The Antarctic wind howled across an endless expanse of pristine white, its voice carrying the lonely song of the world's most desolate continent. Against this backdrop of nature's raw power, a solitary figure moved through the blizzard with impossible ease.
Clark Kent's physique could have been carved by Michelangelo himself, each muscle defined with classical perfection beneath his simple flannel shirt. The subzero temperatures that would kill an ordinary human within minutes seemed to affect him no more than a gentle spring breeze. Hundred-mile-per-hour winds that could flip trucks and shatter windows barely ruffled his dark hair. His steady pace through knee-deep snow never wavered, each footstep as sure and measured as if he were walking down a Kansas dirt road on a summer evening.
The man had always known he was different. From childhood, signs of his extraordinary nature had manifested in ways both wondrous and terrifying. Strength that could bend steel, vision that pierced through solid matter, speed that defied physics, abilities that marked him as something far beyond human limitations.
More troubling than the powers themselves was the profound isolation they created. Surrounded by nearly eight billion people on Earth, Clark felt utterly alone, like an actor playing a role in a play where everyone else knew their lines except him. He existed on the periphery of human experience, watching from the outside, waiting for the day when humanity might be ready to accept what he truly was, if that day ever came.
The recent discovery had changed everything. In a remote Alaskan tavern, over whispered conversations between oil workers and military contractors, he'd heard rumors of something extraordinary found beneath the Antarctic ice. After the devastating incident at the oil rig, where his rescue efforts had resulted in the structure's complete destruction, Clark needed answers more than ever.
The small spacecraft hidden beneath his family's farm in Kansas had provided frustratingly little information about his origins. If this new discovery held any connection to his past, any clue about where he belonged in the universe, then the journey to the bottom of the world was worth any risk.
Clark's eyes began to glow with an intense orange radiance, twin beams of concentrated heat that could melt through steel as easily as butter. The thermal vision carved a perfect circular tunnel through the ice, superheated water hissing and steaming as it flash-boiled around him. Tons of frozen water simply vanished, creating a passage that descended several kilometers into the earth's frozen shell.
The descent took him deep into Antarctica's ancient heart, through ice that had remained undisturbed for millennia. Finally, his makeshift tunnel opened into a vast natural cavern, and there it waited, a sleek obsidian spacecraft of clearly alien design, its angular surfaces catching and reflecting his heat vision in patterns that seemed almost alive.
Clark approached cautiously, his enhanced senses alert for any sign of danger. But just as he prepared to examine the ship more closely, his superhuman hearing detected something that made him spin around in alarm.
…
"Am I too late?"
A streak of blue lightning suddenly materialized on the glacier above, momentum carrying its source in a stumbling slide across the ice before finally coming to an abrupt halt.
Ben had pushed XLR8's capabilities to their absolute limit racing across a quarter of the planet, even taking shortcuts by running across the Pacific Ocean's surface. He vaguely remembered accidentally stepping on something large and aquatic during the ocean crossing, hopefully whatever it was had thick enough skin to survive the encounter.
From his vantage point atop the glacier, Ben surveyed the scene below through his alien form's enhanced vision. The landscape spread before him like a frozen moonscape, crystalline white expanses broken by the geometric shapes of military equipment. Prefabricated shelters and heavy machinery dotted the excavation site, their harsh industrial lines stark against the natural beauty of the ice.
The basin itself was clearly artificial, carved from the glacier by human technology over weeks or months of continuous effort. Massive drilling equipment worked around the clock, their operators driven by the irresistible lure of alien technology. Steam rose from heated work areas where scientists and soldiers labored to extract humanity's first confirmed evidence of extraterrestrial intelligence.
"This is exactly the kind of situation that goes sideways fast," Ben muttered, noting the military presence. Governments and alien technology were a combination that historically led to weapons programs, cover-ups, and dead civilians.
Movement in the camp caught his attention, a lone figure emerging from one of the prefab structures. The person was bundled in heavy arctic gear, but their height and build suggested a woman. Based on his fuzzy recollection of the Man of Steel timeline, this was almost certainly Lois Lane, the investigative journalist whose curiosity had led her to this frozen wasteland.
Her presence confirmed Ben's timing was perfect. If Lois was here, then Clark Kent couldn't be far behind. The melted tunnel carved into the distant cliff face provided additional evidence that the future Superman had already arrived.
Ben watched as Lois began making her way toward the tunnel entrance, her progress slow and difficult in the treacherous terrain. Unlike Clark, she was painfully human, vulnerable to every hazard this environment could offer.
Ignoring the journalist entirely, Ben simply vanished from the glacier's surface, reappearing at the tunnel mouth in the time it took to blink.
The tunnel Clark had created was a marvel of controlled destruction. The melted ice had refrozen into a glass-smooth surface. Residual heat from the thermal vision had turned the passage into something resembling a natural hot spring, steam rising from pools of water that refused to freeze despite the subzero temperatures.
The slick surface made high-speed movement inadvisable, especially considering the potentially volatile situation waiting below. Ben change back to human, retracted his nano-suit and proceeded on foot, his enhanced physiology treating the extreme cold as merely brisk rather than lethal. Each breath created small clouds of vapor, but his core temperature remained perfectly stable.
The descent continued for what felt like kilometers, the tunnel boring through ice laid down during ages when the Earth was young. Emergency lighting from the surface expedition cast strange shadows through the translucent walls, creating an otherworldly atmosphere that perfectly suited the historic nature of this moment.
Eventually, the passage opened into a cathedral-sized ice cavern, its vaulted ceiling disappearing into shadows above. At the chamber's heart sat the prize both governments and individuals had risked everything to reach, a Kryptonian scout ship.
The ship was beautiful in its alien sophistication, all flowing curves and biomechanical integration that suggested technology millennia beyond human achievement. Its obsidian hull seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it, creating an impression of depth and mystery that made Ben's fingers itch to begin examination.
"That's far enough," Clark Kent announced, his stance defensive but not overtly threatening. The man cut an impressive figure even in civilian clothes, clearly fit and alert, though he was doing his best to appear like an ordinary person who'd simply wandered into an extraordinary situation.
Clark's mind raced as he studied the newcomer. His X-ray vision had detected something impossible just minutes earlier, this person had been in a completely different physical form before descending the tunnel. Not merely wearing some kind of advanced camouflage or holographic disguise, but actually transformed at a cellular level from what appeared to be some kind of reptilian humanoid into a perfectly normal-looking human being.
The implications were terrifying. If beings with this level of shapeshifting ability existed, how many might already be walking among humanity undetected? How many governments, corporations, or families might unknowingly harbor alien infiltrators? The paranoid possibilities multiplied exponentially.
Even more disturbing was the thought that he himself might be one of them, that his own memories of growing up with Martha and Jonathan Kent might be fabricated implants, and his true nature something far more sinister than he'd ever imagined.
Clark's father had often spoken about the day when humanity might be ready to accept visitors from other worlds, about Clark's potential role as a bridge between civilizations. But standing here face-to-face with definitive proof that other aliens were already operating on Earth, Clark wondered if either species was prepared for what that contact might truly mean.
The stranger showed no signs of hostility, but appearances could be deceiving, especially when dealing with beings capable of perfect biological mimicry. Clark remained ready to act at superhuman speed if the situation demanded it, though he hoped desperately that violence wouldn't be necessary.
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