Twenty minutes later, I was standing in the back of a lowrider hearse, parked outside the Nexus Spire. The driver's seat held the most terrifying woman in Metropolis: , aka Elena Diaz, the punk-rock bruja of the Barrio Below. She wore a lace skull mask, combat boots, and a leather jacket painted with marigolds.
"So," Lois said, nudging Superman. "A clone. Think there are more?" Mis aventuras con Superman 2x3
She chanted in Spanish—old words, the kind my grandmother used to whisper before lighting candles. The clone froze. Not from cold, but from confusion. His mercury eyes flickered. For one second, he looked terrified. Twenty minutes later, I was standing in the
"SHUT UP!" the clone screamed, his perfect face cracking like porcelain. Twenty minutes later