Which one is better if the officials are forced to die together [Comprehensive British and American]

Lex finally understood this unacceptable reality.

It seemed that during the previous period of time, his proud brain had been caught in some kind of complicated calculations, and under the influence of emotions, they had undergone an inescapable logical chaos, and the only effect of the chaos was to make him ignore the facts.

Superman - Carl.Al—no matter how they change their titles, they all represent their same identity—

And no matter what your identity is.

he died.

Burning pain surged in Lex's blood vessels, they spread to every corner of his body, and finally gathered in his heart.

And despair, ah, despair... It is like a beauty who always steals the limelight at a banquet, although she arrives late, she is never absent as rumored.

Someone else stood on the podium, it seemed to be the mayor, or some other high-ranking official.

His voice was sonorous and powerful, with just the right amount of grief, and the superficial sadness and excitement made every word in his mouth extremely false.

Everyone who grieves over Superman's death is so phony.

He stood behind the scenes for a while, and every moment he could taste the bitterness of despair and pain in his mouth, every ray of sunshine he felt was like a needle, every wind was like frost, and whenever he thought When this involuntary mourning was about to stop, more memories flooded up, causing him more pain.

"I hope I haven't disturbed you, Mr. Luthor," someone said.

"I don't want to accept any interviews, and I don't have anything extra to say." Lex replied without thinking.

Then he realized that the voice sounded familiar.

"...Alexander," Lex said slowly, "I assume you didn't come to kill me."

"As much as I would like to, Karl obviously won't allow you to die."

"Then what's the point of you coming to see me?" Lex sneered, "How do you come to see me to enjoy the joy of being a winner?"

"No, you're not the winner," Alexander said. "This was never a war, and if it were, it wasn't a war about winning or losing. Nobody was a winner, and nobody even had anything to do with a winner. Everyone's gone down the drain."

"I achieved my goal."

"But more was lost."

There was a dead silence.

Lex changed the subject, "I don't think you're here to tell me this."

Alexander handed the briefcase in his hand to Lex, and Lex glanced at it without reaching out: "How do I know it's not dangerous?"

"Your terminal paranoia is unbearable." Alexander frowned politely. "In a way, yes, it's dangerous; but no, it's not going to kill you."

"..." Lex looked at Alexander.

"Karl left it to you," said Alexander.

He put the briefcase lightly on the ground, then ignored Lex and turned to leave.

The funeral didn't come to an end until ten o'clock in the evening, and the whole process seemed extremely low and solemn, Lex.The fervor aroused by Luthor's speech intensified the mourning, and a sea of ​​bouquets formed beneath the hastily made (or was it already prepared?) Superman monument.

Its beauty borders on brilliance.

But no one cheered the brilliance.

"Let's go," Sherlock said, walking toward the parking lot without looking back.

John trotted to keep up with him, with an incredible tone of voice: "That's it? You came here just to attend his funeral?"

"Otherwise what am I doing here?"

"I don't know, but it's definitely not just for the funeral." John clung to Sherlock's hem tightly, "To reveal some kind of conspiracy, to confirm your guess, or you discovered some unusual details, such as Superman's The death was premeditated, like the U.S. imperial government played tricks on Superman's death, like... for God's sake, I don't know, Sherlock, tell me why!"

Sherlock stopped abruptly.

"Very good, you finally heard my question." John also stopped in his tracks. He breathed a sigh of relief. Even for a former military doctor with extraordinary physical strength, talking while trotting will consume a lot of oxygen in his lungs, "tell Me and you..."

"Superman's death is of course a conspiracy." Sherlock said coldly, "I already know the truth, and things after that have nothing to do with me. Mycroft is the one who should make the decision—although I Sniff at the way he does things, but I have to admit that people like him are a necessary part of this world. Of course, the annoying part. He and his partners are."

"What?" The poor ex-military doctor looked confused, "Listen, Sherlock, you can't always keep everything from me!"

But the consulting detective has passed him without looking back, and is walking forward alone.

Alexander went to the car.

Rolled into the bottom car window, revealing Connor's shiny little face.

"They say, they say death is the end." Connor asked Alexander, sobbing, "What does the end mean?"

"Death was not 'his' end."

"You liar!" Connor cried out, milky, "Wow——"

"I don't lie."

"Nonsense! No, there is no one who doesn't lie!" Connor accused Alexander clearly while crying, "Anyone who can say such things is lying!"

Although Carl's son, Connor and Carl don't have much in common at all.Carl already had a temper of his own at his age, and Connor seemed impulsive, but was actually... how should I put it?

The word docile is a bit too much, coaxing seems more appropriate.

And Connor is always impatient to grow up quickly, even though Carl is in his 20s, acting like a baby is still natural, without any trace of pretentiousness.

But at this moment, when Connor was emotional, his little head suddenly became sensitive, and he forgot to press his voice to make himself sound more mature, revealing the unique milk cavity of a child.

Now Connor looks a lot like Carl, Alexander thought ecstatically.

This similarity caused a subtle change in his attitude.

He bent down and put his fingers lightly on the edge of the car window. It's hard to describe what changed in him, because his expression still didn't fluctuate much, and his tone still seldom fluctuated. However, Connor's crying But the sound gradually stopped. He raised his face and looked at Alexander who was backlit.

"He'll come back, I promise, Conor," Alexander said. "It might take some time and sacrifices -- but he'll come back. It always does."

Connor looked at Alexander.

He made Connor feel unpredictable, but also real.

"...I don't believe what you're saying," he said tearfully, "but I don't have a choice, do I?"

Alexander answered with silence.

Carl found himself back in the position where he opened his eyes in the first place.

He flies in the sky, the earth under his feet is petite and beautiful, and the universe seems endless.

Death was beside him, and the wide black robe spread out like huge wings, covering him under the shadow.

But her actions were not malicious, more like acceptance and protection.

"...I don't understand," Carl said. "What does that mean?"

He had come to the end of the journey of death, and his whole life lay out before his own eyes, although its sequence did not follow the development of time, but the changes of his own feelings, and there must be a certain degree of omission in it. , but Karl still sorted everything out easily.

In his not-so-long life, every detail shone quietly but could not be ignored.

"I am the aggregate of death, Carl, and I am death itself—but you know, there are still some lives in this world that don't have 'death' in the true sense." Death said, after her hollow voice , the strange drum sound flickered, "Among the ages, even death itself will disappear..."

"Okay, that's enough," Carl cut her off. "We're not talking about that."

Death said in a dramatic tone, "Of course."

Carl landed on a mountain top.

Sitting under a tree, he asked Death: "I've seen my past, then what?"

"Then you shall be mine."

"I absolutely—absolutely can't die," Carl said emphatically.

"Is that what you miss about the world of the living? It's not a perfect world, and when I say that, I mean it sucks, especially for you." Death sighed softly, "Earth, how fragile, how stupid, how arrogant...and how miserable your life is."

"It's not perfect, but it's worth fighting for," Karl replied, "because I love the imperfections that are worth fighting for."

"Or you love it because it's not perfect. Imagine a world without war, without pain, without accidents and crime—"

"—and there is no Superman, because a perfect world doesn't need a Superman." Carl added Death's words, and then shook his head angrily, "That sounds very 'Lexie'."

"I've got to admit he's getting right to the core. In a way, you do feed off pain and disaster, but you do it in a way that eliminates them, not creates them."

"I thought about it a lot when I was young, but I decided to put it all behind me," Carr said. "Maybe you're right, maybe I'm not a great—no, I'm not— —maybe I'm not a noble man. Maybe I'm not even a good man."

Everything he does is out of self-interest.

In order to imitate a distant goal, to temper a righteous superman, to shape a kind self.

Maybe also to make the earth his home.

There is a real possibility that everything he's done up to this point has been purely selfish, but in a way that perfectly fits the definition of "moral."

Some people are obsessed with doing evil, and some are obsessed with doing good, but standing at a certain height... Standing at the height that an existence with superhuman power should stand, whether it is doing good or evil is meaningless.

"You met Rick, in my memory." Carl said to Death, "You understand his theory that no one or anything has purpose, reason, or value. Life has no meaning, so death has no meaning." Meaning - I think in a way he hates me because he and I both have power, but he's either partying or drinking, I'm different; in another way, he also sees me as a friend because I'm either saving lives, or..."

Carl shrugged, "Preparing to save someone."

Death said: "I'm afraid it is not wise to say 'death is meaningless' in front of me."

Carl looked at her and smiled.

"But I know what you mean," said Death.

"So I love the imperfections? God, I love them so much, I enjoy the process of letting the imperfections go away, I indulge them like Rick addicted to alcohol; but at the same time they are fungible , if there was a perfect world, I would be happy to choose something else to be myself."

"If you go back, humans will love you, then hate you and abandon you." Death said, "A simple and repeated cycle, with no chance of change."

"Even though they never really accepted me...but I thought, they still deserve my trust and heartbreak."