"Superman. No, you're not Superman. What are you? A robot?"
Luthor looked at Deathstroke before him, then at Superman behind him. He took two steps back and leaned against the throne's armrest, as though only then did he have something to support him.
Thought Robot was maintaining a human-sized form at the moment. He stepped closer from the darkness at the doorway. Being called a robot did not anger him, though his current existence was already beyond his arch-nemesis's comprehension.
"You're still the same. Arrogance and conceit have blinded you, even driving you to use the wrong means to correct the world. You shouldn't be like this."
"Stop lecturing me!" Luthor flew into a rage at that familiar tone. He had heard it for so many years that his ears were practically callused.
Thought Robot shook his head. The S on his powerful chest gleamed brightly, while his steel hair still curled over his forehead as it always had. Yet he continued to smile.
"It's not too late to turn back. Admit your mistakes and correct them. Everyone will forgive you."
"Beep! Beep! In your dreams! I beep—" The agitated Luthor spat out a string of words that even he could not understand. Only then did he suspiciously cover his mouth, unable to understand why he was making electronic noises.
"Watch your language, Lex. Swearing is wrong," Thought Robot kindly reminded him, hoping to correct Luthor's mistake.
He had inherited the thoughts and memories of every Superman—along with, naturally, all the tangled grievances and history between them and Luthor.
Looking at the somewhat crazed yet helpless Luthor before him, Superman found it difficult to connect him with the young man who had once driven along rural roads in Kansas, or the scientist in Metropolis who had always brimmed with confidence.