"Oh, darling," she whispered. "I could get used to this." Metropolis didn’t know what hit it.

The news called her "The Emerald Ghost." Lex Luthor, watching from his tower, smiled. But Xenia wasn't working for anyone. Not anymore.

She’d been running from Bond—no, from the inevitable fireball of a secret base in Myanmar—when the sky tore open. A green-veined crystal mountain plummeted from the clouds, trailing smoke like a dying god. It hit the jungle two klicks east. The shockwave threw her through a billboard. She landed in mud, laughing.