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When Henry regained consciousness, a crescent moon was hanging high in the sky — clearly already past midnight.
The autumn desert of California carried a faint chill. Katie, the little tiger now full from her meal, was curled up in Henry's arms. It wasn't clear whether she was trying to stay warm herself, or trying to keep her master warm.
The surroundings were perfectly quiet. The snakes and scorpions common in the desert kept their distance — though, really, even if they had crawled over, they wouldn't be able to pierce Kryptonian skin anyway.
Feeling the emptiness in his stomach from missing dinner, Henry picked Katie up and started toward his container-lab. He assumed he must've simply dozed off earlier, and didn't think much of it.
The lock on the door was a cheap one from the hardware store.
Out here, if someone did stumble across a shipping container in the middle of nowhere, using a high-security lock would be as good as hanging a sign that said "There's something valuable inside!"
A regular lock, on the other hand, served only as a polite deterrent — to keep honest people honest. It let passersby know this wasn't a public shelter, so they shouldn't just walk in.
After all, true wilderness shelters never had personal locks; they were meant to be freely used by travelers in need.
When Henry opened the door, the interior was pitch-dark — but that didn't matter to a Kryptonian. He walked straight to the back of the container and flipped the breaker.
With a click, the light of civilization filled the room.
The inside of the container had no partitions; it was just a forty-foot shipping unit Henry had furnished for his own use.
The ventilation system, powered by a small wind generator, was still working fine — keeping the air fresh and odor-free.
The wind-power setup wasn't some obvious windmill sticking up from the desert like a beacon. That would've drawn attention immediately.
Instead, Henry had engineered a wind tunnel disguised as a natural rock formation. The funnel collected airflow from all directions, channeling it toward a hidden turbine that generated electricity.
The solar panels were camouflaged in the same way. From a distance — or even in satellite images — you'd never know anything artificial was there.
Because of spoilage concerns, the lab only stored emergency rations. Luckily, it also had a small single-burner stove, so he could at least make something warm.
The breaker he'd just flipped was hidden behind a row of metal shelves. On those shelves were not only emergency food supplies but also all sorts of raw materials for synthesizing medicine.
In the corner sat a foldable sofa bed. The rest of the space was dominated by a long table cluttered with glassware — beakers, flasks, funnels — the tools of Henry's pharmaceutical trade.
For now, all the glassware was spotless and odor-free. The main nuisance here was dust; even with filters on the vents, fine sand always found a way in.
Henry had considered getting a BB-series core robot to handle cleaning. But those required a dedicated processing server — and thus a lot of power.
Even with wind, solar, and a backup diesel generator, electricity wasn't infinite. So this lab was reserved for low-consumption work like chemical synthesis. Anything that needed real power, he did back at his rented home.
Katie, ever curious in new surroundings, wandered around sniffing everything. She even stood on her hind legs, pawing at the workbench as if trying to jump up like she did back home.
Henry ignored her. For one, the glassware was fragile. For another, he didn't want to encourage spoiled behavior.
A pet's place in the household hierarchy — even a tiger's — was established through these small battles. Words meant nothing to a creature like her; only consistent action did.
So when Katie made her move to jump onto the table, Henry didn't hesitate — a swift hook of his foot sent her tumbling.
She got back up and tried again. Another hook. Again and again — until—
Ah. Now they were playing.
With a grin, Henry finally flipped her onto her back and pinned her down with one foot. Only then did he relax, cracking open a can of pork stew — his makeshift dinner.
Out here in the middle of nowhere, even with super speed and flight, finding a 24-hour grocery would mean flying dozens of miles. Too lazy for that, Henry made do with what the lab had in stock.
As for the little tiger struggling under his foot — scratching, biting, and flailing — her claws couldn't even scratch his skin, though his pants were taking some damage.
A few quick bites later, Henry finished the canned food, washed the dish, and began checking the inventory of his chemical supplies — mentally listing what ingredients he'd need to restock for his next batch of medicine.
Some of the raw materials could be purchased through legal channels. Others were restricted — those required shady contacts and extra cash.
Legitimate or not, the principle was the same: some were easy to get, some weren't. But the price difference between buying raw materials and finished drugs was absurd. A single bottle of pills could cost more than a ton of base ingredients.
Meanwhile, freed from underfoot, Katie had given up on the table and was now following Henry around, attacking his pant leg with vengeful enthusiasm.
Even when gently pushed away, she came right back, determined to continue her "revenge."
Fine. Playing with a tiger wasn't exactly dangerous for a Kryptonian — though it was hard on the wardrobe.
In just a few minutes, his pants weren't shredded, but the cuffs looked like they'd been through a war.
Still, Henry finished his stock check and finalized his procurement plan. Most of the expenses could come from that sixty-thousand-plus dollars of dirty cash — no need to touch his official accounts.
Even for non-restricted materials, he preferred using underground suppliers. Prices were steeper, but paying in black money beat laundering it and losing a hefty cut in the process.
Buying openly, on the other hand, left a paper trail — the kind intelligence analysts at the CIA could easily connect to suspicious activity.
This hidden cash stash was one of the reasons Henry planned to stockpile medicines. Before, he'd only made them as needed, with no reserves.
Part of that was due to tight funds; the other part was simply inexperience. Back then, he had no real sense of usage estimates — how much he'd actually go through. Now, after half a year of running his underground clinic, he could finally make accurate calculations.
When he was done, Henry opened a concealed hatch in the side of the container and placed the remaining money inside a safe hidden in a nearby cave.
Keeping that kind of cash in his clinic or rented home would've been reckless. The lab, out here in the middle of nowhere, was much safer.
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