The parched land cracked under the biting autumn wind, and just like that, it was the fall of 1998.
This year was strangely calm—so calm that Lock almost forgot Logan's warnings about a looming "life-or-death crisis."
Sometimes, in the dead of night, he'd wake from a dream, touching the blue ladybug pendant on his chest, wondering if those two time travelers had ever really existed.
A crisis? Really?
Lock stood atop the barn, gazing at the cracked fields in the distance with a wry smile.
The biggest crisis this year was Mother Nature herself—
The El Niño phenomenon.
The Pacific's unusual warm currents had brought a decade-worst drought to the American Midwest.
"Dad!"
Dio's voice called from below, the blond teenager hoisting two bags of seeds, his red eyes squinting in the blazing sun.
"I've sorted the short-season soybeans and sorghum seeds!"
Smart choice.
Lock leaped down from the barn and clapped his son on the shoulder.
Short-season soybeans, with a growth cycle under a hundred days, were sown and harvested to dodge the scorching July and August water demands, neatly sidestepping the price crashes of corn and oats due to policy shifts.
This made the Kent family the only farm in Smallville barely touched by El Niño's wrath.
As for the sorghum, Lock had picked up a few bags on a whim since it was drought-resistant.
He planned to set aside a test plot after winter.
"Dinner's just the two of us tonight," Lock said, ruffling Dio's blond hair. "Martha left a blueberry pie recipe. Wanna give it a shot?"
Dio's face twisted in mock horror. "Are you trying to poison your only son?"
Lock's mouth twitched.
Was it his idea to cook?
News had come that morning—Martha's cousin had passed away, and the Kents had left early for the funeral.
They wouldn't be back for a few days.
Without Martha, the kitchen goddess, Lock had no choice but to cook himself.
Otherwise, he and Dio would be mooching dinner at Old Bob's place.
Time slipped by, and the sun dipped low.
The kitchen was stacked with ingredients from town—
A cake from the bakery, Martha's pre-made blueberry pie, and a mountain of beef, pork, chicken—pretty much every kind of meat imaginable.
"Dad," Dio said, eyeing the pile of raw meat with a grimace, "can we maybe switch things up a bit?"
"Dio," Lock sighed, holding up Martha's recipe book, "you think I want to cook?"
The father and son stared at the table of raw meat, then Lock slapped his thigh. "Guess it's time for your birthday present early."
"What present?" Dio asked.
"A three-day trip to Metropolis!"
"We'll have a blast, and on the third night, we might even be back in time to reunite with Jonathan and the others!" Lock pulled out a city tourism poster like a magician. "But the best part? We can eat…"
"Authentic food!"
Dio's eyes lit up. He'd been craving a certain restaurant for ages.
And the best part?
Clark wouldn't be around for those three days!
No sooner said than done.
The World and Star Platinum materialized, swiftly stashing the ingredients in the freezer.
But when Lock opened the front door—
"It's snowing? Dad!" Dio stared in surprise at the swirling flakes.
Sure enough.
Lock raised an eyebrow. This might be another quirk of the El Niño effect.
Before he could say anything, a raspy voice cut through the snowy wind: "Lock! Dio!"
Summoning Star Platinum, Lock peered through its telescopic vision.
There, trudging toward them, was a weathered man in tattered clothes, a cigarette trailing white smoke from his lips.
That guy.
Lock had sent twelve letters, all unanswered. He'd half-thought Logan was dead.
Taking three steps in two, Logan reached the porch, snow dusting off his boots.
"Happy birthday, kid, right?" Logan grinned, showing white teeth. "I came just for it."
"But I gotta head out tomorrow, just to be safe."
Lock paused for a moment. "Dio's birthday is in three days."
Logan's grin faltered. "Haha… early celebration work?"
"So," Lock's mouth twitched, "why didn't you write back to confirm?"
"And did you even get my letters?"
"Oh, sure," Logan nodded. "I read 'em, buddy. Just didn't have time to reply."
"Oh?" Dio's red eyes glinted mischievously. "What'd Dad's first letter say?"
The snow fell harder.
Logan's cigarette hissed out in the flurry.
"Uh… well…" Logan stammered, his claws flexing nervously. "Something about… farm updates?"
"The first letter," Lock said, rubbing his forehead, "asked if they'd found you."
"Nope," Logan chuckled. "If I was that easy to track, they wouldn't have been chasing me for years."
"Same old efficiency from them, huh?"
"Guess so," Lock said, raising an eyebrow. "Come on in."
"Dad!" Dio groaned.
"Relax, kid, it's still snowing," Lock said, ruffling Dio's hair with a smile. "We'll head out when the snow stops tomorrow morning."
"Ugh, fine," Dio muttered, shooting a dark look at Logan, the party-crasher.
Logan shivered, sucking in a breath, and glanced around—nothing but Dio, head bowed.
Was he imagining things?
Wiping sweat from his brow, Logan exhaled. Just scaring himself.
---
The next morning, Logan stretched lazily on the porch.
He let out a loud belch, the taste of blueberry pie and whiskey lingering in the cold air.
"Burp!"
"Lock, your cooking beats prison grub any day," he said, grinning and patting his full belly.
Arms crossed, Lock leaned against the doorframe, glaring.
"Ahem!" Logan pretended not to notice, turning to ruffle Dio's hair vigorously.
The teen was about to snap when Logan waved and strode toward the forest.
Dio's frustration fizzled like a punch into cotton.
"Keep an eye on your old man, kid!"
"No need to say bye to your Uncle Logan!"
"Call me if you need anything!"
"Left my number on the table!"
Logan's boots left deep prints in the snow, quickly buried by the wind.
Lock watched him vanish, until Dio tugged his sleeve. "Dad, if we don't leave soon, it'll snow again."
"Got it, you little punk," Lock chuckled, nodding as they headed to the snow-covered pickup nearby.
The truck, though, wasn't in great shape.
Brushing snow off the hood, Lock froze when he opened the door.
The tires were sunk half a foot into the snow.
Dio crouched, poking the frozen snow crust. "How about we just pretend we went?"
"No way," Lock said with a mysterious smile. "Dio, remember—we're Stand users."
With that, a purple figure shimmered behind him. Star Platinum's muscled arms grabbed the bumper and lifted the truck like a toy, setting it on solid ground.
Dio blinked, The World flickering in the morning mist.
But when his golden Stand tried lifting the rear, the tires just spun comically in the snow.
"That's not fair!" Dio's face flushed.
Lock's hearty laugh echoed across the snowy plain. "What's the rush? You're only ten. Plenty of room to grow."
The engine roared as Dio pressed his face to the cold window.
In the rearview mirror, the farmhouse's chimney smoke faded to a thin line. Farther off, at the forest's edge, a dark speck caught his eye.
Was that Logan?
He started to point it out, but the truck's turn sent the snowy landscape spinning in his vision, like a tipped sugar jar spilling dazzling sunlight.
Whatever. Some drifter like Logan wasn't worth Lord Dio's breath.
---
On the snowfield, the dark speck Dio ignored suddenly grew larger. A towering figure rose from a snowdrift.
Snow slid off his broad shoulders.
Wearing a stark white mask, his cold eyes tracked the distant pickup through binoculars.
The image of the truck moving inexplicably lingered in his mind.
He'd been tracking that wolf for three months, but now…
He pressed his phone.
"You," a low chuckle came from the other end.
"One?"
Silence hung for a few seconds before the voice caught on. "Of course."
"You know, most mutants in America died in that riot and the mutant crimes that followed."
"Aside from that one wolf, we haven't had mutant news in ages."
The man lowered his binoculars, silent. The voice, now with a deeper smile, continued: "As long as it's a mutant, I'm happy."
"You're hunting that wolf because it's the last one left, right?"
"But if you bring me another, I'd welcome it."
No response. The man's fist tightened, but the voice pressed on: "I need to study the X-gene."
"And you—you want your wife and kid back, don't you?"
The man's breath hitched.
"I hear the boy's name is Bane, right?"
"The father sins, and the government exiles him, yet the son pays the price."
"Such a shame."
"But don't worry," the voice said lightly. "Bring me even one mutant, and I'll get your wife and son out of prison and back to you."
"Good," the man finally said, voice hoarse.
"Then good luck. Show the courage you had fighting the Conqueror's army, our Cobra, our Demon's Agent—"
"Edmond Durance!"
The call ended. Durance's gaze flicked to Logan's trail, then to Lock and Dio's distant truck. A flicker of hesitation crossed his eyes, but resolve soon overtook it.
All for Bane…
My son, suffering because of me.
Taking a deep breath, Durance tucked the binoculars away and headed for his car.
His footprints sank heavily into the snow.
Behind him, the snowfield stayed silent, the sunlight still radiant.
[Next Time:]
[Grandma Dio Hits Metropolis.]