"Damn it—how could this happen? Someone's interfering with my operation!"
General Lane's knuckles whitened around the edge of the console. The live feed flickered—then collapsed in a burst of static.
"Who is it?!" he snarled, pacing inside the command vehicle. "Using attack dogs in broad daylight… Is this Waller's doing? That relentless woman!"
He'd never expected to capture Downton—not fully. Not on the first try. But he had hoped to corner him, to open a line of communication. Downton had left openings—deliberate ones. That alone was promising.
But now… failure didn't just mean Downton was powerful. It meant he—Lane—had misjudged the field. And that was unacceptable.
He slammed his fist onto the console. "All units—initiate sweep protocol. I want every alley, rooftop, and sewer scanned. And patch me into SkyEye. Full tactical overlay—now!"
"General—wait!" A female officer cut in, voice tight. "We've lost feed from the downtown coffee shop. And… Squad Four's signal just went dark."
Lane froze.
Squad Four.
The unit assigned to protect his daughter.
"Turn this vehicle around—now!"
Inside the café, Lois's breath hitched.
One moment, the hum of conversation and espresso machines. The next—a sharp, metallic buzz. Lights flickered. Appliances sparked. Then silence.
Before she could react, shadowy figures dropped from the ceiling. Wires snapped through the air. Darts thudded into walls—and people.
"Who are you?!" she cried, fumbling for her phone.
Useless. The screen was dead. An EMP—clean, precise.
She bolted for the door.
A hand clamped over her mouth. Another gripped her neck—cold, clinical. A sting. Darkness rushed in.
The café, once warm and fragrant, was now a tomb.
On the Kent farm, Clark stood by the fence, watching distant plumes of smoke rise over Smallville.
He'd seen the whole thing—the so-called "superhuman" Downton, subdued by military tech like any ordinary man.
Is this what they call extraordinary?
He felt a hollow pang. Not superiority—disappointment.
He'd hoped… maybe Downton was like him. Someone who didn't have to hide. Someone who understood the weight of being different.
But no. Downton bled. He faltered. He was merely human with augmented tricks—nothing like the impossible physics Clark carried in his bones.
At seventeen, Clark still believed other beings like him might exist. He still dreamed of connection.
But today, the world felt emptier than ever.
He sighed, the sound lost beneath the rustle of Kansas wind.
Ever since his parents had revealed the truth—that he wasn't born on Earth, that his real name was Kal-El, and that his biological father had sacrificed himself to hide the full extent of his son's emerging powers—his world had narrowed to just two people: himself… and Martha.
Seven years had passed since Jor-El's final transmission. In that time, Martha Kent had aged visibly, her silver hair now more prominent, her hands less steady. Time, relentless and indifferent, pressed on—even for those who raised gods in secret.
Clark had run countless simulations in his mind: a world without Martha. No matter how many variables he adjusted, no matter how he optimized his future, he couldn't reconcile the silence that followed her absence.
How unbearably lonely that world would be…
BOOM!
The explosion ripped through the quiet afternoon like a crack of thunder. Clark flinched—just slightly. He'd been distracted, his thoughts adrift, and for once, he hadn't been scanning the skies.
His senses weren't fully online. They rarely were. At rest, his vision topped out at fifteen kilometers; beyond that, everything blurred into human nearsightedness. And when he did push his perception further—focusing on distant horizons or tuning into whispers a county away—his eyes would burn, his ears would itch as if his nervous system rebelled against its own potential.
His powers were still maturing. Even now.
But he'd seen it all the same: Downton's death.
Not just the blast—but the smile. That infuriatingly calm, almost serene grin as the energy consumed him.
Was that what immortality felt like? Not fear, not regret—just… acceptance?
As Downton's body dissolved into ash, Clark shook his head slowly.
With Downton gone, Smallwell's reign of chaos should end.
That was the hope, at least.
But… could Downton return? Reborn somewhere else?
If so—where?
Clark's gaze swept the horizon, rake still in hand, scanning every field, barn, and thicket within his limited range. Nothing in Smallville. Nothing near the crater where the missile struck.
Then maybe… the meadows east of town?
"Aaaaaah!!!"
Martha's scream shattered his focus.
"Martha!"
In a heartbeat, his eyes flared crimson—not with rage, but urgency—and he moved. The kitchen door exploded inward, not from force, but from the sheer speed of his arrival. Dust swirled in his wake like a miniature storm.
Martha stood by the stove, wide-eyed but unharmed. She'd already guessed what he'd do—and why.
"Don't panic, Clark!" she called out, lifting a hand. "I just—startled myself, that's all!"
He halted beside her, breath held.
And then he saw him.
Naked. Disoriented. Kneeling on their checkered kitchen floor like a man who'd just blinked out of a dream.
Downton blinked up at them, utterly bewildered.
How did I end up in Superman's house?
This Clark wasn't the Hollywood version—but the red boots, the curl, the impossible speed… and the way the old woman called him "son"? There was no mistaking it.
Caught between a Kryptonian and his mother, Downton offered the most honest thing he could think of:
"Uh… would you believe me if I said I couldn't control where I reappeared?"
Martha didn't miss a beat. She patted Clark's tense arm and gave Downton a wry smile.
"Why wouldn't I? Honey, I've seen cows fly during tornadoes and tractors lift themselves out of mud with no engine running. Your entrance? Practically polite."
She gestured toward the hallway.
"Go on—use Clark's room to get dressed. And don't worry. This is Kansas, not Florida. Nobody walks into a farmhouse naked unless the universe really wants them to meet someone."
Then, with a dry chuckle:
"If I were forty years younger, I'd whistle and toss you a dollar. But these days? It just gives me heartburn."
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