Milky Way, Solar System, Planet Earth – Kansas
Smallville: 04/18/1975
The pickup rumbled down the rural road, its low engine echoing through the vast fields stretching to the horizon. The late-afternoon sky bathed the landscape in gold and orange, but inside the cab, the mood couldn't have been further from that beauty. Jonathan Kent kept both hands tight on the wheel, eyes fixed ahead, his tense jaw betraying the thoughts spinning in his head.
Beside him, Martha stared out the window, not really seeing the fields sliding past. Her face carried a calm facade, but her eyes looked distant, as if her mind had stayed behind in some doctor's office miles away. Every so often, she clasped her hands in her lap—a small, unconscious effort to stay grounded while she tried to process the words she'd heard earlier.
The silence between them wasn't cold, just heavy. Jonathan glanced at her, wanting to speak, but his throat felt locked. Finally, he murmured, "We'll… figure this out." His voice was low, almost as if he was trying to convince himself.
Martha turned her head slowly, offering a faint smile that didn't reach her eyes.
"I know," she said—more to soothe him than from belief.
Jonathan looked at her again, the weight between them filling the cab. He cleared his throat, searching for something more to say.
"We'll figure this out, Martha."
She turned to him sharply, her voice shaky but firm.
"Fix it?" she repeated, almost in disbelief. "You think this is like mending a broken fence? No, Jonathan… this can't be fixed."
"That's not what I'm saying…" he replied, keeping his tone calm, though a hint of frustration slipped through. "I mean we'll find another way."
"Another way?" Martha let out a bitter laugh. "You don't understand… for as long as I can remember, I've dreamed of filling that house with the sound of laughter, of little feet running across the floor… and now…" Her voice broke, and she turned back to the window, eyes brimming.
Jonathan gripped the wheel tighter, took a deep breath, and spoke with more resolve.
"I understand more than you think, Martha. I wanted that too. I still do. But we can't let this news destroy who we are. When life closes a door… it usually leaves a window open."
She shot him a sharp look, irritation flashing in her eyes.
"And you think a window's gonna fix this?"
He gave her a faint smile, trying to break the tension.
"I don't know… but the sky always sends an answer. And if it's anything like Kansas usually does, it probably comes flying in and wrecks a perfectly good field."
Before Martha could fire back, a blinding light streaked across the sky ahead of them—like a comet tearing through the night. A deep, resonant roar of something entering the atmosphere made the air vibrate, and they watched, stunned, as a ball of fire descended and vanished behind a nearby field. The ground gave a slight tremor, and the silence that followed was heavy… but far from empty.
The flash disappeared behind rows of corn, followed by a muffled boom and a shudder that made the truck rattle. Jonathan tightened his grip on the wheel and blurted out before thinking:
"Holy hell… must've been a damn mete—"
"*Jonathan Kent!*" Martha cut him off, her look a mix of scolding and disbelief. "Watch your mouth!"
He raised his eyebrows, fighting a smirk.
"Oh, come on, Martha… whatever that was just landed in someone's backyard and probably left a crater the size of Pete's barn. I think I'm allowed at least *one* curse word."
She folded her arms, keeping a serious look, though her lips trembled on the edge of a smile.
"You really want the first thing the pastor hears from you on Sunday to be that you've been cussing out meteors?"
Jonathan let out a snort, leaning his head back for a moment.
"Great… so we're just gonna pretend we didn't hear it, didn't see it, and keep acting like the most exciting thing in Kansas is the county fair."
Martha sighed and glanced toward the glow.
"You're not gonna be able to do that, are you?"
He gave a half-smile, already turning the wheel toward the field.
"Not even if I tried. The sky just sent an 'answer'… and from the sound of it, it came with interest."
Jonathan steered the truck down a narrow dirt road, the tires kicking up dust that vanished quickly in the cool night breeze. The flash was gone, but a faint orange trail still streaked the sky like a hurried brushstroke.
"See?" he said, keeping his tone half-teasing. "Not even a nosy farmer like me can ignore that. I'll bet whatever it is landed less than a mile from here."
Martha, still clutching her purse tightly in her lap, gave him that mix of skepticism and worry only she could pull off.
"And what if it's dangerous, Jonathan? The radio's always talking about space junk, old satellites… and you want to go poking around?"
"Well, if it's space junk, we'll recycle it," he replied, throwing her a wink to coax a smile. "And if it's a satellite, it'll be the first time this county makes the paper for something other than the corn harvest."
She sighed, though the tension in her face seemed to ease just a little.
"You never change…"
"Thank God," he shot back, turning the wheel onto a side path that cut straight toward the cornfield. "And hey, if there's something glowing out there, let's pray it's not old Ben's tractor he forgot to shut off."
As they moved forward, the scent of scorched earth began to mingle with the familiar smell of the fields. Up ahead, between the trampled rows of corn, a thin column of smoke rose against the starry sky.
"There it is…" Jonathan murmured, easing off the gas. "The 'answer' the sky promised."
Martha's hand found his on the wheel, her heart racing for reasons she couldn't quite name.
Jonathan brought the truck to a stop a few yards from the crater. Smoke drifted upward in slow curls, carrying the acrid scent of hot metal and burned soil. Amid the crushed stalks, a curved, metallic shape caught the moonlight—gleaming like it was made of living silver.
"Well…" he said, pushing the door open and stepping out without hesitation, "I think we're past the point of just going home."
"Jonathan…" Martha called, still inside the truck, eyeing the scene warily. "It could be radioactive… or who knows what else."
"Or it could be the most interesting thing to land in Kansas since that rock killed Mr. Miller's cow," he replied with a half-smile, walking toward the object.
She climbed out of the truck, still hesitant, her eyes shifting between her husband and the strange capsule. Its surface was faintly warm, the edges scorched from reentry, but otherwise intact. Jonathan ran his hand over the metal, feeling for any kind of opening—then a soft click broke the quiet.
A thin line of light spilled from an almost invisible seam, and the capsule began to open with a slow, mechanical hiss. Martha took a step back, hand instinctively rising to her chest. Jonathan, on the other hand, leaned forward to peer inside.
That's when the sound shattered the silence—a sharp, high-pitched cry. Small. Desperate.
Martha froze for an instant, her heart pounding, before hurrying closer.
"Jonathan… is that—" She didn't finish.
Inside the padded interior, a baby—swaddled in some strange, gleaming fabric—writhed and wailed, his face flushed from the effort.
Jonathan pulled the hatch open wider, but Martha was already moving past him, nearly kneeling beside the capsule. Her hands trembled as she lifted the tiny bundle, and the crying faded almost instantly, as if he recognized the warmth of her arms.
She held him close, looking at Jonathan with a mix of disbelief and something new—something deep she couldn't even name.
"He… he needs us."
Jonathan took a slow breath, rubbing the back of his neck.
"Well… I guess the sky didn't just send an answer—it sent a request."
Martha kept cradling the baby, rocking him gently, her eyes locked on that tiny face that already seemed so fragile… and so precious. Jonathan watched for a few seconds, scratching his chin, before letting out a sigh.
"Well… he's beautiful and all, but we can't just leave this… shiny thing sitting in the middle of the field. By morning, the Millers will think a piece of the moon landed on my property," he said, nodding toward the craft.
He stepped closer, bending down to get a better look.
"Probably weighs as much as a tractor, but… let's see."
Jonathan grabbed one of the edges and lifted—and nearly stumbled backward.
"What the hell… this weighs less than a sack of corn!" he exclaimed, eyes wide.
"Jonathan!" Martha scolded lightly, though a faint smile tugged at her lips. "Language!"
"Alright, alright… but look at this." With an awkward pull, he hoisted the entire craft into his arms as if it were made of cardboard, carrying it toward the truck.
"Easier than hauling your mom's picnic basket… just without the apple pie smell."
He set the strange object in the bed of the pickup, clapped his hands to brush off the dirt, and walked back to Martha.
"There. Now we've got the baby… and his 'space cradle.' I'd say that makes us officially the weirdest farmers in Kansas."
Hours after the Kents had left, the silence of the crater was gone—replaced by the steady hum of engines, hurried voices, and the metallic creak of equipment being unloaded. Civilian trucks refitted for field work, technical vans, and unmarked black vehicles formed an almost perfect circle around the site. Among them, heavy black armored cars stood out, each bearing a discreet emblem: a circular crest with the stylized figure of an eagle, flanked by white letters spelling "S.H.I.E.L.D.," each initial punctuated.
Portable floodlights cut bright white beams across the scorched ground, where modular tents rose in quick succession. Scientists in gray lab coats, clipboard-carrying technicians, and armed soldiers moved along precise routes, each one locked into their task. Thick cables snaked over the dirt, linking generators to analysis consoles, while drones hovered above, silently mapping the area. The crater that had once held a secret now looked like the beating heart of a frenzied hive.
At the center of that controlled chaos, one figure stood out without ever raising his voice. A tall man with an imposing presence, he wore a black trench coat that shifted lightly in the cool night breeze. His skin was dark, his close-cropped hair showing the first traces of gray at the temples. But the most striking feature was the black eye patch over his left eye—a mark that, paired with the razor-sharp gaze of the one still visible, made it clear he had seen, and survived, more than anyone else on that field.
He stood perfectly still, taking in every detail, as if absorbing not just the scene but every implication it carried. An agent approached cautiously, handing him a tablet loaded with freshly processed data. The man scrolled through the screen with one finger, his expression unchanging. Before the agent could step away, another voice, closer, addressed him with respectful brevity:
"Director…"
The man only lifted his chin slightly, the floodlights catching a faint gleam off the understated clasp of his coat.
---
And so, the last hope of an extinguished people found refuge in the arms of a couple with pure hearts. In the vast indifference of the cosmos, fate had drawn an improbable path—linking the fall of one world to the quiet life of a Kansas farm. What was born from tragedy would grow beneath Earth's sun into something… extraordinary.