Chapter 21: The Impossible Forecast
The golden platypus forklift still haunted Alex Danvers' reports. I could almost hear the grinding gears of her logical mind trying to reconcile it with known physics. It was glorious. My display of Reality Warping had, thankfully, further solidified my existence as an unfathomable anomaly rather than a traceable entity. The fear of being a "dangerous mistake" was ever-present, a low thrum beneath my skin, but the satisfaction of protecting Kara, of seeing her hope amplified, outweighed it. For now.
My Cosmic Empathy continued to evolve, no longer just a confusing echo, but a more nuanced understanding of Kara's internal landscape. I could feel the subtle shifts in her confidence, the quiet moments of longing, the simmering frustration with mundane human bureaucracy. It was a terrifying, beautiful connection. And it was about to become very useful.
"Alright, National City," I mused, staring at the weather patterns scrolling across my private monitors. The system was showing an anomaly. A localized pressure drop over the coastal industrial zone, moving rapidly, forming a micro-storm that shouldn't exist. Not here, not now. Canonically, I knew this was the precursor to a particularly nasty accident involving a chemical spill that Supergirl would just barely avert, but at great personal risk.
"Not today, accidental chemical fire. Not on my watch," I thought, a mischievous glint in my eye, quickly replaced by a focused determination. This was a job for Reality Warping, not on a platypus, but on the very fabric of the atmosphere. And it needed to be subtle enough not to scream "cosmic intervention," but effective enough to prevent disaster.
[SKILL: REALITY WARPING (LVL 1). APPLICATION: METEOROLOGICAL MODULATION (TEMPORARY, LOCALIZED). FOCUS: DISASTER PREVENTION.]
I focused on the nascent storm. It wasn't about conjuring lightning or tornadoes. It was about nudging. About intensifying existing atmospheric conditions in a controlled, localized way. I pictured the air currents, the water vapor, the pressure fronts. I subtly amplified the cold air mass, intensified the convection, and accelerated the condensation. The result: a sudden, localized, impossibly dense fog bank that would roll in with unnatural speed, reducing visibility to zero precisely over the industrial zone. This wouldn't stop the accident entirely, but it would slow everything down, provide a crucial window.
The energy drain was significant, a hollow ache spreading through my chest. Manipulating something as vast as weather, even locally, was far more taxing than turning a forklift into a temporary waterfowl. But it wasn't just about the physical manipulation. It was about the premonition.
[SKILL: COSMIC EMPATHY (LVL 1). APPLICATION: PRECOGNITIVE ECHO (LIMITED). FOCUS: WARNING TRANSMISSION.]
As I focused on the meteorological anomaly, I simultaneously opened the empathic channel to Kara. I didn't send images of burning chemicals or collapsing structures. That was too direct, too disruptive. Instead, I crafted a feeling, a subtle narrative within her subconscious. The chilling dampness of fog, the acrid scent of sulfur, a feeling of urgent haste, and the distinct, guttural sound of metal groaning under immense pressure. It was a dream-like premonition, a vivid intuition designed to make her uneasy, to direct her attention without giving her explicit instructions.
Hours later, the news channels were abuzz. "National City baffled by 'Fog Event'," one headline blared. "Sudden, localized fog prevents potential industrial disaster, slows emergency response to a crawl." Supergirl, they reported, had been the first on the scene, seemingly arriving just as the anomaly descended, clearing paths for emergency services with remarkable speed.
I watched Kara on the live feed, her movements precise, her face etched with concern, but also a new, focused intensity. I could feel it through the empathic link: a lingering sense of unease from the premonition, but also a surge of quiet pride in her own intuition. She believed it was her gut instinct that led her there, her quick thinking that saved lives. And that was precisely what I wanted.
Alex Danvers, however, was clearly having a very bad day. I saw her on a D.E.O. comms channel, pacing her office. "The meteorological data is impossible, Agent Vasquez! We're talking about a fog bank that materialized out of thin air, perfectly localized, perfectly timed! It's another Glitch event! And this time, it manipulated weather!" Her voice was tight, strained. "It's not just a parlor trick anymore. It's escalating its capabilities. What's next? Manipulating gravity? The rotation of the Earth?"
"Give it time, Alex," I thought, a weary, knowing smile on my face. "Give it time. You haven't seen anything yet." My head throbbed, and a deep exhaustion settled over me. The risk of exposure was higher now. The power was escalating. But so was the sense of purpose. This wasn't just about saving lives; it was about guiding a hero, subtly, effectively, without them ever knowing the true depth of the impossible force at their back. The Burden of Power was heavy, but the alternative – watching the disasters unfold, knowing I could have prevented them – was far worse.
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