"Ms. Cassandra passed away?"
Martha Kent put down the vacuum cleaner and turned toward her husband in surprise.
"Yes. It's quite unexpected," Jonathan said, wiping his hands after feeding the livestock. "Even though she could see the future of others, she could never see her own. I don't know if that's misfortune or irony."
Martha didn't respond.
A quiet sadness crossed her face.
---
Across town, Adrian received a call.
"Dr. Hamilton, I thought you were sticking with your business of selling fake meteorites," Adrian said, leaning against the wall with a faint smile.
"People change, Adrian," came Dr. Hamilton's steady voice through the receiver. "In science, the worst thing a person can be is stubborn. Tell me, does your previous promise still hold?"
"You mean funding your research? Of course. That promise always stands."
"Good. Then come to my lab. I have something to show you."
Adrian raised a brow.
"Lab? You mean your warehouse?"
There was a brief pause before Hamilton sighed.
"Yes."
Then the line went dead.
Apparently, Hamilton wasn't in the mood for jokes.
---
Half an hour later, Adrian stepped into Hamilton's cluttered warehouse.
The place smelled faintly of ozone and metal dust.
"I've already arranged for a real lab and proper equipment in Metropolis," Adrian said. "You could move there anytime."
Hamilton, hunched over a table, placed a newly acquired meteorite under a lamp.
"No, I think this town suits me just fine," he replied. "If you're feeling generous, though, I'll need some extra funds for equipment, boss."
The title was clearly teasing, but Adrian only smirked and nodded.
"Alright. Consider it done."
His attention drifted to a strange flower enclosed in a glass culture dish nearby.
"You've started growing plants now?"
"Nicotiana," Hamilton replied, eyes gleaming behind his glasses. "An extinct species from the eighteenth century. Back then, this entire area was wild. Locals called it the Devil's Flower. No one dared to go near it. Anyone who inhaled its pollen went mad—violent, bloodthirsty, uncontrollable."
"So what happened to it?"
"The locals burned it all down. But thanks to the meteorites that landed here, I managed to cultivate a surviving strain."
Adrian peered closer.
The flower's crimson petals seemed to shimmer faintly under the fluorescent light.
Without warning, the Devil's Flower shuddered—then hissed.
A puff of white gas sprayed against the inside of the glass, misting the surface between them.
Adrian stepped back, unimpressed.
"Doctor, tell me I didn't come all this way just to see an angry houseplant."
Hamilton chuckled softly and walked to a safe in the corner.
"Of course not."
He retrieved a small, octagonal piece of metal and handed it over.
The moment Adrian touched it, his expression stiffened.
"What is this?" he asked quietly.
"I can only tell you what it isn't," Hamilton said cryptically.
"I'm not in the mood for riddles."
Hamilton sighed.
"Fine. This alloy doesn't exist on Earth. None of our instruments can identify its components. It's completely alien—strange and incomprehensible."
Adrian's fingers tightened around the piece.
He recognized it instantly.
It was made of the same material as the craft hidden beneath his family's barn.
Keeping his expression neutral, he asked,
"Where did you find this?"
"On a farm near yours," Hamilton replied. "Don't worry, I respected your family's privacy. I didn't go anywhere near y...."
Adrian's tone hardened.
"Stay away from Kent Farm, Hamilton. That's your first and only warning."
Hamilton raised his hands.
"You're the boss. Understood."
---
"One more thing," Adrian said, pulling out a small plastic bag filled with crimson rings.
"Take a look at these."
Hamilton frowned.
"Graduation rings made with meteorite fragments instead of rubies?"
"You've seen them before?"
"Only heard of them. I sell fake meteorites to tourists, schools sell these as jewelry to students—same scam, different crowd."
He examined the rings through thick lenses, then reached for a red meteorite wrapped in limestone.
"This one came from near Hobbs Lake," he explained. "It's a deep red, glassy substance—tougher than glass, though. I dug it out myself. There's a crater there—seventeen meters deep, a hundred and twenty-four across. If it weren't submerged, we'd find a lot more of this stuff."
Adrian held the meteorite, feeling the chill radiate from its surface.
"Does it have the same effect as green kryptonite? Can it alter cell structure?"
Hamilton shook his head.
"Not confirmed yet. I haven't researched it enough."
"Then maybe you should start," Adrian said, handing it back.
His tone was casual, but his eyes were thoughtful.
---
When Adrian returned to the Kent farm, he pushed open the door and spotted Jonathan lying half-under the sink, fixing the water line.
"Need help with that, Dad?" Adrian asked.
Jonathan reached out a hand.
"Pass me the wrench."
Adrian handed it over.
"No need to help, son," Jonathan said as he tightened the pipe. "If I rely on you too much, I'll end up lazy. Superpowers or not, sometimes all you really need is a good washer."
He held it up with a grin.
"This little thing can do what strength never could."
Adrian chuckled.
"Where's Mom?"
"She was just here," Jonathan replied. "Probably outside, trimming the artichoke wood."
Adrian nodded and walked out into the yard.
The sun hung low over the fields.
No sign of Martha—
but from the old barn, the one that was never left open, came a faint, unnatural sound.
---