Chapter 2: First Steps, First Lies
[SYSTEM MESSAGE: DOMAIN ACTIVE. X-GENE DETECTED.]
The text was now a familiar sight, a constant, low-level presence in the back of Adam's mind. It had been three days since his transmigration. Three days of living in a state of perpetual hyper-awareness, of trying to figure out how to use his power without accidentally turning someone's hair green or, worse, giving them a debilitating case of the flu. The "accidental cold fatigue" incident with the woman on the street had been a wake-up call. The system wasn't a toy. It was a loaded gun, and he had to learn how to aim it.
He'd spent the last 72 hours holed up in a cheap, rundown motel, a place so grimy it probably hadn't been cleaned since the last major mutant incident. The smell of stale cigarette smoke and desperation was a constant companion. He had no money, no identity, and no plan. All he had was a strange, powerful system and a growing sense of panic.
"Okay, so. Step one: survival. Step two: maybe a shower. Step three: don't accidentally become a supervillain by giving everyone a debilitating case of irritable bowel syndrome," he mused, staring at the glowing interface in his mind. He'd been experimenting, carefully. He'd learned that the domain was a spherical bubble, a perfect 10-meter radius around him. Within that bubble, he could feel everything, every genetic signature, every unique twist of DNA. It was like a constant, low-grade psychic hum. He could also, he discovered, focus his power. Instead of a chaotic burst, he could direct the humming energy, aiming it at a specific target.
The system's manual, a series of text prompts and tutorials that appeared when he focused on a specific function, was a dry, clinical thing. It explained the different types of manipulation: transfer, acquisition, suppression, and storage. It also detailed the horrifying consequences of permanent changes: "cold fatigue" for others, and for himself, either being "in bed for days" or a "very bad luck for a week (funny stuff of bad luck)".
"'Funny stuff of bad luck.' I'm going to bet 'funny' is a subjective term here. Probably hilarious for everyone but me. Thanks, System. Very helpful. Very reassuring. I'm guessing it's not going to make me trip and fall into a pile of money or anything," he thought.
His first priority was a permanent X-gene for himself. He needed an edge, a tool, something to help him survive. The system offered a list of X-genes he had 'scanned' since his arrival. Most were minor, useless things: slightly enhanced hearing, a resistance to minor poisons, an ability to change eye color at will. But one stood out: [SIMPLE X-GENE: ENHANCED AGILITY. ABILITY: SLIGHTLY INCREASED REFLEXES AND COORDINATION.] It was a good, non-flashy power, something he could use to get by without drawing too much attention.
He found the owner of the gene a few hours later, a young kid practicing parkour in a deserted lot. Adam activated his domain, the humming returning to his core. He focused, concentrating all his will on the system's "acquisition" function. The digital interface blinked. [WARNING: PERMANENT X-GENE ACQUISITION. INITIATING BACKLASH PROTOCOL. CHOOSE BACKLASH: MUNDANE INCAPACITATION OR SEVEN DAYS OF BAD LUCK.]
Adam hesitated. A week in bed would be miserable and a death sentence in his current situation. But "funny bad luck?" That was a wild card, a chaotic unknown, and that appealed to his sarcastic nature. It was something he could work with, something he could use.
"Alright, System. Let's get weird. Give me the bad luck."
He mentally clicked the option, and the humming energy surged, not just in his core, but throughout his entire body, a painful, electric shock that left him gasping for breath. The system's text flashed: [ACQUISITION COMPLETE. NEW PERMANENT X-GENE: ENHANCED AGILITY. BACKLASH: VERY BAD LUCK ACTIVATED FOR 7 DAYS. SYSTEM WILL GO INTO COOLDOWN FOR 3 DAYS.]
He felt a new sensation, a latent energy in his muscles, a subconscious awareness of his body's position in space. He felt faster, lighter, more coordinated. He could already feel the difference as he walked, his steps more sure, his balance perfect. The power was his. But the backlash was immediate and, as promised, weird.
He left the park, feeling a strange sense of elation and dread. As he crossed the street, a bird, seemingly out of nowhere, flew directly into his face, flapping its wings in a blind panic before fluttering away, leaving him with a mouthful of feathers and a stinging eye. He blinked, spitting out the feathers, and a pigeon, no, the pigeon, landed on his shoulder and pooped on his head.
"This is the 'funny' bad luck? I'm going to get pooped on for a week? It's like the universe is a jaded comedy writer," he thought, wiping his head with a disgusted look on his face.
The next few hours were a comedy of errors. He tripped over a nonexistent crack in the sidewalk and spilled a cup of coffee he hadn't even bought yet. He tried to open a door, only to have the doorknob fall off in his hand. He went to a store to get some food, and the automated doors refused to open for him, despite a half-dozen other people walking through without issue.
The "bad luck" was real, but it wasn't debilitating. It was just… annoying. And it was a perfect cover. When a cop saw him struggling with the door, he just laughed and said, "Looks like someone's having a bad day, huh?"
Adam, wiping a mysterious grease stain off his new shirt, forced a wry smile. "You have no idea," he said, and the cop just chuckled and walked away.
The "bad luck" was an armor, a distraction. It made him seem pathetic and harmless, not a world-hopping, power-stealing anomaly. He could use this. He could use it to deflect suspicion, to make people ignore him. He started to formulate a new plan. He would use his enhanced agility to get by, doing small, opportunistic things to make money: cleaning windows, delivering packages, anything that required a little bit of physical skill. The bad luck would be his cover, the constant, low-grade chaos that made him seem like a normal, unlucky guy.
He was a survivor, and he would use every tool at his disposal, even a week of being a cosmic punchline. He found a half-eaten sandwich on a park bench and, after a moment's hesitation, decided he was too hungry to care. He sat down and ate it, feeling the latent energy of his new X-gene humming beneath his skin, a silent promise of more power to come.