The sun blazed overhead, sending waves of heat rippling across the wheat fields.
The tractor rumbled through the field, its exhaust pipe spewing diesel fumes that mixed with dust, leaving dark trails in the dirt.
When the tractor reached the end of the row, the man aboard cut the engine, took off his worn-out cowboy hat, and fanned himself, glancing toward the grain silo.
This must be what a bountiful harvest feels like, right?
After all…
His freshly harvested oats could pile up into a golden mountain in the silo!
Boom!
"Hey, Lock!"
A gruff voice cut through the heat like a dull knife slicing through thick air.
Lock squinted and saw an old red tractor chugging toward him over the stubble, driven by none other than his cousin, Jonathan Kent.
Jonathan waved, his red-and-white checkered shirt revealing sinewy, muscular arms.
A textbook American powerhouse.
"This year's wheat? Even God's gotta be jealous!"
"Hahaha!"
Jonathan slammed on the brakes, the tractor's tires crunching stray grains with a faint pop.
He hopped down, grabbing two ice-cold beers from the back. The bottles glistened with condensation under the sun.
"Here, to celebrate this year's haul!"
With a helpless grin, Lock took the bottle, popped the cap, and chugged a big gulp.
"Jonathan, my man, you've really been a lifesaver."
He meant it.
If it weren't for this guy, Lock would probably be begging on the streets by now.
"Brothers don't need to get all sappy," Jonathan said with a smirk, gulping his beer. "Just don't rat me out to Martha for sneaking a couple drinks, and I'm happy."
"You're something else."
Lock chuckled, shaking his head. Honestly, he never would've guessed Superman's adoptive dad had this side to him in his past life.
"Alright, enough chat. Martha's nagging me to come home and rest." Jonathan tossed his empty bottle onto Lock's tractor and sighed. "You know how it is—another night of misery awaits."
"…"
Lock bit back a laugh, staying quiet.
Such is the plight of a middle-aged man.
But who could blame his cousin for not having a kid yet?
Once Clark shows up, maybe Jonathan's rough nights will finally come to an end.
Lock gazed at the distant combine harvester, its roar blending with the golden waves of wheat swaying in the hot breeze.
He was Lock Kent.
Twenty-five years in this world, dropped here by some cosmic stroke of luck.
Ever since he learned this world had Gotham and Metropolis, he'd been waiting for his epic life to unfold.
But things didn't go as planned. No cheat codes, no superpowers—just the life of a farmer.
And not the idyllic kind he'd imagined. Inheriting his late dad's rundown farm, he thought he'd play landlord. But within two days, America's endless taxes hit him like a freight train.
"Property tax, agricultural tax, fuel tax, equipment tax…"
He muttered the names of the beasts that had been eating away at him all these years.
During his first harvest, IRS agents rolled up in shiny sedans, tires grinding over his muddy fields. Dressed in suits that could've bought half his oat stock, they read off calculator-spat numbers in a tone colder than the eulogy at his father's funeral.
Thankfully, his farm was right next to Jonathan and Martha's.
When taxes and drought nearly crushed him, they quietly lent him their strength, time and again.
From then on, Lock gave up on dreams of cheat codes.
To him, his real cheat code wasn't some system or superpower—it was that sweltering afternoon when someone crossed forty acres of wheat to hand him their meager savings.
Lying on the stubble, Lock's thoughts drifted like the foam in the beer bottle beside him.
Once this year's wheat sells, he'd find a way to pay Jonathan back, maybe slip him a little extra.
The guy barely had any pocket money left.
Man, when's Clark gonna show up? It's been half a year since he and Jonathan had one of their late-night guy talks.
Hmm…
Once Clark arrives, Lock would make sure the kid called him godfather. That way—
Squinting at the sun, Lock felt its warmth lulling him, his eyelids growing heavy.
"Whatever… I'll catch a nap. Let the wheat grow one more night."
---
"What time is it?"
Groggy, Lock sat up, noticing the moon now peeking through the sky. He raised his wrist to check the time.
But then—
BOOM!
A deafening explosion shook the ground, rattling his bones!
Lock jolted upright, heart pounding.
"Aliens?!"
His first thought was some superpowered brawl nearby or the military testing some crazy weapon.
But as he frantically scanned the horizon, his face went pale—
Smoke was billowing from the direction of the Kent farm!
"Jonathan?! Martha?!"
Did something go wrong with the Kryptonian ship's landing?!
How could it crash right into the farm and start a fire?!
Fully awake, Lock scrambled toward his tractor, not even bothering with the keys. He yanked out two wires and sparked them together—
Vroom!
The tractor roared to life, and Lock gripped the wheel as it tore across the field, stubble blurring beneath him.
"Please be okay, please be okay…"
His throat tightened, his mind racing with worst-case scenarios.
Maybe it wasn't the Kryptonian ship?
An accident? Gas explosion? Electrical short?
Or… an attack?
This world wasn't exactly peaceful. What if some villain was targeting Superman's future parents?
The tractor bounced over a ridge, and Lock could now make out the flames.
The Kent barn was ablaze!
Smoke soared into the sky, sparks flying, heat washing over him.
And in the midst of the firelight—
A blurry figure staggered out!
Lock's heart nearly stopped.
"Jonathan?!"
He floored the gas, the tractor roaring into the farm. Before it even stopped, Lock leaped off, nearly face-planting in the mud.
But as he stumbled closer, he realized—
It wasn't Jonathan.
It was a disheveled middle-aged man, black hair a mess, face smudged with soot, clutching a baby tightly.
Spotting Lock, the man hurriedly tossed the baby and some strange object toward him.
Then, just like that, he turned to ash and vanished before Lock's eyes.
[Ding!]
[Adoption successful.]
[Current adopted character: Dio Brando.]
[Please guide him to grow healthy in body, mind, and spirit, and achieve greatness.]
[Parental privilege activated: The Golden Body of the Joestar Family.]
[Countdown to next adoption: 9 years.]
His cheat code had finally arrived.
But Lock wasn't thrilled.
He stared at the blond baby in his arms, a star-shaped birthmark on its neck, and the stone mask in his other hand, lost in thought.
Really, Dio?
Burning down my cousin's farm the second you show up?
Talk about making an entrance.
"Lock!"
"Lock!"
Two frantic shouts came from behind. Jonathan and Martha were running toward him, faces full of worry.
But what caught Lock's eye…
Was the baby cradled in their arms.
---
Bang bang bang!
Mutants are a bit of a plot hole, but I'll tie it up later.
This world is DC-based. Aside from a few well-known mutants, no other Marvel characters exist here.
The remaining mutants in this world aren't native—they're random invasive species from elsewhere.
I know my limits as a writer. Mixing Marvel and DC is a massive undertaking, and I'm not delusional enough to think I can pull it off.
Bow.
Lastly, please hit that vote button—thanks a LOT!!!!!