DC: Rise of the Kryptonian Tyrant

Nevada, Stone House.

A camouflage-colored military helicopter descended, its roaring blades churning up gusts of wind and scattering dust as it landed. The peaceful quiet of this ordinary, sleepy town was abruptly broken, just like the day two years ago when a meteorite fell nearby and nearly caused a forest fire.

Lieutenant General Sam Lane stepped out of the helicopter, the noise of the propellers still ringing in the air. The gusts kicked up by the blades stirred sand and dust, swirling it far into the distance before gradually settling. When the rotors finally slowed to a stop, the dust drifted quietly to the ground.

The midday sun blazed high above, casting sharp, bright rays. As Lane disembarked, his eyes stung slightly from the glare, forcing him to squint as he glanced into the distance.

The giant sequoia trees surrounding the town stood tall and steadfast, a natural wall shielding the area from the strong winds and sandstorms of the desert. They provided both a stunning landscape and a vital barrier for the small community.

The townspeople were caught off guard by the helicopter's arrival. A group of curious children quickly ran off to alert the town's public safety bureau and the mayor. Meanwhile, others began gathering in small clusters to watch the spectacle, whispering among themselves.

"Lieutenant General," the adjutant said as he followed Sam, "this location was involved in an unusual operation led by General Vic two years ago. He arrived here unexpectedly to help contain a wildfire."

Sam ignored the growing crowd in the distance and began walking toward the heart of the town. Without breaking stride, he responded, "Putting out a wildfire? That doesn't sound like something he should be involved in."

"Yes, sir. Two years ago, a meteorite fell in the sequoia forest and nearly caused a massive blaze. General Vic arrived with his team just in time to contain the fire."

The adjutant hesitated, his tone turning skeptical. "But what's strange, sir, is that General Vic and his unit were stationed nearly four hours away. Yet somehow, they arrived here at almost the exact moment the fire broke out. After putting out the fire, they left just as quickly, almost like they had come here with a specific purpose."

Lane's eyebrows furrowed slightly. The mention of the meteorite and General Vic triggered a series of connections in his mind.

Could it be that General Vic knew the so-called meteorite wasn't a meteorite at all?

Had he deliberately led his troops here to retrieve something?

What did Vic find? Sam's thoughts turned to the biological super-soldier Vic had created—Barmulodi.

It seemed plausible that General Vic had acquired alien biotechnology, possibly something left behind by the object that fell two years ago.

Sam considered Area 51, which held similar alien artifacts. Most of the technology there was damaged or incomplete, but even fragments could be invaluable.

If his hunch was correct, finding proof that General Vic had obtained alien biotechnology and kept it hidden would be enough to bring him down.

Sam's heart swelled with anticipation. If he could uncover the truth, he could destroy General Vic's career and reputation.

Fueled by this thought, Sam led a group of soldiers into the small town of Stone House.

---

"Hey… Haha… I won the Pulitzer Prize!"

"Hey… Haha… I won the Pulitzer Prize!"

"Hey… Haha… I won the Pulitzer Prize!"

A ragged young man stumbled through the streets, his body caked with dried mud that cracked and flaked off as he moved. His clothes were filthy, and his face was smeared with grime.

Clutched in his hands was a crude, misshapen object he had molded from mud, his self-proclaimed "Pulitzer Prize."

The young man's voice rang out as he sprinted excitedly toward Sam Lane and his soldiers, laughing and shouting while leaving a trail of muddy footprints in his wake.

Mud splattered everywhere as he passed, but Sam merely paused for a moment, letting the young man run by without reacting. The soldiers continued walking, paying little attention to the bizarre interruption.

Behind them, the gathered townsfolk began murmuring amongst themselves.

"Mike's at it again," one woman sighed. "It's not even lunchtime, and he's already out running around like that."

"Yeah, but at least he didn't run into anyone this time."

"What do you think the military's doing here?" another person asked, glancing nervously at the soldiers.

For a while, the crowd speculated about the reason for the visit. But soon, their curiosity faded, and they began to disperse. After all, Stone House was a quiet, uneventful town, nothing of significance ever happened here.

The most excitement they ever had was Mike running around with his muddy "Pulitzer Prize."

As the crowd thinned, a few older women exchanged somber looks. "Poor kid," one of them muttered. "He used to be such a good boy. A promising journalist, too. But then… Well, look at him now."

"Yeah," another woman added. "You never know what life has in store. One day you're fine, the next day you lose your mind."

---

Sam and his team quickly located the mayor of Stone House.

The mayor was a burly man in his fifties, with a thick black beard and a rough demeanor. After verifying that Sam and his soldiers were indeed from the military, the mayor had no objections to their request to review the records from the wildfire two years ago.

The documents included reports on the meteorite's trajectory, the fire's containment, and various observations made at the scene. Nothing stood out as particularly unusual.

"Was there anything strange about that wildfire?" the mayor asked, stroking his beard thoughtfully. He still remembered the army's sudden appearance that day and their swift departure afterward.

Sam stood in thought for a moment, reading over the records detailing the wildfire. After a pause, he asked, "Were any of the meteorites that caused the wildfire recovered?"

"No," the rough-bearded mayor replied. "The army transported them all away."

Sam's expression grew contemplative.

He requested that the mayor take him to the location where the meteorite had fallen. The mayor nodded and led Lane and his soldiers into the dense sequoia forest.

Unlike Mike, who had struggled and injured himself climbing the hills here, the soldiers were fit and prepared, navigating the terrain with ease.

The area where the meteorite had landed was now overgrown with lush vegetation. The crater from the impact had been overtaken by weeds and shrubs, making it difficult to discern anything unusual at first glance.

Despite their best efforts, the soldiers couldn't immediately reconstruct the event. The site offered few clues to work with.

However, Sam raised his gaze to the surrounding sequoia trees and immediately noticed something unusual.

One of the towering, sturdy trees had a large scar where its trunk had been deeply grazed. Though two years had passed and the tree had healed considerably, the dented area was still visible, covered with bark nodules and growths. The sight stood out starkly against the otherwise flawless trees.

Sam called his team over to examine it. The damaged trunk gave a clear indication of the trajectory and impact force of the "meteorite." Using mechanical tools and directional measurements, the soldiers managed to pinpoint the overgrown crater beneath the shrubs.

Some soldiers climbed the scarred sequoia, cutting samples of the damaged wood to analyze later. Others dug into the crater, carefully collecting soil samples in sealed plastic bags.

All of this would be used to measure radiation levels or detect anything unusual. After all, the response of metals would differ from that of regular meteorite rock.

The rough-bearded mayor stood nearby, watching the process with a mix of curiosity and confusion. He didn't understand why the soldiers were going to such lengths. But ultimately, it wasn't his concern, so he said nothing.

Within just over an hour, the soldiers had gathered enough samples and began making their way out of the forest, following the same path they had entered.

As they re-entered the town, they once again encountered the disheveled young man, Mike. He was still clutching his self-made "Pulitzer Prize" and running around aimlessly, shouting and laughing to himself.

"Hey… Haha… I won the Pulitzer Prize!"

The rough-bearded mayor's face fell, a trace of sadness crossing his rugged features. With a heavy sigh, he muttered, "Such a promising kid, completely ruined."

Hearing this, Sam's attention turned to the mayor.

The mayor continued, "Mike used to be a journalist. Two years ago, when the meteorite landed, he tried to report on it and win the Pulitzer Prize. But he fell on a hillside while chasing the meteorite. Hit his head pretty bad. Ever since, he's been… well, like this. Convinced he's won the Pulitzer Prize, running around town with mud in his hands."

Sam's eyes sharpened. "Did he take any photos that day?"

The mayor blinked, caught off guard. "I wouldn't know."

Without hesitation, Sam ordered his soldiers to detain Mike.

When they brought Mike over, the young man was furious, thrashing against their grip. He clutched his muddy "Pulitzer Prize" tightly, shouting, "It's mine! It's my Pulitzer Prize! It's my Pulitzer Prize!"

Mike's erratic movements were wild enough that he nearly kicked Sam in the groin, startling the seasoned general.

Sam instinctively stepped back, wiping the spit Mike had just hurled at him from his face. His expression twitched in annoyance as he muttered, "Reporters… always such a pain."

Even when they'd lost their minds, they were still infuriating.

As Mike struggled, bits of dried mud cracked and fell from his body, revealing a small object dangling from his neck—a camera.

The camera, hidden beneath the layers of mud, had gone unnoticed until Mike's frenzied movements caused the mud to flake off.

Sam's eyes narrowed, and in one swift motion, he grabbed the camera from around Mike's neck. Ignoring the young man's screams of protest, Lane wiped the mud off the camera's surface, revealing a battered Pentax K1000.

"You used this to photograph the 'meteorite,' didn't you?" Sam asked, his tone filled with faint excitement.

Mike's reaction was immediate and explosive. His face twisted with rage, and he roared, "That's my Pulitzer Prize! It's mine! It's mine!"

The rough-bearded mayor quickly stepped forward, trying to calm Mike. He had known the boy since he was a child, and seeing him in this state left a bitter taste in his mouth.

Meanwhile, Sam's heart raced as he examined the camera in his hands. If Mike really photographed the meteorite, the proof he needed might be right here.

But when Sam opened the back of the camera to retrieve the film, his excitement instantly turned to frustration.

There was no film inside.

"Where's the film?" Sam asked, stunned.

In that moment, one of the soldiers holding Mike lost his grip, allowing the crazed young man to snatch the camera back.

Mike cradled the camera protectively, shouting, "It's my Pulitzer Prize! It's mine! It's mine!"

Sam took a deep breath, forcing himself to calm down. He looked at Mike, his excitement fading into cold calculation.

He had been too hasty. Mike was far too delusional to have kept any film, even if he had taken photographs. If there had been any film, it had surely been confiscated by General Vic's team two years ago.

Sam exhaled slowly, his frustration giving way to grim determination. The evidence may not have been in Mike's possession, but it was clear that General Vic had found something at the meteorite's crash site, alien biotechnology, perhaps even alien remains.

Something powerful enough to create a super-soldier like Barmulodi.

Sam allowed himself a small, cold smile. If his suspicions were correct, General Vic's days were numbered.

What Sam didn't realize, however, was that Bardi wasn't a biological warrior created by General Vic.

He was an alien.

***

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