The Perfect Girl
Hello, my child.
"Boom--!!"
The moment the sound was uttered, John's bloodshot eyes snapped open!
The next second, the two Heat Vision, each as thick as a bowl, transformed into two crimson spears.
They charged straight towards the direction from which the sound came.
"Sizzle--"
The intense heat of the explosion instantly dispersed the rising white vapor in the surrounding area.
But strangely enough...
Those two terrifying beams of heat abruptly pierced through the humanoid silhouette formed by interwoven particles of light.
Then it crashed into the metal fuselage behind it.
Ahead, the particles of light flickered a few times.
Then it reformed into a phantom image of a middle-aged man wearing a dark blue robe with a five-pointed "S" emblem embossed on his chest.
"Buzz--"
The camera suddenly shifts.
The two anti-gravity engines in the hull emitted a deep hum.
Pale blue lightning began to flow along the obsidian keel of the entire ship, poised to strike.
"Etc!"
A cold voice abruptly interrupted the engine's charging.
John took a sudden step forward, his right hand shooting out and his five fingers, like iron clamps, pressing down hard on the edge of the spaceship's raised keel.
Then--
"Boom!"
The engine, which was preparing to float, emitted a muffled groan, and the entire spaceship shuddered violently.
Then, under John's terrifying, bare-handed pressure, he was forcefully pressed back into the muddy ground at the bottom of the pit, where he remained motionless.
Right where he had just been, Joe El's composed silhouette suddenly froze.
For the first time, astonishment and confusion appeared on the illusory face of Krypton's chief researcher.
His core algorithm stores the entire knowledge base of the Krypton.
Before the escape pod was deployed, he had simulated thousands of possible scenarios for his reunion with his child.
The child may cry bitterly, or angrily question why they were abandoned.
They might also feel awe and curiosity towards unknown alien technologies.
But he failed to anticipate this.
"His own" son not only blasted the bulkhead with his Heat Vision the moment he saw him.
He even managed to stop the anti-gravity escape pod, which was about to take off, with his bare hands.
"Child... what are you doing?"
Joe El's projection turned its head somewhat stiffly.
John stood beside the spaceship, expressionlessly brushing non-existent dust from his palms, and said:
"What's the exact address? Just tell me the latitude and longitude."
Anyone else would probably be overwhelmed by the shock of their past being revealed, feeling lost and disoriented.
But for John...
He himself didn't like the "script" he was in, and he was even less interested in the so-called "biological father".
Therefore, he intends to explore any information about this world, including his "origins," himself.
To avoid following the so-called "script".
As for why he was standing on this spaceship that had been dormant for over ten years—
The story begins a few hours earlier with a bowl of steaming tomato and beef brisket soup.
John made up some excuse to brush off the matter of the clothes.
Yes, I picked it up casually while rescuing people.
The flames in the stove licked the bottom of the pot, and the rich tomato and beef brisket soup simmered inside.
The sweet and sour steam rose up, blurring the white mist on the kitchen window.
Martha stood by the pool, repeatedly wiping her hands on a floral-patterned rag, her knuckles turning bluish-white from the force.
Until Old Joe gently placed his large hand on the back of her hand.
" Martha, the soup's almost boiled away."
Old Joe's voice rang out.
Martha suddenly snapped out of her daze, sniffed, and hurriedly picked up a wooden spoon to ladle the red soup into an earthenware bowl.
Thump!
Soon, three large bowls were placed on the wooden table, the clay hitting the pine tabletop with a dull thud.
Old Joe sat down in the head seat, tore the dry bread in half, and then shoved it into the soup.
Soaked in tangy red oil, it was stuffed into the mouth and chewed in large mouthfuls.
John sat across the long table, his gaze fixed on Old Joe's chest.
Under the light, the heart, whose cause and effect had just been smoothed out, was beating steadily and powerfully.
But the price...
John could clearly sense that the World Weight within his body had been reduced to half.
This means that he has significantly less power and authority to wield within the Boys world.
Not only that.
The anchor point Lucifer left on his left shoulder transformed into a black thread visible only to him, connecting with the information panel in front of him.
Three months to go.
The blackened buffer bar is slowly creeping in the lower left corner.
John.
At this moment, Old Joe swallowed the last bite of bread, picked up the earthenware bowl, and drank the remaining red soup in one gulp.
He then pulled out a tissue and wiped his mouth.
His broad shoulders and back slowly leaned against the back of the chair.
Blue eyes peered past the swaying chandelier above the dining table, fixedly gazing at her adopted son.
"Put your coat on now that you're full."
Old Joe seemed to have made a decision, and he stood up, supporting himself on the table.
Come with me to the barn.
At that moment, Martha, who was tidying up the spatula in front of the stove, suddenly froze, and the soup spoon made a crisp sound.
Martha turned around, a flicker of panic in her eyes. She looked at Old Joe, her hands gripping her apron tightly.
"Joe... you've only just recovered. The town doctor won't be here until tomorrow morning."
"The harvester belt is loose, so what? Even the biggest problem won't happen tonight..."
" Martha."
Old Joe interrupted her.
He then walked over to her, raised his large, calloused hand, and gently massaged Martha's thin shoulder.
"The clouds are hanging too low; there might be thunderstorms later tonight."
Old Joe turned his head and glanced at the dark wilderness outside the window, his gaze becoming profound.
"If Maze gets drenched in a downpour, it will rot into mud in the field. After this incident... I've come to understand some things."
Some words, buried under the mud for over a decade, if not brought out to breathe now, may never have another chance to be spoken.
Martha's eyelashes fluttered twice.
She glanced at Old Joe, then turned to look at John, who sat silently at the table, a complex emotion churning in her eyes.
There was fear, there was resistance.
But in the end, it all turned into a resigned sigh.
She let go of his hand, silently turned her face away, lowered her head to wash the dishes, and said nothing more.
John seemed to have sensed something as well.
He stood up, grabbed the trench coat from the back of the chair and draped it over his forearm, then followed Old Joe as he pushed open the door and left.
The summer night winds in Kansas always carry a biting chill.
Dark clouds rolled across the horizon, and from the depths of the clouds, occasional rumbles of thunder illuminated the vast, undulating wheat fields.
A barn stands alone two hundred meters behind the main house.
Old Joe stepped forward and reached out to open the small wooden door on the right.
"Clatter."
Then he pulled down a rope hanging from the doorway, and at the same time, a White Lantern hanging from the top beam of the barn suddenly lit up.
The air here is filled with the smells of dry oats, old engine oil, and rust.
A red, old-model tractor sat quietly in the middle of the aisle, its rubber rear wheels still covered with clumps of mud picked up during the afternoon's tilling.
Instead of heading towards the tractor, Old Joe walked straight across the empty passageway and into the deepest part of the barn.
That place was an absolute forbidden zone in John's memory.
From childhood to adulthood, John always ran around and played freely on the farm.
But as soon as he approached the corner, Old Joe's kind face would immediately turn serious, and he would stop him.
In that corner, there is a stack of damp hay bales that is taller than a person year-round.
It was completely covered with two layers of thick rainproof tarpaulin, and the surface was covered with a thick layer of grime, and even dried bird droppings.
Several discarded truck tires and rusty wire mesh were scattered around.
At that moment, Old Joe took a deep breath and then suddenly grabbed the corner of the canvas with both hands.
"Give me a hand, John."
John stepped forward and reached out to grab the other end.
With both of them exerting force simultaneously, accompanied by a pungent musty smell, the heavy rainproof canvas was completely ripped open and flung onto the muddy ground.
Old Joe bent down and moved the bundles of hay that were pressing down on top, revealing the ground underneath.
It was a heavy floor made of six solid steel plates, each two inches thick, pieced together.
Bolts the thickness of a wrist were driven into the edge of the steel plate.
Furthermore, a two-finger-wide lead-zinc fusion strip was hand-cast onto the surface of the steel plate to completely seal all the seams.
Lead, zinc...
John's guess became increasingly clear.
Old Joe dragged a crowbar out of the shadows in the corner, and then picked up a heavy hammer.
"Back then, to save your eyes, I searched through junkyards and chemical plants in three nearby towns to collect these materials."
Old Joe crouched down on the edge of the steel plate and forcefully wedged the sharp, flat end of the crowbar into the gap.
" Martha and I kept the blast furnace burning for half a month, and while you were asleep, we slowly poured the melted water into the cracks."
At that time, I was thinking... how long can this layer of scrap metal keep you in the dark?
As Old Joe spoke, he suddenly straightened up, gripped the hammer tightly, and slammed it down on the end of the crowbar.
"When--!!"
Old Joe began to breathe heavily.
He's getting old after all, and his physical strength isn't what it used to be.
"I'll do it, Dad."
John reached out and pressed down on Old Joe's trembling hand.
Looking at his adopted son's young and calm face, Old Joe did not insist, but silently released the hammer and took a half step back.
John then rolled up his sleeves, half-squatted down, and casually picked at the edge of the seam with his five fingers.
"Click... sizzle--!"
The four bolts welded to the foundation were pulled out by the roots in an instant.
The thick steel plate became as brittle as paper under John's iron fingers.
He lifted the entire iron plate, weighing hundreds of pounds, with one hand and casually tossed it aside.
Beneath the steel plate, a square pit excavated in the soil was revealed.
In the very center of the pit, a jet-black spaceship lay silently.
John recognized it as his birthplace, the cradle where he fell to his death on the Kansas ranch.
It is about seven meters long and shaped like a closed water droplet.
The obsidian-black metal surface is covered with tens of thousands of hexagonal crystal nest patterns.
Old Joe walked to John's side, gazing at the black droplets in the deep pit, memories gradually reflected in his murky eyes.
Eighteen years ago.
"It was an August morning when a flaming thing fell from the sky and nearly killed the old cow named Kenji."
Old Joe pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket, took one out, and put it in his mouth.
He struck a match.
After lighting it, he took a deep drag of the pungent smoke, watched the wisps of white smoke dissipate, and continued, somewhat bewildered:
"Then Martha and I saw this strange lump of metal."
"When the hatch popped open, you were wrapped in a layer of foil that shimmered like mercury, your eyes open, and your thumb in your mouth."
The old man turned his head, his gaze falling on John's tall and straight figure:
" Martha and I have been married for twelve years and have been to the hospital countless times... God did not give us a child."
But when you open your eyes and look at me with those lovely eyes...
I knew it; you're one of our Kent Family's children.
At this moment, Old Joe gave a self-deprecating laugh:
"But I'm also afraid, John."
"I knew something was wrong the day I brought you back to the farm."
When you were three years old, you were chasing ducks in the yard and bumped your head into a solid oak fence.
No one was hurt, but the wooden stake, which was thicker than a person, was smashed into sawdust by your impact.
When you were five years old, the car overturned into the drainage ditch, and the muddy water almost reached my nose.
You walked barefoot through the mud, supporting the chassis with one hand, and pulled that two-ton pickup truck out of the mud.
I look at you, and my heart trembles with fear.
Martha and I are both country bumpkins who have never seen the world; all we know is how to dig in the mud, Maze, and raise cattle.
We're afraid that one day you'll lose control of your power and tear everyone around you to shreds.
What I fear even more is that the outside world will discover your existence, bringing the soldiers and the madmen in white coats here, and locking you up like a guinea pig."
Old Joe's fingers, which were holding the cigarette butt, drooped, his expression constantly shifting:
"I once thought about destroying it completely."
I tried to burn it with a welding machine, but it didn't even leave a scorch mark, and the chainsaw just snapped in two...
In the end, all I could do was get some lead and zinc blocks, mix them with cement, and seal it underground, as if it had never existed.
Old Joe stopped talking, threw the cigarette butt he had finished smoking at his feet, and reached his right hand into the deepest inner pocket of his work jacket.
A few seconds later, Old Joe, holding a small package, withdrew his hand.
The package was wrapped in a layer of faded, worn, and frayed deerskin.
Old Joe's rough fingers carefully peeled back the layers of leather, revealing the object inside.
It was a solid, long, rectangular metal seal, about half the size of a palm.
The entire piece is a dark, understated silver, with smooth, multifaceted edges at the handle and a very smooth surface.
On the smooth bottom surface, an intricate pattern is embossed.
It was an "S"-shaped emblem embedded within an inverted pentagonal shield-shaped border.
Old Joe, holding the seal, took half a step forward and presented it flatly to John's chest.
"This is the only thing you can take off your spaceship."
Old Joe looked into his adopted son's eyes, and the complexity in his gaze quickly transformed into a sense of relief.
"I kept it hidden in a compartment of my toolbox; even Martha thought I'd thrown it into the river a long time ago."
Old Joe patted John on the shoulder.
But your mother is right.
Children are not livestock; you can't yoke an eagle and expect it to spend its whole life searching for insects in the furrows of wheat fields.
John... you've become a real man."
"You have a wider world to explore, go! Be a man and choose your own destiny!"
John looked down at the silver emblem.
It seemed as if a force originating from his bloodline flowed from his fingertips all the way to his entire body.
So, this is what they mean by Krypton bloodline...
That's interesting.
John did not refuse, but instead extended his right hand and grasped the heavy metal seal in his palm.
He then looked up at Old Joe and nodded:
"I'll go down and take a look."
After saying that, he slightly lowered his body, then leaped up and gently landed at the bottom of the pit.
Microscopic Vision, open.
Directly in front of the cockpit, the fluid-like outer shell naturally dips in, creating a palm-sized access point.
John discovered that it was a shallow, reverse-etched "S"-shaped pit.
The inner wall is covered with fibers several times finer than a human hair, which shimmer and reflect light in the dim light.
John lowered his eyes, the seal in his palm spinning half a circle between his fingers.
The positive "S" totem at the bottom is aligned with the groove on the hull.
Then, his arm pressed down steadily and forcefully!
"Click."
With a crisp mechanical closing sound, the once lifeless ship came to life in an instant!
Centered on the seal, a dark blue halo suddenly rippled outwards from the metal surface, rapidly spreading outwards along the dragon bone.
The hexagonal crystals on the entire surface of the spaceship flipped up all at once, and then--
"Buzz!!"
High-frequency Pulse burst forth.
The canopy, sealed for over a decade, slid open silently.
Immediately afterwards, a thick plume of white frost erupted from the high-pressure gas.
At the same time, the mechanical body, which seemed unable to accommodate a single person, began to automatically transform itself in a sci-fi-like manner.
The supporting structure extends outwards, and the internal space expands inwards instantly as the unknown metallic fluid flows.
Until a space large enough for one person to move around in is created.
Now, let's switch the camera back to the opening scene.
"Who are you?"
"I am a dynamic projection of the consciousness left behind by Jor- El,"
The phantom spoke, its voice steady.
"An autonomous interactive program stored within this Phantom Key."
But seeing John's still furrowed brow, the phantom took another half step forward:
"To put it in your language... Joe El, biologically speaking, is your biological father—"
It gives you the source of your bloodline and genes.
John stood there expressionless, arms crossed, examining the holographic image before him.
John was not interested in this so-called "biological father".
What intrigued him even more was the unspeakable secrets of this body's "script," a secret so profound that even Satan had bluntly stated, "This is a big problem."
At that moment, Joe El looked around.
His gaze first swept over the bulkhead, which had been scorched to a golden hue by the Heat Vision.
Then my gaze fell upon the surrounding cramped space, barely big enough for one person to move around in.
A hint of helplessness and unease involuntarily surfaced between his ethereal brows.
"It's too cramped here, my child."
This place cannot contain all the history I should show you, nor can it bear the true destiny within you.
The destruction of Krypton, your origins, and your mission in this world... all the truth remains in the true base.
"Base?"
John astutely grasped the key words.
"Yes, an ancient exploration and reconnaissance ship belonging to our family."
Joe El nodded, his expression turning serious.
"Eighteen thousand years ago, at the height of Krypton's golden age of interstellar exploration."
That spaceship had already traveled to this star system, eventually settling at the southernmost tip of Earth, buried deep beneath thousands of feet of permanent glaciers.
As he spoke, the illusory figure turned slightly to the side and pointed to the escape pod behind him:
"The building beneath your feet was merely the site on the eve of the collapse of the Rao star."
Your mother and I temporarily modified a single-person escape pod to send you away from our home planet.
It's equipped with a complete set of pilot resonance devices, which can guide you through Stormfront to find that sleeping base.
After saying this, Joe El raised his arm and lightly tapped the air with his fingertips.
"Buzz--"
Beneath the dark front panel, a complex three-dimensional holographic image of Earth, radiating a faint blue glow, was rapidly projected.
Under Joe El's control, the star map rapidly rotated and magnified, sweeping across the azure ocean and vast continental plates.
The white pointer eventually locked onto the southernmost point of the Earth.
In a rift valley on the northern edge of the Ellsworth Mountains in Antarctica.
Next to it appeared a string of latitude and longitude coordinates accurate to several decimal places.
John raised his eyes with interest, glancing at the light map lightly.
In less than half a second, John had completely memorized the coordinates, the features of the ley lines, and the details of the sunlight.
"Alright, look carefully now."
John calmly withdrew his gaze, his expression remaining unchanged.
Joe El looked at John's calm expression.
They assumed he was worried that the noise from the aircraft would disturb the surrounding neighbors or local government organizations.
His expression softened, and his words even carried a hint of patient reassurance towards a younger person:
"My child, it is just a civilian-grade escape pod."
However, the outer shell coating incorporates Krypton's most advanced Spectrum refraction and gravitational wave avoidance system.
With the current primitive methods of observation of this planet, neither so-called radar nor optical telescopes are of any use in its presence.
It's impossible to track its movements at all, and it won't cause you any trouble...
Joe El's voice was gentle yet full of confidence.
But he was interrupted by John halfway through his sentence.
"I'm not worried about that... How fast is it flying?"
John's voice suddenly broke in.
Upon hearing John's words, Joe El looked somewhat taken aback, but he quickly regained his composure and analyzed:
"The energy storage of this escape pod is mostly damaged, with less than one-tenth of the raw materials remaining, but that's enough to get you to the base."
"In terms of speed, smooth operation requires sacrificing some speed."
Converted to Earth's units of measurement, that's roughly Mach 100.
"100?"
John carefully compared the two options in his mind.
My current flight speed has reached the peak level of my previous life.
He kept the number 220 firmly in mind; it was the maximum flight speed he could currently maintain stably.
Mach 100?
Damn! Isn't that just garbage?
"Never mind..."
John gave a disdainful smirk as Joe El once again looked on in disbelief.
Then, without stopping, he said something truly shocking:
"This thing is too bulky, I don't like it, and it flies way too damn slowly..."
As he spoke, John turned around, lightly grinding the sole of his shoe into the mud, and added calmly:
"I can fly there myself."