Scars and Cain

[clark_luthor]

It's the wee early hours of the morning, the day after Vic and Clark's last office liason, when Victor's phone rings without warning. The number's unlisted, but when she answers, the voice on the other end doesn't give much more information. "Code green. Come alone." And then gives the address for the LuthorCorp facility where she and her team did

Comments

[victormakesart]

Victor thinks that this is a trap, because any phone call that happens at that particular o'clock is sure to be bad news.

So her heart is pounding as she gets dressed, prepares as though she's preparing for hew own execution, putting on a bullet-proof vest, looking at herself in the mirror one last time. She has bright spots of warmth on her cheeks, and she brushes her teeth.

Pulls on pants, checks herself for her PINpoint, and calls a taxi.

[clark_luthor]

The gate guard lets her in when she shows her LuthorCorp forensics pass, but he looks nervous himself, and another security guard ushers her inside. The second guard, a woman this time, also looks anxious as she leads Victor down a separate hallway than yesterday, and finally stops at a heavy metal door with a keypad next to it. "We didn't have anything to do with this," she tells her, even as she types in the passcode, and steps aside as if she doesn't even want to look inside.

[victormakesart]

Oh God, she really is going to be murdered. She is going to be incredibly murdered. She's going to be murdered like twice. She's glad, at least, that she's dying with a clean body. All the same, she finds herself shaking as she walks in, her knees feel like they're made of flan.

[clark_luthor]

The first thing she'll probably notice on entering the room is that fresh, coppery tang of blood, hanging thick and heavy in the air. The second thing is the green meteor rocks embedded in the walls, and the enormous green spike of kryptonite sticking out of the chest of a very dead-looking Clark Luthor. Most of the blood clearly came from him, from green-tinged slashes across exposed skin, from the wound in his chest, and especially from an intricate design that's been burned into his right forearm, in the shape of Lex's personal crest. The burn glistens with a strange golden sheen that doesn't look nearly as pretty as it sounds.

Lex stands with his back to the door, another meteor rock spike in one hand as he turns it over and over, bloodied from fingertips to elbows.