The sun burned low over Washington D.C., turning the sky the color of old blood. Cameras flashed, reporters jostled, and President Donald J. Trump stepped up to the podium with a grin so wide it threatened the fabric of decorum itself.
“Superman is being deported. He’s not from here, folks. Never has been. No passport, no visa. That makes him an illegal alien. A very dangerous one.”
The press gasped. Protesters screamed. Fox News declared victory. CNN brought on seven different constitutional scholars and still didn’t get to the bottom of it. Twitter melted like Kryptonite under heat vision.
Superman said nothing.
Not at first.
But within hours, he was gone.
Cameras caught him walking across the Metropolis tarmac, hands behind his back, the American flag behind him and the wind tugging gently at his cape like a country begging him not to leave. He said only this:
“I don’t believe in resisting lawful authority. Even when it breaks my heart.”
He boarded a government shuttle and disappeared into the upper atmosphere.
The last son of Krypton… deported.
Or so it seemed.
The moment the rocket vanished from radar, Lex Luthor exhaled. For the first time in years, his world didn’t smell like ozone and moral judgment. Lex said to himself, sipping green tea infused with lab-grown ginseng and a hint of smugness:
“He’s gone. Finally. The alien menace is out of the way.”
In public, he played it humble. He released a video praising “America’s tough stance on uncontrolled extraterrestrial interference,” then donated twenty million dollars to the National Orphan Fund. Behind the scenes, LexGlobal’s R&D division moved into high gear.
No Superman meant no counterbalance.
No one to stop OMNICRON.
But something was off. Batman noticed it first. He told Diana:
“Clark didn’t say goodbye. Not even to Lois.”
She replied:
“He said he was following the law.”
Batman said:
“He’s Superman. He doesn’t follow laws. He follows principles.”
The Justice League tried to trace his ship. It vanished just past low orbit. No wreckage. No comms. Just silence.
That’s when the Arctic scanners started blinking.
LuthorTech satellites were activating in strange orbits. Particle signatures no one had seen before—except in Kal-El’s own Fortress of Solitude.
Three weeks later, Lex threw himself a gala.
Champagne. Drones. Rich men pretending they weren’t terrified of being exposed in the post-Superman world.
He gave a toast. Wore a white suit. Flashed his teeth. He said:
“Now we can move forward. On a human future. One built without fear of alien interference.”
Then the roof exploded.
Superman dropped from the sky like a descending god, eyes glowing.
Gasps filled the ballroom. Luthor’s face twisted. Not in fear. In realization.
“You tricked me.”
Superman floated forward, calm and deadly.
“No. You tricked yourself. We just gave you room to do it.”
The walls burst open. Federal agents swarmed in. Flash appeared with a stack of hard drives. Wonder Woman threw Luthor’s lawyer across a buffet table.
And on every screen in the building, a livestream began—Trump, reclining in a golf cart at Mar-a-Lago, beaming.
“Lex, Lex, Lex. You got played. Operation Sunlight—success. Superman and I? Genius team-up. You’re done.”
Luthor reached for something in his belt. Superman crushed it before it clicked.
So… What Actually Happened?
It started months earlier.
Lex was too careful. Too clean. They couldn’t catch him with conventional means. Every time the Justice League moved, he pivoted. Every time the Feds closed in, he spun it.
Then came a call. Untraceable. Recorded nowhere.
Trump: “Clark. You want him exposed, I want him gone. Let’s make it look real.”
Superman: “You’re asking me to pretend I’ve been defeated.”
Trump: “I’m asking you to pretend we’re enemies… long enough to catch the real threat.”
And Superman—against his better judgment—agreed.
He disappeared. Not into exile, but underground. Working with the FBI’s Meta-Crimes Unit. Operating through cloaked satellites and off-grid gear built by Cyborg. Watching Lex.
Waiting.
Until Lex took the bait.
Lex was arrested on over forty charges. The most serious: conspiracy to launch an AI-directed orbital cleansing event disguised as “predictive terraforming.”
He denied everything.
Trump posted a final tweet:
“Superman’s not going anywhere. Just cleaned up Earth. Like a Roomba in a cape. Great guy. Officially naturalized. You’re welcome.”
Superman didn’t respond. Not publicly.
But he was seen later that week standing beside Lois Lane in Metropolis, cape draped across his back like a flag that had never stopped flying.
Sometimes, the strangest heroes work together.
Even when they hate it.
Even when they don’t shake hands.
Because justice, like politics, is a game of timing.
And Lex Luthor just ran out of time.
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