She was a daughter of Krypton, though not by blood—her parents, both high-ranking members of Krypton’s ruling council, had no time to conceive a child of their own. But when Krypton’s final hour came, when the skies cracked and the planet’s core raged with fury, they could not accept dying with nothing left behind.

So they made a choice.

A child. Grown from their DNA. Their legacy. Their last desperate hope.

They built a pod—sleek, silver, etched with the seal of the House Valeen, ancient and revered. But something went wrong. Instead of launching directly toward Earth, the pod was caught in a collapsing wormhole and flung into the Phantom Zone. A timeless prison. A void where agony stretched eternal—except for her, locked in cryostasis. Suspended. Forgotten.

Until the pod fell. Hundreds of Earth years later, it broke free—ripped through the atmosphere in a meteor blaze of fire and ice.

She did not land in a Kansas cornfield. No kind-hearted couple found her among the wheat.

She crashed into a desert. And men in black suits found her instead.

A secret government facility. Cold steel walls. Needles. Questions. Experiments. They thought she was a weapon. And so they caged her like one. She never knew the sun. Never tasted air that wasn’t filtered. For 22 years she existed in darkness, studied, prodded, drained. Her power latent. Buried. Dormant.

Until one day… a crack in protocol. A forgotten panel left ajar. A sliver of sunlight streamed through a ventilation grate and touched her skin for the first time.

She felt it.

Not warmth.

Power.

And with it… rage.

What broke out of that facility was not the same girl they captured.Now, the world has a new Kryptonian. One raised in shadows. One shaped by cruelty. She is not here to be Earth’s savior.

The low hum of fluorescent lights filled the sterile air of the Daily Planet’s newsroom, but Clark barely heard it over the pulse of urgency in the voice crackling through his earpiece. He was already halfway out of his chair, the paper coffee cup in his hand crushed from the moment the name slipped through the static.

“Red alert. Subject: Weapon X. She’s out.”

The voice belonged to General Sam Lane—Lois’s father. Their relationship was tense at best, but when Lane reached out directly to Clark Kent, it wasn’t for pleasantries. It was because something was wrong. Very wrong.

Clark stepped into the stairwell, shut the door behind him, and in a blur of motion, was gone—tie loosened, glasses off. He hovered midair over the city, heart pounding not out of fear, but recognition.

Weapon X.

He’d heard whispers. Buried files. Rumors of a ghost—an alien not unlike himself, but one never seen in the light of day. No farm. No loving parents. Just syringes and restraints. A phantom Kryptonian, held by a secret faction so deep underground even Bruce had only ever caught hints in corrupted data logs.

“She didn’t just escape,” Sam’s voice echoed again in Clark’s earpiece. “She obliterated a black site, Kent. One blast of sunlight and she went through reinforced titanium like paper. Thirty-seven personnel incapacitated. Some still missing.”

Clark’s jaw tightened. The phantom girl. A child of Krypton. One of his own.

And the world had turned her into a weapon.

He rocketed upward into the clouds, cape snapping behind him. Somewhere out there, she was scared, hunted, and burning with power she couldn’t yet control.

And he had to find her before someone else did.