Chapter 38: The Evidence
The Kent barn was silent.
Clark, Kara, and Chloe sat on hay bales, staring at the phone I'd passed around. The photographs scrolled by—cells and subjects and experiment logs, each image worse than the last.
Nobody spoke. Nobody knew what to say.
"This is what they're doing," I said finally. "In a facility thirty miles from here. To people like me. Like Greg Arkin. Like Sean Kelvin. Like every meteor freak who got 'transferred to an appropriate facility.'"
Chloe covered her mouth. I'd seen her investigate dark stories before—the Wall of Weird was full of tragedy and violence. But this was different. This was systematic. Industrial.
Kara's hands clenched so tight I could see her knuckles whitening. Her powers were still developing, but her strength had grown enough that I worried about the phone's structural integrity.
Clark's jaw was set in that way I'd learned to recognize—the expression he wore when something violated his core beliefs about justice and humanity. The expression that preceded decisive action.
"How long?" His voice was controlled, but barely.
"Months, at least. Maybe longer. The oldest subject logs date back to September—right around when I arrived."
"They've been doing this the whole time." Chloe's voice was hollow. "Every meteor freak we thought was being helped—"
"Was being tortured." I didn't soften it. They needed to understand. "Experimented on. Broken down into data points. LuthorCorp is treating human beings like lab rats."
"Lex?" Clark asked.
"I don't know if he's directly involved. The facility had LuthorCorp subsidiary logos everywhere, but that doesn't mean Lex personally approved every decision." I paused. "But he knows. He has to know. This is his company."
The barn fell silent again. Outside, I could hear Martha moving around the farmhouse, unaware of the darkness being discussed in her barn.
"We have to expose this," Chloe said finally. "Take it to the press. The Planet would run this story in a heartbeat."
"And then what?" Kara's voice was sharp. "The world learns about meteor-affected humans. People with abilities they can't control. Do you think the reaction will be sympathy? Or fear?"
"Kara's right." Clark ran his hand through his hair. "If this goes public, every meteor freak in the country becomes a target. Not just from LuthorCorp—from everyone. The government. Other corporations. Vigilantes who think they're protecting their communities."
"So we do nothing?" Chloe demanded.
"We do something," I said. "But not that. Not yet."
The debate that followed was fierce.
Chloe argued for exposure—sunlight as disinfectant, public pressure forcing change. She'd seen it work before, watched corrupt officials brought down by well-timed journalism.
Clark worried about collateral damage. The meteor freaks in those cells were victims, but they were also dangerous. If the public learned they existed, the backlash could destroy any chance of integration. Could turn fear into persecution.
Kara advocated for direct action. Break in, free the prisoners, destroy the evidence. Let LuthorCorp explain why their facility burned down and their "subjects" disappeared.
I listened to all of them. Then I offered the compromise.
"Multiple tracks," I said. "Chloe builds a media package—everything we have, organized and verified. We hold it in reserve. Meanwhile, Clark and I plan a rescue operation. When we're ready, we execute both. Free the prisoners AND expose the program. LuthorCorp can't cover up what doesn't exist anymore."
Silence. Then, slowly, nods.
"It's risky," Clark admitted. "A lot of moving pieces."
"It's also our best chance to actually help those people." I met his eyes. "The girl in cell 17 is fourteen years old. Every day we wait is another day she spends in that hell."
Clark's expression hardened with resolve.
"Then we don't wait long."
After the meeting, I sat alone in the barn.
The others had gone to start their preparations—Chloe to her files, Clark to review the facility layout, Kara to coordinate backup plans. But I needed a moment. Needed to process what I'd seen, what I was asking them to risk.
Footsteps on the hay-covered floor. Kara, appearing from the shadows like she belonged there.
"You're thinking about someone in there."
It wasn't a question. She'd always been able to read me better than I liked to admit.
"A girl. Fourteen, maybe. I left her."
"You couldn't have freed her. Not then. Not alone."
"I know." The knowledge didn't help. "But I looked her in the eyes and told her I'd try. Then I ran. Saved myself while she went back to being Subject 17."
Kara sat beside me, close enough that I could feel her warmth.
"You came back with evidence. You organized a rescue. You're going to get her out."
"If the plan works."
"It will work." Her hand found mine. "Because you'll make it work. Because giving up isn't something you know how to do."
I thought about the dam fight. About Eric Summers and Jeff Palmer and every other moment when giving up would have been easier. She was right—surrender had never been my style. Even when the odds were impossible.
"The System gives the rescue operation a 47% success rate."
Kara's grip tightened.
"Then we'll be in the 47%."
"That's not how probability works."
"I don't care how probability works." She turned to face me, eyes fierce in the dim light. "You're going to save that girl. You're going to shut down that facility. And you're going to come back to me in one piece. Because I refuse to accept any other outcome."
I wanted to argue. To point out that determination didn't override physics, that willpower couldn't bend reality.
But looking at her—at the certainty in her expression, the love beneath her ferocity—I found I couldn't.
"Okay," I said. "We'll be in the 47%."
She kissed me. Not gently, not tentatively—a kiss that demanded I believe in the outcome she'd described.
By the time she pulled back, I almost did.
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