Alex spent the entire next four days faithfully parked at the public library directly after school, frantically coding.
It was incredibly tedious work.
The ancient library computers were glacially slow.
The basic development tools available were practically prehistoric by the advanced standards of any universe Alex had actually lived in.
He was reluctantly writing entirely in JavaScript and HTML…
the absolute only languages the library’s outdated browsers could reliably handle…
and miserably debugging his own code by squinting painfully at the blurry screen because the monitors were barely capable of properly displaying the specific color palette he desperately needed.
But the code actually worked.
By late Thursday evening, he had the core grid system working perfectly…
an eight-by-eight digital board of vibrantly colored gems that could be smoothly swapped with adjacent gems to instantly create satisfying rows or columns of three or more matching colors.
By late Friday, he had successfully implemented cascading…
when a match was successfully cleared, the heavy gems above it realistically fell to completely fill the empty gap, potentially triggering massive, chaotic chain reactions of additional matches.
Each subsequent cascade perfectly multiplied the player’s score.
The visual feedback was simple, but deeply satisfying…
the matched gems flashed bright white, instantly shattered with a small, satisfying particle effect, and the heavy gems above tumbled downward with an incredibly smooth animation.
By Saturday, he had properly finalized the difficulty progression…
a frantic time-attack mode where the player desperately had to reach a specific target score right before a ticking timer completely ran out.
Each new level aggressively increased the target and severely decreased the time, creating a deep, addicting sense of escalating urgency.
The very first ten levels were specifically designed to make the player feel like an absolute tactical genius.
Levels eleven through twenty brutally introduced much harder gem types and significantly shorter timers.
By level twenty-five, the game was genuinely, furiously challenging.
By Sunday, the game was totally playable.
Alex finally leaned back in his creaky plastic chair and quietly watched a massive cascade of bright emerald gems shatter violently across the screen, effortlessly triggering a massive chain of four consecutive matches.
The bright score counter spun wildly upward.
A deeply satisfying, musical chime played cheerfully through the tinny library speakers.
It was undeniably good.
Not revolutionary by the advanced standards of 2010 or 2020.
But by the humble standards of 2001…
a bizarre era where most casual browser games were clunkily built in Flash by amateur hobbyists with absolutely no real understanding of basic user psychology…
it was utterly exceptional.
The crisp animations were buttery smooth.
The visual feedback was completely instant.
The complex difficulty curve was mathematically precise.
And most importantly, it was fiercely addictive in the exact, specific way that only a game designed by someone who deeply understood dopamine loops at a fundamental, neurological level could actually be.
Alex carefully saved the precious game files to a second floppy disk right alongside the massive design document, and quickly slipped both of them securely into his backpack.
Phase one was complete.
Monday Morning
Alex called Lex Luthor’s private, personal number from the dirty payphone directly outside the Smallville General Store at exactly seven-fifteen in the morning.
The line rang twice.
“Luthor.”
The voice was incredibly crisp.
Wide alert.
Definitely not the groggy voice of a man who had been lazily sleeping in.
Lex Luthor was apparently a dedicated morning person.
Or, much more likely, he simply hadn’t gone to bed at all.
“This is Alex Carter. We met in a freezing river.”
A pause.
Then: “Alex. I was honestly beginning to think you had already lost my card.”
“I absolutely do not lose things. I was simply waiting until I actually had something truly worth your valuable time.”
Another pause…
noticeably shorter this time.
Alex could practically hear the immediate, physical shift in Lex’s full attention over the line.
The rapid transition from polite social pleasantry to shark-like business interest.
“I am definitely listening.”
“I have a business proposition. A genuine proposition. I would deeply appreciate exactly thirty minutes of your time to properly present it.”
“Oh, come on. What could possibly interest me from a fifteen-year-old?”
“And the asking one was famously running an entire massive division of LuthorCorp at exactly twenty. Physical age is a terrible, highly inaccurate metric for basic competence.”
Lex laughed out loud…
a short, completely genuine sound that clearly contained equal, surprising parts of genuine surprise and deep delight.
“Come directly to the mansion at exactly four o’clock this afternoon. Use the main front entrance. Tell my security you have a scheduled appointment.”
“I will absolutely be there.”
Alex hung up the heavy receiver.
He stood quietly at the payphone for a long moment, looking out at the sleepy Main Street.
Smallville was slowly waking up all around him…
beat-up pickup trucks rumbling loudly past, tired shop owners unlocking their heavy doors, local farmers heading directly to the feed store.
A totally ordinary Monday morning in a totally ordinary small town.
Alex Carter was about to confidently pitch a massive business deal to a notorious billionaire heir in the lavish living room of a medieval Scottish castle that had literally been shipped stone by stone directly across the Atlantic Ocean.
Luthor Mansion…
4:00 PM
There was honestly no other accurate word for it.
It was a literal medieval castle…
actual heavy stone, actual towering turrets, actual intricate stained-glass windows…
dropped violently into the absolute middle of the flat Kansas farmlands exactly like a feverish hallucination.
Lex’s ruthless father, Lionel, had impulsively purchased it from a broke Scottish nobleman and had it entirely disassembled, shipped carefully across the ocean, and meticulously reconstructed on the quiet outskirts of Smallville simply as a towering monument to his own massive excess.
Alex walked slowly up the long, crunching gravel drive, past a heavily armed security guard who carefully checked his name against a clipboard list and finally waved him through, and approached the massive front entrance.
The heavy doors were solid oak, easily ten feet tall, with thick iron hardware that absolutely belonged on the cover of a cheap fantasy novel.
A butler…
an actual, living butler, wearing an actual tailored three-piece suit…
smoothly opened the heavy door before Alex could even raise a fist to knock.
“Mr. Carter. Mr. Luthor is expecting you in the main study. Right this way, please.”
Alex silently followed the quiet butler through a massive, echoing foyer that was easily larger than the group home’s entire ground floor.
Cold stone walls.
Standing suits of armor.
A glittering crystal chandelier that probably cost significantly more than most actual houses in Smallville.
The echoing hallway eventually opened into a massive study…
a surprisingly warm, well-lit room heavily lined with floor-to-ceiling wooden bookshelves, a massive roaring fireplace, and a luxurious leather sofa arrangement that looked exactly like it had been designed specifically for hosting powerful heads of state.
Lex was casually standing right by the roaring fireplace with a crystal glass of what appeared to be expensive sparkling water.
He wore a dark, comfortable blue sweater perfectly fitted over a crisp white collared shirt.
No tailored suit today.
Casual Lex.
Which clearly meant he was genuinely, intellectually curious rather than just performing cold authority.
“Alex.” Lex gestured casually to an expensive leather chair.
“Please, sit. Can I get you absolutely anything?”
“No. Thank you.”
Alex calmly sat.
He carefully placed his cheap, faded backpack directly on the hardwood floor right beside the chair.
Lex settled smoothly into the opposite chair and elegantly crossed his legs.
His posture was completely relaxed, but his sharp eyes were locked on…
the exact same analytical, piercing gaze he had heavily turned on Alex back at the muddy riverbank.
Constantly measuring.
Always cataloguing.
“So,” Lex started smoothly.
“A formal business proposition from a fifteen-year-old orphan who successfully pulled me out of a freezing river just two weeks ago. I have to admit, this is definitely not how I originally expected my Monday to go.”
“I imagine your busy Mondays are usually a bit more predictable.”
“You would honestly be surprised. Smallville has a highly unusual way of constantly defying my expectations.” Lex casually sipped his sparkling water.