"Actually, I contacted some old friends," Adrian said calmly. "People I knew back when I worked with the Houston Museum of Natural Science. They provided ground‑penetrating radar. It's reliable tech, and it's already being tested for future Mars exploration."
"Mars exploration?" Dr. Hamilton echoed.
Adrian shook his head slightly, a faint crease forming between his brows. "Let's hope we don't run into Martians."
He paused, then added, "Separate a portion of this meteorite and give it to me. Also, I heard the Luthor family, and Lex in particular, funded several expeditions in Egypt. They were digging for something specific. Keep an eye on that. If you need money or manpower, come to me."
Hamilton nodded, mentally filing everything away.
With that, Adrian turned to leave. Before stepping out, his gaze flicked back to the black kryptonite sealed behind the glass. His eyes gleamed faintly, sharp with interest.
Metropolis, Pier 2 Storage Warehouse
A burly man in a black suit stood near a crate, speaking into his phone.
"Yes, the deal's still here. Pier 2. Transport it however you want. I don't care."
He hung up and smirked.
When he turned around, he froze.
Bart stood right in front of him, dressed casually, backpack slung over one shoulder.
"Even though our last deal didn't end well," Bart said with an easy grin, "people grow by learning, right?"
Last time, Bart had stolen a batch of jewelry and arranged to trade it here. The gangsters had tried to lowball him. He responded by humiliating them with his speed and disappearing.
This time, the gang was prepared.
Men stepped out from behind crates, surrounding him.
"Let's see if you've matured," the suited boss said, smiling thinly.
Bart walked to the table and dumped his backpack.
Paintings, jewelry, watches, all high‑end, all unmistakably expensive.
He had stumbled upon another Luthor estate while wandering Metropolis. Stealing from the rich was practically a personal code for him.
The boss picked up a painting and studied it briefly. "Valuable," he admitted. "This, plus the jewelry, ten thousand dollars."
Bart frowned. "Ten thousand? These are worth over a million on the open market."
"That's the point," the man replied coldly. "These items are radioactive. Nobody but us would touch them. I know exactly where you got them."
He slapped a roll of cash onto the table. "Be grateful."
Bart's smile vanished. "Or I take everything back."
"You threatening me, kid?"
"I'm stating a fact."
Bang.
Pain exploded in Bart's head as a pistol slammed into his skull. He hit the ground hard, vision swimming.
"Break his legs," the boss ordered. "If he gets up, he'll be a problem."
A gun was raised, aimed at Bart's legs.
"Let's see if you're faster than a bullet," the boss sneered. "Shoot."
Before the trigger could be pulled, the world shifted.
A stranger stood between them.
The gun vanished from the shooter's hand.
Adrian.
In less than a second, both gangsters nearest him were airborne.
One slammed into the wall, chest collapsing inward, spine snapping on impact. He was dead before he hit the floor.
The second man barely moved before a thin beam of heat vision pierced his heart. He dropped instantly, blood spreading across the concrete.
The boss barely had time to react before Adrian grabbed him by the throat and hurled him upward.
Boom.
The man screamed as his body punched through the warehouse roof. Debris rained down moments later, followed by silence.
Adrian turned slowly to Bart, who lay on the floor, stunned.
"I warned you," Adrian said coldly. "Keep stealing and someone breaks your legs."
Bart swallowed hard, his earlier bravado gone. "I just wanted to get money fast. To pay you back."
He was still just a kid, shaken by the blood, by the violence, by how easily Adrian had ended it.
"You said you wouldn't hurt anyone," Adrian replied, glancing at the corpse crushed against a car outside. "Talent like yours guarantees damage. To yourself or others."
He turned away. "Go home. The world doesn't protect idiots."
Bart stayed where he was, blood at the corner of his mouth, staring after him.
That Night, Kent Farm
Bart stayed.
After dinner, he cleaned everything in under two seconds. Martha and Jonathan joked that he could make a career out of cleaning alone.
Later, after the house quieted, Bart stopped Adrian as he was heading to bed.
"Adrian."
"What."
Bart hesitated, then spoke. "Thanks. For earlier. If you hadn't shown up…"
He dug into his backpack and pulled out an MP3 player. "It's the newest model. You can load whatever music you want."
Adrian looked at it. "Where did you get it?"
"I didn't steal it," Bart said quickly.
"Maybe." Adrian took it anyway. "All I care about is if it's current."
Bart exhaled in relief.
Weekend
Martha and Jonathan worked the farm. Reconstruction was slow. Martha, pregnant, helped where she could, handing tools, wiping sweat from Jonathan's brow.
A shadow passed overhead.
Clark landed a short distance away, staring at the ruined farm.
He had abandoned humanity, or so he told himself. Yet here he was.
Adrian was moving forward, reclaiming something Clark was trying to erase.
The irony tasted bitter.
Clark approached. Bart spotted him first.
"Who's that?"
"Clark," Martha shouted joyfully.
Jonathan rushed over, pulling Clark into a firm embrace. "You're safe. Thank God."
Martha stepped forward to hug him.
Clark stepped back.
She froze.
"Clark?" Jonathan asked carefully.
"I'm fine," Clark said flatly. "Clark Kent is gone. I'm Kal‑El now."
"You've been listening to Jor‑El," Jonathan said, dread creeping in.
"Clark is dead," Clark replied coldly. "Our connection is finished."
Martha broke. She slapped him, then struck his chest. "Give me my son back!"
Clark reached out to grab her wrist.
His hand was stopped mid‑air.
Bart held it tightly, eyes sharp.
"If you touch her," Bart said, voice steady, "this ends badly."