The news came in through Watchtower comms—an unconfirmed report, intercepted from a shadowed corner of Cadmus Labs. Bruce was the one who brought it to Clark’s attention, his voice calm but heavy: “You need to see this.”

What Clark saw on the monitor made his stomach twist.

There, strapped to a cold metal table in the center of a sterile lab, was a boy—barely fifteen, his dark hair ruffled, his body twitching from something unseen. His chest bore a familiar symbol. The S. His S. Only… the expression in the boy’s eyes wasn’t one of pride. It was pain. Confusion. Fear.

And standing over him was Lex Luthor.

Clark didn’t wait for League protocols. He didn’t wait for backup. In a blur of red and blue, he was gone from the Watchtower, shooting through the sky like a meteor fueled by rage.

The walls of the lab cracked before he even touched them, the sheer force of his arrival shaking the ground. A second later, he tore through the reinforced steel like it was tissue paper, a furious storm behind his eyes.

And there Lex stood, calm as ever, in a tailored suit, fingers still adjusting a dial on a machine connected to the boy.

“Superman,” Lex said with a smirk. “You’re early.”

Clark’s fists clenched. His cape snapped behind him in the swirling dust and debris. He looked at the boy—the clone—and then back at Lex. His voice was low, shaking with emotion.

“What the hell did you do?”

Lex only smiled wider. “I perfected you.”

The clone—Conner—lifted his head, weak but conscious. His eyes met Clark’s, pleading. And for the first time, Superman didn’t know whether to fly at Lex… or rush to the boy.

But one thing was certain.

Lex had gone too far this time.

And Superman wasn’t leaving without the boy.