In a quiet corner of America—miles away from the bustling streets of Metropolis and as far removed as Smallville itself—a group of eighth graders sat huddled in their classroom.
On the grainy screen at the front of the room, the President spoke gravely, his hands resting heavily on a stack of papers. His eyes, full of burden and uncertainty, met the camera, and the weight of his words settled over the room like a dense fog.
The teacher switched off the television, the faint buzz of static the only sound left in the room. She turned to her students with a nervous but hopeful smile.
"I know this is a lot to take in," she said, clasping her hands. "But we can't just sit around and feel powerless. Maybe we could write to our congressman? It's important to believe we can make a difference."
Her eyes scanned the room, searching for even the smallest flicker of enthusiasm. Instead, she found rows of slumped shoulders and downcast faces. All except one. Jeremy, the class's dreamer and unofficial doodler-in-chief, was bent over his desk, scribbling furiously.
"Jeremy?" she asked, walking over. "Do you have a suggestion?"
Jeremy didn't look up right away. He was too busy shading the bold 'S' on the chest of the figure he was drawing. Finally, he set his pencil down and grinned. "I don't want to write to a congressman," he declared confidently. "I'm going to write a letter to Superman!"
For a moment, the room was silent. Then, a wave of giggles rippled through the class.
"Superman? Are you serious?" one kid snorted. "What's he gonna do, fly in and flex his muscles?"
"Exactly!" Jeremy shot back, undeterred. He stood up, holding his drawing aloft like it was a blueprint for salvation. "Superman's not like politicians or generals. He doesn't argue or make excuses. He just does things! He can grab all the nukes, fly them into space, and—POW! No more bombs."
The laughter grew louder, but Jeremy wasn't backing down.
"Superman's always there when people need him," he continued, his voice growing more animated. "Remember when he stopped that dam from flooding a whole town? Or when he saved that plane full of people? He doesn't care if you're a kid or a grown-up—he helps everyone! If anyone can stop all this madness, it's him."
The class was still skeptical, but Jeremy's enthusiasm was hard to ignore. Even the teacher found herself smiling a little.
"You're really going to write to him?" she asked, tilting her head.
"Absolutely," Jeremy said, grabbing a fresh sheet of paper. "And I'm sending it to the Daily Planet. That's where Clark Kent works, and everyone knows he's Superman's buddy. They'll get it to him for sure."
As he started writing, his pencil flying across the page, the giggles in the room quieted. Some of the students leaned over to watch, curious despite themselves. Jeremy wasn't just writing a letter—he was pouring out his heart, telling Superman how much the world needed him and how much he believed in him.
By the time the bell rang, Jeremy was still at his desk, sealing his envelope with a flourish. He stood up, holding it high like a badge of honor.
"Mark my words," he told the class. "Superman's going to get this letter, and he's going to save us all."
* * *
At the same moment Jeremy was thinking about Superman, someone else had the Man of Steel on their mind—but not with admiration or gratitude. No, this person was imagining the cold, calculated destruction of Superman.
In the eerily silent Metropolis Museum, there were Lex Luthor and his nephew Lenny. Officially, the museum was "closed for renovations," but in truth, all its staff had been given the day off, and no maintenance crews were even working.
The two wandered leisurely through the grand corridors, the vast, empty space amplifying their every footstep. Their destination was the Superman exhibit, the museum's crown jewel—a sprawling homage to Metropolis's beloved hero.
As they pushed open the towering double doors, Lex and Lenny entered the exhibit hall. At its center stood a breathtaking forty-foot statue of Superman, his heroic stance captured in a blend of marble and vibrant hues of blue, red, and yellow. Surrounding the statue were meticulously arranged glass cases containing artifacts of his legacy—photographs of daring rescues, pieces of history preserved by his interventions, and heartfelt letters of gratitude from citizens whose lives he'd saved.
Lex took a moment to admire the statue, then yanked off the hat and sunglasses that had served as his disguise. With an exaggerated bow to the statue, he smirked and spoke to it as if addressing Superman himself.
"Guess who!" he said, his voice dripping with mockery. "It's me, your old pal, Lex Luthor. Say, you're looking as heroic as ever! Of course, I've put on a few pounds, but what can you do? Prison food is heavy on the starches. That's prison, as in where you sent me 3 years ago, Mr. do-gooder." He straightened and paced theatrically around the statue. "We really should catch up. Maybe over lunch? Dinner? Or better yet," he paused, his grin widening, "over your dead body."
Before Lex could continue his one-sided banter, the elevator at the far end of the hall dinged. The doors slid open, revealing General Todd and David Warfield stepping out.
"Luthor," General Todd greeted him with a cold nod and an outstretched hand. "It's been a while. I take it you're enjoying the fresh air of freedom."
Lex clasped the General's hand with a sly smile. "Your help, General, is invaluable as always."
General Todd gestured to the man beside him, "This is Mr. Warfield, Metropolis's media tycoon. I assume you're familiar. He's the new owner and editor-in-chief of the Daily Planet—he'll handle the media side of our operation."
Warfield stepped forward, his grin as slick as his reputation, and shook Lex's hand. "Pleasure, Luthor. By the end of the month, the Daily Planet, once the number one fan of our great hero, will expose Superman for what he truly is—a failure, a coward." He let the last word linger, savoring its bite, "We've got the stories, the photos, the witnesses. By the time we're through, the people of Metropolis will be laughing at their so-called hero over their morning coffee."
Lex clapped his hands together, his eyes gleaming with malice. "Excellent. While you destroy his reputation, I'll take care of the rest. Gentlemen, by the time we're done, Superman won't just be defeated—he'll be a shameful spot in history."
"That's my nephew Lenny," Lex said, glancing back at Lenny, who was poking at Superman's statue with the curiosity of a kid on a school field trip. "He's here to handle the dirty work today."
Warfield shot Lenny a skeptical look before quipping, "Dirty work? What's he doing, counting your uncle's stacks of dirty money?"
Lenny opened his mouth to retort, but Lex cut in smoothly, his voice both calming and commanding. "More than that, Mr. Warfield. Your smear campaign may be the opening act, but my plans, gentlemen, are the showstopper. Superman's reign is nearing its finale."
General Todd wasn't amused, "Cut to the chase, Luthor. What's the real reason we're all here?"
Lex smirked, motioning for them to follow, "Patience, General. First, I want to introduce you to my favorite piece in this exhibit."
He led them to the centerpiece of the Superman collection: a globe of Earth, seemingly suspended in mid-air. As they approached, the secret of its suspension became clear—a single strand of Superman's hair held it aloft. Beneath the display, a plaque read:
"This strand of Superman's indestructible hair supports a one-ton replica of Earth. Donated to the people of Metropolis by the Man of Steel himself."
General Todd tapped the glass case and nodded begrudgingly. "Impressive. That hair's holding a ton?"
Lex chuckled softly, "Now, General, if you wouldn't mind disabling the security for me?"
Todd hesitated, narrowing his eyes. "So, what's the plan here, Luthor? Snatch his hair to clone him?"
Lex's grin stretched wider. "You're halfway there, General. His hair is not enough."
Todd sighed and pulled a remote from his pocket. With a press of a button, the protective glass slid back into the floor, exposing the globe.
"Lenny," Lex said, stepping back and gesturing grandly. "It's your turn."
Lenny, barely able to contain his excitement, rummaged through his backpack and found a sleek laser cutter. He powered it up, the device humming to life with a sharp, high-pitched whine.
Lex instructed, "Let's crack open that globe and see what's inside."
Lenny aimed the laser and sliced into the globe with precision. The outer shell melted away, oozing molten material that dripped onto the floor, sizzling and smoking.
"Stop!" Lex called, raising a hand.
The remains of the globe revealed a hollow core. Inside, nestled like a hidden treasure, was a small, sleek, lead box. Lenny, now wearing heat-resistant gloves, carefully retrieved the lead box and handed it to his uncle.
Lex brushed off the debris with a flourish before holding the box up for dramatic effect. Slowly, he opened it to reveal a vial containing a shimmering, almost transparent dense white liquid.
"I present to you... Superman's precum!" Lex announced, his tone dripping with theatrical reverence.
"His what?" General Todd and Warfield exclaimed in unison, their faces twisting in equal parts confusion and disgust.
Lex grinned, clearly enjoying their reaction. "Yes, gentlemen. His precum. Four years ago, when I first tested Kryptonite on our noble Boy Scout, I noticed something... peculiar. Under its effects, not only did he weaken physically, but he became strangely, shall we say, aroused. There he was, trembling in his little red briefs, sporting a very visible... reaction. Naturally, I couldn't resist pushing his limits—taunting him, humiliating him—and to my surprise, the alien freak began leaking right there in his costume. So, being the resourceful man that I am, I collected the sample on the spot."
Warfield leaned in slightly, a mix of revulsion and curiosity on his face. "you're telling me this beacon of virtue is some kind of closeted pervert? This alien freak always brings out new surprise for me."
Lex snapped the box shut and tucked it neatly into his coat. "Precisely, Mr. Warfield. You see, I always knew Superman might come sniffing around for revenge someday. So, I hid the vial into the globe and faked it as an anonymous donation to the Superman exhibition, where he'd never think to look. Safest place is always in plain sight, after all. And now, we have in our possession something truly invaluable: the essence of the Man of Steel himself."
General Todd crossed his arms, his skepticism mingling with intrigue. "You better hope this works, Luthor."
"Oh, it'll work," Lex said, his grin widening into a full-blown smirk. "And now, gentlemen, I believe it's time we put this little treasure to use. General, I trust the lab you've been preparing is ready?"
"Today, we're taking the first step toward destroying superman. We are going to build our own superman."