Sorry for the wait. I'd like to say I have some significant excuse that would have freed me from any personal responsibility over this delay… but the truth is, I'm just lazy. That being said, I put a lot of effort into making this chapter worth the wait.

Also, there will be a few minor inconsistencies between this chapter and previous ones, but I do stress the word minor. Most of you probably won't even notice… this is just a heads up for those that do.

Chapter Four: Dark Visitation

In a remote desert, the scorching sun has long since set, being replaced with the punishing chill of the night. Any life to be found in this barren landscape has long since vanished into the darkness, awaiting morning.

The stars glimmer in the sky, casting an eerie glow over the withered sands. Suddenly, five brilliant beams of light bolt from within the clusters of stars and begin a rapid descent toward the ground below. The beams collide with a rocky plateau with overlooks the desert, landing almost simultaneously and throwing up a cascade of dust upon impact.

As the smoke clears away, the dim moonlight elucidates the forms which had fallen from the Heavens. Capsules. Five oblong, steel capsules, billowing smoke from the super-heated trip through the Earth's atmosphere. The light of the moon reflects off of the steel capsules, illuminating the area around them in a pool of silver glow.

With a metallic hiss, the doors of the capsules unlatch and begin to automatically push open. One by one the passengers step out into the shimmering silver glow. Five of them, total. Three males, two females. They are humanlike in appearance, but an inhuman ferocity adorns their eyes.

The tallest and most muscular of the men steps forward onto the very edge of the plateau, and basks in the moonlight. "I can already feel it…" He smiles, "My cells soaking up the energy. And this isn't even the direct dose! Just imagine the morning sunrise…"

"Calm yourself Jax-Ur," one of the women warns. "We cannot draw attention to ourselves until we are strong enough to handle it."

"I am well aware of that Faora," Jax-Ur turned around and faced the four behind him. "Remember, all of you, we have a mission. Stage one is finding Kal-El. We have no time to waste. We will begin our search immediately. Remain under the radar, and do not draw unnecessary attention to yourselves," Jax-Ur looked to a young, dark-haired male and said, "That includes you, Az-Rel. No showboating."

"You take the fun out of everything Jax," Az-Rel smiled slyly. "What good is having power if you don't get to flaunt it in front of those who don't?"

"We lost transmission with the Braniac Unit several years ago. We do not currently know what the human's militaries are capable of," the third male chimed in. "Until we do, we will not invoke their attention."

"Well put, Kru-El," Jax-Ur nodded.

"You can flaunt your power on me as much as you want baby," the second girl said, clinging to Az-Rel. This girl was younger than Faora, but the same ferocity shown in her eyes.

"You can count on that Nadira," Az-Rel smiled.

"We move out at sunrise. We know that the Braniac Unit stopped transmitting where it crash landed in the city known as Metropolis. It is likely that Kal-El is there. We have to find him. Do I need to remind any of you what is at stake?" Jax-Ur questioned. "Obtaining Kal-El ensures the survival of our species. We will not allow Krypton to die."

As Jax-Ur turned back toward the rising sun, Kru-El muttered under his breath, "Even if Earth has to die in its place…"

…

"The truck was stolen?" Jonathon Kent gasped.

"Yeah. I had it parked at Pete's, and we were hanging out in his room listening to some music, and I came out… and it was gone," Clark lied carefully. He didn't like lying to his parents, but it seemed likely that telling them his truck was demolished by an eight foot monster would get him nowhere but a mental institution.

"I'll let the chief know," Jonathon sighed. "We'll have police on the lookout for it."

"This used to be such a nice neighborhood," Martha Kent shook her head in disgust.

"I suppose I'll be driving you to school today," Jonathon offered.

"Actually, dad… I thought I'd walk…"

"You're going to walk five miles when I have a car parked right in the garage?"

"Yeah. Stupid teenagers, right?"

"I suppose," Jonathon huffed, looking back down at his newspaper. "You should probably get going then."

Without another word, Clark grabbed himself some pop tarts and bolted out the door.

"Did they buy it?" Pete whispered, waiting for Clark outside.

"Yeah. I convinced them the truck was stolen, and they assume that's why I didn't come home last night," Clark answered.

"Good. We've got that problem out of the way."

"What's the plan, then?"

"We're going to hit the Weight Room and see how much you can lift now."

"Hold on, Pete… you're big plan was to skip school… so that we could go into the school and use the Weight Room? That seems… counterintuitive."

"I never said we were skipping school. We're eighteen now, remember? As legal adults, we can sign ourselves out when we please. And the Weight Room is always open to athletes."

"So if we're going to the school anyway… why did I have to turn down a ride from my dad?"

"Because your dad's scar smells like a mixture of cigar smoke and animal crap. We're better off walking."

"I'm never letting you make the plan again."

"Come on, this is a good plan!"

"This is a half-assed plan that I'm pretty sure you're making up as you go along."

"Do you want my help or not, Clark?"

"Yes."

"Then please adhere to the plan, and everything will work out for the best. Have I ever steered you wrong?"

"Almost on a daily basis."

"Super strength has not livened up your sense of humor, apparently."

…

Morgan Edge, philanthropic owner of the Smallville Times, and secretly the kingpin on the international crime organization known as Intergang, had just gotten off the phone with his new business partner Lex Luthor, discussing their plans. While Luthor manipulated the U.S. government into pushing their goals, Edge would control Intergang and work the angles of the plan which require a little more than manipulation of laws.

"Now…" Edge slipped his cell phone into the pocket of his expensive suit, "On to more immediate matters." Edge turned and walked professionally down the long stairwell leading into the basement beneath the printing press. Once there, Edge did a quick scan to make sure he wasn't being followed or monitored in any way. Then, he pulled a secret hatch in the floorboards, and descended into his other basement.

Blood layered the concrete floor and walls; some old and dry, some fresh and warm. A dim light hung above a wooden chair in the center of the room, tied to which was an emaciated teenager who looked as if he hadn't slept in months. The boy was a rainbow of bruises and lacerations, and blood trickled from his wounds onto the floor. The boy looked with his swollen, blackened eyes upon the man who approached him.

A third figure stepped out from the shadows behind the boy; this one was massive, his skin a steely gray color, his hands soaked in blood. "I've tortured him for several hours, Mr. Edge," said the gray giant.

"And you've done it beautifully, Anomaly," Edge nodded. "Why don't you take a break? I'd like to talk to this young lad here in private for a moment."

"Yes sir," Anomaly walked off, presumably going to wash the blood off of his hands.

Morgan Edge approached the bleeding boy tied to the chair. "Good morning Fredrick," Edge gave a dazzling business smile. "Can I call you Fred? 'Fredrick' just seems so needlessly formal. After all… I like to think of our relationship as intimate enough that we don't require such formality. Am I right, friend?"

"Somebody…" the boy heaved, "I'm going to kick your ass so hard that you'll taste your colon."

"Clever. That's what I like about you Fred; you're just so damn clever. So was your father. Speaking of which… why don't you tell us where your father is Fred? He's very important to our end goal, you see."

"You've already killed my mom…"

"Because she didn't cooperate. See where that gets you, Fred? Now, really, I think this will be much easier for everyone if you just tell us where your dad is, so we can get the ball rolling here!"

"I don't know where he is."

"Don't tell lies, Fred. Lying isn't good for anyone."

"Damn it, I really don't know!"

Edge seemed to study Fredrick for a moment. "How old are you, Fred?"

"Old enough to know that I shouldn't answer that question."

"Well, I could always call Anomaly back here and-"

"Sixteen. I'm sixteen. Almost seventeen."

"That's better," Edge leaned forward. "I'm going to let you go, Fred. But you aren't free. Until this whole mess with your father is straightened out… you belong to me as collateral. And I could certainly use your… talents."

"What are you talking about?"

"You're going to help me, Fred. More specifically, your powers are."

"What do I have to do…?"

"It's simple. There's a student at Smallville High… goes by the name of Clark Kent. He's recently taken out one of my men. Not a very bright one, mind you, but quite a brute, you might say. And Clark not only beat him… he destroyed him. That's peaked my interest. So what I want you to do, Fred, is… keep an eye on this Clark Kent for me. You do that, and I'll make sure you go free as soon as possible."

"It's a deal."

"Good. Oh… and you go by Riot, now."

"Riot…?"

"It's your codename," Edge untied the restraints holding the boy to the chair. "Welcome to Intergang."

…

The moment Clark entered Smallville Sr. High, he knew it was going to be a terrible day. A barrage of whispers assaulted his hearing as the swarms of adolescents shot him their most demeaning of stares. "What a freak-"

"-stopped the truck with his bare hands!"

"Steroids for sure-"

"-probably adopted from space or something!"

"They're all talking about me," Clark frowned.

"Are you really surprised?" Pete grinned, "It's not every day a football player flashes across the field and punches a moving truck into submission because he thought he was saving some invisible dog."

"Fair enough."

"Just ignore them dude. Pretty soon some A-list couple will break up, or some cheerleader will get pregnant, and these locusts will have something new to gossip about."

"Yeah. Probably."

"Mr. Kent," a firm but nasally voice rang out from behind. "I noticed you've signed out of all your classes in advanced today."

"Yes sir," Clark turned around to face the principal. "I have straight A's at the moment sir, so I thought that it wouldn't hurt to spend a day in the Weight Room, preparing for the game, you know?" Clark flashed his best charming smile. He knew that Principle Wagner was an avid football enthusiast, and the promise of an actual victory for Smallville High may have been enough to dissuade his skepticism.

"Very well. I'll hold you to that statement, Mr. Kent. Try not to start a fight this time."

Clark pursed his lips. He was normally a pretty well-behaved student… but he was known to have a short fuse. He had a reputation for getting into fights. And an even greater reputation for losing them. It wasn't that he was a wimp; quite the opposite actually. Clark found that in most cases he could beat just about anybody he came across. It was that, when the anger subsided and Clark found himself actually in the middle of a fight… he would always realize that he didn't actually want to win. He didn't want to hurt anyone. He just wanted to make sure they wouldn't hurt him.

"I've never started one, sir."

"Hard to believe, considering the number of altercations you've been involved in during your four years with us. What was it… thirteen total?"

"Twelve."

"Counting your little dispute with Jon Corben yesterday?"

"…Thirteen."

"The only reason you were never expelled, Mr. Kent, is that your test scores have always been remarkable. With a smaller group of students like we have here at Smallville High, straight A students are few and far between. To kick you out would be to sacrifice state funding."

"I'll stay out of trouble, sir."

"Again; I'll hold you to that."

Finally, the principal turned and left Clark to his business. Clark fell against his locker and sighed. "There's one reason I cannot wait for graduation. I've been fed up with that guy since day one."

"He never has been too fond of you, has he?" Pete smiled. "Then again, when a kid with a Juvenile record walks in his door and starts throwing punches on the first day of freshman year, it probably leaves a bad impression."

"It was the second day! And that kid shouldn't have been shoving me around. And what is the matter with you anyway? You know not to mention my record in public, Pete."

"Come on, nobody's going to hear us. They're too busy talking about you already."

"Not helping."

"Wasn't trying to," Pete smiled and looked down the hall. "I'm going to hit the bathroom real quick."

As Pete disappeared into the rapidly thinning sea of students, Clark began to notice something odd; normally the halls fell into silence as students disappeared into their classrooms. But today, the chatter seemed to be rapidly growing louder.

With each passing second Clark could hear more detailed, more crisply, all of the voices filling the building. Soon, the volume was unbearable.

"Alright class today we're-"

"-gonna' get so high dude!"

"Did you hear about Jon and Lana?"

"-wiped out on my board."

"-Kent's truck got stolen!"

Rapidly, the noises rushed in, bashing against Clark's eardrums. He covered his ears, but it did no good. Every heartbeat, every whisper, every laugh, every little breath or tap of a pencil or click of a pen… the noises assaulted his hearing from all directions, throwing Clark into an ocean of skull-splitting agony.

With his hands clutching his skull, Clark bolted down the hallway and practically flew out the door into the back parking lot, but found it impossible to escape the chatter. Clark collapsed on the concrete. The noise rippled through his head, thundering into his ears and blasting his senses into submission.

"Clark? Clark, is that you?" A vague voice was saying, off on the cusp of the noise. Pete? Clark thought. No… to feminine. Who is this?

Clark attempted to focus in on that one, singular voice which beckoned his attention. It felt like tuning a radio inside of his head; he found that he could clumsily zero in and out of different fields of hearing, pick up and drop different sounds at a whim. Eventually, he finally found the station he was looking for. The voice of the beautiful redhead behind him. "Clark? Are you ok?"

"Lana…" he breathed. "Uh… yeah. I'm fine."

"Then… what was with the shrieking?" She gave an amused smile.

"I… uh…" Clark looked around uncomfortably. "Lana, if it's all the same to you, I'd really like to quit while I'm ahead."

Lana laughed, giving a pleasant roll of the eyes. "Ok, well… bye."

"Yeah."

As she walked away, Clark thought to himself, Wonderful, Kent. First time you speak to her in years… and you make yourself look like a complete effing lunatic.

Clark was preparing to return to the school, when out the corner of his eye, he noticed something at the other end of the parking lot. A short, emaciated boy with bloodshot eyes and brittle hair. He was shaking violently, but his gaze was fixated on Clark in a manner that evoked a strong feeling of unease. The moment Clark met his gaze, the boy pulled up the hood of his black hoodie, shoved his hands in his pockets, turned around and walked away quickly. "Weird…" Clark muttered.

Clark re-entered the building, channeling virtually all of his concentration into blocking out the cascade of noise around him. He was so focused on this matter, in fact, that he didn't even realize Pete was in front of him until he spoke. "What's your deal? Why did I hear screaming while I was trying to take a piss?"

"I heard everything, Pete."

"About what?"

"Everything. I could hear every heartbeat like a drum inside my skull. I could hear the buttons click as people were texting, every clench of the teeth as people chewed gum… I'm pretty sure I could even hear people talking on their cellphones, in their cars, a mile away!"

Pete stared at his friend a moment, apparently sizing up the claim. "Well you're turning into a regular Swiss Army Knife, with all the things you can do."

"If only I could figure out how turn these powers on and off… rather than just popping up whenever they please."

"Well work on that. For now… here," Pete handed Clark his iPod. "To block out all the background noise."

"Good idea," Clark nodded, slipping the ear buds in.

"Ok, there's one problem tackled. Now… let's find out how much you can lift."

…

John Henry Irons had come a long way in the eighteen years since the government had come to claim the infant-carrying space pod that had landed on his doorstep. Back then, John had been a sixteen year old kid working part time an auto repair shop.

Now, at the age of thirty-four, John Henry had become one of the highest paid engineers at AmerTek, a company which supplied virtually all of the machinery and equipment needed by government agencies; including weaponry.

In John's private workshop area within the Metropolis AmerTek building, he was hard at work on a little pet project of his; something he called Project Steel. In the midst of John's deep thought, there was a sudden, loud rapping on the door. John didn't bother to respond. All employees at AmerTek knew not to disturb John in his workshop unless it was for reasons of utmost importance; and if that were they case, they would have paged him rather than knock on the door.

There was another knock, even more aggressive this time. John sighed, and looked up at the door. "Who's there?"

Suddenly, the door burst off of its hinges and crashed onto the floor in the form a dented hunk of scrap. Through the now empty doorframe stepped a tall, well-built, brown-haired young man… with glowering red eyes.

"Wh- how did you get in here?" John stammered, "Security should have-"

"Oh, you mean this fat piece of shit?" The red-eyed man leered. From the floor behind him he lifted the Chief of Security at the AmerTek building… bloody and disemboweled. The man tossed his victim onto the floor in front of John. "You'll find most of your employees in a similar predicament."

"What the hell…" John was trembling now, backing away as far as he could get.

"They call me Az-Rel," the man grinned. "And I think you and I can help each other."

Suddenly, a woman appeared next to Az-Rel, her beautiful face covered in blood from the slaughter. "This lovely lady is Nadira In-Ze," Az-Rel said with utmost formality. "Now that introductions are out of the way, let's get down to business, shall we John?"

"What do you want?" John grit his teeth.

"Eighteen years ago, an escape pod from the planet Krypton crash-landed in the garage you were working at. That pod was carrying an infant child. It is our understanding that your military arrived to extract the pod… however, our intel reveals that they did not obtain the child. Which, of course, leads us to two possible conclusions, John. One: You still have it. Two: You gave it away. So, answer me very plainly… what happened to the child?"

"You see…" John stammered, reaching slowly behind him. As his hand found its grip, he smiled. "You can go to Hell, freak." With a sudden burst of might, John pulled forth the hammer he had crafted and hurled it at Az-Rel with expert precision. The hammer sailed toward Az-Rel's head.

With a grin, Az-Rel grabbed the hammer in mid-flight. "Did you really think that would work?" He taunted.

"No…" John grinned, "But I was certain that this would." John hit a button on the transmitter he had built, and suddenly the hammer sent a powerful electric surge through Az-Rel's body. Az-Rel let out a pained grunt as the wave of electricity bolted through his system, causing him to drop the hammer and have an aggressive muscle spasm that he fought with all his might to keep under control.

"Cute," He growled furiously. His grip crumpled the hammer into a wad of scrap, and he glanced to his partner. "Nadira, go crazy."

"With pleasure, baby." Nadira suddenly blurred toward John with tremendous speed. She grabbed his hand in hers and crushed. The sound of bone shattering rang through the work shop as John's hand, and the transmitter in it, were both crushed into oblivion. John let out a wail of agony and dropped to his knees. Nadira immediately proceeded to break his wrist, inciting another shriek. She then snapped his elbow like a twig, and John nearly fainted from the pain. He fell as low to the floor as she would allow, trembling and pale. Nadira raised her foot, smiling maniacally, and stomped with all the force she could muster onto John's shoulder. There was a thundering crunch, muffled only by John's tortured cries. His shoulder collapsed like paper under Nadira's massive strength. "Now," she hissed, "Are you going to tell us what we want to know?"

"Not… a chance…" John huffed, his vision bleary. Don't let them win, he thought bitterly. Even if it kills you. Die with your dignity.

"So noble… if I wasn't already so turned on from hurting you, I might find that attractive," Nadira smiled. She flung her hand forward, and with an ease that made John sick to his stomach, shattered his collar bone. John bit his lip to keep from screaming again as a tidal wave of pain roared through every fiber of his being. "You're neck's next in line, sweetie. I suggest you answer the question quick."

With blood running down his face from biting his lip so hard, John maintained a remarkable stoicism, and said nothing. "You won't kill me… as long as I have the information you need…"

Az-Rel grinned. "It seems we're at a stalemate, then. That's how it works in a fair fight. Unfortunately for you… I don't play fair." Az-Rel suddenly fired a beam of heat vision onto John's last remaining good hand, and burned off three fingers in one clean swipe. The smoldering, charred fingers dropped to the floor and crumbled. John was fighting back tears, trembling from pain, forcing himself not to black out.

Nadira reached down, pinched two fingers around one of John's ribs, and clenched. The rib snapped like a tooth pick, firing more pain yet and shaking the fortitude of John's already weakening will. "Come on… it's no fun when you resist," Nadira whispered soothingly. "Where's that pretty little scream at? I want to hear it some more," she snapped another one of his ribs.

Az-Rel fired more heat vision, and this time sliced off John's hand at the wrist. A fountain of blood began to re-paint the walls, and John could contain it no longer. He shrieked like he never had before. "There we go!" Nadira cried cheerfully, lifting John into the air with one hand and dangling him there, watching him bleed. She bawled her free hand into a fist, and launched it into John's gut, shattering all of his remaining ribs in one violent quake of force.

John vomited, nearly blacking out now. "I'll ask one more time, before we start to get really mean…" Nadira hissed, "What did you do with Kal-El? What did you do with the baby?"

"A- adoption…" John coughed.

"Who adopted him?"

"Ugh…"

"Who!" Nadira shook him to keep him conscious.

"Family in Kansas… the Kent's…"

"That's better," Nadira grinned. She dropped him onto the floor and turned back to Az-Rel. "That was fun. We should do it more often."

"Count on it baby," Az-Rel replied, his eyes still burning red with heat vision. Nadira, her face caked in blood, kissed Az-Rel hungrily, their tongues wrestling for dominance. "Signal Jax-Ur," she whispered, "Tell him we're going to Kansas."

The two then flew off, simply smashing holes through the ceiling as they ascended, flying fast into the sky. And on the floor, a barely living John wallowed in a pool of his own blood, trying to dial 911 into his cell phone with only one, broken hand.

...

Clark had been at it for several hours, with Metallica blasting in his ears at full volume, benching as much weight as he could manage. As usual, he maxed out around two-hundred and twenty pounds. Finally, Clark sat up, drenched in sweat, and pulled out the ear buds. "It's not working, Pete."

"Come on Clark, 220 is a lot of weight."

"Last night I lifted a truck without breaking a sweat. Now I can barely break two hundred pounds without crapping myself. I don't know… maybe it was only temporary…"

"Or…" Pete seemed to think for a moment. "Maybe it only happens when you need it."

"Huh?"

"Think about it… when you stopped that truck, it was because that dog was about to get killed. You know… the dog that only you saw."

"Yeah."

"And when you went all super-dude last night, you were in mortal peril being attacked by a monster."

"Yeah…"

"I think maybe it's a reactive thing. Kind of like how Possums play dead when they're scared… you turn into a human tank. But then when your adrenaline stops flowing, it's like a shut off valve. Am I right?"

"I guess."

"But that's good news. Because if there's a shut off, it means it can also be turned on. We just need to get you to the point that you can do it yourself."

"Maybe I don't want to turn it on, Pete."

"What do you mean?"

"It's terrifying, having powers like these. You wouldn't really understand unless it was you in my place… the power to destroy so easily, with no idea where it comes from or why it's happening… it scares the hell out of me. I'd much rather just keep being… me."

"Well…" Pete seemed to ponder that notion for a moment. "Then we still need to work with it."

"Why?"

"Because if you can shut it off and on manually, then you don't have to worry about your powers coming out on accident, right? Because you'll be able to keep them off?"

"That… may actually be the most logical thing you've ever said."

"You need to have more faith in me Kent," Pete grinned just as the lunch bell rang. "Come on, let's go get lunch. And shower off first, you smell ass. Not the good, feminine kind either."

"I have a feeling that even the nicest asses stink, Pete."

"What are you talking about? Everybody knows that only ugly girls poop."

"That compliment I just gave you, about saying logical things? You just completely undid that."

…

In the cafeteria, Clark and Pete sat at their own table, as was per usual. But today, Clark didn't feel much like eating. He was far more interested in experimenting with his newfound hearing capabilities. He used the lunchroom chatter as the perfect testing grounds; tuning in on one specific conversation on the other side of the room.

"You can hear everything?" Pete marveled.

"Yeah, once I get focused in on it. It's sort of like tuning a radio in my head."

"That is so cool," Pete glanced to a table full of cheerleaders on the other side of the room. "Ok… what are they saying?"

Clark took a moment to zero in on their voices. Almost immediately, he made a horrified face and recoiled. "They're talking about tampons."

"Ok…" Pete looked around the room, and spied a cute blonde standing near the salad bar, whispering to a friend. "What about her?"

"Hang on…" Clark focused for a moment. "She's talking about how much of a buck toothed loser Pete Ross is. Go figure."

"That's not funny!" Pete snapped, shooting the paper from his straw into Clark's head. Then a wave of insecurity set in. "You were kidding, right?"

There was no response from Clark. His attention was already elsewhere. Specifically, the pale boy with bloodshot eyes and a sideways cap, sitting alone across the cafeteria, staring at Clark with a haunting gaze.

"Who is that?" Clark whispered.

"Who?"

"The guy who looks like he forgot how to sleep. Staring at me across the room. Sweatshirt, hat."

"I have no idea," Pete replied. "But I know how to found out."

Pete looked further down their table and spied Chloe Sullivan, the Oracle of Smallville High. Chloe was a savant for gossip, and always knew the latest secrets about everyone. Pete stood up, rolled the foil from his sub into a ball, and whipped it at Chloe's head. The moment the foil boil collided, he had her attention, and waved her over.

Vaguely, Clark heard Chloe say "hang on a sec," to one of her friends in a rather irritated fashion.

Chloe approached Pete, the curiosity in her eyes outweighing the frustration. "There are better ways to ask for a girl's attention, Mr. Ross."

"Better ways that happen to be slower."

"What's the big rush?"

"I just need to know something about someone."

Chloe gave a devious smile. "Then you've come to the right place. I know everything about everyone."

Pete nodded to the pale boy, still watching Clark intently. "Who is that kid?"

"Him?" Chloe frowned, apparently not overly enthused about this particular piece of gossip. "He's a new kid, just started here today. Kind of creepy, obviously a stoner. His name is Fredrick Jones. Apparently his dad is some big-shot at S.T.A.R. Labs… so why he moved to Smallville is a mystery."

"Is that all?" Clark chimed in.

"That's all I've got for now," Chloe shrugged.

"Ok, thanks Chloe," Pete nodded.

"Anytime. Just keep in mind that your freebies are limited. Pretty soon I'll be requiring monetary compensation for my services."

With that, Chloe turned and walked back off to her friends. Pete looked to Clark with a grin. "She is such a badass."

Clark smiled. "You got a little crush going on there, Pete?"

"Nah. I'd rather not date a girl who probably has more dirt on me than I even know about. I'm just saying."

Clark glanced back at Fredrick, who had finally turned his attention to something other than Clark; primarily the table, where his head was firmly rested as if trying to sleep.

"Fredrick Jones," Clark repeated. "Interesting character."

"Why so interested in him, anyway?"

"I saw him earlier, watching me the same way."

"Can't blame him I guess. You're a good looking dude."

"Shut up, Pete."

…

Jax-Ur approached the Kent Farm slowly, a cat-like finesse in his step. Soon he was at their doorstep, and knocked casually. With a creek, the door came open, and on the other side was Jonathon Kent. "Hi," Jonathon greeted Jax-Ur with a smile.

"Hello, Mr. Kent I presume?" Jax-Ur put on his best smile.

"Yes," Jonathon nodded. "What can I do for you?"

"My name is Jack Urman," he recited the irritatingly long human name which he had adopted. Male Kryptonian names were only two syllables. Earth names were more long-winded and frustrating. He continued by flashing a forged FBI badge. "I'm with the Federal Bureau of Investigation."

"FBI?" Jonathon's eyes lit up, "Is… this about my son's stolen truck?"

"...Yes, it is," Jax-Ur pursed his lips. "I'd just like to ask a few questions about your son."

A/N: Everything really heats up in the next chapter. What do I mean by that? Stay tuned to find out! Next update will be next week, no question.