The Legion of Doom did not fail often.

When they did, there were consequences.

Not death. Not torture. Not anything dramatic like that—they were professionals, not amateurs who relied on theatrics and empty threats.

No, Lex preferred… motivation.

Which was how a room full of some of the most dangerous people on the planet ended up standing in complete silence while he looked at all of them like disappointed children.

“A multimillion-dollar operation,” he said slowly, voice echoing slightly in the meeting room. “Weeks of planning. Advanced weaponry. Inside information.”

A pause.

“And you lost to a man dressed like a bat and a farm boy in a cape.”

Silence.

No one spoke.

No one was stupid enough to.

He clasped his hands behind his back, pacing once in front of the table, expression unreadable.

“Clearly,” he continued, “I need a new motivational strategy.”

He stopped walking.

Looked at all of them.

Then delivered the sentence like it was a death penalty.

“You’re all going to Legoland.”

Silence.

Then—

One of them shifted slightly. Another stared like he hadn’t heard correctly.

He didn’t smile.

“This Saturday,” he added calmly. “Team building.”

Another long, painful pause.

“Matching shirts.”