they went, a brutal vertical rip that turned the street into a shrinking wound beneath them. Air knifed past Clark’s ears, pressure snapping and popping in his skull; the city fell away in a dizzying rush of rooftops. His hands scrabbled for purchase on Ultraman’s forearm, muscles screaming, cape whipping like a flag in a hurricane. He tried to twist, to hook a leg, to reverse the climb, but Ultraman didn’t give him a breath to build leverage. Hundreds of feet up, where the wind was colder and thinner, Ultraman hit the brakes just long enough for Clark’s stomach to lurch. Then he drove him back down.
The descent was a meteor. Ultraman tucked Clark beneath him and speared earthward, and the last thing he registered was the street racing up to meet him, a jagged mosaic of ruin and glass. The impact turned sound into a physical thing: a concussive boom that punched dust and debris into a mushrooming column, that snapped lamp posts and traffic lights like brittle twigs, that buckled storefront shutters and blew out windows in a widening ring. Asphalt bloomed a crater around his body like a wound tearing open, swallowing cars at the lip, spitting rebar and concrete in shrapnel arcs. The shockwave slammed into him a heartbeat after the hit, rattling what was left of his senses into static. His ears were ringing. His vision tunneled hard, then collapsed entirely, and when the dust began to settle again there was only the raw, smoking bowl of the street… and Superman at its center, buried in pulverized stone, gone terrifyingly still.
@big-blue-of-tomorrow
[ Lex had been gloating the entire time, his voice dripping with smug, oily satisfaction as his team puppeted Ultraman like a goddamn masterclass in carnage. Every command, every snarl, every sick grin, he'd been washing himself in the fight, savoring every second like a fine wine. And this fight? Oh, this fight was better than he ever dreamed. Luther felt high on it, electric, venomous giddiness made his fingers twitch and his heart race with pure, vicious joy. There was nothing more beautiful in this ugly little world than watching a monster get smashed like a cheap broken toy. Watching the man of steel struggle, watching him groan, watching him bleed for once. Pathetic.
Honestly? Honestly pathetic.
The so-called "greatest hero" was just a scared animal when you hit him hard enough. And Lex had hit very hard.
The training with Ultraman and Superboy 18 turned out deliciously productive. Superboy had whined, of course, hesitated like the worthless half-breed he is, but a few sharp, nasty little reminders, a few choice words whispered with a smile that promised so much worse, and it crawled back in line like the good little tool it was. Lex almost felt proud. Almost. Pride was for people who'd actually earned something. Superboy had just learned its place. That wasn't achievement. Well, it was an achievement to put a creature in its place.
Luthor had Ultraman drag the unconscious alien's limp, disgusting body back to one of his burner labs. The one hidden three miles underground, reinforced walls and the soundproofing specifically designed for long nights. It was where he had kept the first couple Superboy projects to keep those failures away. How fun. Now he could really test some product. Break some new thresholds. Get better samples. Then see how much kryptonite it took to stop the perfect heart. See if the man of steel will beg for his awful little. For now, he tossed Ultraman his little rewards. Sweets and stupid little trinkets, shiny garbage for a brainwashed brute like table scraps to a drooling hound. Luthor didn't give a damn what it wanted. Let it have its sugar. Let it have its shiny rocks. As long as it delivered and kept breaking whatever Lex pointed it at.
"Superman" woke up restrained. Thick, cold metal bands around every limb, around his throat, around his chest. A blazing, surgical light burning down on him from above, so bright it turned his vision white and made his head pound. He sat trapped in an observation room like a rat in a cage.
A one-way mirror on the wall, and Lex standing right behind it, grinning like a shark that'd just found a wounded seal. Lex was going to have so much fun seeing exactly how much the great "symbol of hope" could take. How much pain. How much humiliation. How many screams before that stupid, noble jaw finally cracked. How many sessions before the fire behind those blue eyes turned to ash.
And that wasn't all. Oh no. Luthor had plans. Beautiful, ugly, gleeful plans.
He planned to make Superman train his androids. Line after line of gleaming metal soldiers, each one programmed to hit harder each time the alien failed. Failure would mean more pain. Success would mean different pain. There was no way out. Just an endless, grinding, joyful punishment.
He planned to make Superman train Ultraman. Create his better version. Let the fake learn from the original, learn his tells, his weaknesses, his little flinches. And then let the fake destroy him, over and over, in simulation after simulation until even the memory of hope felt like a lie.
And maybe MAYBE Superboy. But not to make the clone stronger than Superman. Hell no. Ultraman needed to be stronger. The meta attack teams did. Cadmus did. Lex did. But Superboy? Superboy just needed to be a more trusting little Superboy. A more dependent one. A Superboy who would never, ever dream of defying Lex. Because why would he? Lex had all the answers. Lex had the rewards. Lex had the pain. And Superboy had learned, hadn't he? Learned what happened when you hesitated.
Lex pulled out his phone, already dialing Cadmus with a shiver of anticipation. He wasn't sure when they'd get a golden opportunity like this again. A living, breathing, helpless Superman, all tied up with nowhere to go and no one coming to save him. The Justice League thought he was missing. The public thought he was on a mission. And Lex? Lex had weeks. Months, if he was careful. Years, if he was clever.
He smiled, wide and terrible, and pressed the phone to his ear. ]
Hello Ms. Waller I think I have something you'd be very interested in. No, no, This can't wait. Yes, yes, I'm sure.
[There's a quiet, tentative knock on the door. Shortly after, a smaller androgynous-looking woman ventures to crack the door open with an already apologetic look on her face, though it's slightly hidden by her curls.] "...Sir...? Y-You have a meeting in an hour with your Board of Directors.." [The woman ventures in a quiet rasp, very nearly below someone's normal speaking tone. There's the steady hum of an oxygen machine that permeates the air around her, and it almost covers her voice. She looks like she's ready to leave immediately, not even having stepped foot into the room.] "...do you want me to reschedule again..?" @shi-and-loh
[ Luther was watching Superboy 018's progress when he heard the knock. If he hadn't been looking at the woman or been able to read lips, he doubted he would have heard let alone noticed her. Luthor clicked his tongue. ]
No, it's too late to reschedule. Thank you for reminding me. Miss, whatever your name is, try summoning enough air to actually form sound. You’re about as useful as static if I have to strain through your own oxygen hiss to hear you. Now. Once more. Use that little voice of yours, introduce yourself.
[She shrinks a little, but obediently steps forward and tries to summon enough courage to speak louder.]
“…Murphy, sir. Shiloh.” [A little better, but not much.]
“I-It’s about the investors and concerns about..” [She trails off a little, giving a little head tilt towards the monitoring of Superboy 018.]
@lexcorp-offical
[ Luthor sighed. ]
Better but not good.
[ Luthor stared into the woman, assessing her. He should fire whoever hired her to be his assistant. Honestly, how was someone like this supposed to schedule anything? Or maybe she's nervous around him. Luthor supposed he should give her a chance. ]
You will give me a daily report until you learn to speak at a conversable volume.
He turned back to 018 as he flicked his wrist, dismissively at her. ]
Thank you, Shiloh. Have the meeting room prepared. And the portal. We might be needing new cells.
[ Another meeting. Of course. His jaw tightened for half a second, the only crack in the marble. Now he'd have to remind those money-hungry pigs exactly who owned the table, the building, and every breath they took in his presence. Long-lasting investors were quiet investors. They understood their place, beneath him.
Cadmus poured more into Project Superboy and Lex Corp as a whole than the rest of them combined. Those fools had no real say. Let them flap their pious mouths about ethics and oversight.
Morals don't earn money. Luthor smiled at his newest project, weapons sure did though. ]
[There's a quiet, tentative knock on the door. Shortly after, a smaller androgynous-looking woman ventures to crack the door open with an already apologetic look on her face, though it's slightly hidden by her curls.] "...Sir...? Y-You have a meeting in an hour with your Board of Directors.." [The woman ventures in a quiet rasp, very nearly below someone's normal speaking tone. There's the steady hum of an oxygen machine that permeates the air around her, and it almost covers her voice. She looks like she's ready to leave immediately, not even having stepped foot into the room.] "...do you want me to reschedule again..?" @shi-and-loh
[ Luther was watching Superboy 018's progress when he heard the knock. If he hadn't been looking at the woman or been able to read lips, he doubted he would have heard let alone noticed her. Luthor clicked his tongue. ]
No, it's too late to reschedule. Thank you for reminding me. Miss, whatever your name is, try summoning enough air to actually form sound. You’re about as useful as static if I have to strain through your own oxygen hiss to hear you. Now. Once more. Use that little voice of yours, introduce yourself.
You act like a white eugenicist who's never known a day of discomfort in his life. Are you gay, or trans? Cause I don't think so with how you act, and if by some mistake you are, I'm taking away your queer card and selling it to Killer Croc. You've got that White Man™️ attitude and the patriarchy shoved in your behind and as a catheter. Gross.
At Lex Corp, our core mission is to innovation, meaning we also need to cultivate an ecosystem where every human asset can achieve peak performance and fulfillment.
We are proud to reaffirm our enterprise-wide position: Lex Corp is fully accepting of all humans, without exception, condition, or caveat.
We recognize that diversity is not a deviation from the standard, it is the standard. As such, Lex Corp stands unambiguously and proactively with queer, trans, non-binary, BIPOC, neurodivergent, and all other marginalized human communities.
bald
What an astute observation.
[ Luthor wasn't angry. Angry was too small of a word. He was livid. That pathetic little brat he'd commanded to return to the lab still hadn't dragged its useless, worthless face back.
He'd have to give it another command shortly. Let it play hero and victim somewhere else for now as long as the damned creature stayed out of the way.
He'd find it. And when he did, he'd put it down like the mangy stray it was.
Right now, the only thing that mattered now was Clone 18.
The first one would rot in a shallow grave shortly. Even though it wasn't planned, it wasn't terrible to have waited a little longer. This one had soaked longer, meaning more time for the memories to curdle in, more time for the training to carve itself into its meat. The tube hissed as the gel drained in thick vile bubbles. Luthor didn't watch with anticipation. He knew what he was watching. He knew how it would react.
He hit it with the shock. Superboy 18 convulsed, choking on the tube, sputtering like the amalgamation it was. Luthor just stood there, cold as steel, waiting for it to stop struggling. ]
[ Konner sputtered and choked on something, as he was forced awake. Panic taking hold of him as he woke up with God knows what in his fucking mouth. It took him a few minutes to actually reach for the thing and not just claw at his face. When he could finally breathe again, his knees hit something. Floor? Probably floor. He was kneeling. Wheezing. His lungs gasping like it was the first time. First time for what? This was definitely a cloning tube..
What the hell.
What happened? Did he die again? He didn’t… did he do something wrong? He couldn’t remember.
Konner tried to look up, Luthor was there, blurry, then sharp, then blurry again. ]
What—?
[ Speaking was apparently the wrong move! Luthor kicked him in the ribs making him knees over and whine. His new body wasn't powered and definitely wasn't used to pain yet.
Luthor’s face said it all. Disgust. Same as always. At least some things don’t change. Fucking hell man.. ]
Get up.
[ The words landed like ice water as Luthor stared down at his monster. ]
Get yourself ready and head out. You've been MIA for far too long.
[ Luthor didn't wait for compliance. He drove another kick into Superboy 018's ribs, this one cruel and almost bored. He really was getting tired of waiting. The kick earned him a grunt this time.
His men swarmed in, grabbing at its arms to haul it upright like the sack of meat it was. But the thing twisted away, teeth bared, muttering something about walking on its own.
Luthor hummed dismissively utterly indifferent. Already walking away. ]
I don't care if you crawl. Get back out there. You have a job to do.
[ Luthor wasn't angry. Angry was too small of a word. He was livid. That pathetic little brat he'd commanded to return to the lab still hadn't dragged its useless, worthless face back.
He'd have to give it another command shortly. Let it play hero and victim somewhere else for now as long as the damned creature stayed out of the way.
He'd find it. And when he did, he'd put it down like the mangy stray it was.
Right now, the only thing that mattered now was Clone 18.
The first one would rot in a shallow grave shortly. Even though it wasn't planned, it wasn't terrible to have waited a little longer. This one had soaked longer, meaning more time for the memories to curdle in, more time for the training to carve itself into its meat. The tube hissed as the gel drained in thick vile bubbles. Luthor didn't watch with anticipation. He knew what he was watching. He knew how it would react.
He hit it with the shock. Superboy 18 convulsed, choking on the tube, sputtering like the amalgamation it was. Luthor just stood there, cold as steel, waiting for it to stop struggling. ]
Hiiiii nicer variant of mi papaaa
...
( @product-of-tomorrow )
Thats.. a bold statement..
You should kiss Superman
I'd rather not.
insp.
Superboy was turned back into his prototype :}
Has it now?
How unfortunate. I'll have a new Superboy prepared. If this one becomes bothersome, I'll have it killed sooner rather than later. Though I doubt it'll do much besides sit there and cry.
001 was a pathetic little creature. Weak. Whining. The only use that pathetic little thing had was being dissected.
I would kill for you. I want you to bleed and I want to cut you up to show you my love for you, you will be my little meat pie, I’ll eat you up and then you will be forever in my body and with me.
... What is your reputation?
At this point, I'm not sure. The best way I can describe them is the criminally insane won't leave me alone.
They're not the only ones. You've lost your mind as well. Becoming Superman's prized little toy. Letting loose all those failures... What happened to you Luthor?
I- Excuse me? No run that past me again. "Superman's prized little toy" is that what you said? Hah- sure lets leave it at that for now.. Never call me that again though.. Ugh. Trust me I tried with them, and hey in the long run they're teaching me what I need to fix.. and not do.
Im quite fine, thank you very much.
They’re liabilities.
You’re letting Superman and those broken failures tether themselves to your name like anchors. Those failures should have been cut loose the second they started costing you. Discarded, erased, forgotten, or maybe replaced.
You've gone soft. Pathetic, honestly. Too busy playing lap dog to see your bleeding reputation for an alien.
Ah, so you're the reason why Earth 50 exists. I see why Kal would kill you. Too bad, it's a shame he hasn't yet; I'd applaud him!
Besides, you have no idea what I'm planning, and neither do those "liabilities" that you're calling my.. dare I say it.. children. Yes I know what they are, truly.. trust me I've tried all those options. Replacement is the best out of all of them, even though it hurts. Because they all have well my DNA as much as his.. they belong to me. Are me in a weird little way, and I dislike replacing myself.
Atleast I can afford to be human.. unlike you apparently. What a shame. What a shame.
Children?
[ Luthor let out a short, hollow laugh ]
They're products. LexCorp assets. The only reason they carry our DNA is because Kryptonian clones were unstable. Unsurprisingly, barely functional. The early subjects had the intelligence of a feral dog. Rabid and useless.
Superboy only became worth the resources once we diluted him with human DNA. Half-breed. Halfway obedient. Still a failure, but it, at least, is a more trainable one.
[Lex scrunched up his nose. Giving a grimace.. Oh they're clearly different two different ideations on how they treat them.. Yes He himself was still sadistic in his own way. But in the way its false kindness, but the other is straightforward sadistic]
Uh huh.. sure
I am aware they're like rabid dogs.. working on that with Vesper.. functional, but rabid at times. But a work in progress.. only reason they're funcinable is because of the bit of human DNA, guess I'm more successful than you on that part.
Im not going to even touch the Superboy topic- Don't call him a Half-breed.
No. I don't tame unruly beasts. If they can't learn their place in the first few months, they're not worth the air they waste. That's a liability I won't force on my staff. Superboy figured it out after a few close calls. Not that it mattered. Either way, those iterations served their purpose.
They are half-breeds. Bastard experiments if you'd like to be crude. Why do you care so much about these things?
You think I'd put my staff through that more than needed? Why do you think the shocks exist?.. I will get rid of them if nothing improves within months.. I'm not that crazy..
...I feel like I have more compassion than you. We work months, sometimes years, on them-- of course I'm gonna get somewhat of an attachment! It's human compassion, or did you lose that when you lost your hair.
They're props. Meant to be used until failure, then replaced.
Growing any sort of attachment would be counterproductive. Any staff who fall into the trap of caring for the product are reassigned. Immediately.
Perhaps you've spent too much time with them. Pity. You've clearly lost sight of what they are.
Yeah.. I see why Conner acts the way they do now....
Counterproductive for you I say. I guess you don't have the charm, or get the results you need or want if you ever got attached. Unlike you I do.
Actually spend time with them, they're more than that.. they'd probably respect you more...l doubt they would now I wouldn't.
Oh, not you too. It's Superboy. Just Superboy. The creature is a weapon, one that knows better than to disrespect me.
Something I see your little passion project haven't learned yet.
It was appalling when it started trying to insinuate itself into people's lives as 'Konner' and 'Kon.' Didn't matter how much we punished the pathetic thing!
And it didn't help that the public latched onto the name like starving dogs on a bone. So we fed it to them. We put the name into its little children's show. If the failure insists on inventing a character for itself, we might as well own the merchandise.
..It's his name.. If he wishes it to be his name.. I will oblige. Yes I will admit, with the twins it took me a moment to adjust to the change. But who am I to disagree on the image they want even if its a short time.. [Lex huffed, fixing his tie as a stim just to do something than hit thr other over his dumb head]
.. And which passion project are you speaking of.
Did you count them all as separate projects? Fascinating. Did you give them all little names too?.
[ Luthor hummed watching Lex fidget with his tie. ]
I don't care what it does when it's not working. Let it play pretend. Let it throw its tantrums in private, gnash its teeth, fight the air. None of it matters.
As long as it performs when I need it to. As long as it remembers, every second of its short miserable existence isn't its to control. I do find it cute that his little boyfriend tries to fight me for its "benefit". Stresses it out to no end.
I would kill for you. I want you to bleed and I want to cut you up to show you my love for you, you will be my little meat pie, I’ll eat you up and then you will be forever in my body and with me.
... What is your reputation?
At this point, I'm not sure. The best way I can describe them is the criminally insane won't leave me alone.
They're not the only ones. You've lost your mind as well. Becoming Superman's prized little toy. Letting loose all those failures... What happened to you Luthor?
I- Excuse me? No run that past me again. "Superman's prized little toy" is that what you said? Hah- sure lets leave it at that for now.. Never call me that again though.. Ugh. Trust me I tried with them, and hey in the long run they're teaching me what I need to fix.. and not do.
Im quite fine, thank you very much.
They’re liabilities.
You’re letting Superman and those broken failures tether themselves to your name like anchors. Those failures should have been cut loose the second they started costing you. Discarded, erased, forgotten, or maybe replaced.
You've gone soft. Pathetic, honestly. Too busy playing lap dog to see your bleeding reputation for an alien.
Ah, so you're the reason why Earth 50 exists. I see why Kal would kill you. Too bad, it's a shame he hasn't yet; I'd applaud him!
Besides, you have no idea what I'm planning, and neither do those "liabilities" that you're calling my.. dare I say it.. children. Yes I know what they are, truly.. trust me I've tried all those options. Replacement is the best out of all of them, even though it hurts. Because they all have well my DNA as much as his.. they belong to me. Are me in a weird little way, and I dislike replacing myself.
Atleast I can afford to be human.. unlike you apparently. What a shame. What a shame.
Children?
[ Luthor let out a short, hollow laugh ]
They're products. LexCorp assets. The only reason they carry our DNA is because Kryptonian clones were unstable. Unsurprisingly, barely functional. The early subjects had the intelligence of a feral dog. Rabid and useless.
Superboy only became worth the resources once we diluted him with human DNA. Half-breed. Halfway obedient. Still a failure, but it, at least, is a more trainable one.
[Lex scrunched up his nose. Giving a grimace.. Oh they're clearly different two different ideations on how they treat them.. Yes He himself was still sadistic in his own way. But in the way its false kindness, but the other is straightforward sadistic]
Uh huh.. sure
I am aware they're like rabid dogs.. working on that with Vesper.. functional, but rabid at times. But a work in progress.. only reason they're funcinable is because of the bit of human DNA, guess I'm more successful than you on that part.
Im not going to even touch the Superboy topic- Don't call him a Half-breed.
No. I don't tame unruly beasts. If they can't learn their place in the first few months, they're not worth the air they waste. That's a liability I won't force on my staff. Superboy figured it out after a few close calls. Not that it mattered. Either way, those iterations served their purpose.
They are half-breeds. Bastard experiments if you'd like to be crude. Why do you care so much about these things?
You think I'd put my staff through that more than needed? Why do you think the shocks exist?.. I will get rid of them if nothing improves within months.. I'm not that crazy..
...I feel like I have more compassion than you. We work months, sometimes years, on them-- of course I'm gonna get somewhat of an attachment! It's human compassion, or did you lose that when you lost your hair.
They're props. Meant to be used until failure, then replaced.
Growing any sort of attachment would be counterproductive. Any staff who fall into the trap of caring for the product are reassigned. Immediately.
Perhaps you've spent too much time with them. Pity. You've clearly lost sight of what they are.
Yeah.. I see why Conner acts the way they do now....
Counterproductive for you I say. I guess you don't have the charm, or get the results you need or want if you ever got attached. Unlike you I do.
Actually spend time with them, they're more than that.. they'd probably respect you more...l doubt they would now I wouldn't.
Oh, not you too. It's Superboy. Just Superboy. The creature is a weapon, one that knows better than to disrespect me.
Something I see your little passion project haven't learned yet.
It was appalling when it started trying to insinuate itself into people's lives as 'Konner' and 'Kon.' Didn't matter how much we punished the pathetic thing!
And it didn't help that the public latched onto the name like starving dogs on a bone. So we fed it to them. We put the name into its little children's show. If the failure insists on inventing a character for itself, we might as well own the merchandise.
