Meteor Freak
Episode 2: Metamorphosis
Date: Friday, August 12, 2011.
Location: Smallville, Kansas
Lana closed the door to her bedroom. The events of the school dance were still fresh in her mind. She let out a weary sigh, her fingers absently fidgeted with the pendant around her neck as she sat on the edge of her bed. The mattress sunk slightly under her weight, and a small gold box on her pillow caught her eye. She reached for the mysterious, unexpected present.
She carefully lifted the lid and the air came alive around her as a kaleidoscope of delicate butterflies burst forth.
Her lips parted, and she gasped in delight as the creatures danced through the air, transforming her room into a magical wonderland. A radiant smile bloomed across her face. A butterfly with powder-blue wings descended, landing gently on her outstretched finger. Lana brought it closer, marveling at its intricate patterns.
"Hello, beautiful," she whispered in a voice filled with wonder.
The butterfly's antennae twitched as if responding to her soft greeting. Lana released a laugh that sounded light and free. She stood slowly, careful not to disturb her delicate companion as the other butterflies flew toward her. They landed on her shoulders and in her hair, crowning her in vibrant, living colors. She twirled, arms outstretched, feeling like a fairy tale princess. The butterflies swirled as she moved to the window and opened it. The cool night air spilled in as the creatures fluttered into the darkness.
Lana watched them disappear into the night. As the last butterfly exited, she leaned on the window frame and gazed at the star-flecked sky. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the crisp night air. When she opened them again, her gaze fell upon the large tree in the yard.
Unbeknownst to Lana, a shadowy figure lurked among the branches, hidden from view. Greg Arkin pressed his pimply face against the cold metal of his video camera, peering through the thick lenses of his oversized glasses as he focused the camera's lens on Lana's bedroom window.
Zooming in, Greg captured every detail of Lana's joyful reaction to his secretly delivered gift. Her radiant smile and musical laughter at the butterflies' graceful dance filled his viewfinder. His chest heaved, and his excitement and nerves caused his breath to come in ragged gasps. He wet his dry lips with his tongue, his eyes glued to the camera's small screen, drinking in Lana's every movement with a focus bordering on disturbing obsession.
"So beautiful," he whispered inaudibly into the cold night air.
Greg shifted on the branch to find a better angle, the old wood creaking warningly under his weight. He froze, but Lana remained oblivious, lost in her world of wonder.
A world that he created.
Relieved, Greg allowed himself a small, self-satisfied smile. He had painstakingly planned this night, waiting for the perfect moment to deliver his gift. Seeing Lana's pure, unbridled joy was worth every second of effort.
Greg zoomed the camera in further, capturing a close-up of Lana's glowing face. His finger unconsciously caressed the side of the camera as if trying to reach through the lens to touch her.
"You deserve this," he murmured thickly, "You deserve all the happiness in the world."
In his mind, Lana turned those grateful, adoring eyes on him, seeing past his blemished complexion and bookish appearance. But in reality, he lingered unseen, a spectator to a joy he had created but did not truly share.
As Lana moved away from the window, Greg's heart sank. Carefully, he began his descent, moving slowly to avoid any sounds. His foot slipped on a patch of moss, and he barely stifled a cry.
The last thing he wanted was to alert anyone.
Finally, on solid ground, Greg walked the half mile until he reached his old Volkswagen Beetle. As he pulled away from the curb, he replayed the thrilling moments he had spent outside Lana's bedroom window as he drove. Her radiant smile still glowed in his memory.
Up ahead, a lone figure trudged along the road's edge. Drawing nearer, Greg recognized the boy as the new kid at school. It was clear he had fallen prey to the football team's torment. His lack of clothing and the crude red 'S' painted across his bare chest were clear indications of their annual celebratory torture. Greg felt a pang of guilt; that could have easily been him strung up as the scarecrow instead. He could stop and offer the miserable boy some help, maybe even a ride.
But the new kid had walked Lana home from school that night, gaining her attention.
As far as Greg was concerned, Tyson had earned this humiliation. It had also provided the ideal distraction for him to carry out his covert mission. He drove past without tapping the brakes, his thoughts returning to Lana. The exhilaration of seeing her so happy eclipsed any sympathy for the misfortunes of a classmate he didn't really know.
A few minutes later, Greg turned into his driveway. He killed the engine, grabbed his camera, and left the car. Entering the house, Greg's senses were immediately on high alert. The soft glow of the television spilled out from the living room, accompanied by the low murmur of voices.
His mother was still awake.
He'd have to sneak past her to get to his room. Greg crept down the hallway, his back pressed against the wall. He could hear his heart pounding as he approached the living room. Just a few more steps and he'd be past the doorway, home free. But as he peeked around the corner, his world came to a screeching halt. On the television screen was Lana.
His footage of Lana.
Greg's breath caught in his throat as he saw his mother sitting on the couch, a handful of tapes scattered on the coffee table in front of her.
"Is this what you do with your time now, Greg?" his mother asked in a sharp, disappointed voice.
Greg's mind raced, searching for an explanation, an excuse, anything. But all he could manage was a weak, "Where did you get those? They're mine. You went through my stuff?"
His mother's expression showed her anger and sadness. "Oh, you've got a lot of nerve talking to me about privacy. I am in the garden club with Lana's aunt. How am I going to face Nell knowing that my son is creeping around videotaping her niece? Is that where you were tonight?"
Greg's palms began to sweat. He clutched his camera tighter as if it could shield him from his mother's accusations. "No, I was out collecting," he lied.
"Two disgusting habits," his mother spat.
"Insects aren't disgusting, Mom," he protested, his voice rising slightly.
His mother stood up, her disappointment palpable. "Look what has become of you, Greg. This isn't you."
Greg felt a surge of defiance. "People change," he shot back stubbornly.
"Really? Oh, you'll change all right. Monday morning, I am phoning Claremont Military Academy."
For a moment, Greg's bravado faltered. "I've heard it before, Mom."
"No, Greg," his mother said in a firm, unyielding voice. I've had it with your behavior. This time, I'm making the call."
Panic clawed at Greg's insides. Military school? He couldn't leave Smallville. He couldn't leave Lana. And his bugs... "Hey, who's gonna take care of my bugs?" he blurted out, his voice cracking slightly.
Without waiting for an answer, Greg bolted for his room. He slammed the door behind him, and took in the tanks that housed his precious insects. Each contained the specimens he had spent years collecting and caring for, carefully cultivating their containers with unique environments decorated with bits of local…
Meteor rocks.
The soft buzz of wings and click of mandibles filled the air. He couldn't let his mother take this away from him. Pushing off the door, Greg began gathering supplies. He worked quickly to transfer his beloved insects into portable enclosures.
"Don't worry, my friends," he murmured. "I won't let any harm come to you."
With each bug safely tucked away, Greg slipped on his backpack, now bulging with small tanks and vials. He wasn't about to let her take away what mattered most to him. With a final tug to secure the last tank, he slipped on his bulging backpack, now heavy with glass and tiny lives. His mother's shouts grew louder as he slipped out the back door. He quickly loaded the tanks into his car and peeled out of the driveway.
Just as he was leaving Smallville, he took a sharp turn, his tires squealing on the pavement. The sound of a crack filled the car. Greg's eyes widened as one of the tanks broke open.
Insects swarmed out, all glowing green, filling the car with a living, buzzing cloud.
"No! No!" Greg cried out in panic, slapping at the insects biting and crawling all over him, their tiny mandibles biting him everywhere.
He began to hyperventilate, his breath coming in short, frantic gasps. "Ah! Aah!"
In his distress, he lost control of the car. It swerved wildly, careening off the road. With a crunch of metal, it slammed into a telephone pole. Greg's head smashed against the steering wheel on impact.
As darkness crept in at the edges of his vision, he could still hear the soft buzzing of his beloved insects. His last conscious thought was of Lana, her face lit up with joy as she twirled among the butterflies in her bedroom.
Then, still feeling countless bites and stings, everything went black.
— Meteor Freak —
Tyson trudged down the empty main street of Smallville. A chill evening wind nipped at his exposed skin, but he was surprisingly unbothered. A Volkswagen Beetle sputtered past. He watched its red taillights disappear around a corner, leaving him alone once more on the deserted street. In the distance, the sign of the Holiday Inn stood out. Eager for a hot shower and a bed, he quickened his pace toward the promise of comfort. As he approached the entrance, the glass doors reflected his disheveled appearance. He was still spattered with dirt from the day's ordeal and still mostly naked.
Warm air rushed over Tyson as he stepped into the lobby. At the front desk, a clerk with shaggy hair was slumped over, snoring softly. Tyson hesitated, then cleared his throat loudly.
The young man jerked awake, nearly toppling out of his chair. Blinking blearily, he focused on Tyson with confusion that quickly shifted to recognition.
"Damn, they got you this year, huh?" He let out a low whistle. "Rough night." The clerk's expression softened. "Hey man, been there. Sophomore year for me." He shook his head sympathetically. "So, need a room, I'm guessing?"
"Please," Tyson replied heavily.
The clerk tapped at his keyboard. "No problem, we've got plenty open. Any room work?"
"That's fine, thanks."
"Alright, that'll be $89 even."
Tyson dug the black card from his bag and slid it through the machine, scrawling a messy signature on the receipt.
The clerk passed over a keycard. "Room 312, elevators are just down the hall. Get some rest, man."
Tyson mumbled his thanks and shuffled toward the elevator. As the doors slid closed, he slumped against the wall and closed his eyes. The elevator dinged, jolting him awake. He walked down the hall to room 312 and unlocked the door. A queen bed dominated the room, and there was also a dresser, chair, and small table. A closet, end tables, and other spartan amenities completed the room. Dropping his bag, Tyson went straight for the bathroom. Catching his reflection, he winced at the dirt smudging his face and his tangled mess of hair.
He cranked the shower as hot as it would go. As the steam filled the small space, he stepped under the scalding spray with a groan of relief. The water washed away the grime and tension of the day. Eyes closed, Tyson let his mind drift; waking up on the bus, meeting Chloe, Pete, and Clark Kent, the surge of power from the meteor rock...
Tyson shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. It seemed impossible, like something from a comic book or a TV show. Yet he was standing in a shower in what appeared to be the DC universe, with billions of dollars.
The reality of his situation began to sink in. He was in a world he'd thought was fictional, and he had no idea how he'd gotten there.
Tyson leaned his forehead against the cool tile of the shower wall. What was he supposed to do now? Did he even want to find a way back to his world?
Not really.
He finished washing up and stepped out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist. As he dried off, he caught sight of himself in the mirror again.
Realizing he still had no wearable clothes, Tyson went to the closet and grabbed the complimentary robe. It wasn't plush, but it was something.
He glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand; its red numbers glowed: 2:37 AM. Shuffling to the bed, he pulled back the sheets and climbed under the covers.
— Meteor Freak —
Tyson's eyes fluttered open as sunlight streamed through the thin hotel curtains. The previous day's events came rushing back, and he sat up abruptly. It hadn't been a dream after all.
Glancing down at his robe, he remembered he still had a clothing problem. He should have accepted Lex's offer of clothes the previous night.
Tyson swung his legs over the side of the bed, cinching the complementary robe tightly around his waist. It wasn't ideal, but it would have to do for now.
He grabbed his wallet, slipped in the keycard, and stepped into the hallway. The corridor was mercifully empty as he made his way to the elevator. As the doors slid open on the ground floor, Tyson braced himself for curious stares, but the lobby was nearly deserted. The night clerk had been replaced by a middle-aged woman who barely glanced up from her computer as Tyson hurried past.
Outside, the early morning air was crisp and cool. Tyson looked up and down the street, relief washing over him as he spotted a Walmart sign in the distance. He set off, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible in only a hotel robe.
The automatic doors of Walmart whooshed open, and Tyson stepped inside. A few early morning shoppers milled about, but no one paid him much attention. He grabbed a cart and headed straight for the men's clothing section.
Tyson moved quickly, selecting a few pairs of jeans and plain T-shirts in his size. He tossed in some sweats and then headed to the underwear aisle. Socks, boxers, and sneakers joined the growing pile in his cart. He paused, considering what else he might need. A belt, deodorant, toothbrush, toothpaste, the basics. He threw those in, too.
As he wheeled his cart towards the checkout, Tyson caught sight of his reflection in a mirror. His hair was wild, making him look a bit crazy, plus wearing a robe in public wasn't helping.
The cashier was a bored-looking middle-aged man who barely batted an eye at Tyson's attire as he rang up his purchases. He hurried back to the hotel. The lobby was still quiet when he returned allowing him to make it to his room without incident. Tyson dumped the bags on the bed and started ripping off tags, eager to get out of the robe and into real clothes. He pulled on a pair of jeans and a plain black t-shirt, reveling in the feeling of fresh clothes against his skin. He ran a pick through his hair and brushed his teeth, feeling more human with each passing minute.
Tyson caught sight of himself in the mirror again. At least now he was presentable. He needed to figure out his next move.
Making his way down to the lobby, he approached the woman at the front desk and said, "Good morning. Could I pay for a few more days upfront?"
The woman nodded. "Of course. How long were you thinking?"
Tyson hesitated for a moment. He had no idea how long he'd be in Smallville, but he needed time to figure things out. "How about two weeks? And maybe a room with a kitchenette if one is available."
"Sure thing." The woman tapped at her keyboard. "That'll be one thousand one hundred and twenty-six dollars, including tax."
Tyson pulled out his credit card and handed it over. The woman swiped it without issue, and the machine beeped its approval.
"All set," the woman said, handing him back his card and a receipt. You're paid until next Sunday. Is there anything else I can help you with?"
"No, thank you," he replied.
Stepping out of the Holiday Inn, Tyson squinted against the bright morning sun. The air was crisp and clean, carrying the scent of freshly cut grass, though he could smell the distant farmland. He remembered Clark's hurried promise the previous night to talk later. Well, now was as good a time as any.
He needed to go to the Kent Farm. He'd seen it on the bus when he first arrived. Tyson recalled his route when walking Lana home the night before. Her house was just across from the Kents'.
He went through town, seeing a few other early risers out and about. An older couple walked their dog, nodding politely as they passed. A teenager on a bicycle whizzed by. As he reached the outskirts of town, the paved sidewalk gave way to a dusty shoulder along the road. Fields of corn stretched out on either side. The walk was longer than he'd remembered, and just as he was beginning to wonder if he'd somehow taken a wrong turn, Tyson spotted a familiar mailbox up ahead. 'Lang,' it read in faded white letters. If the Lang house was here, the Kent Farm couldn't be far.
Sure enough, as he crested a small hill, he saw it. The Kent Farm was a picturesque middle-America scene with red barns, white fences, and golden fields. In the distance, he could make out the yellow farmhouse where Clark lived.
Tyson paused at the end of the long driveway, suddenly feeling uncertain. What was he going to say? "Hey Clark, remember how you ran off last night, and I gained electric powers? Want to talk about it?" It sounded ridiculous, even in his head.
As Tyson approached the farm, a car pulled onto the road and slowly drove toward him. The sedan kicked up a small cloud of dust as it rolled to a stop beside him. The passenger window lowered with a soft whir, revealing a familiar face framed by long, dark hair.
"Good morning, Tyson." Lana Lang's warm smile greeted him. "Are you coming to check up on me?"
Tyson's lips curved into a grin. "Actually, I was coming to check on Clark, but seeing you is a nice surprise."
His gaze was drawn to the soft green glow enveloping Lana. He considered how it differed from the radiant golden light surrounding Clark, whose aura was brighter. However, Lana's aura likely indicated she had some metahuman ability. He wondered what it was and whether she knew she had a power.
Lana gestured to the woman in the driver's seat. "This is my aunt, Nell Potter."
Tyson leaned down to rest his forearms on the open window frame. "Pleasure to meet you, Ms. Potter. I'm Tyson."
Nell's eyes narrowed slightly as she looked him over, flicking between Tyson and her niece before giving a polite nod.
"You're a little late to catch Clark," Lana said.
"Late? It's only 9 AM."
Lana chuckled. "Farm life. Today's the farmers market. The Kents left over an hour ago." She paused, then added, "We were heading there ourselves if you want a ride."
Tyson considered for a moment. A trip to the market could be a good chance to learn more about the town. "That'd be great, thanks."
He walked around and slid into the back seat, settling in as Nell pulled onto the road.
Lana twisted around to face him, eyes twinkling. "Gotta say, you clean up pretty well."
Nell made a disapproving "hmph" from the front seat.
Tyson chuckled. "Amazing what a change of clothes can do. I feel almost human. I'm surprised you recognized me with clothes on."
Lana gasped, her cheeks flushing a deep pink. Nell's eyebrow shot up in the rearview mirror, her expression a mix of concern and disapproval. Tyson's innuendo was intentional, but he clarified, not wanting to incense Lana's aunt. "Last night was the first football game. As the new kid, I had the honor of being picked as the scarecrow."
Nell's expression softened, though a frown still creased her brow. She shook her head. "I can't believe they still get away with that."
"After this one, they might not," Tyson replied. "I made quite a scene."
The car fell silent for a moment, the only sound the crunch of gravel beneath the tires. Lana turned back to face the front, but Tyson caught her stealing glances at him in the side mirror.
"So, Tyson," Nell began, breaking the silence. "Where are you from? We don't get many new faces in Smallville."
"I'm from New York," he said. "Staying in the hotel until I find something more permanent."
She nodded, seemingly satisfied with the answer. "You're staying at the Holiday Inn? That must be expensive for an extended stay."
"Nell," Lana admonished softly, but Tyson waved it off.
"Yeah, it's not ideal, but compared to New York City prices, it's less than rent, plus someone cleans the room."
The conversation lulled again, and Tyson looked out the window, watching the landscape pass. After reaching the outskirts of town, Main Street gave way to scattered houses, followed by fields of corn. As they drove, Tyson noticed more activity than he'd seen earlier. People were carrying bags or pushing carts filled with produce.
"The farmers market is a big deal here, huh?"
Lana nodded enthusiastically. "It's one of the highlights of the week. Everyone comes out for it. You'll love it."
As they neared the town square, Nell slowed the car and searched for a parking spot. The area was already crowded with vehicles and pedestrians. Colorful tents and stands lined the square.
"There's one," Lana pointed, and Nell smoothly pulled into an empty space.
They climbed out of the car, the sounds and smells of the market washing over them. The air was filled with the mingled scents of fresh produce, baked goods, and savory foods cooking on portable grills. The chatter of voices and occasional bursts of laughter created a lively atmosphere.
"Well, I'm off to Mrs. Grant's stand," Nell announced. "Her pies always sell out fast. You two have fun, alright?"
"We will, Aunt Nell," Lana assured her.
As Nell disappeared into the crowd, Lana turned to Tyson. "So, where do you want to start?"
Tyson scanned the market. "I'm not sure. What do you recommend?"
"Oh, there's so much to see! Come on, I'll give you the tour." She pointed out various stands and vendors as they walked through the farmer's market. "That's Mr. Johnson's vegetable stand. He grows the best tomatoes in the county. And over there is Mrs. Wilson's honey booth. She's one of the few local beekeepers."
He noticed several people giving him curious looks. A few even whispered to each other, but he caught snippets of conversations as he passed.
"...new kid..."
"...kickoff dance..."
"... scarecrow..."
Lana seemed to notice. "Don't mind them. Small town, big gossip. It'll blow over soon enough."
As they rounded a corner, he spotted a woman behind a stand piled high with fruits and vegetables. Lana explained, "That's Martha, Clark's mom."
Martha Kent's warm smile greeted them as they approached. "Lana, good morning! And... Tyson, right?" Tyson nodded, surprised she knew his name. "How are you feeling?" Martha asked, her eyes filled with concern. "Clark told me what happened last night. Being stuck up in that field must have been terrifying."
"I'm okay, Mrs. Kent," Tyson assured her. "As the football players said, it was just a prank."
Martha nodded sympathetically. "Well, you're safe now. And please, call me Martha." She glanced around, then leaned in closer. "Clark's been asking about you. He's helping his father set up our produce stand, and he'll be carrying boxes back and forth from the truck."
Lana said, "We'll wait for him to come back then."
Clark approached the stand, his muscular frame easily carrying a stack of heavy boxes. Jonathan Kent followed close behind, gripping another load. Lana's face brightened as she greeted them.
"Morning, Mr. Kent. Hi, Clark."
Clark's eyes widened slightly as he noticed Tyson. "Hey, Lana. Tyson, good to see you."
Tyson stepped forward. "Let me help with those, Mr. Kent."
Before Jonathan could protest, Tyson took the boxes from him. The older man's surprise was evident as Tyson effortlessly lifted the load.
"Dad, this is Tyson, the new kid I told you about."
Jonathan extended his hand, which Tyson shook firmly. "Nice to meet you, young man. I appreciate the help."
"Happy to help, sir," Tyson replied.
Jonathan glanced at the truck. "We've got one more trip to make. Mind giving us a hand?"
"I'm going to look around," Lana said. "Enjoy the market."
As she disappeared into the crowd, Tyson followed Clark and Jonathan towards the truck. Once they were out of earshot of the market, Jonathan Kent's demeanor changed. His voice lowered, taking on a more serious tone.
"Clark told us about what happened last night. I want to thank you for helping him out with that situation." Tyson nodded, unsure of how to respond. He could feel the tension radiating from Clark. Jonathan continued, "I need to know, Tyson. How much did you see?"
"I saw enough to know that Clark isn't exactly like everyone else."
Clark's shoulders tensed visibly, and Jonathan's expression grew more serious.
"What exactly does that mean, son?" he pressed.
Tyson took a deep breath. "I saw Clark move faster than should be possible. And he took a direct hit from a car, got knocked through a brick wall, and shrugged it off easier than I took those lineman's punches."
Jonathan exchanged a worried glance with Clark. "I see," he said slowly. "And what do you plan to do with this information?"
"Nothing, Mr. Kent," Tyson replied, "It's not my secret to tell. It's none of my business."
Relief washed over Clark's face, but Jonathan remained cautious. "That's very mature of you. But you have to understand this isn't just about Clark. It's about our entire family's safety."
When they reached the truck, Clark began unloading more boxes. Tyson moved to help, easily lifting a stack that would have been challenging for most men.
Jonathan's eyebrows rose. "You're pretty strong yourself."
Tyson shrugged. "I work out."
Clark shot him a knowing look but said nothing.
As they walked back towards the market, Jonathan continued. "Look, Tyson, I appreciate your discretion. But I need to know we can trust you. Clark's... differences... they could put him in danger if the wrong people found out."
Instead of responding directly, Tyson asked, "Have you ever been to New York, Mr. Kent?" The older man shook his head, and Tyson continued, "There are a few rules to survive in the city. Mainly, keep your head down and mind your business. And whatever Clark can do isn't my business."
Jonathan studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Alright. Thank you. I hope you understand why we have to be so cautious."
"Of course," Tyson replied. "If I were in your position, I'd do the same."
As they neared the market again, Jonathan lowered his voice once more. "One more thing, Tyson. Have you noticed anything... unusual... since last night? Any changes in yourself?"
Tyson hesitated for a moment, weighing his options. He glanced at Clark, who gave him an almost imperceptible nod of encouragement. Staying on the future Superman's good side was probably a good idea.
"I'll be upfront. Since you're trusting me, I'll trust you, too. When that guy tried electrocuting me last night, it seemed like it backfired, and I gained his powers. I think it had to do with the necklace I was wearing."
Jonathan's eyes widened, and he exchanged a quick look with Clark, who cleared his throat and added, "That was Lana's necklace. It's made from meteor rock."
"So, meteor rock plus electricity equals stealing powers? This town is so strange."
Jonathan ran a hand through his hair, his expression a mix of concern and resignation. "I appreciate your honesty, Tyson, and keeping Clark's secrets."
The three of them stood in silence for a moment, the sounds of the bustling market seeming distant and muffled. Tyson could almost see the gears turning in Jonathan's head as he processed this new information.
"Have you... tried using these powers?" Jonathan asked cautiously.
"Not really. I was too busy this morning trying to buy some clothes without looking like a creep. But it's pretty obvious how much stronger I am. Lifting that box felt like it was empty."
Clark leaned in. "Dad, maybe we should take this conversation somewhere more private."
Jonathan nodded in agreement. "You're right, son. Tyson, would you mind coming by the farm later today? We can talk more freely there."
"Sure, Mr. Kent," he replied.
As they walked back to the produce stand, he couldn't help but notice the curious glances from passersby. Word of his dance incident had clearly spread through the small town like wildfire. Martha greeted them with a warm smile, but her eyes held a question as she looked between her husband and son. Jonathan gave her a subtle nod, and her smile faltered for just a moment before returning full force.
"Everything alright?" she asked.
"Just fine, honey," Jonathan replied. "Tyson here was kind enough to help us with the heavy lifting."
"That's very kind of you, Tyson. Why don't you take some apples as a thank you? On the house." Tyson started to protest, but Martha was already filling a small paper bag with shiny red apples. "Consider it a welcome to Smallville gift."
"Thank you, Mrs. Kent," Tyson said, accepting the bag. "That's very generous of you."
As he turned to leave, he caught sight of Lana making her way back through the crowd. She was carrying a small potted plant, her face lit up with excitement. She called out. "I found the most beautiful orchid. Isn't it gorgeous?"
"It's lovely. You have a good eye."
Lana beamed at the compliment. "Thanks. Oh, and I ran into Chloe. She's been looking for you."
As if on cue, Chloe appeared beside them. "Tyson! There you are. I've been trying to track you down all morning." She glanced around, then lowered her voice. "I wanted to talk to you about last night. The whole Jeremy Creek situation. It's perfect for the Wall of Weird. And I need an interview. The fight, being the scarecrow, the confrontation at the dance. Everything!"
Lana rolled her eyes good-naturedly. "Chloe, give the guy a break. He's barely been in town for a day, and you're already trying to rope him into your investigations?"
Chloe waved off her concern. "Come on, Lana. This is big news!"
Tyson answered, "Sure, Chloe. I'll answer whatever questions you have."
A familiar figure in a letterman jacket approached their small group. His eyes were fixed on Lana, but they kept darting nervously to Tyson. "Hey, Lana, can I talk to you?" Whitney asked.
He glanced at Tyson, opening his mouth as if to say something, then closing it again, clearly at a loss for words. Chloe leaned in close to Tyson and stage-whispered, "Awkward."
Lana hesitated before saying, "Alright, let's talk."
As Lana and Whitney moved away, Chloe sidled up to Tyson. "So... Want to give me the inside scoop on what happened there?"
Tyson shook his head. "I'm not sure I know."
Chloe wasn't deterred. "Come on, Tyson."
"I don't know any more than you do. You saw what happened at the dance. I haven't seen Whitney since. I walked Lana home last night, and she gave me a ride this morning, but we didn't talk about Whitney."
Chloe's eyes lit up. "Well, let's see if we can change that. Come on, we're following them."
Before Tyson could protest, Chloe grabbed his arm and pulled him through the crowd. They weaved between market-goers, her keen eyes never losing sight of Lana and Whitney.
"I'm not sure this is a good idea," he whispered, but his objection lacked conviction.
"Shh," Chloe hissed, ducking behind a nearby stall. "We're close enough to hear them now."
Tyson sighed but crouched down beside her. They were hidden behind a display of homemade jams and preserves, close enough to hear the conversation without being seen.
Whitney's low, pleading voice reached them first. "Lana, please. I want to explain."
"Explain what, Whitney?" her voice was sharp, contrasting her usual gentle tone. "How did you think it was okay to string up an innocent person as some sick tradition?"
Whitney flinched at her words. "It wasn't like that. It was just a prank. I never meant for it to go that far."
Lana scoffed. "A prank? Whitney, you beat him and left him out there for hours."
"I know, I know. I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking straight. I was angry and jealous. I took it out on the new kid."
"Jealous?" Lana's voice rose slightly. "Of what?"
Whitney hesitated. "I saw you two talking at school, and I just... I lost it."
"So you decided to go after him because we were talking?"
"I know it was wrong. I'm sorry, Lana. I'll apologize to Tyson, too, I swear."
Lana shook her head, her voice trembling with anger. "It's not just about Tyson, Whitney. It's about you. The person who did this... that's not the Whitney I know. The Whitney I know wouldn't hurt someone like that, wouldn't let jealousy lead him like this."
He reached out to touch her arm, but Lana stepped back. "Lana, please. I made a mistake. A big one, I know. But I'm still me."
"Are you?" Lana challenged. "Because the Whitney I know wouldn't have given away my necklace so easily either."
His face fell. "Your necklace? I... I didn't think..."
"Exactly, Whitney. You didn't think," Lana cut him off. "That necklace means everything to me. It's all I have left of my parents. And you just... gave it away like it was nothing."
"I'm sorry, Lana. I'll get it back for you. I promise," he pleaded.
Lana shook her head, her voice softer now but no less hurt. She pulled it out from under her shirt. "It's not about getting it back, Whitney. Tyson gave it back to me last night. It's about what it represents. You knew how much that necklace meant to me and still used it in your prank."
Whitney's shoulders slumped. "Lana, I... I don't know what to say. I messed up, big time. I know that. But I'm still me. I'm still the guy who loves you, who wants to make this right."
"I don't know if you can make this right, Whitney. What you did... it's not just about me, the necklace, or Tyson. It's about who you are and who you're becoming. And I'm not sure I like what I'm seeing."
"Lana, please. Give me a chance to make this right."
She shook her head slowly. "I don't think you can, Whitney. Not right now. I need... I need some time. To think, to process all of this."
"Are you... are you breaking up with me?" Whitney asked.
"I don't know, Whitney. I honestly don't know. But right now, I need space. I can't be around you without thinking about what you did, without wondering who you are."
Whitney's face crumpled. "Lana, please..."
But Lana had already turned away, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as she walked back towards the market. Whitney stood there, frozen, watching her go.
Behind the jam stall, Chloe and Tyson exchanged looks.
"Wow," Chloe whispered. "That was intense."
On one hand, Tyson felt a twinge of satisfaction seeing Whitney face consequences for his actions. On the other hand, the pain in Lana and Whitney's voices left him feeling uncomfortable, having intruded on something deeply personal.
"We should go," Tyson whispered. "Before they see us."
They slipped through the crowd until they were a safe distance away. She tilted her head, studying him. "You know, most guys would be thrilled to see their tormentor get taken down a peg."
Tyson shrugged. "I guess. But it doesn't make us even. I'm still going to get some payback."
They walked silently for a moment, the sounds of the market washing over them.
"So," Chloe said, breaking the silence. "What are you going to do?"
Tyson sighed. "What am I going to do? Honestly? Nothing. This is way more drama than I expected."
Chloe laughed. "Welcome to small-town life. Where everyone knows everyone's business, and high school drama is front-page news."
Tyson couldn't help but laugh with her. "I'm starting to see that. Is it always like this?"
"Oh, you have no idea. Just wait until you see what happens next week."
As they walked back toward the center of the market, Tyson spotted Lana in the distance. She stood alone, her arms still tightly around her, staring into space.
"Should we... I don't know… talk to her?" Tyson asked.
"Not right now. She needs some space. Trust me, I've known Lana long enough to know when she needs to be alone."
Lana wandered through the market, her eyes unfocused and her thoughts a million miles away. She found herself in front of a stand selling handmade crafts, her gaze drawn to a delicate butterfly mobile hanging from the awning.
Meanwhile, Chloe and Tyson walked in the opposite direction. "So, Tyson," Chloe began, her pen poised over her notepad. "Tell me about being the scarecrow. What was going through your mind when you realized what was happening?"
"Not much. Pretty sure I was concussed…"
— Meteor Freak —
Greg Arkin sidled up behind Lana. "Beautiful, isn't it?" he said softly.
Lana startled slightly, turning to face him. "Greg," she said, "Hey, I didn't recognize you without your glasses."
Greg's face lit up at her recognition. "Did you know the average butterfly only lives for eight hours?" he asked, gesturing to the mobile.
Lana's smile grew a bit more genuine. "The fast die young. They're the rock stars of the insect world."
"Hey, Lana, I was wondering if you would help me with my Lit paper."
"Nathaniel West assignment giving you brain freeze?"
Greg nodded emphatically. "Yeah, it's kicking my ass."
She hesitated for a moment before replying, "Sure, okay."
Greg's face broke into a wide grin. "Great. How about my house after school?"
Lana shifted uncomfortably, her smile faltering slightly. "Library might be easier," she suggested. He was being a little more forward than she would've liked.
Greg's enthusiasm dimmed a bit, but he quickly recovered. "It's a date."
Lana's discomfort grew visibly. "Alright. See you around." Turning, she headed toward another stall.
Greg watched her go, his eyes following her path through the market. His gaze landed on Tyson, who was still talking with Chloe. His eyes narrowed as he observed the way they spoke. He remembered seeing Tyson walk Lana home the night before, the two laughing and talking like old friends. And this morning, he'd spotted them arriving at the market together, Lana in the passenger seat of her aunt's car, Tyson in the back. A familiar feeling of jealousy and resentment bubbled up in Greg's chest. He'd been watching Lana for years, waiting for the perfect moment to make his move. And now this new guy was swooping in, threatening to ruin everything. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. Tyson was in the way of him being with Lana. Just like Whitney had been. Greg had overheard Lana and Whitney's conversation and knew their relationship was on thin ice, thanks to his stupidity.
This should have been his chance. But instead, here was Tyson, who had inserted himself into Lana's life.
As Greg watched, Chloe said something that made Tyson laugh. The sound carried across the market, drawing Lana's attention. She glanced over at them, smiling as she watched Tyson gesticulate wildly, apparently in the middle of telling some story.
Greg's jaw clenched. He'd have to do something about Tyson. But what? He couldn't pull something like Whitney had. That had backfired spectacularly. No, he'd have to be smarter about it. More subtle. He turned back to the butterfly mobile, watching it spin in the breeze. Butterflies were beautiful but fragile. Easy to crush if you weren't careful. Or even if you were.
Greg's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of Lana's laughter. He looked up to see that she had rejoined Tyson and Chloe. The three talked animatedly, with Chloe still scribbling in her notebook. The sight made his blood boil. That should be him standing there with Lana, making her laugh, being the center of her attention. Not Tyson. As he watched, Tyson said something that made both girls laugh. Lana playfully swatted Tyson's arm. The easy camaraderie between them was obvious, even from a distance.
Greg turned away, unable to watch anymore. He needed to act fast if he wanted to have any chance with Lana. Tyson was becoming too much of a presence in her life too quickly. He needed to be removed from the equation.
But how? He couldn't risk anything too obvious or he'd end up in a similar situation to Whitney. Lana clearly liked Tyson; anything that hurt him would only turn her against him. No. He needed to be clever about this. He needed to find a way to make Tyson look bad in Lana's eyes, make him want to leave Smallville altogether, or subtly remove him from the picture himself.
As Greg pondered his options, he absently reached out and touched one of the hanging butterflies. It spun wildly for a moment before settling back into its gentle rotation. Greg smiled to himself. Sometimes, all it took was a gentle push to set big things in motion.
He glanced back at the trio one last time. Tyson was in his way, but not for long. Greg would make sure of that. He would clear the path to Lana's heart one way or another. And once he had her, he'd never let her go.
— Meteor Freak —
Lana headed off to find her aunt as Chloe finished grilling Tyson. "This is going to be huge," she declared excitedly. "I'm going to expose the whole rotten system. The football team, the coach, the administration. They've been letting this go on for years!"
Tyson raised an eyebrow. "You sure about this, Chloe? Sounds like you're taking on a lot."
"That's what makes it worth doing. Someone has to stand up to them." She gave Tyson a quick pat on the shoulder. "Thanks for the scoop. I've got to run and get started. This story isn't going to write itself!"
With that, she darted into the crowd, leaving Tyson alone. He shook his head and turned his attention back to the market, remembering Nell's mention of Mrs. Grant's pies.
"Now, where would those be?" he muttered, scanning the various stalls.
Unbeknownst to Tyson, he was being watched from a discreet distance by Lex and Kara Luthor.
Kara leaned in close to Lex, her voice low. "Let me talk with him first."
Lex's eyes narrowed slightly. "I think I should handle this, Kara. We don't want to overwhelm him."
Kara's face softened with a hint of concern in her eyes. "Overwhelm him? Lex, be nice, please."
"I'm always nice," he replied, his tone smooth as silk.
Lex seized his opportunity when Tyson approached the pie stall. "It's the talk of the town," he said in greeting.
Tyson glanced up. "The pies?" he asked, confused.
"No," Lex replied, "You." Smirking, he said, "I didn't give you enough credit last night. I thought you might've been concussed or crazy. But not accepting clothes or a trip to the doctor so that you could expose them? That was clever."
Tyson let out a laugh. "Thanks for the ride," he said, "but now you might be overestimating me." Lex's eyes narrowed imperceptibly as Tyson continued, "I just couldn't think of a good enough counter-prank, so I settled for crashing the dance."
A soft chuckle escaped Lex's lips. "I doubt that," he said, his tone making it clear he wasn't buying Tyson's explanation. Lex's gaze swept over him, taking in every detail. "Interesting that you look fine this morning," he observed, his voice casual but his eyes sharp. "All those bruises faded."
Tyson waved a hand dismissively. "One of the perks of being darker-skinned. Bruises don't show as clearly."
"Uh-huh," Lex replied, making it abundantly clear he remained unconvinced.
The silence between them was filled with the background noise of the market. Tyson busied himself examining a blueberry pie, acutely aware of Lex's scrutiny.
"You know. Smallville has a way of attracting... unusual occurrences. And unusual people."
Tyson looked up from the pie, meeting Lex's gaze. "Is that so?"
"Oh yes. You might say it's something in the water. Or perhaps... something that fell from the sky."
"You mean the meteor rocks?"
"Among other things," Lex replied cryptically. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "Tell me, Tyson, have you noticed anything... strange since you arrived in Smallville?"
"Strange?" Tyson echoed, injecting a note of confusion into his voice. "Now that you mention it, I have to agree. Everything that I've experienced since I came to town has been unusual. I got jumped, which wouldn't have been so strange in New York, but then I was strung up in a cornfield, which should qualify as pretty strange. Also, I'd never met a billionaire before I came to this small town. But I feel like that's not what you're talking about."
"No, it's not," Lex confirmed. "I'm talking about things that defy explanation. Things that shouldn't be possible."
Tyson shrugged, feigning indifference. He lied smoothly. "I haven't been here long. Maybe the strangeness hasn't had time to rub off on me."
Lex studied Tyson's face intently, searching for any sign of deception. Finding none, he straightened up, his demeanor shifting back to casual friendliness. "Well, if you do notice anything out of the ordinary, I hope you'll feel comfortable coming to me," Lex said, reaching into his jacket and producing a business card. "I'm particularly interested in the unusual happenings around Smallville."
Tyson accepted the card, glancing at the embossed LuthorCorp logo before tucking it into his pocket. "I'll keep that in mind," he said noncommittally.
Lex nodded, seemingly satisfied for the moment. "Enjoy the market, Tyson," he said, turning to leave. "And do try Mrs. Grant's apple pie. It's to die for."
As Lex walked away, Tyson exhaled, not realizing he'd been holding his breath. He turned back to the pie stand, considering the implications of their conversation. Finally, he settled on purchasing one of Mrs. Grant's famous apple pies since everyone made a big deal about it. But he couldn't resist picking up a pecan pie as well; it was his favorite. The aroma of freshly baked goods wafted up from the paper bag in his hands, distracting him from any concerns of the conversation with Lex Luthor. He smiled to himself, looking forward to indulging in a pie.
From her vantage point, Kara watched the exchange with keen interest. Lex returned, his face a mask of thoughtful consideration. "Well?" she asked. "What do you think?"
Lex's eyes remained fixed on Tyson's back. "I think," he said slowly, "that our new friend is hiding something. And I intend to find out what it is."
Kara frowned, a flicker of concern crossing her features. "Lex, maybe we should…"
But Lex had already started moving, his attention caught by something else in the market. Kara sighed, casting one last glance at Tyson before following her brother.
As Tyson strolled through the farmers market, carrying his pies, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was being watched. He shook his head, trying to dispel the paranoia that threatened to creep in. As he rounded a corner, he saw a familiar figure sitting alone at a picnic table.
Kara sat there, bent over her phone. She had positioned herself perfectly in Tyson's path. To the casual observer, it would have appeared entirely coincidental. In truth, Kara had used her superhuman speed to arrive at this spot before Tyson approached, having observed his movements from afar.
As he drew nearer, she glanced up from her phone, her blue eyes meeting his. A warm smile spread across her face, the kind that could light up a room or, in this case, an outdoor picnic area. Tyson's eyes were immediately drawn to her as he approached. A golden aura glowed around her, impossible to ignore.
"Hey, Kara," Tyson called out, his voice carrying a note of pleasant surprise.
Kara's smile widened as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "Oh, hi, Tyson," she replied in a casual and friendly tone.
"Fancy running into you here. I didn't take you for a farmers market kind of girl. But I guess in a small town like this, there's not much else to do on a Saturday morning." He gestured at the busy farmers market around them. "But I can't complain if coincidence leads me to your company."
Kara let out a light laugh. "I suppose you're right. We're country folk now. We'll have to find different ways to entertain ourselves." She nodded at the bag in his hands. "Looks like you've already got a good start. I hope you have extra."
His smile broadened. "For you? Always." He sat across from her and began unpacking the still-warm pies, their sweet aroma filling the air. "I got apple and pecan. Your choice."
"Oh, tough decision," Kara laughed, setting her phone aside. "But I think I'll have to go with the apple. It's a classic for a reason, right?"
"Good choice," Tyson agreed, placing the pie between them. "Though I have to admit, I've never actually tried Mrs. Grant's pies before. Everyone keeps talking about them. This will be my first time, too."
"Some people say they're the real reason for the town's strange occurrences. Everyone's just on a perpetual sugar high." Kara joked.
Tyson chuckled, feeling some of the tension from his earlier encounter with Lex begin to dissipate. "Well, in that case, I guess I better be careful. Who knows what kind of trouble I might get into after a slice or two?" He decided to test the waters. "Your brother mentioned that Smallville has a reputation for unusual events. Any truth to that?"
Kara's fork paused halfway to her mouth, her expression flickering for a moment before settling into a casual smile. "Oh, you know how small towns are. People like to gossip. I wouldn't put too much stock in it." Her fork hovered over her slice of pie. "Well," she began, her voice dropping to a near whisper, "I did hear about something unusual."
Tyson leaned in, his interest piqued. "Oh? Like what?"
Kara glanced around as if ensuring no one was within earshot before continuing. "I saw this boy strung up in a cornfield last night."
"Poor schmuck," he casually commented. "What happened to him?"
Kara studied Tyson's face as she spoke. "He got beat up pretty bad. Broken nose, swollen eyes, bleeding and bruised." She paused, her fork still suspended in mid-air. "But then I saw him the next day, and he looked like nothing happened."
"Lucky guy that he caught your attention. You must have really good eyesight," Tyson said, nonplussed. Kara smiled, though he hadn't addressed what she'd said. Instead, he redirected the conversation. "Now that you mention it, I did see something weird."
"Oh?"
"Yeah. There was this girl I met. I was about to get in a fight, and it looked like she was going to step in, but then she got sick." He paused, watching Kara's reaction. Her fork finally found its way to her mouth, giving her a moment to compose her thoughts as she chewed. He pressed on, his voice tinged with feigned concern. "It was a bit weird. She must not have gotten the disclaimer about not eating the school lunch."
The air between them crackled with unspoken understanding. Kara read their byplay, realizing he'd noticed how she was affected. Yet, like her, he wasn't denying that his healing this morning was unusual.
Kara set her fork down. "My brother asked if you'd seen anything strange, and you said no."
Tyson's lips quirked into a half-smile. "The only strange thing I've seen is that the pretty new girl is talking to me. That's pretty strange."
Kara couldn't help but smile at his deflection, even as she picked up her fork again, using the act of eating to buy herself time to think. Tyson took a bite of his own pie, savoring the sweet taste. The silence between them stretched, each lost in their own thoughts as they continued to eat their pie. The sounds of the farmers market washed over them; the chatter of shoppers, and the rustle of paper bags being filled with fresh produce.
As they finished their slices, Tyson spoke up again. "You know, Kara, I get the feeling that you and I might have more in common than we realize."
Kara raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what makes you say that?"
Tyson shrugged, his expression open and friendly. "Just a hunch. Call it intuition, if you will."
"You're an interesting guy. I can see why my brother is so intrigued by you."
"Lex isn't my type." He searched her face. "I'm more interested in knowing if you're intrigued too?"
Kara leaned forward, a playful glint in her eye. "So, I'm your type?"
Tyson didn't hesitate. "I shared my pie, didn't I?"
"Is it because I have hair?" she joked, running a hand through her golden locks.
Tyson chuckled. "That and your eyes. It's like you can see right through me."
"I can," Kara replied, her tone suddenly serious.
Tyson raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And what do you see?"
A smile tugged at the corners of Kara's mouth. "A flirt. And a man who could lift boxes filled with produce stacked as tall as he is with no effort."
Tyson's smile widened at her first observation, but he paused at the second, his eyes narrowing slightly as he studied Kara's face.
"Ah," Tyson said, his voice low. "Saw that, do you? I was right; you have good eyes. Pretty and good." He leaned in close to whisper, and Kara mirrored his action, though she didn't need to. Her superhuman hearing could pick up a whisper from across the market, but she played along, bringing her ear close to his lips.
"I can see your aura," Tyson murmured, his breath warm against her skin. "It's golden, like the warmth of the sun, and radiates boundless strength." He paused, his voice growing softer. "It's captivating, and it's more than your hair, or your eyes, or... anything else."
Kara smiled at his flattery, but the expression quickly faded as she realized he saw more than he was letting on. She backpedaled, her voice taking on a forced casualness.
"I must have been mistaken. All I see is a flirt."
Tyson inclined his head. "And I must've been seeing things. I probably need glasses. I tried to tell Whitney I was squinting all day yesterday, but he didn't buy it. Ended up getting me punched in the face."
They sat back, the air between them charged with unspoken truths. Each had revealed a piece of what they knew about the other, dancing around the edges of their secrets without fully committing to exposure. Kara needed time to think, to consider what she'd learned about this mysterious new student. She studied him with newfound interest.
"I'm not going to tell my brother or father about any of this," she said finally, her voice low and serious. "They don't like me talking to boys."
"That's good. Don't need the Luther men angry at me over apple pie. I already got my ass kicked yesterday by a jealous boyfriend."
The conversation lulled, and Kara glanced at her phone. "I should probably get going," she said. "Lex will be wondering where I've disappeared to."
"Of course. Wouldn't want to keep your brother waiting."
They stood up, gathering the remains of their impromptu pie picnic. As Kara turned to leave, Tyson said softly, "Thanks for the company and the conversation. Maybe we can do this again sometime?"
"I'd like that," Tyson replied warmly.
— Meteor Freak —
A short while later, Tyson strolled down the quiet road in the direction of the main street and center of town. Lana had left with her aunt, and Chloe had scurried off to write her story. His footsteps crunched on the gravel as he walked. Tall trees lined the empty road, their branches swaying gently in the breeze. The peaceful atmosphere shattered in an instant. A blur of motion erupted from the trees, and before Tyson could react, a figure slammed into him. The impact sent him sprawling to the ground. Despite the surprise attack, his body was unharmed. He rolled, using the momentum to spin away from his attacker.
Tyson swung his fist, solidly connecting with his assailant. The punch made the attacker stumble backward, allowing him to scramble to his feet. Across from him crouched a boy Tyson didn't recognize. The stranger's eyes gleamed unsettlingly, and his body coiled like a spring, ready to unleash.
Tyson studied his opponent. Though the boy was a stranger, something about him seemed familiar. A pale green aura flickered around the boy's tense frame, indicating that he had a metahuman ability.
"You one of those football players coming for a rematch?" Tyson probed.
The boy's lips curled into a sneer. "More like coming to finish what they started."
Before Tyson could process the cryptic response, the boy lunged forward. His speed was startling, closing the distance between them and leaving Tyson barely enough time to raise his arms in defense as the attacker crashed into him.
They grappled, the boy's strength surprised Tyson. Fists flew as they struggled, neither gaining the upper hand. Tyson felt a sharp pain as a blow connected with his ribs, but he gritted his teeth and fought back. The boy was relentless. He found himself on the defensive, struggling to keep up. He backpedaled, trying to create some distance, but his attacker pressed forward, unwilling to let up. Tyson's back slammed against a tree trunk. The boy grabbed his shirt and pulled him close.
"You should have stayed away from her," he hissed, his face inches away.
Confusion flashed across Tyson's face, but he had no time to dwell on the cryptic statement. As the boy's grip tightened, Tyson felt a familiar tingling sensation coursing through his body. The electric charge he'd discovered the night before surged to the surface, responding to the threat.
Without conscious thought, Tyson grabbed his attacker's arms. The effect was immediate and dramatic. A visible arc of electricity jumped from Tyson's hands to the boy's body. The attacker's eyes widened in shock and pain as the current coursed through him, forcing the boy's grip to loosen as he stumbled backward, his body twitching from the electric shock. Tyson stood there, hands still crackling with residual energy, staring at his would-be assailant in disbelief.
"What... what are you?" the boy gasped.
"I could ask you the same thing," Tyson shot back, eyeing the boy warily. "Who are you? Why did you attack me?"
The boy's face contorted with anger. "I'm Greg," he spat as if the name should mean something to Tyson. "And you're in the way."
Tyson's brow furrowed. "In the way of what? I don't even know you."
"You don't belong here," he snarled. "You should just leave Smallville. Leave her alone."
"Her? Is this about Chloe? Lana?"
Greg reacted to Lana's name with a flash of possessive anger in his eyes, confirming Tyson's suspicion. "You don't deserve her," Greg growled. "None of you do. Not Whitney, not Clark, and certainly not you."
Tyson held up his hands, trying to defuse the situation. "Look, Greg, I think you've got the wrong idea. Lana and I are just friends. I'm not trying to…"
Greg cut him off with a bitter laugh. "Just friends? I've seen the way she looks at you. The way she laughs at your jokes. You've known her for what, a day? And already you're closer to her than I've ever been."
Tyson shook his head. "Pretty sure that isn't healthy. Lana's not some prize to be won. She's a person."
Greg's face twisted with rage. "You don't understand. You could never understand. Lana and I are meant to be together. And I won't let anyone stand in the way of that. Not even some freak like you." For a moment, it seemed like he might attack again. But then, abruptly, he straightened up. "This isn't over," Greg warned. "You might have these... powers, but I have something too. Something that will make Lana see me. And when that happens, you'll be nothing but a memory."
Without another word, he turned and bolted down the road. Tyson's eyes widened in disbelief as he watched Greg's retreating form. The boy moved with inhuman speed, his legs pumping at a rate that shouldn't have been possible. He wasn't quite a blur, but he outpaced any car, disappearing around a bend in the road within seconds.
"Shit," Tyson cursed under his breath. Greg's words echoed in his head, the threat clear and ominous. There was a good chance the unstable boy was heading straight for Lana's house.
So Tyson began running, his feet pounding against the pavement as he took off toward Lana's home. His lungs burned with exertion, but he pushed himself harder, knowing he couldn't hope to match Greg's supernatural speed on foot.
There was no sign of Greg when Tyson arrived, but the boy had to have arrived before him. He jogged up to the front door of the Lang residence, raising his hand to knock when he heard a commotion behind the house. A muffled scream pierced the air, followed by breaking glass. Tyson's blood ran cold as he recognized Lana's voice, filled with terror and confusion.
"Lana!" he shouted.
Tyson sprinted around the side of the house. He rounded the corner, expecting to find Lana struggling against Greg. Instead, he was met with an eerie silence. Before him stood a wooden stable, its door hanging slightly ajar. Approaching cautiously, his eyes scanned for any sign of movement. He pushed the door open, wincing at the creak of rusty hinges.
"Lana? Greg?" he called out, his voice echoing with no reply.
The stable was deserted. Straw littered the floor, and the musty scent of hay filled the air.
But there was no sign of them.
Tyson's gaze swept across the floor, searching for any clue. His breath caught in his throat as he spotted something glinting. He knelt, his fingers closing around a delicate silver chain. It was Lana's green meteor rock pendant. Tyson remembered how upset Lana had been when Whitney gave it away and how relieved she'd been to have it back. There was no way she would have left it behind willingly.
"Damn it," Tyson muttered, clenching his fist around the necklace. Greg must have taken her, but where? Tyson had only been in Smallville for a day. He didn't know the town, didn't know where Greg might go.
He only had one idea. Tyson took off running once again, this time towards the farm. As he ran, he began shouting at the top of his lungs.
"Clark! Clark Kent!" He kept shouting as he ran, his voice growing hoarse with the effort.
Just as Tyson reached the edge of the Kent property, he saw Clark emerge from the barn. The tall boy jogged towards him at a normal, human pace, concern etched on his face.
"Tyson? What's wrong?" Clark asked as he drew near.
Tyson bent over, hands on his knees, to catch his breath. "Clark," he panted, "I got jumped by someone named Greg. He was saying he was going after Lana. I went to warn her, but I couldn't find her. I heard her scream from the stables, but when I got there, she was gone."
Clark's eyes widened. "Greg Arkin?"
Tyson shook his head. "He didn't give a last name when he attacked me."
"If it's that Greg, I think I know where he's going."
"Where?" Tyson asked, straightening up.
"The old Creekside Foundry," Clark replied. "It got hit with the meteor shower. There's a tree fort in the woods near there where Greg used to collect bugs when we were kids."
Tyson nodded, a plan forming in his mind. "If you're going to run there using superspeed, take me with you."
Clark hesitated, uncertainty flashing across his face.
"Listen, Clark," Tyson pressed, "I saw what you can do. I'm not going to say anything. I can help. Greg was strong. Why go alone?"
For a moment, Clark seemed to wrestle with the decision. Finally, he nodded. "Alright, let's go." He stepped forward, reaching out to grab Tyson's arm. But as he drew closer, his face suddenly contorted in pain and he stumbled backward.
Tyson took a step closer, concerned. Clark's reaction worsened, and his legs trembled as if they could barely support his weight. Tyson froze. Then it hit him. He quickly shuffled away, and his hand went to his pocket, where he'd stashed Lana's necklace.
Clark's condition began to improve almost immediately. His face regained color, and his breathing steadied.
"I'm sorry," Tyson said, feeling guilty. "I'll run this outside quick. I'll leave it on one of the fence posts."
Clark straightened up, still looking a bit shaky but much better. He followed Tyson outside from a distance. Once he stepped away from where he'd left the necklace, Clark grabbed Tyson and took off without further discussion. The world blurred around them as Clark's superspeed kicked in. Trees and fields whizzed by in a dizzying blur. Tyson's stomach lurched at the sudden acceleration, but he gritted his teeth and held on.
In mere seconds, they arrived at the edge of the woods near the old foundry. Clark set Tyson down, and they both peered up at the rickety tree fort looming above them.
"Up there," Clark pointed to the crude wooden structure.
Clark went first. The wooden ladder creaked ominously as Tyson followed close behind. He half-expected Greg to appear at any moment, ready to hurl him from the ladder with his unnatural strength.
But nothing happened. As they reached the top, Clark pushed open the trap door and climbed inside. Tyson scrambled up after him, peering cautiously into the treehouse's interior. The sight that greeted him sent a chill down his spine.
Thick strands of webbing crisscrossed the ceiling, creating an eerie, cave-like atmosphere. Tyson's eyes were drawn to a crude wooden platform that might have once served as a child's bed. Now, it was completely enveloped in a cocoon of sticky silk. Lana lay motionless, barely visible beneath a thick blanket of silvery webs. Her eyes were closed, and her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. He reached out but hesitated to touch her, unsure if it was safe to disturb the webbing.
Clark knelt beside him, his face a mask of concern. "We need to get her out of here," he said.
"But where's Greg? And what's with all this webbing?"
As if in answer to his question, a low, inhuman chittering sound echoed through the fort. Tyson and Clark whirled around, searching for the source of the noise.
"I was wondering when you'd show up."
A shadow moved in the corner, and a figure emerged from the darkness.
"You shouldn't have come here," Greg hissed, "Lana is mine now. We'll be together forever, just as nature intended." He emerged from the darkness. His appearance had changed dramatically since their encounter on the road. His skin had become waxy, and his eyes gleamed with an insectoid sheen.
Tyson and Clark glanced at each other. They moved to stand shoulder-to-shoulder between Greg and the unconscious Lana.
"What have you done to yourself, Greg?" Tyson asked, unable to keep the horror from his voice. "This isn't love. It's obsession. You're hurting her."
Greg's face contorted with anger. "You don't understand! None of you do! Lana and I are meant to be together. We'll start a new species, a perfect union of human form and insect instinct and ability."
Tyson knew he had to act before Greg could harm Lana further, transform her into whatever he had become, or rape her because that was what it sounded like he was planning.
"Let her go, Greg," Tyson said, trying to keep his voice steady.
Clark agreed, firmly saying, "This isn't you. Whatever's happened to you, we can help. But you need to let Lana go."
Greg's face contorted in a grotesque approximation of a smile. "Help me? You can't even begin to understand what I've become. I'm evolving, Clark. Becoming something greater than human. And Lana will be my queen."
"We're not letting that happen," he said. Tyson felt the familiar tingle of electricity coursing through his body, responding to the threat. He clenched his fists, sparks dancing between his fingers.
Greg's eyes darted between Clark and Tyson, assessing them. For a moment, the only sound in the fort was the soft crackle of Tyson's electricity and Lana's shallow breathing.
"You're in my way." Greg threatened.
Before Tyson could react, he lunged forward with blinding speed. His hand, now tipped with sharp, claw-like nails, slashed at Tyson's face. Tyson stumbled backward, narrowly avoiding the attack. He felt his back press against the treehouse wall, realizing he was cornered.
Greg advanced, his body coiled like a predator about to strike. "I'll give you one chance," he hissed. "Leave now, and I might let you live. Stay, and you'll become food for our children."
When Tyson held his ground, Greg dashed at him, but Clark was faster. The two collided with a thunderous crash, their momentum carrying them through the rickety wall of the treehouse. Wood splintered and shattered as they burst through, plummeting to the ground below.
Tyson knew he couldn't keep up with their speed, so he turned his attention to Lana. She lay motionless, cocooned in the silvery webbing. Tyson knelt beside her, his hands hovering over the strange substance.
"Hang on, Lana," he muttered, focusing on the electricity coursing through his body. He directed the energy to his fingertips, carefully touching the webbing. The silk-like material sizzled and melted away under the controlled electric current.
"Lana?" he called out, his voice tight with worry. "Lana, can you hear me?"
As he pulled away the last layer, Lana's face came into view. Her eyes fluttered open. She gasped, her gaze darting around in confusion before settling on his face.
"Tyson. Oh god, Tyson. What's going on? How did you find me? Greg came for me, and he's changed."
"I know," he said, his voice tight with concentration. "Clark's distracting him. We need to go. Are you okay? Did he hurt you?"
Lana shook her head. "No, I... I don't think so. I remember him coming to my house, and then everything went dark. When I woke up, I was here, wrapped in... in this." She shuddered as she gestured at the remnants of the web cocoon.
Tyson helped Lana to her feet. She swayed slightly, still disoriented from whatever Greg had done to her. "We need to get out of here," he said. "Can you walk?"
Lana nodded, taking a tentative step. "I think so."
Tyson wrapped an arm around her waist to support her. "Easy does it," he murmured, guiding Lana down the ladder. He kept a watchful eye on their surroundings, half-expecting Greg to reappear at any moment.
They reached the ground safely, and Tyson helped Lana steady herself. In the distance, he caught a glimpse of movement. Greg sailed over a tall fence with inhuman agility, Clark hot on his heels. Tyson's eyes narrowed as he spotted a sign on the fence.
Creekside Foundry.
Turning to Lana, Tyson asked urgently, "Can you get to the road? I need to go help Clark."
Lana nodded. "Wait," she said, grabbing his arm as he turned away. "Thanks for saving me."
Tyson's only response was a quick wink before he took off toward the fence.
Meanwhile, Clark entered the old foundry. Almost immediately, a wave of nausea washed over him. He stumbled, his strength ebbing away. Glancing around, he spotted the source of his weakness.
Meteor rocks were scattered across the ground, softly glowing an eerie green.
Fighting against the debilitating effects, Clark climbed a set of stairs to a wooden platform. Each step was a struggle, and his body became heavier and more sluggish. He reached the top, panting from the exertion.
Behind him, Greg's voice rang out, filled with malice. "You haven't changed at all, Clark. You still get sick around this place, just like when we were kids." Greg's lips curled into a cruel smile. "Hey, Clark. Did you know the Buffalo ant can lift 30 times its own body weight?"
Before Clark could react, Greg was upon him. With terrifying strength, Greg lifted Clark as if he weighed nothing. Clark struggled weakly, but the nearby meteor rocks had sapped his powers.
Just as Greg was about to throw Clark across the warehouse, a nearby voice grabbed his attention.
"Hey, bug boy!"
Greg's head snapped around, his eyes widening as he saw Tyson standing right next to him. He'd been so engaged in beating Clark that he hadn't noticed the other boy sneaking up. In one hand, Tyson held a glowing chunk of meteor rock. His other hand crackled with electric energy.
When Tyson placed his electrified hand on Greg's shoulder, the effect was immediate and dramatic. Electricity surged through Greg's body, causing him to convulse and cry out in pain. His grip loosened, and he dropped Clark.
Tyson maintained contact, pouring more electricity into Greg. The boy's body twitched and jerked uncontrollably, but he didn't let up. The air filled with the acrid smell of ozone and burning flesh as the electricity continued to course through Greg's body. He maintained his grip on Greg, electricity crackling between them. Suddenly, he felt a strange sensation coursing through his body. The meteor rock in his hand began to glow brighter, pulsing with an otherworldly energy. A rush of power surged from Greg into Tyson, flooding his senses with an indescribable feeling.
As the surge subsided, Tyson released his hold on Greg, pulling back his electrical charge. The unconscious boy slumped to the ground, smoke rising from his singed clothes. Tyson stumbled backward, his body tingling with newfound energy. Something felt different. Tyson's limbs seemed lighter, almost weightless. He flexed his muscles experimentally, marveling at the strange sensation. On a whim, he decided to test this new feeling. Bending his knees slightly, Tyson pushed off the ground in a small jump. To his astonishment, he soared upward, easily clearing twice his height. He landed gracefully, with his legs absorbing the impact.
Clark's weak voice broke through Tyson's amazement. "You got him," he said, his words strained. "Is he alive?"
Tyson turned his attention back to Clark, who was still sprawled on the platform, looking pale and sickly. The meteor rocks scattered around were clearly taking their toll on him.
"I think so," Tyson replied, glancing at Greg's unconscious form. "I'll come back for him. Let's get you out of here first. These meteor rocks aren't doing you any good."
Moving to Clark's side, he reached down and effortlessly lifted the larger boy, pulling his arm around him to support Clark's weight. As they left the abandoned building, color returned to Clark's face. By the time they reached the exit, he had started to regain his strength.
Once outside, Tyson set Clark down gently. "You okay?"
"Yeah, I'm feeling better already. Thanks."
"No problem," Tyson replied. "I'm going back in for Greg."
Clark started to protest, but Tyson was already jogging back into the foundry, returning to where Greg lay unconscious. Tyson scooped him up and heard the distant wail of sirens growing louder as he carried Greg out of the foundry. Emerging from the building, he found Clark standing with Lana, who had managed to get help. Within minutes, police cars and an ambulance pulled up to the scene.
"What happened here?" one officer demanded, his hand resting cautiously on his holstered weapon.
Before Tyson or Clark could respond, Lana stepped forward. "It was Greg," she said, her voice shaky but determined. "He kidnapped me and brought me to his treehouse. Tyson and Clark saved me."
The officers exchanged glances, clearly struggling to understand the situation. One of them approached Tyson, warily eyeing Greg's unconscious form.
"Is he alright?" the officer asked, gesturing to Greg.
Tyson nodded. "I think so. He's got a glass jaw. He should wake up soon."
Paramedics rushed over, taking Greg from Tyson's arms and laying him on a stretcher. They began checking his vital signs as the police continued to question the teens.
Another officer announced, pulling out a notepad, "We're going to need statements from all of you. "
For the next half hour, Tyson, Clark, and Lana recounted their experiences. Tyson and Clark carefully omitted any mention of their extraordinary abilities, sticking to a simplified version of events that focused on Greg's erratic behavior and their efforts to rescue Lana.
Lana's testimony proved crucial. She described how Greg had ambushed her near the stables, rambling about them being meant for each other. She told the police about being taken to the tree house and how Tyson and Clark had come to her rescue. As Lana spoke, Tyson couldn't help but marvel at her composure. Despite the ordeal she had just endured, she remained calm, providing the officers with a clear account of what had transpired.
While the questioning continued, the paramedics worked on Greg. They stabilized him, but one of the EMTs approached the group. "We need to get him to the hospital," the paramedic announced. His vitals are stable, but he's still unconscious. The doctors will need to run some tests."
The lead officer nodded. "Alright, we'll have an officer accompany him to the hospital. As for the rest of you," he turned back to Tyson, Clark, and Lana, "we may need to ask you some follow-up questions later. For now, you're free to go home. I'm sure your families are worried sick."
Lana stepped closer to Tyson, her hand brushing against his. "Thank you," she said softly. "Both of you. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't shown up when you did." She hugged them both in turn.
"I'm just glad you're okay," Clark replied.
"No problem." Tyson mumbled, but then he remembered with a groan, "Oh man, I never got to try that pecan pie."