Chapter 37: The Ghost in the Machine
The subtle training montage for Kara was ongoing, a silent, empathic crucible forging her resilience. The drain was constant, but the glimpses of her growing strength were my only solace against the ever-present Looming Shadow of Myriad. Alex Danvers, meanwhile, was like a bloodhound, relentlessly sniffing out the elusive patterns of my ripple effects. It was time to give her a bone, a piece of the puzzle that would, unknowingly, serve my larger purpose.
"Alright, Alex," I muttered, watching her D.E.O. console on my private feeds. "Let's see if that brilliant brain of yours can connect some truly inconvenient dots. Information wants to be free, after all. Especially when it's shoved directly into your face by an unseen force." My sarcasm was sharper today, a reflection of the heightened stakes. This was a direct manipulation of the D.E.O. itself, a calculated risk.
[SKILL: REALITY WARPING (LVL 1). APPLICATION: DATA MANIPULATION (SUBTLE). FOCUS: MYRIAD-RELATED INFORMATION INFILTRATION.]
My target: the D.E.O.'s internal servers. Not a hack, but a reality warp. I subtly altered the probability of existing, long-dormant, encrypted data packets related to Project Myriad – forgotten files from past government black-ops, obscure scientific papers on psychological warfare, or even fragmented reports on a rumored "Kryptonian mind-control device" – randomly re-appearing, marked as "system errors" or "corrupted data attempting recovery."
It had to be subtle enough to bypass their firewalls, to appear as an internal anomaly, not an external breach. I made it so these data fragments would coalesce and appear on Alex's console specifically, perhaps during a routine diagnostics check, making it seem like a fluke of the system.
On Alex's screen, a series of garbled data streams suddenly flickered, resolving into coherent text: "PROJECT MYRIAD: PSYCHIC RESONANCE… KRYPTONIAN ORIGIN… SUBLIMINAL BROADCAST…" The files were incomplete, fragmented, and appeared to be from decades ago, buried deep in their archives.
Alex stared, her brow furrowed. Her fingers flew across the keyboard, trying to trace the source, to understand why these specific, obscure files had suddenly reappeared. "Henshaw, get me everything we have on 'Project Myriad'! And cross-reference 'Kryptonian psychic warfare' with any known alien tech!" Her intellectual curiosity was piqued, but a deeper unease began to settle over her. The data, while fragmented, was deeply unsettling, hinting at a threat unlike anything they had faced. She was being guided, unwittingly, down the path of Myriad. Her frustration with the Glitch's elusiveness was now countered by the undeniable, if unsettling, usefulness of the "glitch-provided" data.
"Bingo, Alex," I thought, a grim satisfaction spreading through me. "You asked for information. I'm giving it to you. One ghost in the machine to another." The chess match continued, with me subtly manipulating her research, preparing her team for the coming storm. The stakes were too high for direct revelation, but strategic whispers were acceptable.
Meanwhile, back at CatCo, another minor ripple effect from my D.E.O. manipulation manifested. Cat Grant was giving a live address to her staff. Her autocue suddenly went rogue, displaying not her prepared speech, but a series of cryptic, seemingly nonsensical phrases in ancient Latin: "Tempus fugit. Memento mori." (Time flies. Remember death.)
Cat paused, her perfect posture faltering for a split second. She cleared her throat, then regained her composure. "Well, my darling drones, it seems even our advanced autocue systems are susceptible to the charming whims of 'the Glitch.' Perhaps it's offering a philosophical interlude? Or merely trying to remind us that even in the cutthroat world of media, we are but fleeting mortals. Either way, it certainly makes for more entertaining viewing than the usual corporate drivel, wouldn't you agree?" She offered a wry, cynical smile, though a subtle flicker of genuine bewilderment crossed her features. The pervasive glitches were subtly unnerving her, making her question her own cynical worldview, even as she continued to exploit them for ratings.
"Just helping you broaden your horizons, Cat," I thought, a rare, genuine chuckle escaping my lips. "And reminding you that even your well-ordered universe has a trickster god playing with its settings." The architect's whisper was everywhere now, subtly shaping events, preparing the pieces for the inevitable unfolding storm.
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