JLA Watchtower (Archive)

Max Shreck sits, brooding, back in his luxurious penthouse office in Gotham City, at the top of Shreck's department store. Or rather, it would be luxurious had it not recently been the scene of a raid by Mr. Freeze and a bunch of his parka-wearing goons. As it is now, Shreck sits in a torn up leather chair, real hand pressed against prosthetic hand, blankly surveying the scene of destruction. Even his stuffed chihuahua Geraldo has been defiled by the crooks, its back strategically shaved and head lopped off.

"Where did it all go wrong...?" A lesser man would weep. Max just takes it out on his employees, his son and on Catalina, when he has the opportunity. Chip and Catalina had been wise enough to maintain a distance lately, but there had been more than one manager or consultant ask him how he was doing, only to find their desks boxed up by the time they got back.

Max presses the button on the new intercom, which has just been placed on the damaged table rather than secured to it. "Send in Ms. Reyes, please." He puts his fingers together again, and waits for Catalina to enter.

Standing at a podium in Liebfeld Plaza, Metropolis, with his son to his left, his... woman.... to his right, and surrounded generally by hired bodyguards (all of decent repute, of course), Max Shreck cuts an imposing figure in the very expensive deep bottle green suit that he had made by Gambi tailors of Keystone.

"The City of Tomorrow!" He punches his gloved fist into the air, and a smirk of a smile wrinkles across his face as the crowd roars in approval. Time to crank the crowd up by speaking in that way the critics love to poke at, but the public seem to love. "Let me tell you something, Metropolis," he takes the microphone out of its holder, and walks about the stage. "When my good friend, Bruce Wayne, of Wayne Enterprises, said to me, "Max, Metropolis will never have you," I told him to shut his Gothamite mouth."

He continues walking, twirls the microphone a little, and laughs. "Because the City of Tomorrow, is where Max Shreck belongs!" He claps himself, and raises the microphone again. "I said to him, Metropolis is the brightest star in this opulent country, and I'll be damned if I'm not the brightest entrepreneur this country has ever seen."

Max lowers his tone to a regular volume, with no high or low inflections, smile still in place. "Okay, that sounds egotistical. You got me. I've got a lot of love for myself, for the work I've done, for the businesses I've created, and the employees under my wing. Today is the opening of Shreck.net, not two blocks from this very Plaza. And with Luthor running scared back to his mommy, Shreck.net is gonna be the chief employer of this city. You're all gonna be my crew, you're all gonna getta lotta love from Mohammed Shreck, and Metropolis, the people of Metropolis, are going to wonder..."

He stops, and pauses. "I hope, that they're gonna wonder, "How did we ever come this far without Max?"" 

The applause is slightly more muted, but when administrators start handing out gift packages around the crowd, applications for jobs by the hundred, the voices are raised. He punches the air again, and walks into the small pavilion tent to have a drink with his two closest aides.

"Did you think that was a bit too much, Ms Reyes?" He swigs from a bottle of Highland Spring.

"Bruce, I'm so glad you showed up..." He pulls out a chair from around his new circular table. "What with all the bad weather we were having, I was worried you may have had an accident."

He sits down at his side of the table. "But aside from that, I'm glad you came because our business deal is almost completed. I had to put the lawyers on ice, but you know lawyers. Wave enough cash under their nose and they'll sit, and beg, and roll over." He looks at Bruce's face. "You're not about to do something stupid like back out of the deal, are you?"

Maximillian Shreck looks out of one of his panoramic windows across the Gotham skyline. It is daytime. He prefers the city at night, but only because he so thoroughly loathes looking at the smoke that clouds the city. Smoke that many of his factories produce.

He turns around and sits at his opulent desk. Supposedly, it's the one that Richard Nixon owned when he was President. Chip, Shreck's son, had bought it for him as a birthday present one year. Chip is a good boy.

Despite a couple of run-ins a few years ago, Shreck has never been plagued by the criminal community of Gotham, but he's very aware of them. He's had to deal with few directly, but some of his associates, colleagues and employees do so on a regular basis. It's what ensures his stock always reaches him, his factories are never attacked, and his employees are generally quite secure.

But Max is getting sick of being extorted. He's the man with the power in this city. Literally. He holds many of the reins to the power grid of Gotham. It may be time for a change...

The comms on his desk buzzes. Mr Wayne is here. Max slips his black leather gloves on, and drums his fingers on the desk. Plans for destroying the leech-like villains of Gotham will have to wait. Now it's time for a business meeting, with one of his key rivals, and one of the most important power-players in Gotham, as far as he was concerned. He stands as he enters.

"Bruce! How have you been, old man?"