Clark muttered to himself, his thoughts racing. He could see the outlines of a new crisis looming on the horizon. Perhaps this was the very reason Lex Luthor left behind his data.
That knowledge could help humanity face unimaginable disasters and usher in a new dawn of hope. But it could just as easily plunge humanity into chaos.
Humanity might grow and evolve through catastrophe, becoming the extraordinary race Luthor envisioned, wielding cosmic power. But such an evolution would be built on mountains of corpses and rivers of blood. By then, humanity would no longer resemble what it once was.
Even without Luthor's legacy, Earth seemed destined for this path. Exposure to countless forms of superhuman power had pushed human governments to study and weaponize them relentlessly.
This constant pursuit of power emboldened their ambitions, driving them deeper into dangerous experiments and unchecked growth.
"Still, these Kryptonian mechs haven't done anything overtly hostile yet. I can't justify attacking them without provocation," Clark murmured, gazing in their direction.
Unlike the Avengers, Clark followed a stricter code of conduct. If it were Tony Stark or others in the Avengers, they would have acted as soon as the Kryptonian mechs posed a potential threat. But Clark chose to observe from a distance.
The Avengers, semi-retired and focused on other priorities, were also aware of the mechs. JARVIS had flagged their movements immediately. Yet Steve Rogers and Peggy Carter, stationed at the Earth base, saw no reason for concern.
In their view, these mechs were under official control, likely dispatched to maintain order or address some specific issue.
The Kryptonian mechs, however, had a very different mission: to locate Clark and Sentry.
Despite their formidable appearance, the mechs lacked the ability to directly perceive or track them. Their strength was only equivalent to an average Kryptonian under solar radiation—comparable to General Zod's squad after gaining powers. Such strength wasn't enough to locate individuals like Clark or Sentry across an entire planet.
Moreover, the mechs weren't truly sentient. They were highly advanced machines, reliant on mechanical scanning and programmed directives, which severely limited their capacity to find their targets.
On the streets of New York:
"Who are those freaks flying in the sky?" a startled bystander exclaimed, quickly ducking for cover.
Years of exposure to extraordinary events had honed humanity's survival instincts. Instead of gawking, most people immediately sought shelter.
Modern humans lived in scattered communities rather than densely populated areas. Many homes were equipped with secure shelters and powerful weaponry for self-defense.
With public spaces still fraught with danger, most people avoided venturing outside unnecessarily. Even walking down the street risked encountering someone suddenly wielding superhuman powers or a heavily armed individual bent on chaos.
Since the Avengers' retirement, public confidence had plummeted. People moved through the streets cautiously, their trust in government protection shaken.
The Kryptonian mechs scanned the area, their operators frustrated by the lack of results.
"Nothing so far. Do you think they might be hiding somewhere remote? Should we check less populated areas?" one operator suggested.
"Wait," another said. "Clark and Sentry are always helping people. What if we create a situation where someone needs saving? Wouldn't they show up?"
The room fell silent. Everyone stared at their monitors, unwilling to speak.
The suggestion was disturbingly plausible. Yet even among these operators, few were willing to take the step of deliberately endangering civilians. They were human, after all, and targeting their own kind was a line many couldn't cross.
Still, some turned a blind eye, feigning preoccupation to avoid responding.
A commanding voice broke the silence. "Do it."
The room froze as a mid-level manager issued the order. "There are experimental subjects nearing the end of their lifespan. We can send them out and see what happens. They're going to die anyway; let them serve one last purpose."
The operators exchanged uneasy glances. The decision wasn't theirs to make, but the implications were clear. If the plan failed or caused controversy, someone would need to take the fall—and it wouldn't be the manager.
Shortly after, a transport vehicle carrying several experimental subjects was dispatched into the city. The massive truck drew attention from a few curious onlookers.
"What's in that thing? It's enormous," a man muttered to his companion, gesturing to the multi-segmented vehicle.
"Stop gawking! Let's move before something bad happens," his friend replied, pulling him away.
But before they could leave, a loud thud echoed from the truck.
"Bang!"
The side of the truck buckled outward as if struck by a powerful blow.
"Boom!"
An explosion tore through the vehicle, scattering debris and sending civilians scrambling for cover.
From the wreckage emerged a figure, his skin radiating heat and flame. He inhaled deeply and let out a laugh. "So this is freedom! Never thought I'd see the streets of New York. Though it's not as grand as I imagined."
Panic rippled through the crowd. Those who hadn't already sought shelter now fled in earnest.
The flaming figure sneered, raising a hand. A fireball shot toward the retreating civilians, detonating on impact.
"Boom!"
The explosion consumed several bystanders, leaving chaos in its wake.
"You're really just going to hog the air, huh?" a voice called from behind the flaming man.
Turning, he saw others climbing from the wreckage.
"Come on, 'Fire Guy.' Let's share the fun. Get the others out, too. We want to see what this city is really like."
"Right, right," the flaming man grumbled, stepping aside. His companions began tearing open the remaining compartments, freeing more experimental subjects.
"Do you think this was intentional? Sending us to New York like this?" one of them mused aloud.
"Who cares? Let's enjoy it while we can. And maybe, just maybe, we'll get a visit from some superheroes."
As chaos erupted on the streets, Clark and Sentry were already moving. Having detected the commotion, they headed toward the city, ready to confront the brewing disaster.
In the control room, the operators watched tensely, waiting to see if their targets would appear. Meanwhile, the mid-level manager smirked, satisfied that his gamble might soon pay off.
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