The apartment was quiet, except for the low hum of the alien refrigerator and the frantic, internal screaming echoing inside Kara Danvers' skull.
It wasn't her screaming. Not Kara's. It belonged to the man trapped inside her—the consciousness that had been Alex, a twenty-eight-year-old graphic designer from a perfectly mundane Earth, who'd gone to sleep in his own bed and woken up here. In this. In a sun-drenched National City apartment that felt both achingly familiar and horrifyingly alien, wearing a body that was all soft curves, impossible strength, and a cascade of blonde hair that smelled like sunshine and strawberries.
The screaming had subsided into a numb, buzzing panic about three hours ago, right after the… thing… in his—her—head had introduced itself.
"Greetings, user! I am the Supergirl's Slut System! But you can call me Clementine! I'm here to help you acclimate to your new reality and unlock your true potential!"
The voice was cheerful, female, and sounded like it belonged to a particularly perky morning news anchor. It was currently represented by a translucent, holographic interface that only Alex—Kara—could see, floating in the corner of her vision. It displayed a simple, damning stat screen.
USER: Kara Zor-El (Alex)
SYNERGY: 0%
SYSTEM POINTS: 0
DAILY POINT QUOTA: 1000 (FAILURE PENALTY: POWER DRAIN)
ACTIVE QUESTS: None
"Power drain," Kara whispered, her voice—her new voice, higher, clearer, melodic—trembling. She was sitting on the floor of the living room, back against the couch, knees drawn to her chest. She was wearing soft cotton pajamas—pink, with little cats on them. They were adorable. They felt like a costume. "What does that mean, Clementine? If I don't get a thousand points a day, I get… weaker?"
"Exactly! Think of it as motivational encouragement!" Clementine chirped. "Your Kryptonian cells under a yellow sun are a near-limitless battery. The System just… taps that connection. To keep the tap flowing freely, you need to complete tasks that generate Synergy Points! It's a partnership!"
"A partnership," Kara repeated flatly. She'd already scrolled through the "Synergy Store," her stomach lurching at the items listed. Omnilingualism. Domain Expansions. Gojo Semen (Cup). It was a bizarre, grotesque supermarket of power, and the currency was points earned by… by…
She couldn't even think the words the system had used. The "primary path." The quests it had previewed, now grayed out, had titles like "The Souvenir of Steel" and "The Commando Commando." They involved exposure. They involved collecting. A cold, heavy dread had settled in her gut, right beside the phantom ache of a body that was no longer hers.
"Don't look so glum!" Clementine said. "The daily quota ensures consistent growth! And I'm not some tyrannical overlord. I'm your guide! Your friend! For example, your first non-tutorial quest unlocks at 5% Synergy. It's a gentle introduction! We'll build up to the fun stuff."
"What's the fun stuff?" Kara asked, dreading the answer.
"Oh, you know. Interaction! Connection! The joyful exchange of bio-essence! It's all about broadening your experiences. Now, let's check your social matrix! Integrating… now!"
The interface flickered. New panels blossomed to life beside the stat screen. Headshots of people Kara knew—or rather, that the original Kara knew—appeared with neat bars and numbers underneath.
LOIS LANE: [■■■■■■■■□□] 72/100 – Good Friend
CLARK KENT: [■■■■■■■■■■] 95/100 – Best Friend / Confidant
ALEX DANVERS: [■■■■■■■■■□] 88/100 – Best Friend / Confidant
LENA LUTHOR: [■■■■□□□□□□] 45/100 – Wary / Acquaintance
NIA NAL: [■■■■■■■□□□] 64/100 – Friendly / Colleague
Kara stared, her breath catching. This was a violation on a level she couldn't fully articulate. These were people. Relationships. Complex, living histories of love and trust and conflict, reduced to a video game HUD. A number next to Clark's face. A bar for her sister. See? Helpful!" Clementine said brightly. "Now you have quantifiable data on your support network! Notice how high Clark's meter is? That's a huge asset. A 'Best Friend' can unlock special abilities, like 'Kryptonian Insight'! But also… notice there's a tiny little debuff. 'Disappointment.' Minus twenty-five points from a recent interaction. He saw something he didn't like. You should probably look into that."
The memory surfaced, not as Alex's, but as a ghost in the neural pathways of Kara Zor-El. A blur of neon, loud music, the sensation of flying just a little unsteadily. Leaving a nightclub called "The Twilight Zone" with a trio of laughing, handsome strangers. Clark's face, etched with concern, watching from across the street before melting into the crowd.
That wasn't me, Kara thought desperately. That was her. The original. Before I… arrived.
But the body was hers now. The consequences were hers. The 95/100 friendship with her cousin, now tinged with his worry, was her responsibility.
"I need to fix that," Kara muttered, more to herself than the system.
"Great initiative! Mending social bonds is a valid, point-generating activity! It falls under the 'Focus Realignment' sub-path. Less immediate points than primary quests, but it builds a foundation of trust, which the System loves. A stable foundation allows for… taller buildings, if you catch my drift."
Kara did not want to catch the drift. She pushed herself to her feet, the movement fluid and effortless. She walked to the full-length mirror leaned against the bedroom door. She had avoided it until now.
The reflection was Supergirl. Kara Danvers. A young woman with wide, blue eyes that held a storm of confusion she knew the original never had. High cheekbones, full lips, hair that seemed to defy gravity with its volume. She was beautiful. She was powerful. She was terrified.
She was also, according to the blinking notification in the corner of her vision, late for work.
"Incoming communication from: 'Snapper'," Clementine announced, the voice dropping into a mock-serious tone. "Ooh, boss man. You might want to answer. Friendship Meter potential: currently at 'Annoyed Editor' level. That's like, a 30. Don't let it dip into 'Hostile.'"
The phone on the coffee table buzzed. Kara picked it up, the device feeling small and delicate in her hand. The contact photo was of a scowling man in a rumpled suit.
She took a deep, steadying breath that did nothing to steady her. You're a reporter. You can do this. Just… be Kara.
She swiped to answer. "H-hello? Mr. Carr?"
"Danvers! My desk. Now. Or your next byline will be on the obituary page—yours." The line went dead.
"Charming!" Clementine said. "See? The day is already starting with social stakes! Off you go!"
---
The CatCo Worldwide Media building was a gleaming monument of glass and steel, and walking into its lobby felt like walking into the belly of a beast. Every sense was overloaded. Alex—Kara—could hear the rustle of every newspaper, the click of every heel on marble, the whispered gossip three floors up, the hum of every computer monitor. She could see the stress-fractures in the ceiling supports two stories above, the tiny chip in the receptionist's nail polish, the molecular structure of the water in the decorative fountain. Smells—perfume, coffee, toner, sweat—assaulted her in distinct, overwhelming layers.
She had changed into Kara Danvers' "disguise": a simple blue sweater, a grey skirt, thick-framed glasses that did nothing to obscure her vision but somehow made her feel… smaller. Less visible. It was a psychological trick, and she clung to it like a lifeline.
"Emotional buff detected!" Clementine announced as Kara stepped into the elevator. "Minor confidence boost from 'Disguise Activation.' Neat! Also, the man in the green tie is checking out your butt. Just observational data!"
Kara stiffened, staring rigidly at the elevator doors. She could feel the man's gaze, a physical pressure on the back of her skirt. A hot, shameful flush crept up her neck. This was new. This awareness of being looked at, in this way. It was invasive. It made her skin crawl.
"Don't worry, his Friendship Meter isn't even initialized. He's just ambient NPC number 742. Unless you want to initialize it? I could draft a quick 'Smile and Acknowledge' quest. Five points, easy."
"No," Kara hissed under her breath.
The elevator dinged. She practically fled into the bustling newsroom.
It was controlled chaos. Phones rang, keyboards clacked, and the air crackled with the energy of a dozen breaking stories. And there, in a glass-walled office, was Snapper Carr, glowering at a monitor like it had personally offended him.
Kara weaved through the desks, her head down. She passed Nia Nal, who gave her a bright, warm smile and a little wave. A notification flickered.
NIA NAL: [+1] Friendly wave acknowledged.
Meter: 65/100.
"See? Positive reinforcement!" Clementine cooed.
Kara managed a weak smile back before hurrying to Snapper's door. She knocked timidly.
"In!" he barked.
She entered. Snapper didn't look up. "You're late. Your piece on the revitalized waterfront park? Fluff. Sentimental drivel. Where's the angle? Where's the conflict? The city councilor who approved the funding is under investigation for embezzlement from a different park fund. That's your story. Dig. Or you're covering pet fashion for the next six months."
He finally looked at her, his eyes sharp behind his glasses. "And what's with you? You look like you've seen a ghost. A boring ghost."
Kara opened her mouth, but no sound came out. The embezzlement angle… it was good. It was a real story. The journalistic part of Alex's brain, buried under panic, perked up. But the Kara part of her—the memories infused in her cells—recoiled. That councilor had seemed so passionate about the community. The original Kara had believed in him.
"Ooh, moral quandary!" Clementine whispered. "Option A: Pursue the truth, potentially crushing a community's hope, earning Snapper's respect and maybe +15 to his 'Grudging Professionalism' meter. Option B: Stick to the fluff, protect the feel-good narrative, lose standing. Your call, partner!"
"I… I'll look into it, Mr. Carr," Kara heard herself say, her voice surprisingly steady.
Snapper grunted, which seemed to be his version of approval. "See that you do. Now get out. I have real journalists to harass."
SNAPPER CARR: [+5] Accepted a challenging assignment.
Meter: 35/100 (Wary/Acquaintance → Slightly Less Wary/Acquaintance)
Kara retreated to her desk, a modest cubicle near the windows. She sank into the chair, her heart pounding. She logged into the computer, the familiar action a tiny anchor in the sea of strangeness.
"First hurdle cleared!" Clementine said. "Now, while you're researching municipal corruption—a classic—let's talk about your long-term Synergy strategy. That 1000-point daily quota isn't going to fulfill itself! I recommend starting with low-stakes social lubrication. For example, Lois Lane is at her desk, consuming her third coffee. She's a 'Good Friend.' Strengthening that bond is safe, effective, and generates a modest point stream."
Kara glanced across the newsroom. Lois Lane was indeed at her desk, a tower of folders and notebooks around her, typing with ferocious intensity. She was intimidating and brilliant. The original Kara admired her immensely.
"Go on," Clementine urged. "Bring her a fresh coffee. A gesture of camaraderie. Let's call it… Quest: 'Office Ally Refreshment.' Objective: Deliver a beverage to a colleague in need. Reward: 10 points, plus potential Friendship Meter increase."
It was benign. It was normal. It was something Kara Danvers would do. Kara clung to the normalcy. She stood, walked to the break room, and poured a fresh mug of coffee—black, two sugars, just how Lois liked it. The knowledge was just there, in her head.
She approached Lois's desk cautiously. "Um, Lois? Thought you might need a top-up."
Lois didn't stop typing for a full three seconds before her fingers stilled. She looked up, her sharp eyes taking in Kara, the mug, the probably-still-shell-shocked expression on Kara's face. A smile, genuine but tired, touched her lips. "You're a lifesaver, Danvers. I'm chasing a lead on that Intergang smuggling ring and the coffee here is basically brown water." She took the mug. "You okay? You seem… off today."
The concern was real. It was familial. It made a lump form in Kara's throat.
LOIS LANE: [+3] Thoughtful coffee delivery.
Meter: 75/100.
SYSTEM POINTS: +10.
The points notification was cold, clinical. The warmth in Lois's eyes was not.
"I'm… it's just been a weird morning," Kara said, the understatement of the century.
"Tell me about it," Lois said, blowing on her coffee. "My source is a paranoid wreck who thinks his toaster is bugged. Sit. Distract me for two minutes. What's on your plate besides Snapper's latest crusade against joy?"
Kara sat in the visitor's chair. She mentioned the waterfront park story, the new angle. Lois listened, nodding, offering a few sharp questions that cut right to the heart of the investigative path. It was masterful. For a few minutes, Kara forgot about the System, about the body, about the terror. She was just a junior reporter talking shop with a legend.
"Bonding achieved!" Clementine said quietly. "Passive point generation activated for this interaction. This is the 'Focus Realignment' path in action. Sustainable, if slow."
The moment shattered when a familiar, broad-shouldered figure in a slightly-too-tight button-down and glasses approached the desk. Clark Kent. He moved with a subdued grace that seemed at odds with his clumsy reporter persona.
"Lois, have you seen the— oh, hi Kara." He stopped, his smile warm but… careful. The smile didn't quite reach his eyes. They held that concern Kara had seen in the memory, now amplified by seeing her in person.
CLARK KENT: Friendship Meter Fluctuation Detected.
Current: 95/100. Status: 'Best Friend / Confidant (Concerned).'
Debuff 'Disappointment' Active: Emotional support actions less effective.
"Clark," Kara said, her voice suddenly small. The weight of his silent judgment was a physical thing.
"I was just helping Kara with her park piece," Lois said, oblivious to the tension. "She's digging into the councilor. Good instinct."
"That's great," Clark said, his gaze never leaving Kara. "Kara, can I… talk to you for a second? In private?"
Lois raised an eyebrow but shooed them away with a flick of her hand, already diving back into her notes.
Clark led Kara not to a conference room, but to a relatively quiet corner by a window overlooking the city. The sunlight streamed in, bathing them in warm light. It felt good on Kara's skin, a gentle recharge. But Clark's posture was tense.
"I saw you last night," he said softly, getting straight to the point. "Coming out of that club on 5th. With… a group."
Here it was. "Oh. That." Kara looked down, twisting her fingers. The original Kara's memories supplied feelings: a desire to be wild, to be normal, to not be the cape all the time. A reckless night. "It was… just a night out. With some… people from that photography class I dropped."
It was a lie. A weak one. The memory was clear—she'd met them there. They were charming, attractive, and she'd been flattered by the attention.
Clark's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. "Kara, you know I worry. National City isn't always safe, even for you. And those men… I did a quick look. One of them has a record. Minor stuff, but…"
"You ran background checks on my date?" Kara's head snapped up, a flash of the original's temper mixing with Alex's own indignation at the invasion.
"I'm your family," Clark said, his voice low and earnest. "It's what family does. I just… I want you to be careful. With everything. Your life here, your identity, your… heart." He paused, searching her face. "You've seemed different lately. Distant. Like you're chasing something. Or running from something."
The accuracy of his perception was terrifying. He was looking at her—at Alex, struggling inside the Kara-suit—and seeing the disconnect. The corruption hadn't even begun, and already the cracks were showing.
"Critical Friendship Junction!" Clementine's voice was suddenly serious, all faux-levity gone. "His meter is poised to drop. A lie here will cost you. A harsh rebuke will cost you more. He needs reassurance. He needs to see Kara. The sister he knows."
Kara took a deep breath. She let the original Kara's feelings—the affection for this man, this cousin from the stars who was her only tether to a lost home—rise to the surface. She let them color her voice.
"I'm sorry I worried you," she said, and this time it was more genuine. "It was a stupid night. I was feeling… adrift. But you're right. I'll be more careful. I promise."
She reached out and touched his arm. The gesture was simple, familial.
Clark studied her for a long moment. The tension in his shoulders eased. The deep, paternal concern in his eyes softened into something warmer. He covered her hand with his own for a second, a solid, reassuring weight. "Okay. Just… talk to me, Kara. Always. That's what I'm here for."
CLARK KENT: [-5 to 'Disappointment' Debuff. New Strength: 90/100.]
Debuff 'Disappointment' weakened.
SYSTEM POINTS: +25 (Conflict Resolution / Mending Trust).
The points felt dirty this time. She'd manipulated the moment, used borrowed feelings to game a system he didn't even know existed.
"I will," Kara whispered.
He gave her a final nod and walked back toward his desk, the concerned set of his back finally relaxing.
"Excellent diplomatic work!" Clementine was back to her cheerful self. "You stabilized a key relationship and earned a nice point chunk. Your daily total is now 35. Only 965 to go! But the day is young!"
Kara leaned her forehead against the cool glass of the window. The city sprawled below, glittering and alive. She felt utterly, completely alone.
The rest of the workday passed in a blur of research, awkward small talk, and the constant, low-level hum of Clementine's commentary. By the time she clocked out, she had a solid lead on the councilor's finances and had earned a total of 87 points, mostly from minor, benign social interactions. The 1000-point goal loomed like a mountain.
"Not to pressure you," Clementine said as Kara walked out into the late afternoon sun, "but the clock is ticking. Power drain initiates at midnight if quota isn't met. Symptoms start mild—fatigue, reduced strength—but can escalate to a state akin to Kryptonite exposure if left unchecked for multiple days. We don't want that!"
"What do you suggest?" Kara asked wearily, heading toward her apartment. "I'm not… doing the other stuff. The primary path."
"Understood! Respecting your boundaries is part of our partnership! So, let's get creative with 'Focus Realignment.' You need a significant, trust-building interaction. A deep social connection that generates a big point yield. Someone whose friendship meter is mid-level, with high growth potential."
The system interface scrolled through her social panel. It landed on a name and a photo that made Kara's borrowed heart give a complicated, nervous flutter.
LENA LUTHOR: [■■■■□□□□□□] 45/100 – Wary / Acquaintance.
Status Note: CEO of L-Corp. Intellectual peer. Complicated history of familial legacy vs. personal morality. High-value social link.
"Lena," Kara breathed. The memories associated with the name were a tangled web of journalism, friendship, betrayal, reconciliation, and a deep, resonant affection that the original Kara had never fully defined.
"Bingo! Lena Luthor is perfect! A 'Wary/Acquaintance' at 45 points is ripe for cultivation. Reaching 'Good Friend' (60+) would unlock steady point generation and potentially useful resources. And she's brilliant! Conversations with her are intellectually stimulating, which the System interprets as 'high-quality social synergy.'"
"What do I do? Just… call her?"
"Too random. You need a reason. A pretext. Luckily, you're a reporter and she's a cutting-edge CEO. You could… follow up on a story. Ask for a comment on L-Corp's new clean-energy project. Or! Better! Use your personal connection. The original Kara had a standing invitation for game night. It's been a while. Reaching out to rekindle a friendship is a noble, point-worthy endeavor!"
Game night. The memory was there: cozy evenings in Lena's pristine penthouse, playing board games, talking about science and ethics and the weight of famous names. It had been a sanctuary. For a moment, Alex—through Kara's memories—felt a pang of longing for that kind of easy intimacy.
Before she could talk herself out of it, she pulled out her phone. Her fingers moved with a practiced ease, pulling up Lena's contact. She typed a message, deleting and rewriting it three times.
`Hey Lena. It's Kara. I know it's been a while, and this is last minute, but I was wondering if you were free tonight? I could really use some… normal. Maybe a rematch of that sci-fi trivia game? I've been studying.`
She hit send before her courage failed. Her heart hammered against her ribs.
The reply came almost instantly.
`Kara Danvers. I was beginning to think you'd been abducted by aliens. Again. I'm free. 8 PM? My place. I'll order Thai.`
A wave of relief, mixed with a new kind of anxiety, washed over her.
LENA LUTHOR: [+2] Responsive to personal outreach.
Meter: 47/100.
QUEST GENERATED: 'Penthouse Protocol.'
Objective: Strengthen friendship bond with Lena Luthor through sustained, positive social interaction.
Reward: 2 points per minute of quality interaction, with bonuses for vulnerability, shared laughter, and intellectual engagement.
Bonus Objective ('Heart-to-Heart'): Share a personal worry or secret (non-system related). Reward: 150 points.
"Two points a minute," Kara murmured. "That could… that could actually help."
"See? The System provides! Now, go home. Change into something that says 'friendly and approachable but not trying too hard.' And remember: this is about building a real connection. The points are just a happy byproduct. Probably."
---
Lena Luthor's penthouse was a study in modern elegance and intimidating wealth. Floor-to-ceiling windows offered a breathtaking, dizzying view of National City's skyline. The decor was minimalist, all clean lines and expensive materials, but touches of warmth existed—a well-stocked bookshelf, a strangely charming abstract sculpture that looked like a tangled tree, a photograph of a younger Lena with a woman who must have been her mother.
Lena herself answered the door. She was dressed in dark, tailored slacks and a simple emerald green silk blouse, her dark hair falling in a perfect wave over one shoulder. She was stunning in a way that was sharp, intelligent, and utterly commanding.
"Kara," she said, a genuine smile lighting up her face. It reached her eyes, which were a startling, clear green. "Come in. The Pad Thai is defending itself bravely against the containers, but I think we'd better intervene."
Kara stepped inside, a familiar scent of jasmine and clean electronics hitting her. "It smells amazing. Thank you for having me on such short notice."
"Please, you're always welcome," Lena said, leading her to the spacious living area where a coffee table was already set with plates and utensils. "Though I must admit, I'm curious. 'I could really use some normal' is a distress signal from someone whose normal involves catching falling airplanes. What's going on?"
The directness was pure Lena. No small talk, just a laser focus on the subtext.
Kara sat on the plush sofa, accepting a plate. "It's… just life, I guess. Work is intense. Snapper is… Snapper. Family stuff." It was vague, but true on multiple levels.
Lena served them both, her movements precise. "Ah, the relentless pressure of expectation. I'm familiar." She took a seat in an armchair opposite, crossing her legs. "So, is this a fact-finding mission for CatCo? Looking for a Luthor quote to spice up your park corruption piece?"
There was a teasing glint in her eye, but also a faint, ever-present edge of defensiveness. The Luthor name was a fortress she lived inside.
"No," Kara said quickly, too quickly. She made herself take a bite, the flavors exploding on her tongue—another sensory overload. "No, this is… just Kara. Not the reporter."
Lena watched her for a moment, her head tilted slightly. The scrutiny was intense. Kara felt seen in a way she hadn't all day. Not as Supergirl, not as a reporter, not as a collection of stats. Just as a person who was clearly struggling.
LENA LUTHOR: [+5] Perceived authenticity.
Meter: 52/100.
SYSTEM POINTS: +10 (Quality Interaction).
"Alright," Lena said softly, the edge melting away. "Just Kara." She leaned forward slightly. "Then tell me. What's reallybothering you? And don't say 'everything.' Be specific. I excel at specific problems."
The invitation was open. The Bonus Objective glowed in Kara's periphery: 'Heart-to-Heart. 150 points.' It was a fortune. It could almost single-handedly stave off the power drain for tonight. But it required a real secret. Not the System, but something true.
The words tumbled out, pulled from the confluence of Alex's dislocation and Kara's memories. "I feel… like I'm losing myself," Kara whispered, staring at her plate. "Like I'm playing a part, and I'm not sure what the script is anymore. I make choices that feel wrong, but I can't seem to stop. I worry that the person people see… isn't the person I am inside. And that the person inside is… changing. Into something I don't recognize."
It was all true. For both of them. For Alex, trapped in Kara. For Kara, whose soul had been overwritten and whose body was now a pawn in a grotesque game.
Lena was silent for a long time. The city lights twinkled behind her like a distant galaxy. When she spoke, her voice was quieter, softer than Kara had ever heard it.
"I understand that feeling more than you know," Lena said. "The performance. The legacy you carry that isn't yours, but defines you anyway. The fear that your own desires, your own… nature… might be something monstrous, simply because of your name." She took a slow sip of wine. "For what it's worth, Kara Danvers, the person I see has always been remarkably consistent. Kind to a fault. Hopeful in the face of overwhelming cynicism. A bit clumsy with a potstickers, but the intent is pure."
A small, choked laugh escaped Kara. It felt real.
LENA LUTHOR: [+8] Shared vulnerability / Emotional resonance.
Meter: 60/100 – STATUS UPDATE: 'Friendly / Colleague' → 'Good Friend'.
BONUS OBJECTIVE COMPLETE: 'Heart-to-Heart.' Reward: 150 Points.
TOTAL SYSTEM POINTS: 247.
The notification was a thunderclap in the quiet moment. The points rolled in, a massive influx that pushed her daily total to 247. It was a quarter of the way there. It was safety, for tonight at least. But it was financed by a real, raw moment of connection that now felt… transactional. Tainted.
"Thank you, Lena," Kara said, her voice thick. "That… means a lot."
Lena smiled, a real, unguarded smile. "Anytime. Now, about that rematch. I warn you, I've upgraded the AI on my trivia database. It's been learning from the world's leading xenolinguists."
They played. They ate. They talked about science, about a new sustainable polymer Lena's labs were developing, about the absurdity of reality TV. The points ticked up steadily, two per minute, a soft, persistent chime in Kara's mind that she learned to tune out. For stretches of time, she almost forgot. She was just a young woman having a nice evening with a fascinating friend.
By the time Kara glanced at the clock, it was past 11 PM. She had 488 points. Halfway. The pressure had eased, but the shadow remained.
"I should let you get some sleep," Kara said, standing.
Lena walked her to the door. "This was good, Kara. We should do it more often. No emergencies, no crises. Just… this."
"I'd like that," Kara said, and she meant it.
At the door, Lena hesitated. Then, unexpectedly, she stepped forward and wrapped Kara in a brief, tight hug. It was warm, and firm, and over almost as soon as it began. But it sent a jolt through Kara—a confusing mix of comfort, affection, and something else, something she couldn't name that lurked in the borrowed body's responses.
"Be safe going home," Lena said, stepping back, her composure perfectly restored.
"I will. Goodnight, Lena."
LENA LUTHOR: [+3] Parting gesture of affection.
Meter: 63/100.
SYSTEM POINTS: +6. TOTAL: 494.
Kara flew home slowly, the cool night air whipping through her hair. The city was beautiful from up here, a tapestry of light and life. The 494 points glowed in her interface. She was safe from the drain tonight. But tomorrow, the quota would reset. 1000 more points. And the next day. And the next.
She landed silently on her balcony and slipped inside. The apartment was dark and quiet. She changed back into the cat pajamas, the soft fabric a feeble comfort.
She stood in the middle of the living room, the System interface the only light.
DAILY POINT QUOTA: 494/1000 (QUOTA FAILED? NO. POWER DRAIN AVERTED.)
SYNERGY: 0% (Unlock at 1000 cumulative points.)
SOCIAL NETWORK STATUS: STABILIZED. KEY ALLIANCES REINFORCED.
She had done it. She had navigated the day without succumbing to the System's more explicit demands. She had used her wits, her borrowed relationships, her desperation. She had gamed the system on its own terms.
But as she looked at the 'Synergy Store' tab, at the incredible, world-altering powers locked behind point totals in the tens and hundreds of thousands, a cold, calculating thought crept in.
This is unsustainable. The social path is too slow. One emotional breakdown with Lena bought me 150 points. How many times can I do that? How many hearts can I bare before they see the machinery behind my eyes?
The corruption wasn't in an act. It was in the thought. The realization that the points were the only thing that mattered. That friendships were levers to pull. That vulnerability was a currency.
Clementine's voice was a gentle whisper in the silent room. "You did well today, partner. Really well. You're learning. But tomorrow… tomorrow we might need to be a little more ambitious. Just a little. To keep the lights on."
Kara didn't answer. She just stared at the city lights, wondering how long she could keep the person she was pretending to be separate from the system that was slowly, surely, becoming her only reality.