The rising morning sun shattered the darkness, dyeing the wheat fields in shades of honey.
A gentle breeze blew past, sending layered waves across the field.
A few speckled hens pecked lazily in front of the barn, while the farm’s windmill turned slowly nearby, casting rhythmic patterns of light and shadow.
It looked like any ordinary summer morning.
Until…
A black Chevrolet rumbled down the muddy country road, shattering the serenity like a stain splashed across an oil painting.
“God almighty!
What a damn road!”
The front door swung open violently, and a polished Oxford shoe stepped straight into a muddy puddle the moment it hit the ground.
“Are local officials feeding tax dollars to the pigs?” A young agent with slicked-back hair stared down, pale with rage, at his $800 custom suit pants now splattered with mud.
“My pants!
Damn bastards!
Whoever’s in charge of this town better pray I never find out, or I’m gonna kick his ass with Uncle Tom’s boots!”
“Could you quiet down, Vank?”
Stepping out from the passenger side, silver-haired Agent Smith removed his sunglasses and took a deep breath.
“Ah, wonderful…”
Squinting as he gazed out over the endless waves of grain, he said, “Reminds me of my family’s farm back in Nebraska.”
“When the corn ripened, it smelled just like this.
My father used to say—”
“Mr.
Smith.”
“That thing probably exploded right around here,” Vank said, rolling his eyes at the old man in disbelief.
“Every breath you’re inhaling could be laced with toxins.”
The veteran agent froze.
“Cough, cough, cough!”
He hacked violently, almost coughing up a lung, and scrambled to cover his mouth and nose with a handkerchief.
It took him a long moment to catch his breath before asking, “Is this the place?”
“Yeah, we’re real close.” Vank swung a brick-like device back and forth.
“Exact location’s a bit fuzzy—”
“Hey, old guy, where are you going?”
“Young man, consider this your first lesson from an old hand,” Smith grunted as he shuffled forward.
“Don’t put too much faith in machines.
Good old-fashioned legwork is what yields real results.”
“Why don’t we just ask the friendly local farmers and find out?”
Vank blinked, only now noticing a massive silhouette looming in the distance.
Was that…
a rusty tractor?
The rumble grew louder as it approached, the reek of diesel fuel faintly mixed with the sweet aroma of blueberry pie.
Approaching the vehicle, both agents opened their mouths to greet the driver—only to freeze in unison when they saw who was behind the wheel.
One hand rested casually on the steering wheel, while the other held the source of the scent they’d caught—
A blueberry pie, mostly eaten.
Honestly, if you ignored what he was driving and looked only at his posture…
You’d think he was behind the wheel of a luxury sports car.
Standing in the tractor trailer was a curly-haired boy covered in mud, frantically swatting with dirt-caked hands at a fluttering butterfly.
His plaid shirt was soaked in mire, looking like he’d rolled around in wet concrete.
*Now that’s what a country kid is supposed to look like.*
“Reminds me of my younger days,” Agent Smith said with a nostalgic nod.
“Back on the West Coast, driving my Ferrari F—”
“Old guy, is that really the point?” Vank asked, exasperated.
“Since when does Kansas allow minors to operate farm machinery?”
“According to Article 17 of the Federal Farm Safety Regulations—”
“That’s not the point either!
We’re here to recover that object,” the old agent said, rolling his eyes before grinning again.
“Though off the record, I stole my granddaddy’s harvester when I was eight.
Man, I almost flattened half a cornfield—”
“Mr.
Smith!”
Vank snapped, completely out of patience.
“Please stick to your field investigation!”
“Vank, I wish you’d save that kind of passion for the ladies.”
The old agent grumpily adjusted his tie, put on his warmest, most friendly smile, and walked up to the tractor.
“Morning, boys!
Quite a rainstorm we had yesterday, huh?”
The tractor screeched to a sudden stop.
Dio leisurely licked the jam off his fingertips, his red eyes narrowing slightly.
These men in expensive suits looked entirely out of place on a dirt road, like hyenas barging into a henhouse.
Dad had mentioned before that back in his younger days, he’d been driven crazy for a while by guys in black suits just like these.
*Are they here for money again?*
Summoning The The World behind him, Dio stood ready to move at any second…
“Did either of you see a weather satellite crash nearby during the thunderstorm?”
Dio’s expression relaxed.
*So it’s just about the robot thing.*
That gave him a scare.
He thought they were here to collect money.
“Doesn’t ring a bell, old mister,” he said with a shrug.
“All I remember from yesterday was the thunder keeping the pigs awake all night.”
“?”
*Didn’t we fall right asleep after eating that venison last night?
And besides, everyone in Smallville knows Rock Farm doesn’t even raise—*
“Hss—”
Clark gasped and suddenly clutched his calf.
It felt like something had kicked him hard.
Failing to notice these subtle interactions and assuming the curly-haired boy just had a cramp, Agent Smith pulled out a handkerchief to wipe away his sweat.
He pressed on, probing for information.
“Just a few larger metallic fragments, maybe?
Any sign of them around your farm?”
“A satellite?” Dio tilted his head, putting on an innocent expression.
“You mean the kind up in outer space?”
“Well, maybe a bit smaller,” the old agent gestured.
“With a shiny silver casing.”
“Never seen it.
Maybe you should go ask at the other farms.”
“…”
Hearing this, the veteran agent narrowed his eyes in skepticism, preparing to press further.
But beside him, Vank suddenly raised his detector—the radiation reading on its screen was creeping steadily upward.
He strode toward a patch of blackened weeds by the roadside.
“Smith!
The soil here—”
“Hey!
You can’t go over there!”
Dio suddenly leaped down from the tractor.
He moved so fast Vank couldn’t even process the motion; before he knew it, the blonde boy was standing right in front of his detector.
“My dad said we just sprayed herbicide on that patch.”
“Is that so?” Vank narrowed his eyes.
“What brand of herbicide leaves radioactive burn marks on plants?”
The air froze.
Clark stood helplessly in the trailer, clods of dirt slipping through his fingers and falling to the floor.
Dio stubbornly stood his ground, his Stand’s fists clenching tight.
Just as tension reached the boiling point—
“Boys!”
A deep, booming voice rang out from deep within the wheat fields.
It was Rock, carrying two heavy bags of fertilizer over his shoulders as he emerged at the end of the dirt lane.
*He’s huge…*
That was the two agents’ immediate first impression of Mr.
Rock.
*He has to be at least 6’3″, right?*
Vank swallowed hard.
*Why the hell is a guy built like that farming out here instead of tearing up basketball courts across Kansas?*