At a gas station in Smallville, a tall young man frowned, his gaze fixed on the grassy stretch leading from the station to the town center.
An elderly attendant approached and gently patted his shoulder.
"Clark, what are you staring at? Checking the crops this year?"
"No," Clark replied, shaking his head with a wry smile.
"What's the point? Even if the harvest's good, grain prices across New Jersey will drop. No money to be made."
He sighed and removed his uniform.
"I was just thinking about the weather. I have a feeling it's going to rain in Gotham. That storm might even reach us. Can you ask Leitner to give me leave? I need to help Martha with the soybeans."
"Rain?" the attendant squinted. "It rains in Gotham often, but rarely here. But you're right. Better to plan ahead than take losses. I'll ask for leave."
"Thanks."
Clark laughed and climbed into his old pickup, heading toward the farm.
At Kent Farm, Martha was startled to see him.
"Clark, weren't you at work? Why are you home?"
"The station's pump broke. The repairman says it won't be fixed until afternoon. I figured I'd help here first."
He took the farm tools from her and started working, though his eyes kept darting toward the distant town.
Smallville was peaceful, normally safe, but today, Clark noticed several black jeeps near the town center armed with high-powered sonic weapons.
At first, he feared he was the target.
But listening in, he realized the weapons were set up by the US military for a super-criminal in Gotham named Axel.
Axel was after a reporter named Louise, whose father was a general—hence the elaborate trap.
Even from a distance, Clark knew Axel was dangerous.
Sonic weapons and dozens of soldiers wouldn't be enough to stop him.
Distracted, Clark swung the shovel and snapped it in half.
Martha handed him a replacement, patting his hand gently.
"You've been distracted since Jonathan left, Clark. Death is inevitable, but it shouldn't paralyze the living. Cheer up. Help me take the cows to the vet—the left front hoof of one's badly pierced by a nail."
"Okay, Martha," Clark said, continuing to load manure onto the cart.
But his eyes still darted to the town center.
He prayed the military and Axel wouldn't ruin Smallville's peace.
Near the Gotham History Museum, Bartel pulled the car to a stop.
"Boss, we're here."
Axel nodded, then asked, "How old are you, Bartel?"
"Uh… twenty-three. You, Boss?"
"Twenty-six, haha." Axel grinned, leaned into the passenger seat, and retrieved his tactical backpack.
"Bartel, watch my location. If I appear five to eight minutes away in another direction, follow. If I'm far, just wait here. Also, write down your family information and leave it in the car. If you die, I'll give them this car—or swap it for an equivalent in Franklins for funeral expenses."
Axel patted Bartel's shoulder and jumped out, phone in hand.
He studied the detailed layout of the laundry room in front of him.
Liv's intelligence was thorough.
The Dimitrov Family had risen during the Cold War.
Their boss, Yuri, ran things old-school—gambling, prostitution, drugs—avoiding new-money ventures.
The family's operations were hidden beneath a laundry room, and a secret basement led to their underground casino.
Satisfied, Axel holstered his phone and gripped his pistols.
Inside, two Russian guards noticed him immediately and raised their weapons.
Through the floor-to-ceiling window, Axel chuckled.
Then he sidestepped sharply, dodging their first volley of bullets.
Bang, bang!
The Desert Eagles tore through the guards, twelve meters away, far outmatching their Glocks.
Both fell, unable to rise.
Axel jumped over the broken window, landing beside them, and delivered precise headshots.
Blood spattered.
The room fell silent.
Axel grasped a corpse's hand.
"People learn as they die. I can tell exactly when you fired just by your finger movement. Didn't expect dodging bullets would work, but thanks. You two? Second batch of teachers I've acknowledged, after Laura Takizawa."
He gestured for quiet at the stunned onlookers outside the shop.
Hearing footsteps, Axel pushed open the staff lounge door and tossed two grenades inside.
Boom!
Explosions rocked the room.
Russian curses filled the air.
"Close the door, fast!"
"The Italian Mafia is here!"
"Send reinforcements downstairs!"
"The cops just patrolled the street, they're crazy!"
The voices stunned Axel.
He hadn't expected so many people alive after the explosion.
Indeed, the world of combat was extraordinary.