Chapter Text
Issue 1: Up, Up, and Away…
It starts as it always did. The re-run she had dreamt about for half a year now. The doomed planet she couldn’t recognize. The distorted, alien faces of people holding her. The rocket hurtling through a protostar. The kind familiar strangers holding her. Vision shifting to suddenly flying high above a large blue and green jewel of a planet. The large light of the sun brimming over the edge as they see a flash of a red, yellow and black symbol. Before she suddenly wakes up in her bedroom. Floating above her bed upside down. Her slowly growing jet black hair hangs down.
Today was the first of the last few of ‘Clark.’ After the last football game, and her graduation ceremony, she could start to properly be out. Already accepted to Metropolis University, she was excited to finally be out of the small town, and see what she can really do out in the world.
Ma and Pa already knew who she was. Being an alien pretty much makes any other thing look like small potatoes, as Pa told her. She wanted to be out and really show the world who she was on the inside. The medication has started to (thankfully) take hold. Her hair now reaches to her chin, the skin starting to soften slightly. It helped that she was already a skinny kid, despite helping out on a farm. She hid it well, wanting to not draw attention to herself in a small conservative Kansas town…another reason she looked forward to M.U.
“Kera, dear? Hurry up now. Pa needs you to help him load up the thrasher before you go.” She heard her Ma yell from downstairs.
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“And the kick is good! Another notch in the Crows wing Folks!” Roared the announcer from the side lines.
The static echoing and ringing in her ears with each pop of a syllable. Hearing the electrical transmission as it traveled through the microscopic miles of wire. Shut it out, and breathe deep. Just like ma told me.
“It seems the seniors on the squad want to make sure they leave with a bang tonight, folks. Score is now 29-6 as we enter the end of the 4th quarter!”
The small town crowd cheered all around for the boys in uniform. The visiting Gotham High Titans only received a smaller minority of the support. The crowd is a mix of red and blue with a small patch of black and yellow. And despite being so high up in the bleachers, they could still see Ma and Pa rooting for them, their voices drowned out by the large crowd. But she could hear them.
“Remember, don't kick too hard now. Ya want a field goal, not a meteor.” Pa said, speaking as loud as if he were right next to her. “Jonathan, Let ‘er cut loose a little for once. It is the last game after all,” Ma said, before directing her speech to Kera, “why not show ‘em what a gal can do?” She spoke gently. With confidence and pride in her daughter.
They knew she could hear them despite being almost an entire field away. But she didn't want to make a splash. Punting the ball for the final drive, she instinctively held back to where it was just light enough to be an onside kick.
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As the sun began to set on the Kansas horizon, Kera stood staring at it. Feeding off the warm solar energy. She felt her muscles relax, her breath flowing through her lungs, her bones radiating a gentle warmth. She stood with her shoulders square and eyes closed, completely lost in her thoughts. Moments like this were special…because she couldn’t hear everything. She could control how broad her senses took her. Only the sounds around her, immediately around her, mattered…the sound of the air whispering through the corn fields of the farm. The soft creaking of the rusted tin sign as it hung on top of Pa’s workshop. The orchestra of crickets and grasshoppers, of crow’s and bat’s wings, of gnats and spiders all tuning up for their night time symphony. All of it is natural. All of it quietly booming...all of those noises…all of that life…broken up by the soft, almost inaudible hum of the large machine buried under the field.
Her mind is brought out of the miasma of the audible void as she felt a firm pat on the back of her neck. Her hair stood on end as Pa settled next to her. A warm comforting hand on her shoulder as they watched the field and the horizon.
“Ya know…my Pa once told me that home was where you could see a sunset every evening…and every evening feels like the very first time ya see it….” He took a deep, firm breath, exhaling softly. “Never gets old…you gonna miss it, kid?”
“Well of course...it's a one in a million view. And it ain’t like I’m leaving forever pa.” She chuckled, leaning onto his shoulder. “‘’Beside’s, ma told me if i don’t visit I can’t get any of her cooking come the holiday.”
They stood there, just enjoying each other’s company as the sun began to fall lower on the horizon. The silence was only broken up by the occasional cough and inhale from Jonathan.
“Do…Do you think I'm making the right choice, pa?” She asks meekly, uncertainty in her voice.
“Doesn’t matter what I think is right hun…What matters is what you think. There’s no guide book on what you do out there. Right, wrong and everything in between. You’re not gonna be able to do right all the time…” He coughs into his sleeve, his other arm gripping slightly firmer onto Kera’s shoulder. “But as long as you try….and as long as your hearts are in it, it's gonna be okay.”
“Me and y’r ma weren’t really thinkin’ we’d ever be parents….we were young when we found ya, two people barely able to get things up and running here. Next thing we knew we had a gift from the heavens able to bench the John Deere. I was scared...terrified even…but by god, I knew in my heart I was doing the best I could. And knowing that…I could make a better tomorrow for you n y’r ma.”
He released his grip on her, before he brought his hand up to ruffle through her hair. “I love you, hun. And no matter what…I know you’ll do good out there in the city.”
She smiled softly, faint blush on her freckled cheeks. Her arms hugged her father close to her, hiding her face in his chest like she was a young kid again. Hiding the stray tear on her cheek.
It wasn’t too long before they began to head back. “I’m gonna just hang out in the barn a bit, if ma asks.”
“Just be careful down there, and bring up some of that spicy lettuce yer Ma made.”
“Kimchi Pa, it's called kimchi.” She playfully scolded her old man.
“Whatever ya call it, I want some of it to go with the steak she’s cookin’.” He said as he pulled out a packet of cigarettes from his pocket, popping one out and lighting it up with a flick of his matchbook.
Kera couldn’t help but laugh. Ever since Ma got her new phone she’s been trying out all of these recipes to spice up her cooking. Pickling and fermenting was the big craze for her. Thankfully Ms. Lang in town was able to supply her with some produce for her to practice with.
Gently opening the hurricane door to the cellar, she made her way down the old chipped and decrepit stairway. It wasn’t a large room, with a single bulb hanging in the center by taped up wires. A pull chain dangling down. Dust and particulates filling the air. Cobwebs lining the old wooden struts, bare dirt ground with bits of straw scattered around. Shelves lined up along the wall with numerous mason jars. Pickled and candied foods and preservatives from Ma, all fermenting. A large barrel of homemade wine from the one time Pa got inspired to make one of his own. Kera gently took hold of one of the shelves, effortlessly lifting it with grace and slowly moving it to the side to unearth a hidden cavity in the wall. Inside was a cart with a latch, rusted and aged. Pulling it out into the single yellowed spotlight revealed the dusted muted chrome of an ovular pod. Scratched, and dinged from time, bits of stone embedded in the hull. It was no more than four feet five. On the back was a blacked, single thruster that was scorched beyond belief, while the nose cone of it contained only flecks of burn streaks but still as pristine as it could be. The sides, layered with coils of a steel like material, ribbed and designed by hands clearly not of this world.
The glass like material on top is an amber shade, but textured like that of a tortoiseshell. The organic lines in the amber forming into a triangular symbol with an S in it. Kera stared down at the pod below her with a sense of unease. The only material object in this world that has any clues as to where she came from.
Shaking off the existential questions of her origin, she reaches her hand to the amber glass. The pod reacted to her presence as the tortoise shell-like glass began to disintegrate away, as if folding in on itself to open.
She reached in to grab at a folded set of fabric. It was a dark blue, slightly textured material. It looked like runners spandex but felt as soft as cotton. The fabric adorned with the same S symbol on top of it as the pod did.
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“Call us as soon as you land, okay, hun? Make sure you watch out for any suspicious folk and PLEASE make sure to tip the cab driver once you get into the city.” Ma continued going over all of the possibilities and courtesies to remember, as Pa took another drag on his cigarette as he finished unloading with Kera.
“Ma, I’ll be okay.” Kera said softly, and assuredly as she hugged her mother close. Dressed in a simple overcoat, a soft baby blue sweater and red pants. All an outfit gifted to her from her mother. The sounds of the busy airport in Kansas City International were slightly overwhelming. Kera was doing her best to tune a lot of it out. “I promise the moment I hit the tarmac I'll give you a call.” She laughed sheepishly. It was dusk, the only available flight from Kansas to Metropolis was scheduled initially for an afternoon, but due to technical issues with LEX-AIR flights, it got delayed well into the night. As if wanting an extra layer of dramatic effect, mother nature deemed now of all times to bring down a monsoon. They unloaded the luggage from the small blue Chevy as the sound of water colliding with steel overpowered the sounds of distant plane engines and passing cars. Only challenged by the slicing of car tires through deep pools forming on the road.
“Make sure YOU let me know when y’all get home safe okay? You know I worry about Pa’s night driving skills. Are you sure you’ll be fine??”
“Yea yea, just a little water, nothing to worry about. Now get going already. TSA’s a real pain in the ass and ya never know what's gonna hold ya up.” Pa said, hugging her close after stomping out the cigarette.
Begrudgingly, she hugged her folks tight before picking up her bags and waving them off, disappearing behind the tinted sliding glass doors of the airport. Before they shut, Kera looked back behind her. The small blue chevy vanished into the midnight curtain of rain.
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“I swear, ya worry too much for ‘er.” Pa coughed cheekily. “She’s tougher than she looks. We both should know that.”
“Jonathan….she’s OUR daughter….call me what you want, but I just…want my baby to be okay.” Ma spoke, eyes looking out the window, the storm having picked up. Only the trails of rain drops spilling down over the glass visible to her.
“I know she’s our girl, which is why I know she’ll be fine.” He coughs again, this time more hoarse. “She’s got y’r brains after all.” As the storm picked up, the rain clattered against the steel frame of the truck. The dark night was only broken up by the high beams as they followed the painted lines back to Smallville. They could hear the howling of the wind outside as they passed the neon green paint sign that read “SMALLVILLE 65 MILES.” Brief flashes of light shined in the distance as a lightning bolt touched down miles away. Martha counted out loud quietly the seconds in between the thunderous booms that followed the light. Jonathan called out a number, trying to guess how many it’d be.
“Next’ll be 9 counts. Calling it now.” Jonathan said as he kept his eyes on the road. As if on cue the lightning flashed, illuminating the flat plains. The fields briefly revealed the various houses and farms the darkness was hiding. The darkness quickly reclaiming its secrets.
“1..2…3…4…5…”
As Martha counted, Jonathan couldn’t help but to look over. Chuckling to himself over the nostalgic feeling of doing this drive in their younger days. Jumping slightly as the thunder clap echoed loudly as Martha made it to six.
The route was simple, like most of Kansas. Just a straight shot once you get out of the city. Just a long stretch that would put most folks to sleep. What wasn’t helping with that was the static on the radio. The usual station would play something classic, something Jonathan could at least tap his fingers on the wheel to. Best case he could sing it with Martha. But not tonight. Tonight the storm had knocked out the local station’s tower it seemed. Suddenly, a piercing siren began to beep out of the speakers.
*ATTENTION. PLEASE SEEK EMERGENCY SHELTER*
*CAT 5 TORNADO HAS BEEN SIGHTED*
*PLEASE SEEK IMMEDIATE SHELTER*
*PLEASE SEEK IMMEDIATE SHE///—-*
Static blares in the truck cab as it cuts off. The wind howls harder. The rain started to fall faster.The lightning and thunder closer together, barely a second or two apart. Jonathan's knuckles turned white from gripping the steering wheel. The windshield wipers are hardly able to keep up against the torrent coming down. Martha grips Jonathan's arm in fear, as she closes her eyes and braces her body. Her scared voice said a prayer for them both.
As the wheel begins to fight against Jonathan for control, he simply utters a single, barely audible mumble. The steering wheel overtook him as he lost any last means of control. The storm pushed their steel coffin off of the road. As the truck sped faster and faster, he swore he saw a figure of red flash past the headlights. He knows he saw a man. A red figure, a devil watching them, guiding them to what he knew would be their last moment on this planet. A stone wall awaited them. The bricks and stones of an abandoned barn house waiting to be their tombstones. He closes his eyes as he awaits it. Body braced tight. Only able to say a single phrase.
“I’m sorry, Kera…”
He feels the force hit. He hears a crash and explosion of glass. His body jolts forward….but he is not flying outward. He is not crushed. Martha is still praying. His knuckles are still tight on the wheel. He could still hear the torrent of rain. He could smell the scent of burnt rubber, smoking engine parts, and the remnants of tobacco on his breath.
He opened his eyes, his vision slightly blurred as he looked through the shattered windshield. Shards of glass lined the edge of the now open cavity, rain forming small streams into the cab.
That is when he sees her. Jet black hair drenched in the rain, a messy curl on her forehead and wearing a baby blue sweater. Her hands gripping into the steel tight, it bent and crumbled like paper in them. Her breath was ragged, coughing as the dust and smoke plumed from the hood of the truck. Drenched in the rain, she tilts her head up to look at them both. Jonathan could see the relief in her eyes. Martha’s matching her daughters. Tears falling down their faces. Before suddenly flashing away. A streak of blue and red in the rain and the flickering headlights.
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“Mysterious figure wrestles god’s twister!” the news anchor stated, the trumpeting of the local news station jingle still playing on as the reporter spoke.
“Residents of the Scott's family farm reported witnessing the tornado touch ground from their shelter. According to Father Jerry Scott, Owner of the property, he stated:”
The screen cuts to a rotund and balding man, in blue overalls as he begins to speak into the microphone.
“Was getting the kids inside when I saw it. I swear to god above I saw him as red as satan himself! He made that tornado from the palm of his hand! Pam and Terry saw it too! Next thing we knew, some blue person came and wrestled the tornado!!!”
Static clicks as the channel is changed.
Another reporter talking to people among the ruins of a destroyed farm house.
“It was a large man in red, who spoke in some strange language! He must’ve been an illegal!” N-Next thing we knew our house had a tornado starting to form in it!”
The small ticker on the bottom of the screen reading: Occultic occurrence or terroristic immigration?
Another static click as the channel switches.
This time it was a woman on the screen, holding a baby in her arms.
“I-I don’t know who he was, but…he like…sped in between us! He was so fast! One minute i’m about to lose my baby to the storm and then we were suddenly in our storm cellar! It’s a miracle! Just…Thank you so much whoever you were!” She recounted, face flushed in slight embarrassment.
“Do you, like others, believe this to be the so-called ‘Spirit of Kansas?’” The reporter asks.
Static Clicks.
“The Spirits of Kansas is what many folks are calling the mysterious beings that were supposedly sighted during the storm. State authorities are unwilling to give answers in regards to claims of specific individuals being involved. Many local scientists and scholars from Kansas State Institute and the Kansas Weather Authority have begun to look into the causes and possible updates to early warning signs…”
Click.
“He was 6 ft 2! I swear he showed up and crashed right through my silo!” The farmer on screen points to the large cavity in his grain silo. “They both went right through that steel hull! Didn’t get a look at ‘em, just saw it was a blue feller and a red feller…!”
Click.
“They suplexed a tornado!”
Click.
“Whoever she is…thank you...you saved my life yet again ‘spirit of kansas’” it was a young girl, straw colored hair as she stood in front of a group of friends outside of Smallville high, signs reading The Spirit of Kansas is a woman, thank you signs, and Smallville high rules.
As the camera panned away, it focused on the reporter.
“It looks like there’s a sense of small town pride for the new folk like hero. Could the Spirit of Kansas be one of Smallville's finest? Or is it all just a symbol for us to gather around in unprecedented times? Who’s to say. This is brand local street beat speaker Lana Lang signing out!”
Click.
“While that is a tall tale, local experts believe the sudden storm and the almost as sudden ending of it is due to climate change. S.T.A.R Lab’s scientist Harrison Wells has commented on the occurrence.”
The screen flashes to a wheelchair bound man, dark black hair ruffled as he finishes writing on a white board. “It is most likely due in part to a freak occurrence with particles colliding with the radioactive gamma in the air from the recent meteor shower our planet experienced. The molecules of the air galvanizing as they made contact with the gamma coming off of the falling matter, the heat becoming a catalyst-”
Click.
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As Jonathan clicked off the small television with his good arm he leaned back in his favorite chair, a small smile on his face. “She’s gonna do good things….” He said as he laid back for a nap, his arm in a sling. “What was that Jonathan?” Martha called from the other room. “Nothin’ dear…nothin’ at all.”