Dio: That Scared Me to Death—I Thought You Were Here for Money

The rising dawn shattered the darkness, dyeing the wheat fields the color of honey.

A gentle breeze swept through, raising wave after wave. Several speckled chickens pecked leisurely in front of the barn, while the farm windmill in the distance turned slowly, casting rhythmic patterns of light and shadow.

It looked like the most ordinary summer morning imaginable.

Until—

A black Chevrolet rolled down the muddy country road, shattering the peace like a stain splashed across an oil painting.

"God! This damn road!"

The frontmost car door flew open, and a polished Oxford shoe landed straight in a muddy puddle.

"Did the local officials spend all the taxpayers' money feeding pigs?" The young agent with slicked-back hair stared lividly at his eight-hundred-dollar custom trousers, now spattered with mud. "My pants! Damn bastards! Don't let me find out who's in charge of this place, or I'll kick his ass with Uncle Tom's boots!"

"Could you keep it down, Vank?"

Agent Smith stepped out of the passenger seat, removed his sunglasses, and took a deep breath.

"Wonderful."

He narrowed his eyes at the endless waves of wheat. "This reminds me of the farm back home in Nebraska."

"When the corn ripened there, it smelled just like this. My father always said—"

"Mr. Smith."

"That thing probably exploded somewhere around here." Vank rolled his eyes at the old man. "Every breath you take could be carrying toxins."

The old agent's expression froze instantly.

"Cough, cough, cough, cough, cough!"

He broke into a violent fit of coughing, nearly hacking up a lung. In a panic, he pulled out a handkerchief and covered his mouth and nose. It took him quite a while to recover enough to speak. "This is the place?"

"Yes, we're very close." Vank held a brick-like device, waving it from side to side. "The exact location isn't clear."

"Hey, old man, where are you going?"

"Young fellow, this is the first lesson this old man will teach you." Smith huffed as he walked ahead. "Sometimes, you shouldn't put too much faith in machines. Fieldwork is the real authority."

"Why not just ask an honest farmer?"

Vank paused, only then noticing a massive shadow looming in the distance.

Was that a rusty old tractor?

The roar drew closer, and mixed with the smell of diesel was the sweet scent of blueberry pie.

As the two agents approached, they were about to greet the driver. But the moment they saw the figure in the seat, they both froze.

Sunlight filtered through the boy's dazzling blond hair, casting a small shadow beneath his lashes and making those red eyes look especially uncanny.

One hand rested casually on the steering wheel, while the other held the source of the scent they had noticed—

A blueberry pie, though more than half of it had already been eaten.

Honestly, if you ignored his ride and looked only at his demeanor—

He looked like he was driving a luxury sports car.

A curly-haired boy covered in mud stood in the trailer bed, trying to catch fluttering butterflies with dirt-caked hands.

His plaid shirt was completely smeared with mud, as though he had rolled around in a block of cement.

Now that was what a country kid should look like.

"Really takes me back to my youth." Agent Smith nodded sentimentally. "Back then, I drove a Ferrari F on the West Coast—"

"Old man, is that really the point?" Vank said helplessly. "Kansas allows minors to drive farm machinery now?"

"According to Article 17 of the Federal Agricultural Safety Regulations."

"That's not the point either. We came here to retrieve that thing." The old agent rolled his eyes, then suddenly flashed a grin. "Still, to be honest, I stole my grandfather's harvester when I was eight. Tsk, tsk, I nearly flattened half a cornfield back then—"

"Mr. Smith!"

Vank finally snapped and cut him off. "Could you please conduct your fieldwork?"

"Vank, I hope you'll save that kind of enthusiasm for the ladies."

The old agent grudgingly straightened his tie, then walked toward the tractor with the kindest smile he could muster.

"Good morning, kids! That rain yesterday was really something, wasn't it?"

The tractor came to an abrupt stop.

Dio slowly licked the jam from his fingertips, his red eyes narrowing slightly.

These people in expensive suits looked utterly out of place on a country road, like hyenas barging into a chicken coop.

Dad had said that when he was young, there had been a time when this bunch of black-suited people had made his life miserable.

Could they be here for money again?

Dio summoned The World behind him, ready at any moment.

"A weather satellite fell during the thunderstorm somewhere nearby. Have you seen it?"

Dio's expression relaxed.

So they were here about the robot.

That scared him to death. He had thought they were here for money.

"Don't remember anything, Grandpa." He shrugged. "Yesterday, the thunder was so loud even the pigs wouldn't sleep."

"?"

Clark blinked in confusion from the trailer bed.

They had obviously slept soundly after eating venison last night. Besides, everyone in Smallville knew Locke Farm didn't raise pigs at all.

"Hiss—"

Clark sucked in a sharp breath and suddenly clutched his calf. Something had just kicked him.

Not noticing those little movements, Smith assumed the curly-haired boy had cramped up and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his sweat.

He continued probing. "Maybe there were a few large metal fragments. Have there been any signs of them around your farm?"

"A satellite?" Dio tilted his head, putting on an innocent expression. "The kind in space?"

"No, probably smaller than that." The old agent gestured with his hands. "It had a bit of a silver sheen."

"Then I don't remember seeing anything. Why not ask at another farm?"

"..."

Hearing that, the old agent frowned skeptically and was about to press further when Vank suddenly raised his detector. The radiation reading on its screen was slowly climbing.

He strode toward a patch of blackened weeds by the roadside. "Smith! The soil here—"

"Hey! You can't go over there!"

Dio suddenly jumped off the tractor.

He moved so fast that even Vank could not see how he had done it. The blond boy was already standing in front of the detector.

"My dad said that patch was just sprayed with herbicide."

"Is that so?" Vank narrowed his eyes. "What brand of herbicide leaves radioactive burn marks on plants?"

The air froze.

Clark stood helplessly in the trailer bed as clumps of dirt sifted through his fingers.

Dio stubbornly blocked the way, The World's fist clenching with a thunderous crack.

At that critical moment—

"Kids!"

A deep male voice came from the depths of the wheat field. Locke appeared at the end of the road, carrying two bags of fertilizer over his shoulder.

So tall.

That was the first impression both agents had of Mr. Locke.

At least six-foot-three, right?

Vank swallowed.

With a build like that, why wasn't this guy making a name for himself on a Kansas basketball court instead of farming out here?