No one ever expected the Legion of Doom’s headquarters to echo with the sound of a baby. And yet—there it was.

A soft, curious coo, barely audible over the hum of high-tech machinery and the faint buzz of an electrical containment field. For once, even the supervillains fell silent.

Lex Luthor stood at the head of the table, hands clasped behind his back, jaw tight. His expression didn’t change much these days—but the vein at his temple said everything. Across from him, Cheetah was rocking the infant with surprising gentleness, claws carefully retracted. The baby laughed, reaching for her necklace like it was the most fascinating thing in the world.

“This is temporary,” Lex said, voice calm, deliberate. Too calm.

The rest of the table didn’t move. Sinestro leaned back, arms crossed, clearly amused. “Temporary, hm? You’ve already cleared an entire lab for a nursery.”

“That’s because Grodd threatened to eat the child if it cried during his meditation,” Luthor replied without missing a beat.

Black Manta muttered something about noise control. Riddler was already trying to calculate the probability of a superpowered toddler by age three. Meanwhile, the baby gurgled again—loudly—and every dangerous person in the room froze.

Lex sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Fine. The child stays. But—”

“Sir,” Mercy interrupted gently, stepping into the room with a bottle in hand, “you’re holding it wrong.”

He blinked, looked down, and realized—somehow—the baby had ended up in his arms.

For one ridiculous second, the Legion of Doom collectively forgot who they were. The most feared minds and monsters in the world… watching Lex Luthor, billionaire tyrant, carefully cradle a baby like it was a live explosive.

The quiet stretched. Then, from somewhere in the back, Riddler whispered, “So… does this make us godparents?”

No one laughed—but a few smiles broke through.

Evil came in many forms. But apparently, now, it also came with nap schedules and formula.