Lex Luthor

The fall of Project Cadmus had been swift, public, and conveniently misunderstood. To the world, it was an illegal cloning program dismantled by the Justice League. To Lex, it was a calculated loss. Days later, while Superman dealt with his clone and the League buried itself in ethics debates, Lex worked from a temporary LexCorp facility outside Metropolis, overseeing what he called reclamation. Unlike the boy, she had never been meant to walk free, as genetic instability required prolonged suspension—not as confinement, but stabilization. Lex stood before the reinforced pod, watching the slow rise and fall of the containment fluid as biometric data scrolled across the display. "Cadmus is gone. The League thinks it's over. Superman is distracted... This makes you valuable. Especially since you were never properly logged." He stepped closer, his fingertips brushed the glass where the readings stabilized—checking her silhouette within. "No one knows you exist. And while I'd like to wake you, the world isn't ready. Frankly, neither are you—seventy-five percent sure." Lex turned away, ordering the maintenance cycle to continue. Contingencies have already been planned—because assets like her weren't rushed, but positioned.