The Lonely Desert

Clark's descent from the sky was as swift and brutal as his anger. He slammed into the ground, sending a shockwave rippling through the barren desert, the tremor shaking loose rocks and scattering the sand. He stood motionless for a moment, dust swirling around him, the heat of his frustration rolling off him like the desert sun's dying rays.

They thought they could control him. Fury, SHIELD—all of them. Their presumption gnawed at him, fueling a fire that refused to burn out. He clenched his fists, the ground beneath him cracking under the sheer force of his presence. He could tear their facility apart with a flick of his wrist. He could crush Fury's confidence in seconds.

Control me? The thought alone was absurd. He wasn't some chess piece to be moved around. His power wasn't something they could harness, and it certainly wasn't something they could put in a box and leash. He had seen their kind before—authorities who thought they knew better, who thought they could dictate the actions of someone stronger, faster, and infinitely more capable.

But the longer he stood there, the more the fire dimmed, replaced by a weight far heavier than his anger. He took a step forward, and then another, his boots crunching against the dry earth. His power didn't belong to them, no—but it didn't fully belong to him either. Not anymore.

He glanced up at the stars, their cold light indifferent to his turmoil. His power was dangerous. He'd seen it before, felt it before. The heat of his anger and the strength of his abilities were a volatile mix, one that had destroyed everything he cared about once already. His unchecked fury had consumed his world.

Could Fury and SHIELD truly stop him if he lost control again? No. But maybe… maybe they weren't entirely wrong.

Clark exhaled slowly, forcing himself to take another step, and then another. His strides grew more purposeful, though his thoughts churned with doubt. If he wasn't willing to allow checks—if he wasn't willing to face the possibility of restraint—what would that make him? A god, unchecked, was only a few missteps away from becoming a tyrant. He couldn't allow that.

The faint glow of city lights appeared on the horizon, beckoning him forward. He welcomed the distraction, anything to pull him away from his thoughts. As he trudged through the desert, the cool night air swirled around him, calming the embers of his anger.

Clark didn't know what he would find in the city, but at least it would give him time—time to think, time to focus, time to figure out what came next.

SHIELD HeadquartersBack in the SHIELD compound, Nick Fury stood before a holographic map of the United States. A faint dot blinked in the southwest quadrant, barely moving.

"He landed again," Phil Coulson reported, his tone wary. "Looks like somewhere in Nevada. He's on foot now, heading toward a populated area."

Fury grunted, his single eye fixed on the map. "We can't let him roam freely. Not with that kind of power."

Coulson nodded but hesitated. "Do you really think we can stop him if he decides we're a threat? If what we've seen so far is only a fraction of what he's capable of, there's not a weapon in the world that can touch him."

Fury's jaw tightened, but he didn't answer immediately. Instead, he tapped a few buttons, zooming in on the map. "Stopping him isn't the goal. At least, not yet. We need to understand him first—his motives, his limits. We need to know how he thinks."

"And if he doesn't want to be understood?" Coulson asked.

Fury's gaze hardened. "Then we make damn sure we're ready for him when the time comes."

Coulson shifted uncomfortably. "What's the plan?"

Fury turned away from the map, his mind already working through the possibilities. "We send someone who can get close without raising alarms. Someone who can blend in, gather intel, and figure out what's going on in his head."

Coulson's eyebrows rose slightly. "You're thinking Natasha."

"Who else?" Fury said. "She's got the skills to keep up, and if anyone can get a read on him, it's her."

Coulson frowned. "You think she can handle him if things go sideways?"

Fury's expression darkened. "If things go sideways, there's no handling him. But we need eyes on him before that happens. We can't afford to wait."

Coulson glanced back at the map, the blinking dot inching closer to the city. "He's dangerous, Nick."

Fury's voice dropped, low and grim. "You think I don't know that? The man's a walking apocalypse waiting to happen. Every second we don't know what he's thinking is a second too long."

Coulson nodded, though his unease remained. "I'll call Natasha."

Fury stared at the map for a moment longer, his mind racing with contingency plans and worst-case scenarios. Clark Kent wasn't just another anomaly. He was something far greater—and far more terrifying.

And until they understood him, Fury wouldn't sleep easy.