Date: Saturday, June 11th, 2011, 9:00 pm
Location: Metropolis
It was finally the day of the charity gala, an event Mercy and I had meticulously planned for the past two months. On the surface, the goal seemed simple enough: raise substantial funds to establish a new orphanage, aiming to significantly reduce future crime rates and provide crucial support to those most in need. Yet, this wasn't purely altruistic. There was also a far greater, hidden objective lurking beneath the surface: to meet, and ideally recruit, the future members of the nascent Justice League.
I waited in my private room, the subtle tension in the air almost as palpable as the distant, anticipatory hum of the red carpet. By my side, Mercy Graves was, as always, an embodiment of formidable control and sharp efficiency. She was dressed in a tailored, architectural black gown that seemed forged from shadow and steel, utterly devoid of any frivolous embellishment, perfectly reflecting her unyielding nature. Across from us, Thea Queen, ever the spirited and elegant socialite, wore a flowing, emerald green silk dress. It seemed to move with a life of its own, hinting at both her vivacious personality and an underlying, resilient strength.
I took a moment to truly appreciate them, feeling a genuine warmth amidst my usual calculations. "You both look absolutely incredible," I murmured, my gaze lingering first on Mercy's composed elegance, then on Thea's vibrant charm. "Honestly, I might be distracted from the actual gala tonight."
A rare, almost imperceptible softening crossed Mercy's features, a faint curve of her lips. "Don't be," she replied, her voice low and even, a subtle warning within its quiet tone. "Distraction isn't in our schedule."
Thea, however, laughed, a warm, genuine sound that filled the room. She playfully leaned into my personal space, her eyes sparkling with anticipation as she held my gaze. "Just 'incredible'? I thought we were aiming for 'devastatingly beautiful and dangerously charming.'"
"Oh, you're certainly both of those too," I assured her, my smile broadening, enjoying this brief, intimate moment before the public facade demanded our full attention. "Devastatingly beautiful, dangerously charming, and quite possibly the reason I might forget the main objective altogether." Stepping closer, I gently took Mercy's face in my hands and gave her a long, passionate kiss, feeling the firm set of her jaw soften beneath my touch, a rare concession. Then, turning to Thea, I pulled her close and shared an equally deep, ardent kiss, her lips warm and eager against mine, a delightful contrast.
Huddled slightly apart, radiating a palpable, rebellious reluctance, was Zoe Lawton. She wore a dark, almost sullen Dark Plum/Aubergine dress that, despite its undoubted designer label, looked like she'd begrudgingly pulled it on simply because I'd asked. Her posture was a clear statement of protest against the entire glamorous affair; her arms crossed, her gaze fixed on a distant point, as if willing herself anywhere but here.
"I hate this dress," Zoe muttered, her voice barely audible above the distant city sounds that filtered into the room.
"It looks good on you, Zoe," I replied, my tone soft but firm, trying to convey a genuine compliment that transcended her resistance. I then stepped closer, my voice dropping, imbued with a gravity I hoped she'd understand. "When I make my speech tonight, when I explain why I'm throwing this gala... I want you to be by my side when I tell them all that you inspired me."
Zoe flinched, her eyes widening in surprise before narrowing with a flicker of anger, caught off guard. "What? No! You can't just use me as some prop!" she snapped, her defiance flaring.
"You're not a prop," I countered immediately, meeting her gaze and ensuring my sincerity. "I was genuinely inspired by you, Zoe. By what you've been through. This gala, this orphanage, it's to help more kids like you find a better path. And tonight, I want to introduce you as a new, valued member of my family."
The anger drained from her face, replaced by pure shock. Her eyes, usually so defiant and guarded, shimmered as they welled up, a vulnerability she rarely showed. She quickly turned away, facing the wall, her voice thick with emotion. "Just... do whatever you want," she murmured, a reluctant acceptance in her tone.
From our vantage point within the grand, echoing hall, we watched the vibrant tapestry of the red carpet unfold below. It was less a walkway and more a meticulously choreographed stage for a living tableau of power, celebrity, and unparalleled prestige—a dazzling array of the world's elite. A seemingly endless stream of Hollywood A-listers, chart-topping musicians, formidable industry titans, astute political giants, and avant-garde fashion royalty moved with an almost ritualistic grace, making their way toward the night's exclusive gathering. Each figure, perfectly coiffed and poised, seemed acutely aware of their every movement being scrutinized by millions worldwide.
Their extravagant outfits weren't just clothes; they were wearable art, each a meticulously crafted statement piece designed to captivate and provoke conversation. We observed gowns that cascaded like liquid jewels, suits that defied traditional tailoring, and accessories that sparkled with the brilliance of a thousand stars. Beyond the tightly controlled ropes, a veritable army of hundreds of photographers and eager reporters jostled and strained, their collective energy a palpable force that vibrated through the very foundations of the building. The air outside must have thrummed with the constant staccato of camera shutters, the booming of commands from event staff, and the insistent chorus of desperate pleas for attention, all aimed at coaxing a fleeting glance, a quick wave, or a coveted word from these elusive luminaries. It was a carefully orchestrated symphony of pandemonium, a testament to the insatiable hunger of public fascination.
But my attention, undeterred by the external clamor and designed distractions, remained squarely on the handful of guests I had personally placed on the list. These were not just celebrities; they were individuals with extraordinary abilities, or access to them, the very people I needed to connect with. My gaze meticulously tracked each arrival, scanning faces, posture, and subtle cues that might betray their true identities or affiliations. Every passing minute ratcheted up the anticipation, a silent countdown to my true objectives.
And then, a ripple went through the crowd, a collective intake of breath that even we could sense from our elevated position. The very first to truly command the spotlight, drawing an instantaneous explosion of camera flashes that seemed to brighten the night, was Keanu Reeves—or, as he was known in this world, Bruce Wayne. This iteration of Bruce Wayne powerfully echoed Keanu Reeves's look in The Devil's Advocate, a deliberate choice, I suspected, to cultivate a particular public image of dangerous allure. However, he was notably different from the film's portrayal. Taller at six feet three inches and considerably more muscular, a direct result of his demanding training as Batman, he commanded attention with a quiet, underlying intensity that belied his public performance. He walked the red carpet with two stunning women I didn't immediately recognize, draped in designer finery, playing the part of a frivolous, spoiled billionaire to perfection. To the world, he was all these things—a womanizer, a reckless playboy, unequivocally arrogant—but I understood it was merely a brilliantly executed performance, meticulously crafted to conceal the true, formidable identity of the Dark Knight.
As Bruce Wayne paused at the rope, a dozen microphones were thrust into his face. "Mr. Wayne! Bruce! Over here! Any comments on the Wayne Enterprises merger rumors?" "Bruce, who are your lovely companions tonight?" He offered a practiced, charmingly dismissive smile, a slight shrug. "Ladies, gentlemen, you know me. I'm just here for the champagne and good company. The merger can wait, and my dates are strictly off-limits for your headlines." With a final, knowing wink to the nearest camera, he smoothly guided his escorts past the clamoring press and into the building. My primary target had arrived: the first chess piece in play.
After Bruce Wayne's commanding entrance, a measured trickle of other influential figures followed, but my gaze quickly locked onto my next key target, someone I was already well acquainted with: Clark Kent. How people failed to recognize this unassuming giant as Superman always baffled me; it seemed utterly ludicrous that a simple pair of Ray-Bans was all that truly separated his two public personas. He moved with quiet dignity, undeniably handsome in his tailored suit, a picture of wholesome, small-town charm. And by his side, radiating an equal measure of grace and sharp intelligence, was his date—Lois Lane, whom I had also personally invited to this exclusive event. She was a vision in a beautiful, flowing red dress that not only ideally suited her vibrant personality but also subtly hinted at the bold, unwavering spirit beneath. Together, they made a truly striking pair on the red carpet, their natural chemistry evident even from our distant vantage point, a subtle warmth in the otherwise glittering, calculated atmosphere of the gala.
Finally, the trinity was complete with Diana Prince, who looked utterly stunning in her blue dress and gold accents. I couldn't help but stare, my gaze drawn to her undeniable presence, and she stared back, our eyes locking across the distance. Her beautiful hazel eyes, filled with ancient wisdom and an almost palpable inner light, confirmed her true identity: Wonder Woman. In person, she remarkably resembled Jessica Green, though she stood at an imposing six feet tall, commanding attention with her stature alone. Her frame was not merely graceful but powerfully built, with muscles defined like those of a seasoned warrior, hinting at her incredible, disciplined strength. There was an indefinable strength in her poise, a quiet confidence that radiated from her very core. Every line of her form spoke of both innate grace and formidable power, hinting at countless battles fought and hard-won victories. She was a living legend, embodying both a fierce Amazonian warrior and a compassionate, discerning leader.
A sharp pinch on my arm made me yelp, drawing me abruptly from my observations. "Ouch!" I exclaimed, pulling my arm back, rubbing the stinging spot.
Mercy's voice, laced with a potent hint of warning and thinly veiled anger, cut through the air. "I know I gave you permission, Lex, to have other women, but you just acquired Thea to our... family." Her gaze was unwavering, conveying a clear and unmistakable message in her eyes.
"I didn't do anything," I replied, a defensive reflex, still rubbing my arm.
Mercy scoffed softly, a knowing look on her face. "Lex, I know that look you had. That's the look you have when you want something, and you're not going to stop until you have it."
I pulled Mercy into my embrace, holding her close, savoring the rare moment of her uncharacteristic display of emotion. "Who knew my stoic Mercy could get jealous?" I teased, a wide grin spreading across my face.
She looked up at me, a slight frown on her lips but a hint of warmth in her gaze. "I know I might have thick skin, Lex," she replied, her voice softening slightly, "but I'm still a woman. Just remember not to treat me and the other women you get as objects."
I met her gaze, looking into the eyes of the woman who had been with me since the very beginning, through every triumph and setback. "I never have," I reassured her, my voice firm and sincere, the truth resonating in my tone, "and I never will."
We held each other in a comforting embrace, a moment of quiet understanding passing between us, a brief sanctuary from the gala's demands, when Zoe's voice broke the spell, laced with characteristic teenage disdain. "Okay, this is gross. I'm going to leave."
Zoe quickly made her exit, probably seeking a less affectionate corner of the room. I looked at both Mercy and Thea, a suggestive grin playing on my lips, seizing the opportunity. "You know, we do have a few minutes before we have to go down there. Why don't we..."
Before I could even finish the mischievous suggestion, Mercy and Thea responded in unison, their voices perfectly synchronized in a definitive and utterly unamused, "No."
I chuckled. "Fine, later then. Let's go. Our guests shouldn't be kept waiting." Besides, this wasn't just another gala; today, unknown to the world, it was destined to be a historical turning point not just for the world but for the entire galaxy.