The sun beat down and for the first time, Clark Kent despised it. He had wandered the Earth for two lifetimes not changing at all. He'd seen Lois and their son and daughter all pass. Bruce and Diana too, though she'd outlasted the rest, had succumbed to their mortal fates. Only Clark remained.
Metropolis, his beloved city, lay in ruins as well, because they'd come. Zod's Army, other exiles from the Phantom Zone, broke out of their prison, found Earth, found Kal-El, and almost killed him. Clark's only ally, the bright yellow sun he'd lived under for so long, made him stronger than the entire army put together. He'd beaten them, just like the countless other foes over the centuries and he was tired.
He'd tried to turn to writing as Clark Kent III, but he world moved past newspapers and real journalism. They didn't care about facts, only what was directly relevant to their daily lives. He'd given up on that too. No more Truth, Justice, and the American Way... just him wandering the Mojave Desert, trapped by his need for sunlight and his everlasting life.
Many miles away the mighty Metropolis was no more. Following Zod's Army, the remaining citizens struggled to resume life. It was difficult, because they had no leader. No one to Trust. There was only Luthor. Not Lex, but his great grandson Vincent. A man born with synthetic Kryptonite in his skin. A man invincible to Kal-El. The ultimate version of his great grandfather's madness.