Episode 1 - Smallville

Date: Friday, August 12, 2011.

Location: Smallville, Kansas

Tyson blinked in confusion as he took in his unfamiliar surroundings. The squeaking of the worn seat and the engine's rumble slowly brought his mind from the haze of sleep. He was on a bus. The long brown benches instead of individual seats gave away that it wasn't a commuter bus but a school bus.

Glancing out the window, he saw sprawling green pastures dotted with cows lazily grazing. In the distance, a red mailbox came into view with words painted in neat white letters along the side.

Kent Farm

Across the aisle, Tyson noticed two young adults chatting animatedly. The petite blonde girl with a pixie haircut playfully smacked the arm of the dark-skinned boy beside her.

"Pete, I can't believe you bet against your best friend," she said, passing him a five-dollar bill.

The boy, Pete, pocketed the money with a smug grin. "Chloe, it's a statistical fact. If Clark Kent moved any slower, he'd be extinct."

Both teens laughed heartily at the apparent inside joke. Tyson eavesdropped to glean information about his strange circumstances.

The bus rumbled on, pulling away with a lurch.

Tyson shook his head, trying to clear the fog from his mind. How did he get here, on this school bus winding its way through the countryside? He strained to remember anything before waking up, but his mind remained blank. Sighing, he slumped back into the worn seat, watching the scenery slide by outside the streaked window.

The bus rolled past a roadside billboard, and Tyson's eyes slid over the writing.

'Welcome to Smallville, Kansas. Pop. 45,002. The Meteor Capital of the World!'

Meteors... Kent Farm… Clark Kent... the details clicked into place as Tyson's mind finally shook off the haze surrounding it. His eyes went wide.

"Holy shit," he muttered under his breath.

But how was this possible? Had he been drugged? Was he hallucinating? Did he drunkenly stumble into a movie set? Or…

Had he been transmigrated to another reality? One with Superman…

Nah.

That was impossible.

Tyson glanced down at the backpack resting on the bench beside him. Curiously, he unzipped the main pouch and peered inside. A laminated ID card lay nestled atop a wallet and a jumble of papers. He plucked it out, eyebrows rising as he scanned the name printed in bold letters. Tyson. Just Tyson, nothing more. No middle initial, no surname.

"Seriously?" He scoffed under his breath. "What am I, Beyonce or something?"

Further rummaging revealed a birth certificate and social security card bearing the same single name. A passport joined the growing pile. Each document listed his name as simply 'Tyson' in crisp black ink. He muttered a curse. This sketchy identification wasn't going to get him far. The lack of a last name made him think it was a fake ID. But why would someone go through such effort for several fake documents that wouldn't pass even a cursory inspection? The answer eluded Tyson, another piece in the puzzle of his circumstances. He slid the ID into his wallet and checked its contents. Another item caught his eye. It was a debit card, unlike any he'd seen before. The card was jet black and featureless, with no bank name or emblem, just his name embossed in silver letters. Same as the ID card. He wondered if it even had money available for use. There was only one way to find out. He slid the card back into his wallet, making a mental note to stop at an ATM when the opportunity arose.

He pulled out a smartphone and held it in his hands. At first glance, it looked normal enough. Black casing, large touchscreen, minimalist design. But as Tyson tapped the screen, he noticed something very strange. There was no battery percentage icon in the top corner of the display. He navigated to the battery settings, and instead of a percentage, there was just an infinity symbol, almost as if indicating the phone had unlimited, perpetual power.

Lastly, he found a sticker that looked like a registration sticker in the corner of a vehicle's windshield. The sticker-backing had written instructions.

You may place this sticker on a vehicle of your choice. This vehicle never needs to be cleaned or maintained, will repair itself within 24 hours of being damaged, and never needs refueling. You have all the needed documentation and never need to pay taxes or any fees. This vehicle can be military in origin or otherwise have weapons installed on it.

"Well, that's about as likely as this being a superhero world," Tyson muttered, tucking the papers in his backpack and the anomalous phone into his pocket along with his wallet.

With a resigned shrug, he gathered up the odd identification and stowed it back into his backpack.

"Pete, did you hear that Lionel Luthor's daughter is joining us for senior year," the blonde girl said.

The boy, Pete, drummed his fingers against the worn fabric of the bus seat as he replied, "Yeah, Chloe. It's hard to believe that we'll be going to school with a billionaire. But she's adopted, so she probably won't be bald."

Both teens erupted into laughter. Tyson watched them curiously. His ears perked to catch every word. He hoped their conversation might offer some clue to his bizarre situation.

The bus slowed, its brakes squealing as it approached a sprawling property. Tyson's gaze swept over the landscape, taking in the manicured lawns. In the distance, a house loomed large against the horizon. It was as much a stone mansion as it was a small castle. At the end of the long driveway, a solitary figure waited. As the bus drew closer, he saw a young woman waiting.

She was tall and athletic, with long, golden hair. Her skin was flawless, with a healthy glow that spoke of time spent outdoors. She wore a simple white blouse and blue jeans, but they did little to hide her statuesque figure.

As she stepped onto the bus, Tyson couldn't help but notice her striking blue eyes. Her features were delicate yet strong, with high cheekbones. Her gaze swept across the bus, taking in the faces of her fellow students. A small furrow appeared between her brows as she realized there weren't many seats left.

Without thinking, Tyson moved his bag off the bench, clearing space next to him. Their eyes met for a brief moment. She hesitated for a split second before sliding into the seat beside him. The bus lurched forward, continuing its journey.

He cleared his throat, willing his voice not to crack. "Hi there," he said, offering what he hoped was a friendly smile. "I'm Tyson."

The girl turned to face him, and Tyson found himself captivated by her impossibly blue eyes. She replied, "Nice to meet you. I'm Kara. Luthor."

"Luthor?" Tyson repeated.

"Yes," Kara said with a hint of resignation in her tone. She tucked a strand of golden hair behind her ear, her gaze dropping to her hands folded in her lap. "I'm sure you've heard all about it."

Tyson froze. Luthor… Was she supposed to be Lex Luthor's sister? Kara. Adopted. Was the Kara he'd met supposed to be Clark Kent's cousin? The one who would become Supergirl. The coincidences were piling up, and Tyson was beginning to think he wasn't in Kansas anymore… Or actually, that's exactly where he was, just not his Kansas.

He tried to piece together this new information. He was more of a Marvel fan than DC. But in the movies and shows he remembered Lex Luthor did not have a sister. Let alone one who might become Supergirl. Something was very different about this version of events. Superman was supposed to be the Kryptonian that fell to Earth to be found by the Kents. Supergirl, as far ash he knew, was not meant to be discovered and taken in by his arch-nemisis's family. Would she become a dark Supergirl or an evil Supergirl?

But as Tyson studied Kara's face, he noted the hint of resignation at the mention of her last name. He could tell that her family's reputation was a sore spot for her. Not wanting to make her uncomfortable, he decided on a different approach.

"Nope, the name's not familiar," he said with an exaggerated shrug, keeping his tone light. "But I'm new here too, so I don't know much about... well, anything really."

He offered her a crooked grin, hoping to put her at ease. The furrow between her brows eased, and her lips curved up in the barest hint of a smile.

"Nothing at all?" she asked, arching one golden brow. Though her tone was tinged with skepticism, this caught Kara's attention. She looked up, her eyes narrowing slightly as she studied his face. "You're new? I thought I was going to be the only new student this year."

"Surprise," Tyson said with a nervous chuckle. "Looks like you've got company in the new kid club."

A genuine smile spread across Kara's face, transforming her features. The guardedness in her eyes softened, replaced by a spark of interest. "Well, that's a relief. I was worried I'd be the sole focus of everyone's attention."

"Oh, yeah, no way around that," Tyson said, gesturing towards Pete and Chloe, who were now openly staring at them. "I think you've still got the spotlight."

Kara followed his gesture and sighed. "Great. I was hoping to go unnoticed for at least a day or two." She turned back to him, her expression curious. "So, Tyson, where are you from?"

"I... uh..." he stammered, "I'm from New York."

She asked, "What is it like?"

"There's always something happening, no matter what time of day or night. It's crowded, the subway has its unique smell, there's always something to do." He paused, gauging Kara's reaction. She seemed enthralled, leaning in slightly as she listened. Encouraged, Tyson continued, "The skyline is breathtaking, especially at night when all the buildings are lit up. And the food? Don't even get me started on the food. You can find cuisine from every corner of the world within a few blocks."

"That sounds amazing," Kara said, her voice tinged with a hint of longing. "I've only seen New York in movies and TV shows. Is it really as glamorous as they make it out to be?"

Tyson chuckled. "Not even close. Getting around the city is a nightmare, and the prices are enough to make you consider living in a cardboard box. For some people, there's just something special about the city that makes it all worth it."

Kara nodded, absorbing his words. "I can imagine. It must be quite a change, coming from a place like that to... well, here."

Tyson glanced out the window at the passing cornfields and farmhouses. "Yeah, it's definitely different. But different can be good, right?"

"I hope so," Kara said softly, her gaze following his out the window.

Sensing an opportunity to shift the focus, Tyson turned the tables. "What about you? Where are you from originally?"

Kara's posture stiffened almost imperceptibly, and the movement didn't go unnoticed by Tyson. But then she relaxed. "I'm... not really sure," she answered, her voice low. "I was adopted by the Luthors. My early childhood is a bit of a blur."

Tyson hadn't expected such a candid response. "Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to pry."

Kara waved off his apology. "It's okay. It's not exactly a secret. I just... don't have many clear memories from before I came to live with the Luthors."

"That must be tough," he said gently. "Not knowing where you came from."

Kara's blue eyes met his, and for a moment, Tyson felt as if he could see the depths of emotion swirling within them. "It is," she agreed. "But I'm grateful for the life I have now."

Tyson nodded, knowing there was more to the story than Kara was letting on. "Still, it's natural to wonder about your roots. Have you ever tried to find out more about your birth family?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, Tyson regretted them. Kara's expression clouded over, and she turned away slightly.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "That was too personal. I shouldn't have asked."

Kara shook her head. "No, it's alright. It's just... complicated. Lionel, my adoptive father, he's... protective."

There was a note of resignation in her voice that made Tyson frown. "But don't you want to know?"

Kara's gaze snapped back to him, her eyes suddenly intense. "Some things are better left in the past... Well, at least, that's what I've been told."

Tyson was unsure what to say next. He noticed Pete and Chloe casting curious glances in his direction, clearly intrigued by the new girl sitting next to him. Kara seemed to notice, too, her posture straightening as she composed herself. The vulnerability that had been present moments ago vanished, replaced by a cool, collected demeanor.

"Well, I guess this is it," she said, reaching for her bag. "First day at a new school."

When the bus pulled up to what Tyson assumed was Smallville High School and the doors swung open, and the students disembarked. They walked past a fenced-in basketball court toward the school's entrance. He turned to Kara, but she was gone. He'd lost her in the crowd.

Pete and Chloe were ahead of Tyson. He figured that if he had awoken on a school bus, he could continue to play the role of the new student. And if there was anyone to meet first, it was the two who knew Clark Kent. Quickening his pace to catch up to the other two, he said, "Excuse me, I'm new here, can you guys give me some hints on where I'm supposed to go?"

Chloe tilted her head as she looked Tyson up and down. "No way you're a freshman. You've gotta be a senior like us, right?" She gestured between herself and Pete. Her eyes lit up with curiosity as she leaned in closer to Tyson. "So, we saw you sat next to Smallville's other newest student on the bus. What was the sister of Lex Luthor like?"

Tyson shook his head, he mumbled, "She seemed nice enough."

Chloe's eyes narrowed, not entirely convinced by his response. "Nice enough? Come on, you can do better than that. We're talking about the sister of Smallville's resident billionaire here."

Pete chimed in, his voice lowered conspiratorially. "Yeah, man. Spill the beans. What's she like?"

Tyson scrambled to come up with a more satisfying answer without revealing anything. "Well, she was... friendly. Didn't talk much about her family or anything."

Chloe's reporter instincts were kicking in. She pressed further, her eyes gleaming with the thrill of potential gossip. "But did she mention Lex at all? Or her father, Lionel? There's got to be some juicy details there."

"Not really," Tyson said, "It was mostly small talk."

Pete laughed, clapping Tyson on the shoulder. "Man, you had a golden opportunity. That's weak, bro."

Chloe wasn't letting up. "Did she say anything about why they moved to Smallville? I mean, it's not every day that the Luthors decide to grace our little town with their presence."

Tyson shrugged. "It was a short bus ride, you know? And you're right, Pete, I fumbled badly. She's really pretty, made me nervous. I kinda locked up," he explained.

Kara stood a short distance away, her keen hearing picking up every word of the conversation between Tyson and the two students who had been watching them on the bus. She leaned against a nearby tree, pretending to be engrossed in her phone while covertly observing the interaction. As Tyson fumbled through his responses, Kara's lips curved up. She appreciated his discretion, noting how he managed to deflect their probing questions without revealing anything substantial about their conversation on the bus. It was a relief to see that he wasn't the type to gossip or spill secrets at the first opportunity. When he mentioned that she was pretty, Kara felt a warmth spread across her cheeks. She quickly ducked her head, using her long blonde hair as a curtain to hide the slight blush that had appeared. She knew that she was attractive, but the unprompted compliment was unexpected. She smiled, pleased, as she walked into school.

A tall, dark-haired boy walked up to Chloe and Pete, his arms laden with textbooks. "Hi, guys," he said, flashing a casual grin.

Chloe's brows furrowed, her lips pursing in confusion. "Uh... Didn't you miss the bus?"

The boy's smile turned sly, almost secretive. "I took a shortcut."

"Through what? A black hole?" Chloe retorted with one eyebrow arched incredulously.

Pete jumped in, "Clark, you'll have to excuse our intrepid reporter. Seems her weirdar is on Def Con 5. Meet the new guy, Tyson. Tyson, Clark Kent."

Clark stood tall, easily towering over Pete and Chloe. His broad shoulders and muscular frame were evident beneath the loose-fitting plaid shirt and jeans.

"Nice to meet you, Tyson," Clark said, extending a hand. His deep and warm voice had a hint of a Midwestern twang.

Tyson shook Clark's hand, recognizing the firm grip. "Likewise."

As they approached the school entrance, Tyson studied Clark more closely. The boy's jet-black hair was neatly combed. Clark's face was a perfect blend of boyish charm and chiseled maturity. His jawline was strong and defined, hinting at the heroic profile he would one day be known for. His eyes were striking blue. Tyson stood slightly over six feet tall and had a muscular build akin to a swimmer's. But Clark was taller yet and had a stockier, more muscular frame. He knew with certainty that he had just met Superman. Or rather, the young man who would become Superman. The physical resemblance was undeniable, from the chiseled jawline to the blue eyes. But it was more than that. There was something in Clark's demeanor, a quiet strength and innate goodness that radiated from him.

"So, Tyson, where are you from?"

Tyson blinked, momentarily caught off guard. "Oh, uh, New York," he replied.

Clark's eyebrows rose with interest. "Wow, that's quite a change. How do you like Smallville so far?"

"It's... different," Tyson admitted. "But I think I'm going to like it here."

Pete said, "That's cool, man. You're a long way from the big city."

"Yeah, still getting used to small-town life."

"Well, you've come to the right place," Chloe chirped, "Smallville is... small. But it has its charms once you get to know it, especially if you're into weird."

"For sure," Pete agreed. "Don't scare him off on his first day."

Chloe continued, "I'm the editor of the school paper, The Torch. We cover all the strange happenings around here. Smallville is practically the unexplained phenomena capital of Kansas."

Tyson's eyebrows raised. "Oh yeah? What kind of strange happenings?"

"You know, unexplained events, urban legends, mysteries, those sorts of things," Chloe said.

"But never mind that for now." Pete tried to change the subject. "We can point you in the direction of the main office so you can get your schedule and locker."

Chloe cut in. "Okay, just because everyone else chooses to ignore the strange things that happen in this leafy little hamlet doesn't mean that they don't happen."

Pete rolled his eyes. "Now, you know we'd love to join you and Scooby inside the Mystery Machine for another zany adventure, but we got to hand in these permission slips before homeroom."

"Actually, Pete, I'm having second thoughts. I don't think signing up for the team is such a great idea."

Pete looked at him incredulously. "Clark, listen, this is the only way."

Chloe said, "Let me see that." She read over the permission slip, and her eyes went wide. "Wait. Wait. Wait. Wait. Are you trying out for the football team? What is this?" She giggled.

Pete leaned in, whispering intensely. "We're trying to avoid becoming this year's scarecrow."

Chloe furrowed her brow in confusion. "What are you talking about?" She raised her voice mockingly and asked, "And why are we whispering?"

Pete explained in a hushed tone, "It's a tradition. Every year before the first game, the football players select someone, take him off to Reilly Field, strip him down to his boxers, to paint an 'S' on his chest."

Clark chimed in grimly, "And then string him up like a scarecrow."

Chloe looked disturbed. "Jeez, that sounds like years of therapy waiting to happen."

Pete nodded. "Why do you think we're trying out for the team? Figure they won't choose one of their own."

Chloe turned to Tyson curiously. "What about you? Do you play football too? Going to become a jock and get your brains bashed in on the field for the next three months so you can avoid getting strung up for a day?"

Tyson laughed awkwardly. "When you say it like that..." He trailed off, not sure how to respond.

"Why not? You've got the build. You'd make a good wide receiver if you have any speed and decent hands." Pete added, "And then there's the dance afterward. The Kickoff Dance, to celebrate the start of the season and the school year."

Chloe shook her head in disbelief. "I can't believe the administration allows such a barbaric ritual. I'm investigating this for The Torch."

Clark pivoted around and spotted a girl heading their way. Tyson turned to see what caught his attention. Her long, chestnut hair and delicate Asian features caught his eye, just as it had Clark's. Her radiant smile lit up her face as she walked towards them.

"Earth to Clark," Chloe said, waving a hand in front of his face. "You might want to wipe that drool off your chin."

Clark blushed, the red tinge spreading across his cheeks in a way that made him look endearingly human. Chloe exchanged a knowing glance with Pete. Clark was still staring, not paying any attention to the rest of them.

Pete mumbled, "Ten seconds."

Tyson looked between them curiously. He lowered his voice and asked, "What's going on?"

"Five," Chloe whispered cryptically, not answering Tyson's question.

Pete began counting. "One, two, three..."

As Lana got close, Clark's legs gave out. He lurched forward, and the stack of books he cradled flew in all directions across the sidewalk.

Chloe leaned close to Tyson and whispered, "It's a statistical fact that anytime Clark gets within five feet of Lana Lang, he turns into a total freakshow."

She held her hand out, and Pete begrudgingly placed the five-dollar bill he'd won on the bus back into her palm.

Tyson chuckled, muttering, "Okay, that was spot on." He glanced at Lana as she helped Clark gather his things. "She's cute, but she's not make-you-weak-in-the-knees-cute."

"Don't let Whitney hear you say that," Pete said.

"Who's Whitney?" Tyson asked, confused. "She what passes for a 'mean girl' around here?"

Chloe laughed and pointed towards the entrance, where an athletic-looking young man with blonde hair approached Lana. "No. That's Whitney. The star quarterback and Lana's boyfriend."

They all bent down to help Clark finish gathering his books. Tyson wondered why he looked sick like he was nauseous. If this was supposed to be Superman, why would he act like this?

"Hey guys," Lana said, looking at Tyson and asking in a warm and welcoming tone, "Is this our new student?"

"Yep, this is Tyson. He's just moved here from New York."

Lana extended her hand. "Hi Tyson, I'm Lana Lang, one of the cheerleaders, and I was chosen to welcome you to Smallville High."

Tyson took her hand. "Nice to meet you, Lana. Thanks for the warm welcome."

"So, New York, huh?" Lana's eyes sparkled with interest. "That must be quite a change. How are you finding Smallville so far?"

"It's different. Quieter, for one thing. But everyone's been friendly so far."

"Well, we do our best," Lana said with a playful wink. "If you need help finding your way around or have any questions, don't hesitate to ask."

As they chatted, Tyson noticed the tall, athletic guy Chloe had pointed out was approaching. His letterman jacket marked him as one of the jocks, and his eyes were fixed on Lana. The newcomer slid an arm around Lana's waist, pulling her close. "Hey, babe," he said, planting a quick kiss on her cheek before turning his attention to Tyson. His eyes narrowed slightly as he sized up the new student. Then he turned to Clark and said, "Hey, Kent. Still can't keep your feet under you, huh?"

Clark's cheeks flushed as he stared at the sidewalk, mumbling something unintelligible. Whitney let out a derisive snort and draped a possessive arm around Lana's slender waist. She seemed to sense the tension and quickly made introductions. "Whitney, this is Tyson. He's new here from New York. Tyson, this is Whitney Fordman, my boyfriend."

Whitney nodded curtly, his arm still firmly around her. "Welcome to Smallville," he said, his tone not quite matching the friendliness of his words.

Tyson met Whitney's gaze evenly, unfazed by the obvious display of territoriality. "Thanks, man. Appreciate it."

Whitney tugged gently on Lana's waist. "We should get going, Lana. Don't want to be late for class."

Lana looked apologetic as she allowed Whitney to guide her away. "It was nice meeting you, Tyson. See you around!"

Tyson watched them go, but as they walked away, he called, "Bye, Lana, nice to meet you!" His voice was just a touch louder than necessary, causing Whitney to glance back with a glare.

Once they were out of earshot, Tyson said, "Guessing that's the local jock douchebag," he said while nodding sagely as if discovering some great piece of wisdom.

Pete shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. "That's high school," he said. "Whitney's not so bad. He's just protective of Lana."

Tyson cocked an eyebrow at Pete's assessment. "Protective? His posture seems more possessive than protective," he observed, his tone matter-of-fact.

Chloe's eyes lit up at Tyson's words. "Ooh, asking all the right questions!" she exclaimed. "Any aspirations of being a journalist, Tyson?"

He chuckled, tucking his hands casually into his pockets. "Not really," he answered honestly. "Just calling it like I see it."

Chloe nodded approvingly. "Well, you've got a good eye. That's half the battle in journalism."

The first bell rang, signaling two minutes until homeroom. Students began making their way into the building.

Chloe hitched her backpack higher on her shoulder. "We should get going," she said. "Don't want to be late on your first day."

The three of them headed inside. Pete grabbed Clark. "We need to hand in these permission slips before homeroom." he added, "Might want to consider it, Tyson. The way Whitney glared at you, I'd say you're a prime target to be this year's scarecrow."

They pointed Tyson toward the main office and bid him farewell. The office was easy to find, its glass doors emblazoned with the school's crest. He pushed open the door and stepped inside. The office was a hive of activity, with phones ringing, printers whirring, and staff bustling about in the rush of the first day. A middle-aged woman with graying hair pulled back in a tight bun sat behind the front desk, peering at a computer screen through half-moon glasses.

Tyson approached the desk, clearing his throat. "Excuse me, I'm a new student. I need to get my class schedule and locker assignment."

The woman looked up, her stern expression softening slightly as she took in Tyson's uncertain demeanor. "Of course, dear. I'll need to see your ID to finish your registration first."

Tyson had been dreading this moment. Slowly, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet, extracting the strange ID card with only his first name. He handed it over, bracing himself for questions or accusations. The secretary took the card, glancing at it briefly before turning to her computer. Her fingers clacked against the keys as she entered his information. Tyson held his breath, waiting for her to realize something was amiss.

But that moment never came.

"Alright, Tyson," she said, returning the ID to him. "Everything seems to be in order. Let me print out your schedule and locker information."

Tyson blinked, surprised. He opened his mouth to say something, then thought better of it. If she wasn't going to make an issue of his unusual ID, he certainly wasn't going to bring it up. The printer behind her whirred to life and spat out a few sheets of paper. She gathered them, stapled them together, and handed the packet to Tyson.

"Here you go," she said, "Your locker number and combination are at the top of the first page. Your class schedule is on the second page, and a school map is on the third page to help you navigate."

Tyson took the papers. "Thank you."

"Is there anything else you need help with?" the secretary asked.

Tyson shook his head. "No, I think that's everything."

"Well, if you have any questions later, don't hesitate to return," she said. "Welcome to Smallville High, Tyson."

He nodded his thanks and turned to leave. As he pushed open the office door and stepped back into the hallway, he glanced down at the papers in his hand. He couldn't shake the surreal feeling that had settled over him. He'd just interacted with a school official using an ID that should have raised all sorts of red flags, and yet... nothing.

He spotted his locker nestled in a long row of identical metal doors. Tyson approached it, glancing at the combination on his paper. Then, he spun the dial, carefully following the numbers.

The hallway emptied around him as he concentrated on lining up the tumblers. Homeroom was over, and the warning bell for the first period had rung, sending students scurrying off to their classrooms.

Finally, Tyson opened the lock and began unloading his backpack into the dingy metal locker. It was empty, save for a few shelves and a small hook for hanging a coat. As he arranged his new textbooks on the shelf, he became aware of the silence of the previously busy corridor. Shutting his locker door with a metallic clang, Tyson hoisted his backpack over one shoulder and turned to head to class. Further down the hall, he noticed a display case filled with sports trophies and framed photos.

The only other person in the hall was a lone figure standing before the case.

Tyson took a few steps forward before stopping short as the young man suddenly drew back a fist and punched through the glass. Shattered fragments tinkled to the tiled floor around his feet. The boy reached in, grabbing a framed photo off the shelf.

"It's payback time," he muttered under his breath.

Tyson was unsure how to process this random act of vandalism. The boy examined the photo in his hand. It depicted three football players on the field, their faces obscured by their helmets. With a satisfied nod, he tucked the picture into his jacket and turned to walk away.

As the boy passed by Tyson, he seemed oblivious to his presence.

"That's not ominous," Tyson mumbled to himself. Clearly, there was some bad blood between this mystery vandal and whoever was in that photo. He considered reporting what he'd witnessed to a teacher or the principal, but he had no idea who the boy was. And on his very first day, Tyson wasn't eager to get embroiled in Smallville High drama. Shaking his head, he continued to his first class, History, in room 214. Checking the room numbers, Tyson went up to the second floor. The hallways were completely deserted now that class had officially started.

Two dozen faces swiveled to look at him as he entered the classroom. The room was already full of students, some chatting animatedly while others sat quietly, noses buried in books or phones. He scanned the room, looking for any familiar faces.

To his relief, he spotted Chloe sitting near the back of the class. She caught his eye and waved him over, gesturing to an empty desk next to her.

"Hey, new guy," Chloe greeted him as he slid into the seat. "Looks like we're History buddies."

"Yeah, looks like it. Thanks for saving me a seat."

"No problem," Chloe replied. She leaned in conspiratorially. "So, how'd the office visit go? Any trouble with your paperwork?"

"No, paperwork was fine," he said. "But I saw something weird in the hall. Some guy smashed the glass on one of the trophy cases and swiped a photo from an old football team display."

"Get out," Chloe whispered. She leaned in, sending her blonde hair swishing. "What'd he look like?"

"I didn't get a great look, but pretty average. White guy, average height, hoodie." Tyson shrugged. "He was mumbling something about payback before he took off."

"Yikes." Chloe shook her head, processing this bizarre act of vandalism. "Wonder what beef he's got with the football team."

"Dunno, made me think of you, though. Sounds like something right up your alley." Before Tyson could speculate further, their teacher rapped her knuckles on the desk, calling the class to order. Chloe shot Tyson an isn't-this-interesting look before swiveling to face forward.

The teacher began lecturing. "We'll be starting the year with some local history," she began. "The meteor shower of 1989 profoundly impacted Smallville and its residents. Overnight, our quiet rural town was transformed into the so-called Meteor Capital of the World."

— Meteor Freak —

At lunchtime, Chloe and Pete found Tyson and asked, "Want to head out and grab some lunch? Seniors don't have to eat in the cafeteria, and the food is barely edible anyway."

Tyson agreed, eager to see the town. The three of them made their way off campus, following the students as they spilled onto Smallville's main street.

The school was close to the small downtown area, making it convenient for kids to walk and grab food. As they strolled along the sidewalk, Chloe launched into an animated monologue about the infamous "Wall of Weird" that adorned the office of her school newspaper, The Torch.

"It's where I track all the bizarre happenings and unexplained events around Smallville," she explained enthusiastically. "Ever since the meteor shower, this town has been a hotbed for strange occurrences."

Up ahead, a small crowd had gathered on the sidewalk outside a storefront. An ambulance with its rear doors flung open, was parked haphazardly across the street.

Chloe's eyes lit up. "Something's going on!" She hurried towards the gathering spectators, with Pete and Tyson trailing behind.

"So much for a quiet lunch," Pete muttered, though his tone held a note of curiosity rather than annoyance.

The three of them nudged through the circle of onlookers until they had a clear view of the scene unfolding. Two paramedics were wheeling a stretcher out of the building. On top was a figure strapped down beneath mummy-like wrappings. Only tufts of dark hair poked out from the thick bandages swaddling the person's head and torso.

Chloe whipped out a notepad, jotting down details as she watched intently. "Male victim, severe lacerations and burns, potentially disfiguring injuries..." she narrated under her breath.

As the paramedics loaded the stretcher into the back of the ambulance, a police officer did his best to disperse the crowd.

"Alright, folks, let's clear out. Nothing more to see here," he announced, making shooing gestures.

The small mob drifted away slowly, murmuring about what might have happened. Chloe lingered longer than most, firing off questions at the officer.

"Was there an explosion? Faulty gas line? Meteor rock involvement?"

The policeman put up a hand, cutting off her inquiry. "Sorry, miss, we're still investigating the cause. Please step back."

Pete shook his head as the ambulance sped away, sirens blaring.

"That's the third guy this week." Chloe flipped to a new page in her notebook, scribbling down the observation. "And they're all former jocks," she mused.

Pete tapped Chloe on the shoulder to get her attention. "Who's the weirdo?" He nodded towards a teenage boy with shaggy brown hair lingering across the street, watching the scene with a strange intensity.

Chloe eyed him. "I don't know. He looks suspicious, though. Let's check him out." She stealthily snapped a photo of the boy before he wandered down the sidewalk.

As they turned to leave, Tyson mumbled under his breath, "That's the guy from earlier."

Pete's head swiveled towards him. "You've seen him before?"

"Yeah, when I was getting my locker," Tyson explained. "He smashed the trophy case.'"

Pete asked, "And you didn't say anything?"

Tyson shrugged. "Hey, I'm from New York. Keeping your head down and minding your business is a way of life."

Tyson's gaze drifted across the street, landing on Smallville Savings and Loan. An ATM stood on the building's exterior.

"Hey guys, I need to grab some cash," Tyson announced, already stepping off the curb. "Be right back."

Chloe and Pete nodded, engrossed in a debate about the mysterious attacks. Tyson jogged across the street. This was his chance to test out that strange black card he'd found in his wallet. He fished the card from his pocket. No bank name, no logo, just a simple magnetic strip on the back. Tyson slid it into the machine.

The screen prompted him for a PIN. He had no idea what code went with this card. On instinct, his fingers moved, tapping out the four digits he'd used back home. To his surprise, the machine accepted it without hesitation. A menu of options appeared. Tyson's finger hovered over 'Withdrawal' before shifting to 'Balance Inquiry.' He needed to know what he was working with before he started throwing money around.

He half-expected an error message to pop up. Instead, numbers began to appear on the screen. At first, Tyson thought the decimal point was in the wrong place. He blinked hard, certain his eyes were playing tricks on him.

$42,500,000,000.00

Tyson's jaw dropped. He glanced over his shoulder, paranoid that someone might see the impossible sum. Chloe and Pete were still across the street, oblivious to his discovery.

"What the hell," Tyson muttered, shaking his head in disbelief. He counted the zeroes once, twice, three times. It couldn't be right. Forty-two and a half billion dollars? That was more money than most countries had in their treasuries.

Tyson ejected the card from the machine, his palms suddenly sweaty. He wiped them on his jeans, took another steadying breath, and reinserted the card. Maybe it was a glitch, a one-time error. He punched the PIN again, and the same options appeared. Tyson hit 'Balance Inquiry' once more, his heart pounding. The machine hummed, and the numbers reappeared.

$42,500,000,000.00

It wasn't a mistake. This mysterious black card was somehow, impossibly, linked to an account containing billions of dollars.

He canceled the transaction and pocketed the card. Tyson's thoughts raced as he crossed back to where Chloe and Pete waited. Where had the money come from?

He stole another glance at the card as he walked. Questions teemed through his thoughts. Where could such money have come from? And how did the card find its way to him? For it to fall into his possession made no sense. Unless...

Tyson stopped abruptly, struck by a wild idea.

"I'm Batman."

His friends turned, perplexed. Tyson felt heat rising to his cheeks.

"What are you talking about?" Chloe asked.

Tyson fumbled for a response. "Oh, uh, nothing. Just thinking out loud."

He brushed past them, anxious to be alone with his speculation. Because if he was right, if he had somehow stepped into the shoes of Gotham's Dark Knight, then his life had just become more interesting. And dangerous.

"You okay, man?" Pete asked as Tyson rejoined them. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Tyson quipped, "Yeah, just... low blood sugar. We should probably grab that food."

— Meteor Freak —

The final school bell rang, echoing through the emptying halls. Tyson hurried after Chloe as she strode purposefully toward the Torch office, Pete on their heels.

Chloe made a beeline for the bookshelf, sliding out a dusty yearbook. She flipped it open on her cluttered desk, tapping a photo of a shy, brown-haired boy.

"Jeremy Creek. This was him twelve years ago," she announced.

Tyson, Clark, and Pete crowded around the desk as Chloe clicked open a grainy photo on her computer. It was the same boy.

"I took this just four hours ago," she added pointedly.

Pete leaned in, squinting at the photos. He shook his head in disbelief. "No way. He'd be twenty-six now. This must be some kid who just looks like him."

Clark's brow furrowed as he examined the eerily identical faces. "But how could that be possible?" he protested. "It can't be the same person."

Chloe crossed her arms. "That's what we're going to find out."

"My money was on the evil twin theory," Pete replied. "Until we checked this missing persons report."

Chloe passed a printed document to Tyson, who scanned it quickly.

"Jeremy disappeared from the state infirmary a few days ago, where he'd been in a coma for 12 years," Clark summarized. "They say he suffered from massive electrolyte imbalance."

"That explains why he hasn't aged a day," Pete commented. "So you're telling me he just woke up?"

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Chloe paused, reconsidering her words. "No, that's not quite right. There was a massive electrical storm that night. The hospital's backup generator failed, plunging the building into darkness. When the power finally came back on, Jeremy's hospital room was empty. His bedsheets were tossed aside like he'd simply gotten up and walked away."

"So the zap from the outage brought Frankenstein's monster back to life, eh?" Pete chuckled.

"Does science actually work like that?" Tyson asked doubtfully. "An electrolyte imbalance slowing the aging process? That'd be too easy to make into an immortality pill to sell. None of this makes sense."

"Around here, all bets are off when it comes to weird science. In Smallville, you learn to expect the unexpected." Chloe explained.

Clark's eyes narrowed in thought. "And now he's back in town, putting former jocks into comas. Why?"

She slid a newspaper clipping across the desk. "Because they chose Jeremy Creek as the scarecrow twelve years ago today."

He scanned the yellowed article. "Comatose boy found in a field, twenty yards from a meteor strike," he read aloud.

"The exposure to the blast must have done something to his body," Chloe theorized intensely.

Clark shook his head, still skeptical. "No, this can't be right."

Chloe exchanged a meaningful glance with Pete, then turned to Clark. Pete said, "I think you ought to show them."

"Show us what?"

Without another word, Chloe led the group to a closed door. She paused with her hand on the doorknob for dramatic effect before swinging it open to reveal a darkened room. Pete reached in and flipped on the light switch.

As illumination flooded the space, Chloe stepped inside, gesturing grandly at the walls.

Clark's eyes widened as he took in the sight. "What is it?"

Chloe grinned, spreading her arms wide before the cluttered display.

"Meet the Wall of Weird. It started as a scrapbook and just kind of mutated," she explained.

The walls were plastered with newspaper clippings, photographs, and handwritten notes, covering every inch of space in a chaotic collage of information.

Tyson stepped closer, examining a yellowed newspaper article from the Smallville Ledger. The headline proclaimed: "Area Man Gains Finger on Left Hand, Loses One on Right."

Chloe's voice took on an intense tone. "That's when it all began. When the town went schizo."

Another clipping caught Tyson's eye. "River Dredging Reveals Bizarre, Glow-in-the-Dark Geodes." he squinted. Glowing geodes from a meteor shower?

It had to be kryptonite.

Chloe watched their reactions eagerly. "So, what do you think?"

Pete said, "I think I need to get ready for the game. Later guys"

As Pete left, Clark moved slowly around the room. "Why didn't you tell me about this?" he asked.

Chloe's enthusiasm dimmed slightly, replaced by a hint of annoyance. "Do you tell me everything that happens in your life? We all keep secrets, Clark."

As Clark continued to study the wall, his gaze landed on a Time magazine cover. A young Lana Lang stared out from the glossy page, dressed in a princess outfit and with tears streaking her cheeks. The headline read, "Heartbreak in the Heartland."

Clark froze, his face draining of color as he stared at the image. "Lana?" he whispered. His voice grew strained, and he felt a sudden guilt. "My fault. It's all my fault."

Without warning, Clark bolted from the room, leaving Chloe staring after him in confusion.

Chloe "What was that about?" she asked, perplexed by Clark's abrupt departure.

Tyson said, "I'll go check on him," but it took only a moment for him to deduce the cause of Clark's distress. He was realizing where the meteors came from. The meteor shower, likely coinciding with his arrival on Earth, wasn't coincidental. Subsequently, he concluded that Lana's parents' deaths were his fault.

— Meteor Freak —

The final bell rang, signaling the end of another school day at Smallville High. A wave of students poured out of the building. After a long day of classes, freedom from school, and the upcoming football game and dance energized the crowd as they spilled onto the front steps.

Clark Kent emerged from the main doors, his shoulders slumped and his gaze fixed on the ground. The image of young Lana on that magazine cover haunted him, stirring up a maelstrom of emotions.

It was his fault. His arrival had brought the meteor shower. Because of him, Lana's parents died.

Lost in his thoughts, Clark didn't notice the figure approaching from behind. A hand grabbed his shoulder. Clark's body tensed, his jaw clenching as he spun around. "Chloe, just leave me alone," he snapped.

But it wasn't Chloe standing there. Clark's eyes widened as he found himself face to face with Whitney Fordman, the star quarterback and Lana's boyfriend.

"Congratulations, Clark," Whitney drawled, his grip tightening on Clark's shoulder. "You're this year's scarecrow."

Clark's nostrils flared. He knocked Whitney's hand away forcefully, his patience wearing thin. "Don't mess with me right now," he growled, his normally gentle demeanor replaced by barely contained anger.

Whitney's smirk widened, clearly relishing the confrontation. He took a step closer, invading Clark's personal space. "Come on," he taunted, shoving Clark's chest. "Bring it on."

He shrugged off his letterman jacket and tossed it aside. The move drew cheers from a small crowd of students gathering to watch the fight. Whitney's fellow football players whooped and hollered, egging him on.

Clark's fists clenched at his sides. He'd had enough of Whitney's bullying, enough of feeling powerless. He swung his fist towards Whitney's smug face.

But something was wrong.

As Clark extended his arm, his eyes caught a flash of green. Around Whitney's neck hung a necklace, its pendant a small, glowing green stone. The sight of it sent a jolt of weakness through Clark's body. His punch went wide, missing Whitney entirely. The quarterback seized the opportunity. He grabbed Clark by the front of his shirt and threw him to the ground. Clark hit the pavement hard, knocking the wind out of him. He tried to push himself up, but his arms felt like lead. Waves of nausea washed over him, leaving him dizzy and disoriented.

Whitney loomed over Clark, his face twisted with anger. He yanked Clark up by his shirt collar, bringing their faces close together. "What's going on with you and Lana?" he demanded, his voice low and threatening.

Clark's eyes were drawn to the necklace again. The strange green stone pulsed with an otherworldly light. Each pulse sent another wave of weakness through Clark's body. He could barely keep his eyes focused on Whitney's face.

"Nothing," Clark managed to choke out.

Whitney opened his mouth to say more, but Tyson, having pushed his way through the crowd of onlookers, charged forward. He slammed into Whitney, catching the larger boy by surprise and shoving him away. Tyson wasn't any bigger than Whitney, around the same size as the football player, but caught the quarterback off-guard and had a running start.

Whitney stumbled backward, momentarily losing his grip on Clark. Two of his teammates reached out, steadying him before he could fall. His face contorted with rage as he regained his footing, glaring daggers at Tyson. He shrugged off his teammates' steadying hands.

"You've got a death wish, new kid?" he snarled, taking a menacing step forward.

Tyson paid no attention to Whitney's fury. He crouched down beside Clark. "Up we go, buddy," he said, reaching out to help his friend.

Clark nodded weakly, still feeling the effects of his strange reaction to the necklace. With Tyson's assistance, he managed to get to his feet, though he swayed slightly.

A crowd of students gathered, forming a loose circle around the confrontation. Tyson spotted Kara among them. Excited whispers rippled through the gathering, many shocked to see someone standing up to Whitney and his crew. The lineman came up to stand behind the quarterback's shoulders.

"I didn't like how you looked at Lana this morning, new guy." Whitney threateningly said.

"I don't even know who you're talking about, bro," he said cheekily. "I met so many new people today that sorting out everyone's name is hard. Was she the cute cheerleader who flirted with me this morning?"

An expectant hush had fallen over the crowd. The football players flanking Whitney looked ready to jump in at a moment's notice. Kara moved to intervene, pushing her way through the gathered crowd. As she neared the inner circle surrounding Tyson, Clark, and Whitney, the gemstone hanging from the quarterback's neck began to emit an eerie green glow. Kara faltered, her face draining of color. She staggered back a step, confusion and pain etched across her delicate features.

Tyson's eyes darted between Clark and Whitney, trying to make sense of the situation. He also caught Kara stumbling in the crowd. Why did they look so weak? Something wasn't adding up. That's when he noticed the necklace dangling from Whitney's neck, its green gemstone glowing ever so slightly.

Kryptonite.

It weakened Kara even at a distance. Tyson decided to double down on his cheeky approach toward Whitney. He figured that if he could keep Whitney's attention on him, it might give Clark a chance to recover. He plastered on his most irritating smirk.

"Oh. That's right, she's your girl. My bad. I didn't mean to stare earlier. I forgot my glasses this morning. I've been squinting all day trying to see."

His excuse sounded lame even to his ears, but a few gathered students seemed to buy it. The crowd's tension relaxed slightly as a few people chuckled at Tyson's fumbling explanation.

Whitney's eyes narrowed, unsatisfied with Tyson's attempt to back down. "Yeah, right," he sneered. "You were ogling Lana, and I'm not going to let you get away with disrespecting her like that."

"Disrespecting her or disrespecting you?" Tyson shot back. "I mean, I get the shtick you're going for. Small-town quarterback dating the prettiest cheerleader, getting overly jealous of the slightest threat to his temporary relationship. You're like a living stereotype of that guy that every guy hates in high school. Let me guess: you're either going to college on a football scholarship, where you'll probably get injured, lose the money, and become the town drunk, spending the rest of your life reminiscing about your peak, which was probably right before this dance… or you'll join the military. I'm hoping for the second one because it's respectable career path."

Whitney stepped closer, fists clenched. The crowd laughed, jeered, and shouted their encouragement. One guy loudly declared, "Oh my god, he just ended Whitney's life."

Tyson shifted his tone and leaned further into irreverence. If he was going to get into a fight, at least he'd make it interesting. "Eh, relax. I'm just kidding. But since you're getting defensive, I think you realize she's out of your league." He continued, his mouth taking on a life of its own. "Nice necklace you're wearing, though, must be hers. Is that some Kansas version of holding her purse? Or maybe like a reverse promise ring… Are you wearing it to show that you're taken?"

Whitney took a menacing step forward, closing the distance between himself and Tyson. "You think you're funny, new kid?" he growled, looming over Tyson.

Tyson stood his ground. "I have my moments," he replied with a shrug.

Whitney's hand shot out, grabbing two fistfuls of Tyson's shirt. "Let's see how funny you are when I rearrange your face. The quarterback's muscles bulged, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the fabric tightly.

"Not so tough now. Are you?" Whitney sneered, his hot breath washing over Tyson's face.

But Whitney had made a critical error. In his anger, he'd used both hands to grab Tyson, leaving himself completely exposed. Tyson recognized the opportunity presented to him. He knew he had to act fast.

Without hesitation, Tyson brought his knee up with all the force he could muster. It connected solidly with Whitney's groin. The sound that escaped the quarterback's lips was somewhere between a gasp and a squeak. His eyes bulged, and his face drained of color. His grip on Tyson's shirt loosened instantly as the pain registered. Whitney dropped him before crumpling. The quarterback folded in on himself, collapsing to the pavement. He curled into a tight ball, both hands clutching his injured manhood. A high-pitched whine escaped as he rocked back and forth.

The crowd of students erupted in a cacophony of shocked gasps, nervous laughter, and excited chatter. No one had ever seen Whitney laid low like this before.

Tyson, caught up in the moment and flush with adrenaline, couldn't resist the urge to gloat. He leaned over Whitney's prone form. "Can you still play quarterback with your balls in your throat?" Tyson taunted, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

The gathered students exploded into laughter, some even breaking into applause. Tyson basked in the moment.

But his victory was short-lived.

Two meaty hands clamped down on Tyson's shoulders, spinning him around. He found himself face-to-face with two of Whitney's teammates, their expressions a mix of shock and fury.

"You're dead, new kid," one of them growled, his fist already cocked back.

Tyson realized his mistake.

He'd been so focused on Whitney that he'd forgotten about the quarterback's defensive line.

The first punch caught him square in the jaw, snapping his head to the side. Stars exploded behind his eyes as pain radiated through his face. He stumbled backward, his arms coming up to defend himself. But he wasn't the best fighter, and against two opponents, he stood little chance. The second player's fist slammed into Tyson's stomach, driving the air from his lungs. As he doubled over, gasping for breath, the first player grabbed him by the hair, yanking his head back up. Another punch connected with Tyson's nose, a sickening crunch accompanying a burst of pain. Warm blood began to trickle down his face.

The crowd's cheers had turned to a mix of horrified gasps and excited shouts. Some students called for the fight to stop, while others egged the football players on. But no one stepped in to help Tyson.

He tried to fight back, swinging wildly at his attackers. But staggered, and with his nose busted, he had a hard time focusing. His punches were sloppy and ineffective, born of desperation rather than skill. One of his flailing fists managed to catch the cheek of one of the players, but it didn't matter because the other capitalized on the opening. The two football players worked in tandem, one holding Tyson up while the other pummeled him. Fists rained down on Tyson's face and body, each impact sending fresh waves of pain through him. His vision blurred, and his ears rang from the hits.

Just when he thought he couldn't take anymore, the beating stopped. He sagged in his attacker's grip, his legs barely supporting him. Through swollen eyes, Tyson saw Whitney slowly getting to his feet, his face still pale and drawn with pain.

"Throw him in the truck," Whitney ordered.

Tyson felt himself being lifted, his feet leaving the ground once more. But this time, there was no chance for retaliation. His body felt like one giant bruise, and he could barely summon the strength to lift his head. The world spun around him as he was carried across the parking lot. He caught glimpses of shocked faces in the crowd, some looking away in shame, others watching with morbid fascination. Tyson tried to speak, but all that escaped was a pained groan.

With a grunt of effort, the two football players heaved Tyson into the back of a pickup truck. He landed hard on the metal bed, the impact knocking what little air remained from his lungs. Tyson lay there, gasping like a fish out of water, unable to move.

Through the ringing in his ears, he heard the truck's doors slam shut. The engine roared to life, and the vehicle began to move. As they pulled out of the parking lot, Tyson turned his head just enough to see Clark still standing where they'd left him, looking pale and confused. The truck picked up speed. Tyson's battered body slid across the metal surface with each turn.

From his position in the truck bed, Tyson could make out Whitney in the passenger seat. The quarterback's head was tilted back against the headrest, his eyes closed as he took deep, steadying breaths. They drove through Smallville. The few pedestrians who noticed the truck didn't seem to register anything amiss, their gazes sliding past Tyson's battered form. The buildings of downtown Smallville gave way to open fields and cornstalks stretching as far as the eye could see.

The truck hit a pothole, jostling Tyson violently. His head smacked against the side of the bed, sending a fresh wave of dizziness washing over him. And blackness crept in at the edges of his vision.

— Meteor Freak — 

Tyson's world exploded in pain as a fist slammed into his stomach. His eyes snapped open, a gasp tearing from his throat. Instinctively, he tried to curl in on himself, to protect his aching abdomen, but his arms wouldn't move. Confusion clouded his mind as he struggled against the restraints.

As the fog of unconsciousness lifted, he became acutely aware of his surroundings. The setting sun painted the sky in hues of orange and pink, casting long shadows across a sea of corn stalks. A cool breeze whispered through the field, raising goosebumps on his exposed skin.

Exposed skin?

Tyson's eyes widened as he realized he was clad only in his boxers. His gaze darted down, taking in his current predicament. He was suspended several feet off the ground, his arms stretched to either side. A rope bit into his wrists, securing him to a wooden crossbeam. His ankles were similarly bound, leaving him in a grotesque parody of a scarecrow.

Whitney Fordman's smug face swam into view. "How's it hanging?" the quarterback taunted, his eyes gleaming maliciously.

Despite the pain radiating through his body and the precariousness of his situation, Tyson couldn't resist firing back. "I should be asking you that. Got anything left down there?" he quipped, his voice hoarse but defiant.

Whitney's face darkened as his smirk twisted into a snarl. He drove his fist into Tyson's stomach. The impact forced the air from Tyson's lungs, leaving him gasping and sputtering.

As Tyson struggled to catch his breath, Whitney reached for something around his neck. The green stone pendant glinted in the fading sunlight as he pulled it over his head. "Since you liked this necklace so much," Whitney sneered, "you can hold onto it for me." He looped the necklace around Tyson's neck. The stone, cool but heavier than it should be, rested against his bare chest. Whitney stepped back, admiring his handiwork. "I'll come get it after I win this game for Smallville."

As Whitney turned to leave, Tyson mustered what little strength he had left. "Good luck, dickless!" he called out.

Whitney didn't bother to turn back, his figure disappearing into the rows of corn. The sound of an engine starting up in the distance signaled his departure, leaving Tyson alone in the gathering darkness.

Time seemed to stretch as Tyson hung there, his body aching. The temperature dropped steadily, causing him to shiver. He tried to focus on anything other than his discomfort, like the rustling of the corn, the chirping of crickets, and the distant hoot of an owl, but it was a losing battle.

Just as despair began to set in, a familiar voice called out. "Tyson! Are you alright?"

Relief washed over Tyson as Clark Kent emerged from the corn, his face etched with concern. Tyson couldn't help but fall back on humor as a defense mechanism despite everything. "You know, I've never been in a cornfield before. Just thought I'd come hang out for a bit."

Clark shook his head, a mix of exasperation and worry in his eyes. "You look pretty roughed up," he observed, moving closer. "Let's get you down from there."

As Clark approached, however, something strange happened. His steps became unsteady, and his face paled visibly. His strength seemed to drain away as he approached. Clark stumbled, catching himself against the wooden post supporting Tyson. His breathing had become labored, and sweat beaded on his forehead.

Tyson warned, "It's the necklace. It's making you sick."

Clark's eyes widened in recognition of Lana's necklace, but he shook his head stubbornly.

Tyson continued, "It's why you stumbled around Lana this morning and why you couldn't throw a punch at Whitney. You're too big to be that weak and clumsy. The others said you were always like that around Lana. It makes sense."

Clark considered for a moment but still said, "Maybe, but I can't leave you like this," he insisted, reaching out with trembling hands to try and untie Tyson's bonds.

Tyson argued, "You can't help me if you can barely stand."

Clark's face contorted with frustration and pain. He took another step forward, his determination evident, but his legs gave out beneath him. He collapsed to his knees, one hand pressed against his chest.

The cornfield rustled ominously as a figure emerged from the shadows. Jeremy Creek stalked forward, his eyes cold and unfeeling as he surveyed the scene. Tyson hung suspended from the wooden crossbeam, his body battered and bruised, while Clark knelt on the ground, doubled over in pain.

"It never changes," Jeremy said flatly.

Clark looked up, his face contorted with discomfort. "Please," he gasped out, "Help him."

Jeremy's gaze flickered between Clark and Tyson. "Hurts, doesn't it?" he asked, his tone devoid of sympathy.

Clark's eyes widened as realization dawned on him. "You… You're Jeremy."

"I thought if I punished them, it would stop," he said, "But it never stops."

Without another word, Jeremy turned and began to walk away, disappearing back into the cornfield.

Tyson, still hanging from his bonds, called out after him. "You're just going to leave me hanging?"

Clark struggled to his feet, swaying slightly as he fought against the effects of the green stone. "Wait," he called out, his voice strained. "Where are you going?"

Jeremy paused at the edge of the clearing, turning back to face them. "Kickoff dance," he replied with a hint of longing in his voice. "I never made it to mine." His expression hardened. "You're both safer here," he said firmly before vanishing into the corn.

Jeremy emerged from the cornfield near the fence surrounding Luthor Fertilizer Plant No. 3. With surprising agility, he vaulted over the barrier and landed on the other side just as a sleek car pulled up to a stop nearby. Lex Luthor sat behind the wheel, his eyes widening in shock as he caught sight of Jeremy and the impossible leap he'd just made over the fence. Time seemed to slow as suddenly Lex was transported back to a childhood ordeal he'd experienced in a similar cornfield. The memory hit him like a physical blow.

By the time Lex shook off the flashback and exited his car, Jeremy had vanished. He stood there momentarily, scanning the area. Just as he was about to return to his vehicle, a faint sound caught his attention. Voices were coming from within.

He grabbed a flashlight from his car and plunged into the corn. The stalks whispered against his expensive suit as he pushed his way through, following the sound of the voices. The beam of his flashlight cut through the darkness, finally illuminating a small clearing where two figures came into view.

"Clark?" Lex asked, astonished. The same young man had saved him when he drove his car off a bridge days earlier.

Clark's head hung low, but at his name, he looked up. His face was pale, and sweat was visible on his brow. Lex shifted his gaze, taking in the scene before him. His eyes widened as he spotted another young man strung up like a macabre scarecrow.

"Aw, jeez," Lex muttered, rushing over. He immediately began working on the ropes binding the boy's wrists. "Who did this to you?"

Tyson, his voice hoarse and strained, croaked out, "Who are you?"

As Lex worked to free Tyson, he noticed Clark taking a few unsteady steps away. Almost immediately, color returned to Clark's face, and his posture straightened.

Lex's brow furrowed with concern. "Clark, you don't look so good. Maybe you should see a doctor." His gaze swept over Tyson's bruised and battered form. "While you should definitely see a doctor," he added, addressing the suspended boy.

Clark shook his head, dismissing Lex's concern. "I'll be okay," he said quickly. Without another word, he turned and rushed off through the cornstalks, leaving Lex and Tyson behind.

"Well, at least let me give you a ride!" Lex called after Clark's retreating form but received no response.

Tyson, still hanging from the crossbeam, spoke up. "I'll take that ride if you don't mind."

Lex turned his attention back to Tyson, working to loosen the last of the ropes. "Sure," he replied.

With a few final tugs, the ropes binding the boy's wrists came loose. Tyson sagged with relief as his feet finally touched the ground. He stumbled slightly as his legs buckled, but Lex reached out quickly to steady him.

"Thanks." Despite his haggard appearance, he was relieved to be back on solid ground. "My name's Tyson. New student, part-time scarecrow, at your service."

Lex couldn't help but chuckle at the boy's attempt at humor in such dire circumstances. "Lex Luthor," he introduced.

As they made their way back through the cornfield towards Lex's car, Tyson leaned heavily on Lex for support. The older man helped Tyson into the passenger seat, then circled to the driver's side. As he slid behind the wheel, he started the engine and pulled away from the fertilizer plant. The headlights cut through the darkness as they headed back towards town.

As Tyson stepped out of Lex's car, his battered body protested every movement.

"You sure you don't want me to drop you at the hospital or at least give you some clothes?" Lex asked, scanning Tyson's bruised form and the tattered remains of his clothes. All he had left intact were his boxers.

Tyson shook his head, wincing slightly. Yet a mischievous glint sparked in his eyes, defying the pain that radiated through his body. "Nah, showing up like this will have more of an impact."

Lex's eyebrows shot up, a mix of disbelief and grudging respect crossing his features. He shook his head, but the corners of his mouth ticked up. "Suit yourself."

"Thanks, Lex," Tyson said, his voice carrying a genuine note of gratitude. "See you around."

As Lex pulled away, the taillights of his expensive car fading into the night, Tyson turned toward the front entrance of Smallville High.

— Meteor Freak — 

Lex's silver Porsche glided to a stop in front of the imposing Luthor manor. The vehicle purred as he cut the engine and stepped out. He strode purposefully towards the grand entrance. As he pushed open the heavy oak doors, he found Kara waiting for him in the foyer. Her piercing blue eyes met his with a mix of concern and frustration.

"I'd ask how your first day of school went, but I saw how it ended," Lex said, "With a boy strung up in a cornfield."

"What did he look like?" Lex described Tyson. Then Kara took a deep breath and began recounting the day's events.

"Everything was going fine. I met that boy in the field, Tyson, on the bus this morning. He seemed friendly and reasonably trustworthy, not a local."

Lex nodded, encouraging her to continue as he loosened his tie.

"After school, he was surrounded by the football team," Kara continued, her voice tinged with a hint of anger. "I went to step in, but when I got close, I inexplicably felt weak."

Lex's eyebrows shot up at this unexpected development. "Weak? How so?"

Kara shook her head, frustration evident in her voice. "I can't explain it. It was like all my strength just drained away. I watched him stand up to them, but I couldn't stop it as he got beat."

Lex's jaw clenched. "Go on," he urged.

"Once they tossed him in the truck and drove off, I felt better," Kara explained.

Lex's eyes narrowed, his analytical mind working to piece together the puzzle. "Did you notice anything unusual about Tyson or the area?"

She paused, considering. "The only thing that caught my attention was the necklace Whitney wore. It glowed when I got close. That's when I felt weak. It looked like meteor rock."

Lex's eyes widened at this revelation. He paced the foyer, his shoes echoing on the marble floor. "Meteor rock? Are you certain?"

"As certain as I can be," Kara replied.

Lex ran a hand over his bald head, his mind racing with the implications. "This is... interesting. Very interesting indeed." He turned to face Kara, his expression intense. "Did anyone else notice your reaction?"

Kara shook her head. "I don't think so. I managed to keep my distance."

"Good," Lex nodded approvingly. "We need to keep this between us for now. I'll look into this Tyson character and see what I can find about him."

Kara crossed her arms and took on a defiant posture. "I want to help. He seemed like a decent guy and didn't deserve what happened to him."

Lex's expression softened slightly. "I understand, Kara. But we need to be careful. If the meteor rocks affect you this way, we can't risk exposing your... unique abilities or your only weakness."

Kara sighed, frustration evident in her voice. "I know, I know. It's just... I feel so helpless sometimes. I can't even use all this power to help people when they need it most."

Lex placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. "I know it's difficult, but we have to play the long game here. There's too much at stake."

Kara nodded reluctantly. "So what's our next move?"

"First, we need to gather more information. I'll use my resources to dig into Tyson's background. See if there's anything unusual about him or his sudden appearance in Smallville."

"And what about the football team?" Kara asked, a hint of anger creeping back into her voice. "We can't just let them get away with what they did."

Lex's lips curled into a small, calculated smile. "Oh, don't worry about that. I have ways of dealing with bullies that don't require superpowers. But I think, in this case, Tyson has that handled. They'll learn their lesson, I assure you."

Kara raised an eyebrow, curious and slightly wary of her brother's methods.

"So, apart from the drama with Tyson and your unexpected reaction to the meteor rock, how was your first day at Smallville High? Make any friends?"

Kara shrugged. "It's... different. Smaller than I expected. Tyson was the highlight of the day. There's this girl, Chloe, who seems a bit too curious for her own good, though. And then there's Lana Lang."

Lex's eyebrows rose at the mention of Lana's name. "Ah, yes. Lana Lang. Quite the local celebrity, from what I understand."

Kara snorted, her tone dripping with sarcasm. "Yeah, if by 'celebrity' you mean 'girl everyone seems obsessed with for no apparent reason.' I don't get it."

Lex chuckled, amused by his sister's blunt assessment. "Small towns often elevate ordinary people to extraordinary status. It's part of their charm... and their danger."

Kara nodded thoughtfully. "I can see that. It's just... strange. Everything here feels so... Limited. And yet, there's more going on beneath the surface."

"That, my dear sister, is the essence of Smallville," Lex said, his voice taking on a philosophical tone. "A town where the extraordinary hides behind a veneer of the mundane. Where meteor rocks can drain your strength, and high school football players can become judge, jury, and executioner."

Kara shuddered slightly at the memory of Tyson strung up in the field. "It's barbaric. How can people accept this as normal?"

Lex's expression darkened. "Fear, tradition, willful ignorance. Take your pick. High school is the peak of most people's lives here, and it shows."

— Meteor Freak —

Tyson steeled himself for the dramatic entrance he was about to make. But before he could take more than a few steps, voices from around the side of the building caught his attention. Curiosity overrode his initial plan, and he limped toward the commotion.

As Tyson rounded the corner, he froze at the sight before him. Clark Kent stood facing Jeremy Creek. Clark's voice carried clearly through the night, a note of warning in his tone. "Jeremy. You need to stop this."

Jeremy halted in surprise, turning to look behind him. His eyes widened as they landed on Clark. "You should have stayed away," he threatened.

Clark's hands clenched into fists at his sides. "I won't let you hurt my friends."

"Those people in there aren't your friends. The sprinklers will get them nice and wet. I'll handle the rest."

Tyson's blood ran cold as he realized the implications of Jeremy's words. The dance was packed with students, all potential victims that Jeremy intended to soak. But then what? He said he'd handle the rest. What did that mean?

He recalled what Chloe and Pete had explained in the Torch earlier. Jeremey had a massive electrolyte imbalance, putting him in a coma after being strung up in a field where a meteor landed. Chloe was convinced the meteors caused all the weird shit in town. Supposedly, Jeremy was shocked and woke up. He'd been targeting the football players who picked him as the scarecrow. They ended up with lacerations and… burns. But if he was burning them, why soak the dance first? Then it hit him.

Electricity.

Dousing them with water would allow him to shock everyone at the dance with his… power.

Clark stepped toward Jeremy, pleading, "They never did anything to you."

The boy's responding laugh was hollow, devoid of any real mirth. "I'm not doing this for me," he said, spreading his arms wide. "I'm doing this for you and all the others like us."

Confusion flashed across Clark's face, quickly replaced by a look of guilt. "What happened to you was my fault," he admitted. "I can understand your pain."

Jeremy's expression hardened. "I'm not in pain," he declared, turning, intending to activate the sprinklers. "I have a gift, a purpose, and a destiny."

"So do I," Clark said, standing face-to-face with Jeremy.

Tyson blinked, his mind struggling to process how fast Clark had moved. He had been dozens of feet away one moment, and the next... he just appeared there.

Jeremy's face contorted with rage. He reached out, electricity crackling between his fingertips as he attempted to electrocute Clark. Instead, Clark moved with inhuman speed, grabbing Jeremy and throwing him into a nearby car, denting the metal. But Jeremy seemed unphased. He slowly pushed himself up from the crumpled hood. He looked at Clark, his eyes burning with anger.

"Give it up, Jeremy."

Jeremy lunged for the car he'd been thrown into, yanking open the driver's side door. The engine roared to life as Jeremy jammed the key into the ignition. Clark's eyes widened in realization. "Jeremy, don't-"

The tires squealed against the pavement as Jeremy floored the accelerator. The car lurched forward, barreling straight towards Clark. In a split-second decision, Clark braced himself, planting his feet firmly on the ground. The impact was thunderous. Metal crumpled against Clark's body as the car slammed into him. A loud crack echoed through the night as the emergency hydrant attached to the wall burst open, unleashing a torrent of water.

The car, with Clark pinned to its front, crashed through the wall in an explosion of brick and mortar. Water gushed from the broken pipe, quickly flooding the area.

Tyson rushed toward the unfolding scene. But as he approached, he knew that Clark would be fine.

After all, Superman wasn't going to be stopped by a car.

Wading through the spraying water, Tyson reached the driver's side door. He yanked it open, grabbing Jeremy's shoulder. "Come on, man, this is insane-"

Suddenly, electricity crackled through the air. Jeremy's eyes glowed with eerie light as he unleashed his power on Tyson. The shock hit Tyson like a freight train, every nerve in his body screaming in agony. His muscles seized up, leaving him frozen in place as the electricity coursed through him.

But then, something changed. The green stone of the necklace Tyson still wore from his time as a scarecrow began to glow. The pain began to fade as the electricity ran through the meteor rock. In its place, a strange warmth spread through Tyson's body. He felt better and stronger as if the electricity was rejuvenating him rather than harming him.

Jeremy's face twisted in confusion and frustration. He redoubled his efforts, pouring more power into his attack. But nothing seemed to be happening. The electricity continued to flow, but Tyson was no longer affected.

Clark, who had extricated himself from the wreckage and was keeping his distance because he was feeling the effects of the necklace, called out in concern. "Tyson, are you alright?"

A fierce grin split Tyson's face. "I feel incredible!" he said over the gushing water, flexing his fingers, marveling at the power thrumming through his veins.

He looked to Clark across the flooded alley. A vibrant aura flickered around him, highlighting him in shades of gold. The radiance did not obscure Tyson's view but marked him as special in his vision.

Clark's eyes widened as he took in Tyson's appearance. "Your bruises... they're healed!"

Tyson glanced down at his arms, noticing for the first time that the marks from his earlier ordeal had vanished. His gaze fell on the glowing green necklace, and a spark of understanding flashed. Ignoring Jeremy, who was still futilely trying to shock him, Tyson stepped back from the car. He approached a nearby metal sign. Placing his hand against the cool surface of the sign, Tyson focused intently. For a moment, nothing happened. Then, with a crackle and a hiss, sparks began to stream from the metal. The air filled with the distinct smell of ozone as electricity danced across the sign's surface.

"I think... I think I stole Jeremy's powers," Tyson said. "When he electrocuted me while I was wearing the meteor rock and touching him, something happened."

Clark stared at Tyson in disbelief, his mind racing to process this new development. "How is that possible?"

Tyson shook his head, still trying to wrap his mind around the situation. "I don't know, but..." He glanced back at Jeremy, who was slumped in the driver's seat, looking drained and confused. "I think I drained him somehow."

The sound of sirens in the distance broke through the moment of stunned silence. Clark's head snapped up, his expression growing serious. "We need to get out of here," he said urgently. "The police will be here any minute."

"What about him?" he asked, looking back at Jeremy.

Clark's jaw clenched as he considered their options. "We can't just leave him, but we can't explain this either." He paused, then seemed to come to a decision. "I'll get him out of the car and somewhere safe. You need to go, Tyson."

Tyson nodded in agreement. "Yeah, you're right. But..."

Clark shook his head. "We'll figure it out. Just go home and lay low. We'll talk tomorrow."

With a final nod, Tyson turned and began walking back toward the street. As he walked, he couldn't help but flex his fingers, feeling the new power coursing through his veins. Behind him, Clark moved with superhuman speed, extracting Jeremy from the car and disappearing into the night. The sound of sirens grew louder, drawing ever closer.

As Tyson walked away from the scene, the reality of his situation hit him. He had no home to return to, no clothes to change into, and nowhere to go. The only possession he had left was his backpack, which he'd stashed in the Torch office earlier that day.

— Meteor Freak — 

As he approached the school, Tyson caught sight of his reflection in a darkened window. His hair was disheveled, his skin still bore faint traces of dirt, he was covered in dried blood though his injuries had healed, and all he wore still were his boxers. A mischievous grin spread across his face as an idea took root in his mind.

"Might as well make an entrance," he muttered to himself, pushing open the doors to the school.

The hallways were deserted, and most of the students were already at the dance. Tyson reached the Torch office, finding his backpack right where he'd left it, tucked beneath one of the desks. Rummaging through the bag, he ensured his phone and wallet were still there. With newfound confidence, Tyson made his way toward the gymnasium, where the dance was in full swing. He paused outside the doors, dropping his bag, then he pushed them open and strode into the room.

The effect was immediate and electric. Heads turned, conversations halted mid-sentence, and the music seemed to fade into the background as all eyes locked on Tyson. He walked forward, ignoring the shocked gasps and whispers that rippled through the crowd.

Near the center of the dance floor, Chloe was dancing with Pete, her face flushed with excitement and laughter. Pete was the first to notice Tyson's dramatic entrance, his eyes widening in disbelief. He froze mid-step, his mouth hanging open.

When Chloe noticed Pete's sudden stillness, she turned to follow his gaze. Her expression morphed from confusion to shock in an instant.

"Oh man," Pete managed.

Across the room, Whitney and Lana swayed to the music, lost in their own world. They remained oblivious to the commotion until the crowd began to part, creating a clear path straight toward them.

Tyson strode forward with purpose, his eyes locked on Whitney. The quarterback's back was to him, but Lana's eyes widened as she caught sight of Tyson over Whitney's shoulder. Her gasp of surprise finally alerted Whitney to the approaching figure. As he turned, his face paled visibly. Recognition, followed quickly by guilt and fear, flashed across his features. He took an involuntary step back, his arm falling from Lana's waist.

The music continued to play, but the gymnasium had fallen into an eerie silence otherwise. Students gave Tyson a wide berth as he approached Whitney. The tension in the air was palpable, everyone holding their breath in anticipation of what would happen next.

Tyson stopped just a few feet from Whitney. For a moment, neither spoke, the silence stretching out between them like a rubber band pulled taut. Whitney was the first to break the silence, his voice wavering slightly. "Look, man, it was just a prank."

A stern-faced teacher, Mrs. Grayson, strode purposefully through the parting crowd. Her lips were pressed into a thin line as she positioned herself between Tyson and Whitney.

With a curt nod to the DJ, the music stopped. The sudden silence amplified the tension in the room.

Mrs. Grayson's eyes swept over Tyson's nearly naked form, her nostrils flaring in disapproval. "Young man, you cannot be here dressed like that. It's completely inappropriate."

Tyson's gaze, fixed on Whitney, slowly shifted to meet Mrs. Grayson's. His eyes narrowed as he accused, "Oh, now you're gonna step in?" he said, not holding back his bitterness and barely contained anger. "Where were you when I got jumped earlier?"

Mrs. Grayson's brow furrowed, her gaze darting briefly to Whitney before returning to Tyson. "Mr. Fordman and the football team were all preparing for the game after school," she stated matter-of-factly. "Whatever prank you're trying to pull has earned you detention." Her voice hardened as she added, "On your first day, no less."

A ripple of whispers spread through the crowd at this revelation. The new kid showing up nearly naked to the dance on his first day after being chosen as the scarecrow? It was the kind of drama Smallville High hadn't seen in years.

Tyson shrugged, his posture relaxing slightly. The anger in his eyes was replaced by something colder, more calculated. "Fine. I see how it is," he said, his voice carrying a note of resignation tinged with something darker. As he spoke, Tyson reached up, his fingers brushing against the green stone hanging from his neck. It seemed like an innocuous movement to most of the onlookers.

But to Whitney and Lana, that simple gesture carried a world of meaning.

Lana's eyes widened as they locked onto the familiar pendant. Her hand instinctively moved to her neck, finding it bare. The realization hit her like a physical blow. She had given Whitney her necklace earlier that day, a token of affection before the big game. Now, inexplicably, it hung around the neck of this new student who had burst into the dance, looking as if he'd been through hell.

The implications were clear. Whitney had been involved in whatever had happened to Tyson. The necklace was proof, a damning piece of evidence that linked Whitney directly to Tyson's current state.

Lana glanced at her boyfriend, her eyes a mixture of shock, disappointment, and dawning anger. Whitney, for his part, looked as if he might be sick. His face had drained of all color, and his eyes were wide with panic as he realized he'd been caught.

Tyson noted their reactions with grim satisfaction. He had made his point without saying a word.

Tyson's voice cut through the tense silence of the gymnasium, his words sharp and accusatory. "Is this normal in Kansas?" he asked, "You just hang black guys in your fields?"

The question hung in the air, heavy and uncomfortable. Students shifted nervously, exchanging uneasy glances. Tyson's words had implications that were impossible to ignore, casting the night's events in a much darker light.

Mrs. Grayson's face paled, her earlier stern demeanor crumbling in the face of this new accusation. She opened her mouth to speak, but Tyson continued, his voice growing louder, ensuring everyone could hear. "I mean, who would it have been if it wasn't me?" His arm shot out, finger pointing directly at Whitney. "Pete?"

At the mention of his name, Pete Ross flinched visibly. He was one of the few black students at Smallville High.

Whitney winced. He wasn't the only one. Many other students, particularly those on the football team, looked away, unable to meet Tyson's accusing gaze.

Standing near Pete, Chloe reached out and squeezed his arm reassuringly. Her eyes, however, were fixed on Tyson, and her expression reflected a mixture of horror and journalistic interest.

Lana took a step away from Whitney, her eyes wide with shock. She looked at her boyfriend as if seeing him for the first time. The silence that followed Tyson's words was deafening. The reality of what had happened, framed in this new context, seemed to settle over the crowd like a heavy blanket.

Tyson's gaze swept across the room, taking in the shocked and uncomfortable faces. "What, no one has anything to say now?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "You were all laughing and having a good time a minute ago. Where's that Smallville spirit?"

A few students had the decency to look ashamed, averting their eyes or staring at the floor. Others whispered among themselves, the sound a low, uneasy buzz in the otherwise silent gym.

Whitney, his face ashen, took a hesitant step forward. "Look, man, it wasn't like that," he began, his voice shaky. "We didn't mean-"

"You didn't mean what?" Tyson interrupted, "You didn't mean to beat me and drag me and throw me in the back of your truck? Strip me down? You didn't mean to hang me in a field?" With each question, his voice rose, filling the gymnasium with his righteous fury.

Whitney flinched with each accusation, unable to form a coherent response. The other football players involved in the "prank" looked equally uncomfortable, shifting nervously where they stood.

Mrs. Grayson, finally finding her voice, attempted to regain control of the situation. "Now, let's all calm down," she said, her voice lacking its earlier authority. "We need to discuss this in a more appropriate setting-"

"Appropriate setting?" Tyson scoffed, cutting her off. "Like where? The principal's office? Where you can sweep this under the rug and pretend it never happened?" He shook his head, releasing a bitter laugh. "No, I think right here, right now, is plenty appropriate."

The tension in the room was palpable. Students who had come to dance and celebrate now found themselves unwilling spectators to a confrontation rapidly spiraling out of control.

Lana, her face a mixture of shock and disgust, turned to Whitney. "Is this true?"

Whitney opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. His silence was damning enough. Desperate to salvage the situation, he tried again. "Look, it's a tradition…"

"A tradition?" Tyson repeated, his voice dripping with disdain. "So you're telling me this has happened before? How many other black guys have you hung out there, Whitney? What kind of tradition is this…. An annual reenactment of what happened to Emmett Till?"

The question hung in the air, unanswered. The implications were clear, and they were damning. Mrs. Grayson, realizing the situation was rapidly spinning out of her control, attempted to intervene once more.

"That's enough."

Tyson replied, "You're right. I think it was." Without waiting for Mrs. Grayson's response, Tyson turned on his heel and began walking towards the exit. The crowd parted before him.

As he reached the gymnasium doors, Tyson paused. He turned slightly, his profile silhouetted against the bright hallway beyond. His voice, laced with sarcasm and a hint of challenge, carried clearly through the still-silent gym.

"Go Crows!"

With that parting shot, Tyson pushed through the doors and disappeared into the hallway.

The gym erupted into a cacophony of voices when the doors swung shut behind him. Students turned to each other, excitedly discussing what they had just witnessed. Phones were pulled out, fingers flying across screens as the gossip spread like wildfire.

Mrs. Grayson, momentarily stunned by Tyson's abrupt exit, quickly regained her composure. She clapped her hands sharply, trying to regain control of the situation. "Alright, everyone, that's enough excitement for one night. Let's get back to the dance."

She gestured to the DJ as she spoke, who hesitantly started the music again. The familiar beats filled the air, but few students seemed inclined to return to dancing. Near the center of the gym, Chloe and Pete stood frozen, their eyes locked on the doors through which Tyson had exited.

"Did that just happen?" Pete asked.

Chloe's journalistic instincts were in overdrive. Her eyes gleamed with the promise of a story. "Oh, it happened alright," she replied, already mentally composing the article for the Torch.

Across the room, Lana had taken a step back from Whitney, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her voice was low, but the hurt and anger in it were unmistakable. "Whitney, why?"

Whitney opened his mouth to respond, but Coach Walt appeared at his side before he could. The coach's face was grim as he placed a hand on Whitney's shoulder. "Fordman, we need to talk. Now."

As Whitney was led away, Lana stood alone on the dance floor, her mind reeling from the events of the last few minutes. She glanced towards the gym doors.

— Meteor Freak —

Tyson pushed through the main doors of Smallville High, retrieved his backpack, and pulled out his wallet. As he walked, he tried to recall the layout of Smallville from his earlier wanderings. He remembered seeing a Holiday Inn on Main Street, not far from the school. It wasn't fancy, but it would do for the night.

The streets were quiet as Tyson made his way through town, his bare feet padding softly on the sidewalk. A few cars passed by, their occupants no doubt heading home from the festivities.

As he approached the edge of the school grounds, his mind drifted to the events of the dance. The looks on everyone's faces, the shock, the whispers. And Whitney's expression of guilt and fear. Overall, Tyson felt satisfied with the chaos he'd caused, but another part wondered if he'd gone too far.

Lost in thought, Tyson almost missed the voice calling out behind him.

"Hey, new guy!"

Tyson knew that voice. Slowly, he turned around to face the speaker. Lana Lang stood a few yards away. An ethereal green aura seemed to shimmer around her, faint yet unmistakable. Tyson blinked, unsure if his eyes were playing tricks. But the glow remained, highlighting the soft curves of her face and the tumble of dark hair across her shoulders.

She watched him with an expression balanced between curiosity and concern, her brows drawn together ever so slightly. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Tyson became acutely aware of his state of undress, standing there in nothing but his boxers.

"Lana. Shouldn't you be at the dance?"

She took a few steps closer, her eyes never leaving Tyson's face. "I could ask you the same thing," she replied. "Although I guess you're a bit underdressed for the occasion."

"Yeah, well, it's my first day, I was told the dress code was pretty relaxed this year. Someone must have been playing a prank on me because that teacher was not amused," he responded.

A ghost of a smile flickered across Lana's face, but it quickly faded. Her eyes dropped to the necklace around Tyson's neck, and her expression hardened.

"That's my necklace," she said, quiet but intense. "I gave it to Whitney this morning. How did you end up with it?"

"It's a long story. One I'm not sure you want to hear."

"Try me," she challenged. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks like my boyfriend did something terrible to you. And I need to know why." Tyson hesitated, weighing his options. Before he could decide, Lana spoke again, her voice softer this time. "Look, I know we don't know each other. But what happened in there," she gestured back towards the school, "that wasn't just some prank. Something happened to you, and Whitney was involved. I need to understand."

Tyson shrugged. His nonchalant attitude was at odds with the situation. "Typical jock shit," he said, "I'm the new guy. Whitney went after me because he was jealous. He didn't like how I looked at you earlier; we fought, and I lost." He paused before continuing. "They strung me up in the field. I made a wisecrack about the necklace, so he put it on my neck." Lana's eyes widened, her hand flying to her mouth in shock. But Tyson continued, his tone still surprisingly light. "Not a big deal, to be honest. The hazing bit with the scarecrow is pretty good since the mascot is a crow. Hanging up someone in a field isn't a bad touch. I respect the originality. I'd rate it 7/10 overall." He shrugged again as if discussing the weather rather than his own ordeal.

She was surprised by Tyson's attitude. Slowly, her smile returned, and her posture relaxed. "You're handling this all pretty well."

Tyson's lips quirked up in a wry half-smile. "Starting over in a new school, in a whole different state, hasn't exactly been smooth sailing," he said, "But that pack of meathead jocks clearly didn't stop to think how stringing up the new black kid in a field might come across."

Lana studied him for a moment, taking in his casual demeanor. There was more depth to Tyson than met the eye.

He shook his head, his expression turning thoughtful. "I suppose I did provoke him." He took on a mock, serious, sage-like tone, "But you're just so darned pretty I couldn't help but stare." He reached up, unclasped the necklace, and held it to Lana. The green stone glinted in the streetlight as it dangled from his fingers.

Lana reached for it slowly, her fingers brushing against the rough warmth of his palm as she took it. She looked down at the pendant, rubbing her thumb over the smooth facets of the meteor rock, then glanced back up to meet Tyson's gaze.

Relief washed over her as he returned her necklace. "Thank you," she said softly. "For keeping it safe."

"No problem. Pretty girls should have pretty jewelry."

Lana studied him momentarily, taking in the intelligence lurking behind the casual humor in his eyes. He seemed honest enough and had protected her necklace despite his ordeal. But there was an edge to him. She wasn't sure what to make of this boy who seemed to take his torment in such a calm stride. But she couldn't deny her interest was piqued.

"We should get you cleaned up," she said, gesturing to the crusted blood that hadn't been washed off by the sprinklers inside. "My house isn't far. We can get some ice on that lip."

Tyson raised an eyebrow, amusement glinting in his eyes. "Already inviting me back to your place? We only just met."

Lana rolled her eyes but couldn't keep the smile from her lips. "Come on," she said, turning toward home.

Tyson held up a hand. "Wait. That's not how this is supposed to go. It's not the gentlemanly way. Let me try again." He squared his shoulders and met her gaze directly. "May I walk you home, Lana?"

Lana's eyebrows shot up in surprise. She studied him for a moment, taking in his earnest expression. Blood still crusted his lip, yet he stood tall, waiting politely for her response.

"Sure," she said finally, if you're up for it after the day you've had. Must be cold out here."

Tyson shook his head. "August in Kansas isn't so bad," he said, gesturing for her to lead the way. As they fell into step, he added, "Besides, I hear strange things happen in this town. Can't let you walk alone."

Lana glanced at him sidelong. "So you already know about the weirdness here?"

"I met Chloe, remember?" he responded with a laugh.

As they began to walk, Lana cast him a sidelong glance. "Most people would be furious after what happened to you. How are you so calm about it?"

His bare feet made barely a sound on the cracked sidewalk as he considered Lana's statement. After a few paces, he spoke. "It's just high school. In the moment, it feels like everything that happens now will define you forever. But a year from now?" He shook his head. "How much of it will matter?"

His eyes glinted with humor. "Besides, this isn't over. I made it pretty clear their hazing ritual was less prank and more hate crime. No way that's allowed to continue. Generations of Smallville nerds will be thanking me someday."

Lana studied him as they walked. "You've really thought this through," she said.

"Well, I had some time to consider it, hanging out in that cornfield," Tyson replied, pulling another laugh from her.

They walked in companionable silence for a few moments, the quiet of the small town enveloping them. The streets were mostly empty, with only the occasional car passing by. As they walked, Tyson couldn't help but notice the way Lana kept glancing at him. There was curiosity in her eyes, but also something else. Concern? Guilt? He couldn't quite place it.

"Listen," Lana said suddenly, stopping in her tracks. "I'm sorry about what Whitney did. It's not... it's not like him. Usually."

"You're not his keeper, Lana. His choices aren't your burden."

Lana's eyes clouded, her shoulders slumping. "I know, but... I can't help feeling like I should have seen this coming."

Tyson lifted his hand, pausing for a heartbeat before gently grasping her shoulder. "He's your boyfriend, not your responsibility."

Lana peered up at him, her eyes roving his face. "That sounds like the voice of experience talking," she murmured.

Tyson's lips curved into a crooked grin, a glint of humor in his eyes. "Nah, I'm just making this up as I go. Been getting lucky so far, I guess."

"Lucky?" Lana quipped, "So your master plan wasn't to get jumped and strung up in that cornfield?"

"Hey, now I take that back," Tyson shot back, his grin widening. "Truth is, I did it all on purpose. You know, so that I could walk the second prettiest girl in school home after the dance."

Lana's steps faltered, her cheeks flushing faintly as she glanced at him in askance. "Second prettiest?"

Tyson nodded, his expression intentionally vague. "Yeah. I mean, have you met the other new kid, Kara? She's pretty stunning, too." He paused, lips pursed in mock contemplation. "It's a toss-up."

Lana smiled at his flirtatious wording. Tyson smiled, too, but kept his gaze averted. "I can't tell if you're being serious about any of this."

Tyson's lips quirked. "It's my new kid mystery aura. Keeps people guessing."

Halting, Lana turned to face him fully, hands planted on her hips. "That's not an answer."

Tyson held up his hands in mock surrender. "Alright, you got me. Of course, I'm not serious. I wouldn't be so shallow as to rank people by prettiness."

Lana's eyes narrowed, though there was a hint of amusement there. She gave a dramatic roll of her eyes. "Uh-huh. Sure, Casanova."

Tyson laughed. "Hey now, no need for name-calling just because you find me utterly charming."

"Charming?" Lana scoffed, though her lips twitched with the barest hint of a smile. "More like incorrigible."

Tyson's grin only widened at that. "I'll take incorrigible. Means there's still hope for me yet." He winked playfully.

Lana shook her head, unable to contain her smile any longer. "You're ridiculous."

"Maybe so," Tyson agreed amiably. "But admit it, you like me anyway."

"I suppose you're not entirely intolerable."

Tyson laughed again. "I'll take it."

They turned onto a street, and Lana pointed to a house across from a farm. As they approached her house, he felt a twinge of regret that their walk was ending.

Lana's steps slowed as they approached the white picket fence bordering her family's yard. She turned to face Tyson, her expression serious, and her lips pressed in a thin line.

"Thank you for walking me home. And for telling me what happened today. I know it couldn't have been easy."

"Talking with you was quite easy, actually. I wouldn't mind doing it some more."

Lana looked thoughtful. "I know you said you're okay, but if you ever need someone to talk to about today or anything else, I'm here."

"Thanks, Lana. I appreciate that. But don't tempt me. I have to keep some secrets, after all. Or my new guy mystery aura will fade."

Lana laughed melodically, the sound like chimes in the quiet night. They stood there for a moment, the night air cool around them, the silence comfortable. Finally, Lana took a step back toward her house.

"Will you be okay getting back?"

"The walk will do me good. Goodnight, Lana."

"'Night, Tyson." She turned and slipped through the gate, casting one last glance over her shoulder before disappearing into the house.

He watched the door close behind her, then turned and headed down the moonlit street with his backpack hanging from one shoulder and still wearing only his boxers.