"Hello, I am Schiller Rodriguez, the owner of the nearby bar." Schiller handed his business card to the two men in front of him.
The two men sitting across from him were both tall; one was more stocky, the other more slender, one looked older, and the other looked younger.
"Hello, Mr. Rodriguez. May I ask what the matter is?" The older one spoke first. He had a little bit of a Spanish accent, his English was somewhat unclear.
"Here's the thing. We are a pharmaceutical company currently screening candidates for a drug trial. You have previously purchased medication at our pharmacy, right?"
The two looked at each other. One nudged the other with his elbow, then revealed an expression of sudden realization and said, "Oh, I think we did when we were sick before."
"Regarding your illness, we have a special drug here that can be provided to you free of charge. We will also pay you for participating in the trial. However, you need to cooperate with us by writing a reaction diary. Are you willing?"
The older one opened his mouth to refuse, but the younger one quickly pulled him back and said, "How much?"
"The first phase of the trial is 15,000 US Dollar." Schiller replied.
The two drew in a sharp breath.
"Normally, if there are no major adverse reactions, there are a total of four phases in the trial. You can earn a total of 60,000 US Dollar. But this money isn't easy to earn; you must write detailed logs every day, including what you did and how you felt."
"Sure, we'll do it, give us the drug." the younger one said.
Schiller pulled out a contract from his bag and then took out a bottle of pills. After they signed the contract, he left his email address and handed the drug bottle to them, saying, "I'll pay you a deposit of 5,000 first. After completing the first phase's log, I'll pay the balance."
The two nodded frequently, signed the contract without even looking at it. Schiller smiled, picked up the contract, and left.
"Why did you agree?" the older one asked, "The drugs for humans don't work on us."
"But they won't poison us either." The younger one said, "If we have no reactions, we'll just make it up. How could he know how we feel? It's 60,000 US Dollar! With that money, we can rent an apartment."
The older one sighed and said, "Makes sense. Washing dishes isn't exactly a promising job; we should find a proper job."
The two took the medicine and returned to the restaurant's kitchen. They took a look, not thinking much of it, but worried about the possibility of a blood test, they still took the drug. But after taking it, there was no reaction. The younger one began to fabricate his report.
After writing for a while, the older one came over to take a look, shook his head, and said, "This won't do. Yours obviously looks fabricated. Give it to me, I'll write it."
Luckily, English is a phonetic language, so after learning the 26 letters, one basically knows how to speak, as well as spell everyday words. Plus, their original identities were undocumented, so mistakes in spelling are normal. As long as it is understandable, it's fine. Therefore, writing wasn't difficult.
"You can't just write a bunch of false feelings that are easily spotted. He wants us to write all reactions, right? So start from the morning, write about getting up, working, resting, eating, etc. Write fewer feelings, then it's less likely to be exposed."
"Makes sense." The younger one nodded and said, "You're quite experienced."
"Exactly. During the imprisonment in the Phantom Zone, I wrote quite a few reflection reports. Zod read so many of my reports, don't even know if he ever actually reflected."
Indeed, these two were the ones who defected from the Krypton Main Ship. They fled all the way from New Mexico to California State, then to the illegal work center at Ding Fatty Square in Los Angeles.
Due to their tall stature, they were barely able to communicate in English, so they really managed to find a job: washing dishes in a Mexican restaurant's kitchen.
Actually, this job was very easy for them. Because when they were on Krypton, they were professional soldiers with incredibly intensive training routines. Even when imprisoned with Zod, they never skipped training. Standing for 10 hours to wash dishes was a breeze.
However, they didn't come to Earth just to work illegally. On Earth, not only did they want to survive, but they wanted to live well, so they were planning to save money to rent an apartment so they could find a better job.
Just as they were pondering how to earn more money, the drug trial came knocking. What more was there to say, of course they'd try.
The reason they went to buy medicine before was because they were feeling a bit unwell. It couldn't be pinpointed, just some general discomfort that led to several instances where they accidentally shattered dishes.
On their day off, they went to buy medicine. But soon they discovered that human medications were ineffective on them, and they still felt unwell. The drug used in this trial seemed to have the same result. It didn't work at all, nor did it cause any adverse reactions.
During the submission of the first log report, they felt a bit guilty. However, Schiller didn't even carefully review it and directly gave them the money, which put them at ease.
But by the second phase, it wasn't so simple anymore. They suddenly realized their strength seemed to increase.
After breaking seven dishes in one day, they ended up being kicked out by the boss. The younger Kryptonian squatted dejectedly at the street corner and said, "I don't know what's going on, just can't control it..."
The older one seemed to be lost in thought, saying, "Do you remember when we were on the ship, we also inhaled Kryptonite powder."
"You're referring to when the General fired that shot..."
"That's right, although we were standing farthest away at the time, we still inhaled some. Maybe the kryptonite strengthened us."
"So we might have superpowers too?!"
"You're thinking too much. Those two mutated people took a direct shot, what's the point in us inhaling just a bit?"
"But even so, our strength is much greater than before."
"What good is strength? Weren't we still kicked out?"
"True. Alas, these human things are too fragile, the plate almost as thin as paper. In that sense, it's better not to strengthen at all."
"Fortunately, we accepted the drug testing job, or we'd really starve to death."
"Hurry, hurry, quickly write the Phase II report. It's our only source of income now."
Not long after, looking at the Phase II report, Clark sighed compassionately, his hands rapidly typing on the computer:
"Claude (alias) and Jia (alias). Two such industrious and outstanding model employees couldn't survive a cold rainy night in Los Angeles. They fell ill, extremely weak. They bought medication, but it had no effect. Even with a fever, they still went to work. Unfortunately, Jia, due to lack of strength in his hands, dropped a plate. They were both kicked out by the boss on the spot. Thus, they wandered the streets..."
Half an hour later, Clark dialed Lois's number and said to her, "Check out my new draft..."
Lois paused for a while, then said, "I've read it, Clark. You've written it quite well. However..."
"However what?"
"Are you sure the two undercover workers you found are real illegal workers?"
"Uh. What's the problem?"
"Either they fabricated a report for you, or they hid the truth and sent you a beautified report."
"What do you mean?"
"Firstly, the climate in Los Angeles is mild, and rain shouldn't make people catch a cold. Secondly, whether it's a cold or a fever, neither should cause handshaking to break a plate. Only an overdose might. Lastly, going to a pharmacy is sheer nonsense. Illegal workers who have just arrived wouldn't dare go to a pharmacy, they'd be caught..."
"Oh, my God." Clark said, frowning and covering his forehead, "So, they lied to me?"
"Wait," Clark added, "It was Shiller who lied to me!!!"
After hanging up, Clark immediately went looking for trouble with Shiller. But he couldn't find Shiller at all; that damned liar ran pretty fast.
No choice, he could only try to find those two individuals because he knew Shiller had contacted them, he needed to ask them what the real situation was.
However, the two were no longer working at the restaurant. Clark asked the boss, but he didn't answer.
He wandered around the street, of course, attracting attention. Soon, an old man wrapped in a coat approached him and said, "Sir, who are you looking for?"
"Hmm. I'm looking for my two friends. Both men, one approximately this tall, blond, white guy, and the other about this tall, black-haired white guy. They both speak with a Spanish accent."
Then the old man rubbed his hands, indicating he wanted money. Clark was a bit helpless but still gave him some. The old man said, "I've seen them, they were kicked out of that restaurant a few days ago. If nothing went wrong, they should be camping in the woods nearby. Be careful when you go there, someone might have a gun."
Clark wasn't afraid of guns. But once he walked into the woods, he was shocked. There were dozens of tents, large and small, surrounded by scattered garbage, and quite a few people sitting around.
Seeing a stranger coming, they all turned to stare at him, but not with a vigilant gaze, rather with a slight apathy, as if for mere watching.
Clark felt a chill down his spine. He listened intently and heard all sorts of chaotic ramblings after a drug binge. The stench kept wafting into his nostrils. Clark couldn't take it anymore, he had to walk in and find people.
He looked left, seeing a man lying on the ground, his left hand holding an empty can. He looked right, seeing a woman with her body twisted in a bizarre angle, gasping hoarsely. Everyone here seemed less human and more some kind of monster wearing human skin. Wasn't this some alien invasion?
Clark thought finding those two was no longer important; he needed to understand what happened to this tent area in the woods. Was the Federation government so focused on keeping watch over the ship in low-Earth orbit that they had been infiltrated back home?!
Just as Clark thought the situation was shocking, he suddenly heard a baby's cry. He turned his head to see a woman holding something bloody in her hands. That thing still had a small tail hanging.
Clark had never hated his Super Vision more. When he focused, he saw that the "small tail" was the baby's umbilical cord, still dripping blood at the moment.