That's impossible."
The words slipped from my mouth before I could stop them, hanging in the air like smoke.
I stared at the report in my hands, fingers tightening around the edges. My mind clawed for any logical explanation—any reason to dismiss what I was seeing. But there was none.
This wasn't a statistical anomaly.
This wasn't a lab error.
This was unreality—an outright defiance of everything I knew about biology. Every fundamental principle. Every equation. Every goddamn law of nature.
And yet…
"I thought so too, sir."
Dr. Helena Shultz, head of my Genetics Division, stood beside me, unnervingly composed for someone standing at the edge of scientific heresy. She extended a hand, bringing up the holographic display in front of me—a cold, sterile visualization of what should have been impossible.
There, projected in pristine clarity, was the process laid bare:
A Kryptonian gamete, harvested from Prime, snaking its way toward a human egg cell.
It made contact.
It breached the membrane.
And—fertilization succeeded.
The cell split once.
Twice.
Then four times.
Life was beginning.
A hybrid life.
I felt my throat tighten. No... That couldn't be—shouldn't be.
Helena's voice cut through the haze. "We triple-checked every sequence, ran the simulations dozens of times—across every scenario, the results remain consistent."
I forced myself to breathe, trying to process it all.
But she wasn't done.
"In fact," she said, voice cold and clinical like she was discussing the weather, "we took the liberty of running extended projections on reproductive viability."
I turned slowly, every muscle in my neck resisting the motion.
"The hybrid offspring—" she paused for a beat, letting it sink in, "would be fertile."
The words hit me harder than any punch ever could.
Fertile.
Not only could a Kryptonian-human hybrid exist naturally, not in a frankenstein manner like the one cadmus made—but it could also reproduce.
"How?"
The question clawed out of me, raw and hollow. "How is this possible?"
Everything I knew—every scientific principle I had mastered—was crashing down around me like a burning tower. The fundamental divide between species should have made this an absolute biological dead-end. A wall no amount of technology could overcome.
And yet here it was—proof that the wall wasn't just broken. It had been obliterated.
Helena didn't answer right away. She didn't need to.
I stood there, staring at the projection in front of me—my thoughts, a chaotic storm barely contained behind a pokerface.
The data shouldn't have made sense. It couldn't make sense. And yet, there it was—cold, clinical, undeniable.
Helena cleared her throat, shifting uneasily. "There's... more," she said, pulling up a fresh simulation.
The holographic display shifted, showing something even more impossible than before. A generational model—not just one hybrid, but many.
"At first," Helena began cautiously, "the hybrids would be... well, hybrids. A delicate balance between Kryptonian and human DNA. But given time—several generations, in fact—and a sufficiently diverse gene pool..."
I watched the simulation unfold.
One hybrid mated with another. The offspring carried more Kryptonian traits than their parents. Again, and again, the genetic markers strengthened with each successive generation—each child closer to something pure.
"And then what?" My voice was low, focused.
Helena swallowed. "If these models hold... after a few generations of selective breeding, where hybrids mate exclusively with other hybrids, their Kryptonian genetic structure would eventually stabilize."
The projection evolved before my eyes—a theoretical timeline of genetic convergence.
"Stabilize how?" I pressed.
Her next words were like a hammer to the chest.
"They would become, for all intents and purposes... full-blooded Kryptonians."
Silence settled over the room like a thick fog.
"But with... enhancements," she added, almost reluctantly.
I turned toward her slowly. "Explain."
Helena took a breath, then pointed back to the projections. "The human genetic contribution would leave behind some... quirks. Neurological efficiency far beyond anything Kryptonian biology is capable of—an evolutionary leap in cognitive capacity. Higher-order thinking, deeper emotional complexity, faster neural processing—things even Superman couldn't dream of, and that's not accounting for things like the meta gene or other enhancements."
The projection shifted again—this time showing solar absorption rates.
"And, most importantly," she continued, "the hybrid line would absorb solar energy at a significantly higher efficiency than a baseline Kryptonian. Over time, their potential could—would—surpass anything the original Kryptonian genome was capable of."
I let the weight of her words sink in.
No more gods hovering over Earth like watchful tyrants. No more pretending that humanity needed saving.
We would be the gods.
A slow, razor-sharp smile crept across my face.
"Start running long-term models. I want projections on social integration, genetic diversity protocols, and environmental adaptations. And begin identifying potential human contributors—those with high genetic resilience, intellectual capacity, and psychological compatibility, also compile a list of genetic modifications that would prove beneficial, as new discoveries are unearthed You will implement them in the project, even if it bankrupts me."
Helena hesitated. "Sir, if the League finds out about this—"
"They won't," I cut in, voice sharp as glass. "And if they do..."
I turned back to the projection—at the future of what could be, right here in my hands.
"By then, it'll be too late, the future of humanity is worth that much."
The scorching Bialyan sun bore down on me like a relentless hammer, every gust of wind carrying searing heat instead of relief. Even with the climate-control systems in my suit running at partial capacity, the oppressive air managed to seep through. I couldn't engage the full suite of comforts—appearances mattered. The cameras were everywhere, and weakness wasn't part of the image I wanted to project.
Around me, however, true power was at work—revolution in motion.
Officially, this was the grand dawn of "closer relations between Bialya and the global community." The international press couldn't stop singing praises, dubbing me a "diplomatic genius," the architect of a new, prosperous era for this once-isolated Middle Eastern power.
But diplomacy? That was just a convenient disguise.
This wasn't about politics. This was about control—and transformation.
I had already entertained eager envoys from the State Department, their thinly veiled requests for influence dripping from every handshake and smile. They wanted to "strengthen relations" with Queen Bee.
And now, at the heart of it all, rising from the desert like a monument to ambition itself, was C.A.M.P.S.
The media couldn't even begin to comprehend the scale of what was unfolding here.
The massive machines the C.A.M.P.S.—were humming with power, reshaping the landscape in ways the world had never seen before.
These weren't ordinary drones or construction vehicles. These were marvels of atomic science—each equipped with advanced transmutation reactors that rewrote the very laws of matter.
Where other nations still relied on crude labor and brute-force machinery, LexCorp had mastered something far more elegant. Structures weren't built here—they were born.
A single C.A.M.P.S. unit could transform raw base materials at the atomic level, transmuting one element into another in real time. Steel, concrete, glass—entire support pillars and foundational walls materialized within minutes under the glow of their transmutation arrays.
What would've taken years to build was now rising in days.
Skyscrapers stretched skyward as if conjured from thin air. Underground networks of maintenance tunnels wove themselves into the bedrock, ready for the vast energy infrastructure that would power the future metropolis. Water purification systems were formed from complex lattices of rare alloys, born from base metals and recycled debris, inspiration taken from both of the technological "trees".
And soon, the fusion reactors would rise, promising limitless power not just for Bialya but for any nation willing to play by my rules.
But that was just the tip of the iceberg.
Beyond the rapidly expanding cityscape, my teams were already at work reshaping the natural world itself. Armed with GECKs, they scoured the wilderness, hunting down the remnants of the mutated wildlife that we released into the world. Once the land was cleared, it wasn't just being restored—it was being perfected.
Extinct species—revived from recovered DNA strands—were being reintroduced. But the natural order wasn't enough for me. Controlled doses of radiation, subtly administered, were accelerating evolutionary leaps under LexCorp's careful guidance.
This wasn't just urban development—it was creation on a planetary scale.
And Bialya? Bialya would be the crown jewel. A monument to my genius, my vision—a shining beacon of technology, prosperity, and power.
Queen Bee thought this was her triumph. She believed she was playing a game of politics, manipulating me to elevate her nation.
But every inch of this city was being laced with LexCorp's influence. Every building was wired into my systems. Every foundation stone was embedded with my technology.
And the best part?
She wouldn't realize she was merely a pawn until it was far too late.
But this was only the beginning.
The discovery of the Kryptonian genome a few days ago had ignited a fire in me—no, not a fire—an inferno. If humanity was to ascend, Earth itself had to be made perfect. We couldn't just catch up to Kryptonians. We had to surpass them. Every weakness needed to be eradicated, every limitation shattered.
That's why my synths were hard at work across the world, moving in silence where no one could see.
In rural communities, they administered what was hailed as a miracle: Panacea, a revolutionary vaccine born straight from the depths of my mind. It didn't just cure—it upgraded. Every shot fortified the human body against the most devastating diseases known to man. Cancer, HIV, degenerative neurological conditions—obsolete.
And it didn't stop there. With every injection, my advanced biomod techniques went to work, subtly rewriting biology itself—making people healthier, stronger, more resilient. They were becoming almost superhuman without even realizing it.
And while the world cheered the miracles of science…
I was collecting.
A little DNA sample with every injection. Just a drop. A hair's breadth of genetic material added to the LexCorp Genome Vault—the most comprehensive human DNA database the world would never know existed.
But why stop there? The vault needed more—better.
Across the globe, my operatives infiltrated genetic repositories and fertility clinics, slipping past firewalls, cracking security systems like glass.
But there was a glaring problem. Four factions stood apart from humanity's mundane genetics—superior, isolated, untapped.
The true evolution of mankind couldn't happen without them.
The Metahumans? Easy. My own DNA carried the metagene. My scientists had already isolated and decoded it from my blood, the raw key to unlocking latent abilities in anyone. With a little tweaking, anyone could become more than human.
But the others? Far more complicated.
The Amazons remained hidden away in Themyscira, their mystical island a fortress shrouded in magic, lost somewhere within the folds of the Mediterranean Sea. Untouchable.
The Atlanteans ruled beneath crushing oceans, their advanced society thriving in the cold, dark abyss. No easy entry, not without provoking a war—at least, not yet.
And then there were the Homo Magi, the rarest of them all. Scattered across the Earth, living in secret, hidden behind veils of ancient spells and forgotten bloodlines. The last true wielders of raw, primordial magic—their genetics would be priceless.
But I would find them. I would get their DNA—all of it.
This wasn't about petty conquest or global dominance. This was about unifying humanity under one perfect genome—one race, one future.
Imagine it: a species without borders, without divisions, without weakness. Metahumans, Atlanteans, Amazons, Magi, Kryptonian hybrids—all fused into one perfect whole.
There would be no room for discrimination, no cracks for ancient rivalries to fester. Humanity wouldn't just rise to meet the universe's greatest threats.
We would become the threat.
The clock in my head ticked steadily downward—each second a reminder that something new was on the horizon. What would it be this time? Another surge of forbidden knowledge? A sudden, violent evolution of thought? Whatever it was, I had no doubt it would rewrite my reality again.
But before I could dwell on it, my cyberdeck let out a sharp ping, cutting through the heat-soaked air like a blade. An incoming call.
Just great.
I answered with a thought, voice steady and unbothered, despite the swarm of paparazzi snapping photos of me like vultures circling fresh meat.
"Go ahead."
"Father," Roy's voice came through clear, cold, and efficient—no emotion, just business. Just the way I built him.
"Yes, Roy?" I kept my tone light, casual. The cameras didn't need to catch me looking concerned.
"You've received a message from the Light."
That got my attention.
"And what do those lunatics want now?" I asked, my voice still smooth as silk, though inside I was already preparing for whatever absurd request they had this time.
"They're requesting one of our operatives for a mission," Roy continued, his tone unflinching and professional. "They didn't specify details over the network—just that it's urgent and 'crucial to the larger strategy.'"
"Fine," I muttered under my breath, my smile never wavering for the lenses trained on me. "Let them think they're still in charge of something."
I paused for a beat before continuing, the decision already forming in my mind.
"Prepare Victoria. I want eyes and ears everywhere. If they're sending us into the fire, we're going in ready to burn the whole place down if needed."
Roy didn't miss a beat. "Understood, Father. I'll have Victoria briefed within the hour."
"Good. And Roy…" I added, my voice dipping into something colder, more deliberate. "Make sure our insurance policies are in place. If they think they can back us into a corner…"
"I'll prep Prime for action if things get drastic," Roy finished.
"Excellent."
I ended the call with a simple blink of thought and turned back toward the cameras, letting my practiced smile stretch just a little wider.
"What are we waiting for?" Cheshire's voice was sharp with frustration, cutting through the thick, humid night like a blade. She shifted impatiently behind the bushes lining the perimeter of Happy Harbor High School, her masked eyes scanning the quiet campus.
It was almost laughable—almost. A brilliant scientist, on the verge of undoing everything The Light had worked for, hiding out in a damn high school.
Sportmaster crouched beside her, unnervingly still as he scanned the layout. His arms were crossed, but the tension in his body was clear—coiled like a predator ready to strike.
"We move when our backup gets here," he grunted, voice low and cold. "I'm not risking a blown mission just because you're impatient."
Cheshire's eyes narrowed behind her mask. "We don't need them. It's a school. There are kids and maybe a handful of rookie heroes babysitting our target. We're more than enough to take down some wannabe sidekicks and grab the girl."
Sportmaster didn't respond right away, instead focusing on the dimly lit classroom on the second floor where Dr. Serling Roquette was supposedly hiding. The Light's frustration with her was simple: she had developed a conscience. A brilliant mind who once worked under their control was now creating a virus capable of shutting down the Fog, one of their upcoming surveillance weapons.
And worse, the Justice League's junior team—their little secret strike force—was protecting her.
"Don't underestimate them," Sportmaster finally muttered. "They've gotten lucky before."
"Please." Cheshire scoffed, twirling a poisoned dagger between her fingers. "They're children playing dress-up. I'll carve through them like butter."
"Those kids fought a robot that stonewalled the whole league to a standstill," Sportmaster warned. "Don't get cocky."
Cheshire rolled her eyes. "You're starting to sound scared. We're assassins, dad. We don't wait around for backup when the target is practically gift-wrapped."
The comms buzzed softly in their ears.
"Hold position," came a cold, emotionless voice through the channel. "Reinforcements are almost in position. Wait for her signal."
Both assassins fell silent.
Cheshire clicked her tongue. "They are late."
Sportmaster didn't reply. He didn't need to. They are on a timer, if they take too long she might finish the virus.
In the distance, inside the school, shadows moved behind the windows.
The young heroes were already there. Robin's familiar silhouette was visible through the glass, pacing as he coordinated the defense. Kid Flash darted around, checking the perimeter. Superboy was stationed near Roquette herself, a walking tank of raw power, on the rooftop Red arrow and Artemis stood ready with bows in their hands, dear sister looked good in green.
Sportmaster narrowed his eyes. "They're guarding her closely. We'll need to hit hard and fast. No room for mistakes."
And with that, they started the infiltration toward the building.
"Victoria, you're breaking my balls. Just get to it already." Father's voice buzzed through her neural comms, heavy with that familiar exhaustion wrapped in authority.
Victoria sat perched at the edge of a crumbling rooftop, legs dangling lazily off the side as if she didn't have the fate of The Light's mission—and by extension, Father's patience—balanced on her cybernetically enhanced trigger finger.
Her eyes, hidden beneath sleek cyber-optic headgear, scanned the glowing windows of Happy Harbor High School. Every detail lit up in stark contrast, her vision shifting effortlessly from thermal to X-ray, from low-light to full magnification. If she wanted to, she could pull the trigger right now—end it in a single, clean shot through the skull of Dr. Serling Roquette.
But where was the fun in that?
Too easy. No challenge. No artistry. No thrill.
Instead, she let her optics zoom in on the young heroes inside. There was Robin, pacing the room with those sharp, calculating movements. Kid Flash zipped around, checking windows like a caffeinated security guard. Aqualad stood with stoic determination, coordinating the defensive setup. And then there was Superboy—the biggest obstacle—looming near Roquette like a living wall of frustration.
Victoria smirked, her fangs catching the moonlight.
"I could end this right now," she murmured lazily through the comms, taking a greasy bite of pizza instead of pulling the trigger. The flavor was overwhelming—salty, oily, perfect.
Her comm crackled again.
"Victoria." Father's voice was sharper this time, colder. "This isn't a game. Just complete the mission."
Easy for him to say.
The synth-enhanced assassin leaned back against the rusted metal of a ventilation shaft, one hand casually adjusting the neural input for her music feed. Samurai' pulsing beat flooded her headspace, the perfect background for chaos. The guitars screamed in her ears, every beat syncing with her cybernetic heart—an echo of raw energy, rebellious and untamed.
"You called me on my free day," she said flatly, brushing a crumb from her sleek black bodysuit. "The least you could do is let me enjoy the hunt. You think I'm going to just... follow orders? Where's the challenge in that?"
Silence followed. She knew Father was weighing whether to argue. He wouldn't. He never did with her when she spoke like this.
"Victoria, if this mission fails, it won't be the young heroes you'll have to worry about disappointing."
That made her grin widen, sharp as a blade. "Fail? You really think I'd lose to children?"
The crosshairs lined up with Superboy for a moment. She toyed with the idea—shooting the clone of Superman just for fun. But no, not yet.
"Tell Sportmaster and Cheshire to stop whining," she said, standing up and stretching lazily. The muscles under her cybernetics tensed with anticipation, humming with hidden strength. "I'll handle this my way."
The music in her head hit its peak, and with a flick of her wrist, she holstered her rifle. No more distance killing—boring.
Time to get personal.
She cracked her neck, tossed the last bite of greasy pizza over the ledge, and stepped off the building without hesitation.
The fall was fast, but her cybernetics adjusted for the impact, landing her with feline grace in the shadows near the school, her hands already on her Saturnite Katana.
"....KILL IT ALL FOR A LIKE SUPREME" the music roared.
"... Oh I forgot to call off my date."