CHAPTER 9: THE IMPOSSIBLE TRACE
The D.E.O. was officially on the hunt. Their focus, previously split between alien threats and the occasional rogue meta, was now narrowed, laser-like, on "the Glitch." My Glitch. It was exhilarating, like a cosmic game of tag, only the stakes were slightly higher than bragging rights. More like, "don't get captured and vivisected by paranoid government agents."
"Honestly, you'd think with all their fancy alien tech, they'd have a better sense of humor," I mused, watching a D.E.O. surveillance drone buzz futilely outside my mansion. I'd made it look like a particularly aggressive hummingbird. "Or at least appreciate the artistic merits of a well-executed, utterly inexplicable anomaly. No appreciation for the fine art of reality manipulation."
Alex Danvers, in particular, seemed obsessed. Every news report featured her looking more tired, more frustrated, but also more intensely focused. She was a bulldog, relentless and logical. Which, of course, made her the perfect foil for my particular brand of illogical chaos.
[ANALYTIC NOTE: D.E.O. TRACKING PROTOCOLS INCREASINGLY SOPHISTICATED. RECOMMENDED: ELEVATED EVASION TACTICS.]
"Elevated evasion tactics? Don't mind if I do, System," I thought, rubbing my hands together. "Time to put my newly minted Sensory Illusion (Level 3) and Minor Telekinesis (Level 5) to the test. Let's make them chase shadows that smell faintly of artisanal cheese."
My goal wasn't just to evade them, but to make them question everything. To push their logical minds to the brink of insanity. To introduce the concept that reality itself was less a rigid construct and more a suggestion.
Their first serious attempt to track me involved setting up a perimeter around a general area where my "glitches" had been most concentrated. It was a few blocks from my mansion, a busy commercial district. D.E.O. agents, disguised as plainclothes civilians, were everywhere, their comms buzzing, their eyes scanning.
I, meanwhile, was comfortably sitting in a coffee shop within their perimeter, sipping a latte I'd subtly enchanted to taste like my favorite childhood breakfast cereal. "It's amazing what you can accomplish when you simply refuse to conform to the laws of physics," I reflected, watching a particularly earnest D.E.O. agent peer suspiciously at a lamppost.
My evasion tactics were pure performance art. I started with simple visual illusions. A flickering reflection in a shop window, showing a figure that wasn't there. A momentary distortion in the feed of a public security camera, making it look like a flock of pigeons had briefly turned into miniature fighter jets. Just enough to draw their attention, to make them waste resources chasing phantoms.
Then I ramped it up. Using Auditory Illusions, I made their earpieces periodically play the "Imperial March" from Star Wars, or the sound of a startled cow, just loud enough to be irritatingly distracting. I made their GPS systems briefly redirect them to a local petting zoo. I even made one agent's comms crackle with a distorted voice whispering, "He's behind you!" only for them to spin around and find nothing but an empty alleyway.
"The frustration on their faces… it's a symphony of confused exasperation," I chuckled, observing from a distance as a group of D.E.O. agents debated the merits of a particularly fluffy cloud. "They're so used to dealing with tangible threats. Alien tech. Super-speed. They've never had to deal with something that just… doesn't make sense."
Alex Danvers, though, was different. She wasn't just frustrated. She was intrigued. I saw her in a news report, briefing her team, a diagram of "glitch" incidents on a screen behind her. Her eyes, usually so cold and analytical, held a flicker of something new: genuine bewilderment, but also a fierce, almost intellectual hunger.
"This entity, whatever it is, isn't acting with malice," she stated, pacing in front of the diagram. "It's disruptive, yes, but its interventions consistently aid Supergirl, or prevent collateral damage. It's… a chaotic helpfulness. A variable we cannot account for."
"A variable," I mused, a sense of pride swelling in my chest. "I like that. Sounds suitably scientific and vaguely threatening. Maybe I'll adopt it."
My constant vigilance, the need to anticipate their moves, was exhausting. There were moments, late at night in my empty mansion, when the facade would drop, and the loneliness, the doubled grief, would threaten to overwhelm me. The burden of knowing, of being the only one, was immense. The fear of being caught, of being studied, of having my anomaly dissected and categorized, was a chilling reminder of my "original" Adam's past.
But then I'd think of Kara. Of her earnest hope, her unwavering light. My anchor. The one thing worth fighting for. And the weariness would subside, replaced by a renewed determination.
My most elaborate evasion came when the D.E.O. pinpointed a specific old warehouse where I'd allegedly caused a minor, temporary gravity reversal (a particularly fun one, if I did say so myself). They sent a full team, armed and ready.
I was long gone, of course. But I left a calling card.
Using Sensory Illusion and a tiny bit of Minor Telekinesis, I made sure that when they breached the warehouse, the first thing they encountered was a perfectly placed, glowing, ethereal origami crane, hovering precisely at eye level. It radiated a faint, sweet smell of cherry blossoms – a scent utterly out of place in a dusty, abandoned building. And just as they entered, their comms would briefly play a single, echoing note of a spectral kazoo.
The news footage later showed bewildered D.E.O. agents scratching their heads, one of them staring intensely at the spot where my ephemeral crane had been. Alex, however, picked up a single, almost invisible cherry blossom petal that had been left behind. She examined it, a strange, thoughtful look on her face.
"She's getting closer," I thought, a shiver running down my spine. "Closer to finding the Glitch. And whether that's a good thing or a very, very bad thing, remains to be seen." The game was escalating. And I was ready for the next round.