The sterile, climate-controlled air of Michael's Starling City penthouse offered a stark contrast to the humid, disease-ridden miasma of Lian Yu, a "paradise" lost to time and savagery. He'd often catch his reflection in the polished chrome, the faint scars on his torso a permanent reminder of the island's brutal pedagogy. He'd learned not just to kill, but to anticipate the kill, to exploit the weakness before the strike landed – lessons now seamlessly translated to the cutthroat world of corporate acquisitions. The island's dark magic, forced into his very being through agonizing rituals he'd rather forget, now simmered beneath his skin, a volatile power source he kept leashed, a secret currency in a world blind to its true value. Starling City, his meticulously crafted emerald kingdom, was a testament to his control, a buffer against the chaos he'd endured. But the ghosts of that verdant hellscape were stirring.
"Another quarter where Queen Consolidated outperforms all projections," Walter Steele announced, adjusting his tie nervously, as if expecting the numbers to spontaneously combust. "It's… almost unsettling, Michael. Like you have a crystal ball."
Michael steepled his fingers, a sardonic glint in his eyes. "Walter, the future isn't written in crystal, but in spreadsheets and supply chain logistics. Though," he added, his voice dropping a conspiratorial whisper, "a little arcane intuition never hurt a bottom line."
His gaze drifted towards the sprawling cityscape, then further, towards the looming towers of Metropolis, a playground for titans. Lex Luthor, a man whose ego rivaled his intellect, held that city in his iron grip. A necessary disruption was brewing.