The Metropolis docks reeked of salt and diesel, a maze of rusted cranes and stacked shipping containers glinting under sodium-vapor lights. Superman hovered above, his cape a dark silhouette against the moonless sky, his senses locked on the Verdant Extraction convoy Green Lantern had tracked from the Antarctic. Hal's voice crackled through his earpiece, tense but steady. "Three trucks, heavily armored, moving fast toward Pier 12. My ring's picking up Kryptonite radiation—nasty stuff. You sure you don't want me down there?"
Superman scanned the docks, his X-ray vision piercing steel and concrete. The trucks were there, black as oil, escorted by a swarm of sleek drones humming with green-glowing cores. "Stay topside, Hal," he said. "If this goes south, I need you to contain it."
Hal snorted, his green aura flaring in the distance. "Your funeral, Kal. Just don't let those glow-sticks clip you."
The warning lingered as Superman descended, landing silently on a container stack. The convoy slowed, its lead truck—a reinforced beast with armored plating—halting near a warehouse. Armed figures in tactical gear spilled out, their rifles pulsing with that same venomous green he'd seen at the bank. Kryptonite. His chest tightened, a faint echo of the sting from last night. He clenched his fists. Whatever Verdant was shipping, it ended here.
He launched forward, a blue-red blur, aiming for the lead truck. But as he neared, a drone swiveled, its core flashing. A beam of green energy lanced out, grazing his shoulder. Pain seared through him, sharp and alien, like a blade dipped in acid. He veered, crashing into a container with enough force to dent it. The impact rattled his bones—not from the crash, but from the Kryptonite's bite. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself upright. "Not today," he muttered.
The mercenaries spun, barking orders. "It's Superman! Light him up!" Their rifles roared, green rounds streaking like comets. Superman dodged, weaving through the barrage, his speed a fraction slower than usual. Each near-miss sent a pulse of weakness through him, like a radio signal fading. He couldn't take them head-on—not with Kryptonite in play.
He shifted tactics, using the docks' maze to his advantage. He darted between containers, toppling a stack to crush a drone swarm. Metal groaned, sparks flying as the machines sparked and died. The mercenaries scattered, but their leader—a towering figure in a reinforced exosuit, its joints glowing green—stood firm. "You're out of your league, alien!" he bellowed, raising a cannon that hummed with unnatural energy.
Superman's eyes flared with heat vision, slicing the cannon in half. The suit's pilot laughed, unfazed, as the exosuit's chest plate opened, revealing a Kryptonite core pulsing like a diseased heart. The radiation hit Superman like a wave, blurring his vision, sapping his strength. He stumbled, catching himself on a crane. The pilot charged, servos whining, and swung a fist that could've leveled a building. Superman ducked, barely, and countered with an uppercut that sent the suit skidding across the pavement.
Above, Green Lantern's constructs—a glowing net—snared a dozen drones, crushing them into scrap. "Told you this was a bad idea!" Hal shouted, diving to scatter another swarm. His ring flickered, the Kryptonite's radiation interfering even with his power. Superman nodded gratitude, then focused on the mercenaries. He couldn't let the trucks reach their buyer—whoever was arming Metropolis's underworld.
He blurred forward, ripping the lead truck's door off its hinges. Inside, crates stamped with Verdant's logo glowed faintly green. He tore one open, revealing Kryptonite shards embedded in sleek rifles, grenades, even a missile warhead. His stomach churned. This wasn't just a heist—it was an arsenal for war. He grabbed a data pad from the driver's seat, its screen flashing with shipment details: Destination: Shadow Syndicate, Metropolis Underdistrict. Priority: Project Emerald Genesis.
The name sent a chill through him. Hal's intel from the Antarctic mentioned it—a lab, a weapon, something Verdant was hiding. Before he could process it, the exosuit pilot was back, now wielding a Kryptonite-edged blade. "You're too late," the pilot snarled, slashing. Superman dodged, but the blade nicked his arm, drawing a thin line of blood. Blood. He stared, stunned. Kryptonians didn't bleed—not on Earth.
The pain sharpened his focus. He tackled the pilot, pinning the suit against a container. "Who's the Shadow Syndicate?" he demanded, voice low. The pilot grinned, blood trickling from his lip. "You'll meet 'em soon enough. Verdant's got plans, Superman. Big plans."
A scream cut through the chaos—civilian, nearby. Superman's head snapped toward the warehouse, where a stray Kryptonite round had ignited a fuel drum. Flames licked the structure, trapping dockworkers inside. He hesitated, the pilot still pinned. Duty won. He knocked the man out, zip-tying him, then rocketed toward the warehouse.
The heat didn't faze him, but the Kryptonite radiation did. Green-tinged smoke curled from the wreckage, weakening his steps. He pushed through, lifting steel beams to free the workers—a grizzled foreman and two teens, coughing but alive. "Stay low," he ordered, guiding them to safety. As he emerged, Green Lantern landed beside him, his ring dimmer than usual.
"Trucks are secure," Hal said, breathing hard. "But one got away—headed for the Underdistrict. I tagged it with a tracker. You okay? You look like hell."
Superman wiped sweat from his brow, a rare sensation. "I'll live. What about the data pad?"
Hal's ring scanned it, projecting a fragmented file. "Shipping logs, mostly. Verdant's moving Kryptonite globally—Metropolis, Gotham, even off-world. And this 'Emerald Genesis' keeps popping up. No details, but it's tied to their Antarctic base. Something big, Clark."
Superman's mind flashed to the Fortress of Solitude, where the Kryptonite bullet from the bank was still under analysis. He handed Hal the pad. "Get this to the League. I need to know who's buying and why."
Hal raised an eyebrow. "And you're gonna… what? Storm the Antarctic alone?"
"Not yet," Superman said, his gaze fixed on the city's glowing skyline. "There's someone I need to protect first."
At the Daily Planet, Clark Kent slouched at his desk, the data pad's contents burned into his memory. The newsroom was quieter now, past midnight, but Lois Lane was still there, her screen glowing with research on Verdant Extraction. She'd caught wind of the bank heist, her reporter's instinct sniffing a bigger story. Clark watched her, his heart heavy. Lois was fearless, but fearlessness could get her killed.
"Clark, you're brooding again," Lois said, spinning her chair to face him. "What's eating you? And don't say it's bad coffee."
He forced a smile, adjusting his glasses. "Just a hunch. Verdant Extraction's making waves. You digging into them?"
Her eyes lit up, predatory. "Oh, you bet. Their Antarctic operation's fishy—no press access, vague permits. I've got a source saying they're strip-mining something rare. Care to share your hunch?"
Clark hesitated. Lois was too close already. If Verdant knew Superman was onto them, they'd target anyone digging—especially her. "Just be careful, Lois," he said, voice soft. "Some stories bite back."
She smirked, undeterred. "That's why I carry a big pen."
His earpiece buzzed—Hal, again. "Tracker's live. The truck's in the Underdistrict, meeting a buyer. Shadow Syndicate's there, and they're not small-time. You in?"
Clark glanced at Lois, then at the city beyond the window. A green glow flickered on the horizon—a flare, unnatural, like a wound in the night. His blood ran cold. Verdant's weapons were spreading, and the Shadow Syndicate was just the start. He stood, slipping toward the stairwell. "I'm in," he told Hal. "Meet me there."
The Underdistrict was Metropolis's underbelly, a labyrinth of abandoned factories and black-market dens. Superman landed on a rooftop, Green Lantern beside him, their silhouettes hidden by smog. Below, the escaped truck idled in an alley, surrounded by figures in hooded cloaks—Shadow Syndicate, their insignia a jagged green claw. A crate was unloaded, its contents glowing faintly. Kryptonite grenades, enough to level a city block.
Superman's fists clenched. He'd faced villains before—Luthor, Brainiac—but this felt different. Organized, relentless, personal. The Syndicate's leader, a woman with silver hair and a Kryptonite-tipped staff, barked orders. "Move it! Thorne wants these distributed by dawn."
Thorne. Elias Thorne, Verdant's CEO. Superman filed the name away, his resolve hardening. He signaled Hal, who nodded, his ring forming a glowing battering ram. They struck as one—Superman diving into the fray, Hal's constructs snaring the Syndicate's guards.
The fight was brutal. Kryptonite rounds flew, each near-hit draining Superman's strength. He disarmed three thugs, their screams lost in the chaos, but the silver-haired leader was fast, her staff crackling with green energy. She swung, and Superman barely blocked, the impact sending a jolt of pain through his arm. "You're not invincible," she hissed, her eyes gleaming with malice.
Green Lantern's constructs faltered, his ring stuttering under the Kryptonite's interference. "Clark, we gotta wrap this!" he shouted, blasting a drone swarm. Superman nodded, grabbing the leader's staff and snapping it. She cursed, retreating into the shadows as her men scattered.
The truck's crate lay open, its grenades half-unloaded. Superman sealed it, his hands trembling from the radiation. Hal landed, panting. "Syndicate's gone underground. But I got a lock on their buyer—a crimelord called Varkis. He's holed up in Gotham."
Superman's gaze drifted to the crate. A data chip was taped inside, its screen flashing: Emerald Genesis: Phase One Complete. Subject Zero Containment Breached. His heart skipped. Not a weapon—a subject. Something alive. Something Verdant feared.
A distant roar shook the Underdistrict, not mechanical but primal, laced with pain. Green Lantern's ring flickered, scanning. "That's no truck," he said, voice low. "It's coming from the sewers."
Superman's super-hearing caught it—a guttural sound, not quite human, echoing with rage. He steeled himself, the Kryptonite's sting still lingering. "Stay with the crate," he told Hal. "I'm going in."
As he descended into the darkness, the green glow of Metropolis's skyline faded, replaced by a deeper, colder light. Verdant's secrets were unraveling, and whatever waited below was only the beginning.