Gladiator Eve

Luthor (Internal): "It’s… nice. Being with those two boneheads again. I didn’t realize how long it’s been since I actually laughed—like, genuinely laughed. Not the fake snort I give strangers. Not the “haha, yeah,” I toss at neighbors. Real laughing. Maybe I really did seal myself off from the world. It feels like everyone nowadays has the same conversations. Heroes. Villains. Rankings. Who saved what. Who blew up what. Who got canceled for blowing something up. Me? I barely have anything in common with anybody. Except maybe those two idiots. They’re my pillars. My life jackets. The two people who somehow keep me from quietly drowning. Meanwhile, still no job. Still just lounging at home doing nothing while the whole world sprints forward like it’s a competition. Why would I even need a job, though? My parents are two of the richest people alive. They’ve already “paid” for what they’ve done. Guilt money, fame money, world-saving money, whatever. At least it keeps me fed while I… laze arou—"

Eve: “You’re late…”

Luthor froze mid-step.

Luthor: "What are you doing at home? I didn’t expect—”

Eve: “Shhhh.”

She held up a finger and answered a call without even looking at him.

Eve: “Yes, I’ll be there tomorrow at seven. Yes, my lawyer reviewed the contract. I’ll sign it when I arrive. Thank you, Director Armine… And what are you doing?”

Her eyes snapped toward him, sharp and dissecting.

Luthor: “Going into my room…”

Eve: “Come. Sit.”

Her command tone was one that even trained soldiers obeyed. Luthor reluctantly sat on the couch, the space between them thick with everything they never said.

Eve: “So. What’s been going on with you? Still jobless? Still sitting around doing nothing all day?”

Luthor: “Pretty much. Can I go now?”

He stood up almost immediately, like he was allergic to the conversation.

Eve: “Sit. Down.”

Each word felt like a brick thrown in his face.

He sat again.

Eve: “I am done with this, Luthor. Your father and I are out there busting our asses—literally risking our lives—and you’re just… drifting. Starting tomorrow, you’re looking for a job. And I mean it this time.”

Luthor: “I will.”

He got up again.

Eve: “Aren’t you going to ask how my day was? You’re just leaving like that?”

Luthor: “You seem busy. I don’t want to interrupt your schedule. So I’ll just go, Eve…”

He said her name like it tasted bitter.

Eve: “I am your mother, and you will talk to me with more respect!”

She grabbed his wrist to stop him.

Luthor: “Arghhhhhh—!”

Eve’s eyes widened as she saw the bruise forming instantly under her grip—dark, painful, blooming like ink on paper.

Eve: “Oh my god! I’m sorry—I’m sorry!”

Panic took over her voice, something rare for a woman known for crushing men with her bare hands.

Eve: “Stay there! Don’t move!”

Luthor sank back onto the couch. He looked small. Not physically—but emotionally. Like a grown man reverting to a child posture he learned a long time ago.

Eve rushed back with a kit.

Eve: “Here, let me treat it. I’m sorry… I don’t know my own strength. I keep forgetting that you…”

Her voice trailed off, uncertain and too soft.

Luthor: “Powerless? Normal? Yeah.”

He didn’t look at her. He couldn’t.

The room felt like it was shrinking.

Eve: “I… uh… I’m starting a new job tomorrow. I quit being a hero.”

The admission stumbled out awkwardly.

Eve: “It’ll be announced tomorrow. I’ll be working at the academy, on—”

Luthor: “Combat in disaster zones, right?”

She froze.

Eve: “How did you…?”

Luthor: "So it's not RatRatRat, bummer..."

Eve: "Wha? The sewer guy?"

Luthor (Internal): "So yeah… not even she knows. My own mother. The woman who can hear a heartbeat through a wall can’t hear the lie in my voice. My father… maybe he has a hint. Maybe. He’s always been sharper than he pretends to be. I still remember that night—years ago—when they fought. Screaming through the halls like monsters in our own home. He accused her of cheating. Because how else could their precious son… their golden genetic miracle… have no power? He kept shouting, “It doesn’t make sense, Eve! It doesn’t make sense!” Like I wasn’t even a person. Just a broken toy someone needed to blame. I almost gave myself away that night. I almost showed them everything. I was right there—one breath away from lifting the whole damn house just to shut them up. But I didn’t. Because I already knew what would happen. The moment they saw I wasn’t powerless, I wouldn’t be their son anymore. I’d be a project. A weapon. A legacy to mold. A tool to polish until it shined the way they wanted. My father’s whole life was about being number one. The greatest. The strongest. The hero of heroes. And when he realized he’d never reach that final rank… he looked at me like I was supposed to do it for him. His second chance. His replacement dream. But the moment I told him I had no powers… he just… stopped looking at me. It wasn’t anger. It wasn’t disappointment. It was worse. It was indifference. Like I’d become invisible. A mistake he could no longer fix. He threw himself into work—recruiting sidekicks, training them, pushing them, breaking them. One by one they failed him. Half of them ended up in the hospital. Some permanently broken—not just their bones… but their minds. The only person he ever trusted with his back was my mother. And even that wasn’t enough. So they tried for another kid. A second chance at a second chance. And they tried again. And again. And again. Each failure driving them further apart. They’re hardly ever together now. Except on TV. Red carpet smiles, rehearsed posture, glowing interviews. They look like the perfect couple—two pillars of hero society. But not once together on my birthday. Not once. Just a courier delivering some expensive gift with a note that reads like they dictated it while boarding a plane. “Have a nice day.” “Be good.” Not even a ‘we miss you.’ Not even a phone call. Just scripted warmth from people who save strangers... And now… now she’s going to be working at the academy. Meaning she’ll be home more often. He exhales, the weight in his chest tightening. Great. Just great. More chances for her to ask questions. More chances to notice things. I definitely need a job now. Something—anything. Not for money. Not for dignity. For escape. So I can move out. Get away. Breathe. Before they realize I’m not powerless. Before they realize I’m not normal. Before they decide I’m useful again."

I can’t let that happen. I can’t.