Brock arrived swiftly and in just a moment, he understood what had happened. He said, "Your apprentice was found in an alley near the police station, not dead but injured. Someone took some of her blood, probably to impersonate her."
"The imitation was a complete failure," Gordon said, "Can't tell left from right, and the eyeballs had very obvious abnormalities."
"But at least they finally figured out they should change their approach," Brock said with a shrug, "Impersonating someone else to blend in is much simpler."
He looked down at the body in the car and said, "What do you plan to do? Find a place to dump it?"
"Remember the first body of Clay we found? The coroner found metal parts inside him. Even if we have to dispose of it, we need to take those things out first."
"That will definitely require cutting, at least a craniotomy is inevitable," Brock said as he took a puff of his cigarette, "I know you can't handle this task, leave it to me. I've helped a few old friends with their post-prison life problems; they should be willing to lend a hand."
Gordon, with a somber face, said nothing, his good mood from the morning having been completely ruined. He gestured with his hand, "I'll go check on Winnie first. That damned thing gave me quite a fright, and she must be terrified. By the way, where do you plan to dump this?"
"You don't need to worry about that; there's always a place for them."
"But make sure it doesn't delay you from attending Professor Shearer's housewarming party; he doesn't like people being late."
Brock gestured to him, indicating he could rest assured.
Gordon had arrived with the main force near Professor Shearer's home, and after greeting Shearer who was surrounded by a crowd, he left, planning to go to the nearby forest for a smoke to clear his mind.
In recent times, there had been no shortage of trouble at the police station, mostly coming from upper management's pressure and the clones that kept causing chaos.
Initially, it was the unexplained insertion of people into the ranks, but the young men he brought out knew who was on their side. The interlopers couldn't touch important work, and though they didn't create any substantial opportunity for themselves, being on guard against thieves every day was pretty tiring.
Those fools had finally become savvy, realizing they couldn't integrate with the group, and started attempting to replace Gordon's own people.
Fortunately, they initially focused on Gordon's key lieutenants. If they had started with a junior officer, Gordon might not even have noticed.
At that thought, Gordon felt a chill. If they had succeeded, who knows what chaos they could have caused.
Gordon continued walking along the riverbank but soon heard some noise behind him in the woods. He turned around and Brock emerged from behind a tree, signalling him to be silent and whispering, "Professor Shearer isn't nearby, is he?"
"He's over there, entertaining the guests."
"Then it's easy, Jim, take them," Brock said.
Gordon watched in disbelief as several young men emerged from the forest behind him, carrying one box after another toward the lake. When he smelled the scent of blood, he knew what was in those boxes.
"Don't worry, everything is tied up securely," Brock said as he smoked, "Jim and the others used to do the Mob's dirty work; they'll leave no trace."
"Have you lost your mind? You plan on dumping bodies right under Professor Shearer's nose?!"
"I bet he won't care," Brock replied, "Even if you go back smelling of blood, he won't give a damn about what you've been up to. He's too busy fussing over the party."
Just as Gordon was about to retort, he thought again and suspected that to Professor Shearer, these pieces of corpses were probably less significant than a bracket on his grill.
But it was one thing for Shearer to discover it; it was another for so many people to discover the corpses of individuals who closely resembled his subordinates.
Gordon had already clenched his gun, ready to shoot the moment Joker mentioned anything about corpses again, and then call for an ambulance.
In the morning fog, the vibrant colors of the forest faded away, draped with a misty filter that turned reds, oranges, yellows, and greens murky. Only a flicker of red was shocking, yet it only blinked for an instant in Clark's eyes before vanishing.
Lex turned around and saw the worry in Clark's eyes.
Blood, blood everywhere.
Standing before a pool of blood, Lex spoke into his phone with an indifferent tone, "My helicopter pilot is dead; looks like I'll have to ask you to take me over today."
Within two minutes, Clark and Diana appeared on the rooftop helipad of the Luthor Building with bags big and small.
Then they were stunned by the scene before them.
In Lex's hand was a small knife. The man dressed as a helicopter pilot lay on the ground, evidently bled out and certainly dead.
"What happened here, Lex?"
Clark spoke not with anger but with shock and concern, knowing his friend was not a madman and more importantly, he wouldn't let any irrational behavior interfere with his plans.
They were all supposed to attend Professor Shearer's housewarming party that day, and even if Lex had a huge grudge against this person, he wouldn't likely choose to settle it now.
"Someone tried to impersonate my helicopter pilot, but I discovered it, so I took him out," Lex explained.
"Who?" Diana asked, frowning deeply.
"Who else?"
Clark immediately stepped forward and reached to lift the helicopter pilot's shirttail, and sure enough, he found the tattoo of the Penitent Cartel on his waist.
"Why won't he leave us alone?!" Clark roared, "They nearly killed Lois!!"
Lex looked at Diana, who set down what she was holding and sighed, "When we were preparing camping equipment yesterday morning, someone attacked Lois, and Clark had to expose his abilities. Fortunately, it wasn't anything serious."
"Was it the Penitent Cartel's people?"
"We were busy saving Lois, and he got away, but Clark saw his tattoo with his x-ray vision—it was indeed someone from that drug trafficking organization."
Lex's expression darkened as he said, "I knew this path would be fraught with obstacles, but for a drug cartel to dare stir up trouble under my watch..."
Clark stood up straight and looked at Lex with concern, "Are you okay? Are you hurt?"
"I thought you would accuse me of killing innocents."
"From any angle, they can hardly be considered innocent."
"But he really didn't lay a finger on me," Lex said, looking down at the body. "I couldn't be sure he was a trafficker when I killed him."
"But luckily, you were smart enough; otherwise, if he had just crashed the helicopter into something, you would have ended up with nowhere to bury."
"You've really changed a lot, Clark," Lex said with a touch of admiration.
"My gentleness is for friends, and my cruelty for enemies," Clark's blue eyes seemed to glow as he said, "How gentle I am depends on how good my friends are, and it goes the other way around too."
Lex was once again rendered speechless, turning his head away from Clark, only able to curse in his heart that Clark never knew how to beat around the bush.
"What do we do now?" Diana said with a headache as she looked at the body. "The banquet is about to start, and we're already late."
"Leave the body to me; you guys step aside. Later, just fly me and the stuff to the destination, and don't worry about the rest."
"You're going to cut it up?" Clark asked.
"Don't ask questions you know the answer to," Lex said with contempt, pushing him away, "Go behind the helicopter first; the next scene is not suitable for children."
But the red glow in Clark's eyes lit up, and several beams of laser shot out, slicing the body into several pieces in an instant.
Lex was stunned; looking at Clark, he felt a trace of fear, but then he remembered who Clark was doing this for and felt ashamed of his own emotions.
Without paying attention to Lex's inner turmoil, Clark said, "I could probably incinerate it entirely, but I feel like we should leave some evidence behind. Can I take the part with the tattoo? Oliver might find it useful."
"I hadn't expected you to be so... pragmatic," Lex said with a complex tone.
"Pragmatists simply don't have the luxury of daydreaming," Clark's inherent wisdom shone clearly as he said, "If someone's already at your doorstep with a knife, even poised to slice your throat, are you going to discuss with them about respecting the culture of treating the body?"
"Nothing could be better than you thinking this way," Lex said bitterly, beginning to hate himself for missing the trip to Mexico. If a journey had the power to affect an alien in such a way, it had to be a legendary voyage.
At the same time, Lex felt comforted by being understood. If forced to define Lex in one term, it would be a red pragmatist.
In simple terms, his goal wasn't to achieve some ultimate communism or even to realize socialism. Due to an inherent character flaw, he couldn't truly empathize with the lower classes.
Everything he did that seemed like advancing communism or liberating the people, and all the spirit related to red ideology that he upheld, were just his weapons—tools to solve problems, not to fulfill any grand dream.
He knew he wouldn't get along with Oliver because Oliver was an idealist who believed in the triumph of will over fate, that if the theory was mature enough, it could move masses of people. Lex despised these preacher types.
His collaboration with, and support for, Oliver was purely pragmatic, believing that the situation in Mexico was beneficial to the development of Metropolis, and that was the only reason he did it.
He wasn't surprised at all when Oliver was expelled from the core of the Revolutionary Army, even having anticipated it. Oliver's approach wasn't mature enough; it was only logical that he faltered.
Not that one shouldn't have ideals, but Oliver spoke of them too soon, and under concordant efforts from all sides, he never developed any savvy political skills. No competent leader could be like him.
Lex had thought that with Clark spending so much time with Oliver, he would eventually become another dreamer.
However, to Lex's surprise, the alien had once again amazed him, and he even began to wonder why Clark always managed to stay on the right path through crisis after crisis, more steadfastly than any of them.
If Lex had to identify anything significantly different about Clark from the rest of them, it was probably his happy family life.
That was an envy beyond reach, and thinking of a warm relationship with Lionel made Lex's skin crawl.
Lex helped Clark peel off the part of the skin with the tattoo, which Clark wrapped up and placed at the bottom of the box. He then offered to help Lex incinerate the remaining parts, but Lex declined.
"What do you plan to do?" Clark asked.
"I guess Professor Shearer will arrange fishing activities, but I'm not good at lure fishing," Lex said, looking down at the body, "as long as nobody sees, it should be fine if I throw in some bait." He continued, "You cut too roughly; I'll handle it myself."