Victoria Park
A sprawling green sanctuary in the heart of London, Ontario, Canada. Today, the atmosphere remained as vibrant and lively as ever. People filled the space to unwind—young couples whispered to each other on wooden benches beneath the shade of ancient trees, families spread out picnic mats echoing with laughter, and joggers maintained a steady, relentless flow along the paths.
Amidst this tranquility, an elderly Canadian couple sat resting on their mat. They watched their grandchildren play with fond eyes, sipping drinks and enjoying a pleasant conversation.
SPLAT!
Suddenly, an object plummeted from the heavens, striking the center of the grandfather’s bald head with a sharp thud!
“What the hell?!” the old man yelped, jolting in shock as he instinctively swatted the foreign object away. The grandmother sitting beside him stared in stunned silence. Both hurried to look at what had landed on the grass. The grandmother reached out, picking it up for a closer inspection.
It was a tattered shred of denim—the waistband section attached to a back pocket. Most prominent of all was the brown leather brand patch, still firmly attached... Levi’s 501.
Before the couple could even process their confusion, everyone throughout Victoria Park froze as if under a spell. "Something" began to flutter down from the sky in abundance, drifting like falling snow.
“What is this? Shreds of denim?” A female jogger skidded to a halt, picking up a piece of fabric that landed right in front of her with a look of utter bewilderment. Her running partner looked equally perplexed. Many began to crane their necks upward, searching the vast, open sky—yet there wasn't a single plane in sight.
“Where on earth is this coming from...” the park’s janitor grumbled to himself, his face twisting in annoyance at the sudden, bizarre increase in his workload.
The scene cuts back to the picnic mat. The grandfather took the Levi’s 501 patch into his hands. His panicked expression softened into a strange, haunting sadness. He stared at the red logo for a long moment before letting out a heavy sigh.
“I truly loved my job... I worked there until the very last minute before the factory shut down back in 2002.”
He spoke of his past, of a time when he was once part of the legend of this denim brand. The grandmother beside him could only offer a weary, sympathetic smile—knowing all too well this was the tenth time he’d told the story today. But at least today... the past her husband loved had literally fallen from the heavens to remind him of home.
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One day later, inside a clandestine laboratory hidden beneath the stillness of America.
A forensic team stood huddled around a massive table littered with evidence recovered from Canada.
“The lab results are in. It’s a complete pair of jeans, shredded into thousands of tiny fragments, along with clothing fibers scattered extensively across Ontario,” an officer reported to the team. Everyone stared at the piles of red, black, and denim-blue scraps that looked as if they had been put through a commercial paper shredder.
“DNA analysis from the sweat residue found on the fibers has provided a definitive match... it belongs to Cris Thorn.”
The confirmation plunged the room into a brief, heavy silence. Then, another officer broke the tension with a hollow, dry laugh. “So, that means... the real Superman isn't named Clark Kent like we thought, huh? Haha!”
But the team leader wasn't laughing. He stared at the denim brand patch with a grim expression. “Oh... God. How am I supposed to report this to the higher-ups? Am I supposed to tell them we’re facing a human who actually possesses the powers of Superman?”
The only female officer in the team, strikingly beautiful, stepped closer to the leader. She offered a subtle smile, her eyes sparkling with a charm that could make any man’s heart skip a beat. “We’re just the forensics lab, Chief... Our job is simply to report what the evidence shows. There’s no need to give yourself a headache over it.”
Her words might have sounded encouraging, but in reality, everyone in that room knew exactly what she meant: just do the job, keep your mouth shut, and wait for the paycheck to hit the bank…
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At a massive Super Bowl stadium, teeming with tens of thousands of people.
The air was thick with cheers and anticipation. President Noldo Funk stood behind the stage, maintaining a casual, approachable demeanor. Just as he was about to step out to deliver a speech on a heated political policy, a high-ranking official rushed in and handed a tablet containing the secret lab report directly into his hands.
“Give me a quick summary. I don’t have time to dig through the details,” the President asked, grabbing the device and scanning the screen.
“Uh... I haven't had the chance to look at the details myself either, sir,” the official replied, his voice trembling with nerves.
At that moment, another aide stepped in to prompt him. “It’s time, sir. The people are waiting for you.”
Noldo nodded and led the way toward the podium. However, his eyes remained glued to the text on that tablet. The more he read, the deeper his brows furrowed. The playful glint in his eyes was replaced by a strange, surging fervor.
As he stepped onto the podium under the blinding glare of the spotlights, the applause and roars of the crowd were so thunderous they nearly shook the stadium to its foundations. Noldo thrust the hand holding the tablet high into the air, as if hoisting a championship trophy. He didn't start with his prepared remarks; instead, he barked out in a powerful, commanding voice:
“My fellow Americans! In my hand right now is a high-level classified report just delivered from our forensics unit!”
He paused, scanning the faces across the vast stadium. “And this very report is what will confirm to the entire world... why I have been so adamant about the establishment of the United States Space Force!”
As those words left his lips, the crowd of tens of thousands erupted into a chaotic buzz. Confusion, excitement, and anxiety spiked to their absolute limits in a single heartbeat.
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Above was the vast, frigid blue of the infinite sky. Below lay the endless, sprawling ice sheets of Hudson Bay. This magnificent vista had become a stage of pure agony.
“Stop, Cris! Slow down... or you’ll never make it!”
The old man’s voice reverberated within his mind. Suddenly, Cris’s body ground to a dead halt, suspended in mid-air. The sheer inertia caused the surrounding air to coil into a swirling vortex of snow and frost. The youth’s body was battered almost beyond recognition; the clothes he once wore had been utterly shredded and stripped away by the atmospheric friction of supersonic travel.
Fine, long cracks split across his skin over his entire body. Crimson blood seeped out in tiny droplets, only to be instantly flash-frozen into jagged crystals by the biting cold. Cris slowly upturned his trembling right palm to look... resting in that blood-stained hand were five orbs, glowing with a mystical radiance amidst the crusting gore.
“Didn't you tell me to hurry, Master...?” Cris muttered through gritted teeth, gasping for air.
“You are... brilliant, yet so incredibly foolish. Heh heh,” the old man’s voice echoed back, a mix of mockery and twisted affection. “But then again, you are still just a human in a physical vessel. There are countless limitations you have yet to transcend... You must rest and heal first. Heh... honestly, perhaps I shouldn't have taught you at all.”
That dry, raspy laughter was bone-chilling before his tone shifted into something solemn and commanding.
“Finally, you have opened it... It is time for this world to begin its 'molting' process. Find a safe place to descend and recover. I will contact you again.”
As the voice faded into nothingness, Cris was left standing alone amidst an icy storm that was beginning to take shape. Silence shrouded Hudson Bay, broken only by the whistling wind and the ragged, shallow breaths of the youth who was about to rewrite the history of the world.
Cris hovered motionless in the sky, squinting through the biting gale to find a way forward. Yet, he was surrounded by nothing but the grey, vast emptiness of the heavens, while below him lay a white hell—the expansive, lifeless ice sheets of the frozen sea.
He raised his free hand to touch his trembling body. His bare skin, stripped of all protection, was now cracked like parched, sun-scorched earth. Fresh crimson blood seeped from the fissures, staining his palms. He began to descend slowly, hoping to find some semblance of shelter, but as he moved lower, the reality revealed only an endless void. The frigid wind sliced into every open wound, sending a searing pain that pierced deep into his bones.
“You know what must be done... Do not make me lose face.”
The old man’s voice whispered a cold warning once more before vanishing, leaving Cris trapped in an agonizing silence.
“I really am as foolish as you say, Master...” Cris murmured to himself, his voice wavering from the sub-zero cold. “For things to have spiraled this far... but now that it’s happened, there is no turning back.”
He paused for a moment, the memory of the horrific explosion in New York flashing through his mind. “And that power... the power that intervened and caused all of this... whose was it? Are there others as powerful as the Master on this planet?”
Driven by that lingering doubt, Cris decided to settle onto the freezing ice. He closed his eyes amidst the howling, frigid winds, attempting to enter a meditative state to calm his mind. He needed to retrace every memory, searching for the answer to who exactly transformed his magic show into a global tragedy.
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The sub-zero winds continued to rage. The drifting snow began to blanket Cris’s bare body until he was nearly submerged, leaving only a glimpse of the raw wounds etched across his skin.
Then... darkness swept in rapidly. The sky over Hudson Bay suddenly ignited with emerald-green auroras, dancing and shimmering like a mystical veil. A shooting star streaked across the vivid sky—an omen of things to come.
The camera zooms in close on Cris’s face, one side now dusted with a thin layer of frost. The eyes that had been peacefully closed beneath the snow suddenly snapped open!
“They’ve found me,” Cris muttered to himself, his voice ringing with a cold, iron resolve.
He rose to his feet slowly. The frost that had blanketed his body sloughed off, falling to the ground to reveal skin that was once again smooth and flawless—not a single scar remained! Only the dark, frozen crusts of blood clinging to his frame served as a stark reminder of the ordeal.
“I have to keep moving,” Cris stated with newfound confidence. His body felt revitalized, his depleted energy surging back to its peak. Strangely, he no longer felt the biting cold. His hand, which had been gripping the five orbs, loosened slightly before tightening into a firm, resolute fist once more.
He closed his eyes gently, hovering upward from the icy surface. He turned his head left and right, as if "listening" to or "sensing" something vibrating in the air. He remained suspended there for a moment before snapping his eyes open, his gaze burning with determination.
Cris resumed his journey. He propelled himself forward at a controlled, moderate speed, gliding just a hundred meters above the ice to minimize atmospheric friction and remain shielded from the eyes that were hunting him.
————————————————————————————————————————
“He’s on the move... we’re too late!”
An embittered curse echoed through the clandestine laboratory, a space crammed with cutting-edge technology. An officer stared intently at a massive monitor displaying integrated feeds from surveillance drones and high-orbit satellites. The vast, white void where Cris had been meditating was now marked only by a wide circle of melted snow—but the target was gone.
“Where is he headed? We can’t lock onto his trajectory, sir! No sonic boom alerts... it appears he’s intentionally traveling at subsonic speeds to evade our detection!” the officer reported frantically, his fingers drumming a rapid cadence across the control panel.
“All units! Scan for thermal signatures and atmospheric vibrations at every coordinate, immediately!” the lead official barked, his eyes sharp and fierce. He leaned so close to the monitor he seemed almost swallowed by the global positioning graphics.
“The blizzard down there is too intense, Chief! Visibility is zero. Even the auroras are scrambling our infrared sensors, making a visual lock nearly impossible!” a subordinate countered, his face etched with stress.
“Keep searching! Do not stop!” the Chief roared with iron-willed authority. His eyes reflected more than just anger—they betrayed a deep-seated fear. “Hurry! Because right now... the very survival of this world rests in our hands!”
————————————————————————————————————————
Inside an old wooden house, standing solitary on the deep plains along the coast of Lake Agvatnet, Norway.
Amidst the pitch-black darkness, stripped of any electricity, only the emerald-green auroras dancing in the sky cast enough light to silhouette the towering mountains.
The interior of the house felt as if it had been plucked from legend, adorned with the hauntingly powerful art of ancient Vikings. An elderly man sat on a worn sofa before a dying fireplace. The flickering embers reflected in his trembling hands as he picked up an old photograph in a small wooden frame. It was a picture of a young couple from the past, their smiles fading with the passage of time. On the wooden table beside him, several other weathered frames stood in a row—the sole sanctuary for his memories.
The frigid wind howled, whipping dry leaves around the dilapidated structure. Suddenly... a soft knock at the door echoed for just a moment before the wooden slab was pushed open. A gust of sub-zero air and dead leaves surged into the house, settling upon the doormat.
“Grandpa... still not asleep, I see.”
A familiar voice called out from the darkness outside, followed by a foot stepping lightly over the threshold.
“Hmph... supersonic speeds again, causing another Sonic Boom, I presume?”
The old man muttered without even turning to look. He recognized that specific vibration in the air better than anyone else in the world. Cris walked straight into the house, his body bare and stained with crusted, frozen blood. Amidst the biting cold, he lunged forward, embracing the old man with a desperate, aching longing.
Silence once again blanketed the old house, broken only by the faint crackle of the dying embers in the fireplace and the shared warmth between the two remaining souls.
“Go put some clothes on... everything’s in your old room. I’ve kept it all clean and ready for you,” Grandpa said evenly, gently placing the wooden frame back in its exact spot on the table. Beside it sat a family portrait: Lars, Astrid, and a young boy standing together in a happy, radiant line. It was the memory the old man gazed upon every single day.
“I saw the news about you... caught a glimpse when I went into town this evening. I knew right then you’d be coming to find me. Ha ha!” The old man chuckled low in his throat, watching his grandson’s back as he retreated into his former bedroom. Cris pulled on a pair of Levi’s and a blue-and-black plaid shirt, the familiar fabric felt like home.
Grandpa rose, his movements weary yet still carrying an air of command. He walked to the door to shut out the biting chill; his age-worn, trembling hands pulled the heavy wooden slab shut before he returned to his seat by the fire.
“In the end, no secret stays hidden forever... I suppose it’s finally time for your father, mother, and siblings to learn the truth.”
Cris emerged from the room, fully dressed, but his eyes were clouded with intense anxiety. He stood there, frozen, not knowing how to break the news to his grandfather about the cataclysmic explosion back in Minnesota.
“To be honest, I’ve been ready to join your grandmother for a long time now. But I’ve stayed behind, worried about you children,” Grandpa mused, his eyes locking onto Cris’s. “I won’t go anywhere as long as you all aren't safe... But this time, you must take me with you. I want to see the place where you’ve been studying with my own eyes... and more importantly, those officials will undoubtedly be swarming this house very soon.”
“But Grandpa... your body is so frail now. How could you possibly endure the journey?” Cris asked, his voice thick with concern.
“If you truly can do it... then, Cris, just make another orb.”
The old man’s words hit Cris like a physical blow, making him recoil. “But you strictly forbade me from ever touching your body, Grandpa!”
“No secret stays hidden forever, Cris... and I believe the body I’m inhabiting right now is more of a clone. My true self is likely waiting for me over there... isn't that right?” Grandpa asked, piercing through the boy's defenses.
Cris lowered his head instantly, the weight of a child caught in a lie crashing down on him. “I... yes. The body you are in... it is a clone, sir.”
“Your grandmother won’t mind...” Grandpa murmured, his gaze softening. “I believe she is always waiting for me... no matter what vessel I use to find her.”
With that, the old man reclined on the worn sofa beside the fireplace, which still radiated a gentle warmth. His withered hands clutched the photograph of the young man and woman—his younger self and his wife—holding it tight against his chest with eternal affection.
“Make it look like an old man who passed away peacefully in his cabin in the woods...” he whispered, his voice filled with a profound peace as his eyes slowly drifted shut.
“Yes, sir...” Cris replied, his voice trembling. He placed the five orbs he had been carrying onto the wooden table beside him. Then, he reached out, resting both hands gently upon his grandfather’s chest.
In a mere heartbeat... the last breath of the old man flickered and faded into a profound peace. At that exact moment, a faint, ethereal glow emanated from beneath Cris’s palms. The grandfather’s body stilled into the void, leaving behind one final orb resting silently upon his chest. Cris gathered it, adding it to the others on the wooden table... he now held all six orbs in his hands.
He secured them within a small tactical satchel hidden beneath his shirt, slung firmly from his left shoulder across to his right waist, before buttoning his shirt to conceal them completely. Cris walked to the rack by the door, pulling on his grandfather’s heavy overcoat to shield himself from the biting Norwegian chill.
He gently pressed his hand against his chest, right over the spot where the six orbs were nestled with utmost care.
“Trust me, everyone...”
Cris murmured, his eyes burning with iron resolve as he shouldered the greatest burden of his life. He pushed open the door into the consuming darkness outside. The frigid gale lashed against his face, but a second later, his body surged into the pitch-black sky—vanishing into the midst of the wildly dancing auroras.
————————————————————————————————————————
A biting, frost-covered morning... Norwegian local police forces had mobilized, cordoning off a residence in Reine, a fishing village renowned as one of the most picturesque in the world. But today, the beauty was stifled by a thick layer of tension. The old wooden house stood weathered, its surroundings reclaimed by wild weeds—looking as though it had been abandoned for a decade.
“It’s definitely the old Thorn family home, Chief... but looking at this state, I’d wager no one has lived here in ten years,” a junior officer reported to his superior.
At that moment, a middle-aged local cycled past the house. He slowed his pace, casting a peculiar glance at the officers before shaking his head slightly and pedaling away, leaving the village to its usual quiet.
“Deep background checks are in, sir... this family moved to work in America over ten years ago, and there’s no record of them ever returning,” the same officer continued, flipping through his case file. “However, one name remains rooted here: Erik Thorn, Lars’s father—Cris’s grandfather. Word is he moved away to live as a recluse in a cabin by the lake.”
“Then split the units!” the commander barked with sharp authority. “One team continue a grid search here—don't miss a single corner. The rest of you, follow me to secure a boat. We’re heading for Grandpa Erik right now!”
As the police convoy began to pull away, one junior officer whispering to his colleague as he climbed into the patrol car, unable to hide his excitement.
“Hey... our village is about to go global. Who would’ve believed that Superman grew up right here in our little town!”
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Rewinding several decades — The Old Thorn Residence
Inside the same wooden house, which at that time was still filled with warmth and vibrant life. Dappled sunlight filtered through the windows, bathing the Viking-style furniture in a soft, gentle glow. A young couple sat side by side, radiating happiness. A young Lars knelt on the floor, his large hand tenderly caressing Astrid’s belly. Though her pregnancy was not yet visible, the eyes of both were brimming with the hopeful light of first-time parents.
“Dad... come with us. I really have to make this move. I’ve secured a fantastic job there; it’s a massive opportunity for us,” Lars said, turning to address his father on the other side of the room.
Erik, still in his prime and robust years, sat watching television on his favorite sofa. He turned to look at his son and daughter-in-law with the kindest, warmest smile a father could offer.
“Go on ahead, Lars... I’ve made up my mind. I’m going to live a recluse's life at the cabin by the lake,” Erik replied, his voice steady yet firm. “I just want to wait for the day I can be with your mother again... For me, I don’t need anything more than that. I’ve had enough, son.”
Those words were heavy with the love and memories he held for his late wife—a resolve so steadfast that no one could change his mind.
The camera slowly zooms out, retreating from that heartwarming conversation... pulling back outside the wooden house nestled by the shore... further out across the meadows and the painted mountains of Norway... receding further and further until the house became nothing more than a tiny speck amidst the vastness of time that can never be reclaimed.
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Inside the clandestine laboratory, illuminated by the flickering glow of dozens of monitors.
Scores of officers were working relentlessly, straining every resource to track the fastest man on Earth.
“Still no trace of him, sir,” one officer reported, his voice thick with exhaustion. “He knows exactly how to evade our sensors with flawless precision.”
“Start rotating shifts. Get some rest,” the Chief stated flatly, though his eyes remained glued to the global map. “But the search must never stop. Not for a single second.”
He paused for a heartbeat, then leaned in, whispering into the ear of his closest subordinate so only they could hear. “When you have a moment... start digging into old legends. Shooting stars in Norway, myths of gods, sorcerers, witches—bring me everything.”
“But sir... those are just...” The subordinate’s brow furrowed, ready to protest.
“Shh...” The Chief raised a finger to his lips. “How many things has science claimed were impossible, only to be proven real in the end? Don't forget, our organization was founded specifically to investigate the 'supernatural.' Trust me on this.”
He spoke with a voice that was low but as unyielding as stone before turning and striding out of the room with grim determination.
The camera zooms out rapidly, retreating from the lab, through reinforced steel corridors, and bursting out from the futuristic facility nestled in the heart of a barren, mysterious desert. A high-level restricted area sign flashes on the screen, revealing those iconic, familiar numbers...
AREA 51
—————————————————————————————— Ruth VT-Hin ———
