Chapter 2 : Hidden Potential
October 2015 — Winn's Apartment — Night
Tennis balls.
I'd bought a tube of three from the sporting goods store on my way home. Cheap. Easy to replace. Unlikely to break anything important if my experiment went wrong.
When it went wrong, really. I was not optimistic.
The apartment lights were off except for one desk lamp. I stood in the cleared living area—couch shoved against the wall, coffee table relocated to the bedroom—and held a tennis ball in my left hand. My right hand was raised, fingers spread, concentrating on that invisible connection I'd felt that morning.
"Okay. Simple physics." I was talking to myself. Sign of sanity. Definitely. "Force equals mass times acceleration. The ball has mass. I throw it, it has velocity. All I need to do is redirect that velocity. Change the vector. Easy."
I threw the ball at the wall.
It bounced back and hit me square in the face.
"Ow."
Round two. I threw again, this time trying to feel for that spider-silk thread of connection. The ball sailed through the air. I reached for it mentally—
Nothing. Wall. Bounce. Forehead.
"God dammit."
Fifteen minutes and a growing bruise later, something finally clicked. I threw the ball, felt the connection snap into place, and pulled. The tennis ball jerked mid-flight, curving sideways like it had hit an invisible barrier. It slapped into the wall at a weird angle and dropped to the floor.
"Yes!" I pumped my fist. "That's what I'm talking about!"
Then the headache hit. Sharp, sudden, like someone had jabbed an ice pick behind my left eye. I stumbled, catching myself on the arm of the couch.
Cost. Of course there was a cost. The powers weren't free. My brain was doing calculations it wasn't designed for, manipulating forces through sheer willpower, and the strain manifested as pain.
I wiped my nose. Fingers came away bloody.
"Fantastic."
But I didn't stop. Couldn't afford to. I threw more balls, deflected them at different angles, pushed through the headache until it became background noise. Each success got slightly easier. Each failure taught me something new.
By midnight, I had a 40% deflection rate and a notebook full of observations:
Physical contact helps. Easier to redirect something I'm touching. Awareness required. Can't affect what I can't perceive. Maximum range: maybe six inches? Need to test. Duration limit: thirty minutes before nosebleed gets bad. Aspirin. Buy more aspirin.
The electricity was harder to test. I didn't have a controlled source, and accidentally blacking out my building again would raise questions. But I could feel the currents now, humming in the walls, flowing through devices. When I focused, my fingertips tingled with potential.
Two powers, I thought. Vector manipulation and... something electrical. Lightning-related.
In the comics I remembered, there had been characters with similar abilities. Accelerator from A Certain Magical Index. Enel from One Piece. Powerful, broken even, if trained properly. But this wasn't an anime. This was my life now, and I had three months to get good enough to survive in a world of gods and monsters.
I wrote the last note and closed the book.
Day 1. More work needed. But there's hope.
CatCo Worldwide Media — Two Weeks Later
"You're different."
The words made me freeze, chopsticks halfway to my mouth. Kara sat across from me in the break room, her own lunch untouched, studying my face with an intensity that reminded me what she really was.
"What do you mean?"
"I don't know. You just... seem more confident lately? Like you're not as nervous around Cat. And you've been working out or something, right? You look less pale."
Damn. I'd been careful. Kept my head down, maintained the original Winn's mannerisms. But small changes were inevitable. The training had given me focus. Purpose. And apparently that showed.
"New vitamin regimen," I lied. "And I've been sleeping better. Figured out my mattress was causing back problems."
"Huh." She didn't look entirely convinced. "Well, whatever it is, keep doing it. You seem happier."
Happier. Was I? The old me—the accounting-drone version buried in a grave somewhere between dimensions—had been miserable without realizing it. Going through motions. Waiting for something that never came.
This Winn had a life worth living. Friends worth protecting. Powers worth developing.
"Yeah," I said. "I think I am."
We finished lunch. She told me about her sister Alex—DEO agent, though Kara didn't know that yet—and the new guy James Olsen from Metropolis who'd started working at CatCo. Superman's friend. Another piece of the puzzle sliding into place.
Soon, I thought. Soon it all starts.
But not yet. Not until she was ready.
Winn's Apartment — Week Four
The laptop charger sparked in my hand.
I'd been trying to fix a short in the wiring—mundane problem, mundane solution—when the electricity jumped. Not into me this time. Through me. I felt it enter my skin, flow up my arm, and settle somewhere in my chest like a battery charging.
Then I directed it back out.
The laptop screen flickered to life. Not from being plugged in. From me. I'd pumped electricity directly into its circuits through sheer will.
"Holy shit."
My right hand still crackled with residual energy. Blue-white arcs dancing between my fingers, painless now, almost comfortable. The electromagnetic sense I'd noticed before was stronger too—I could feel the wifi router's signal, the refrigerator's hum, the distant crackle of the building's ancient elevator.
Lightning Logic. The name appeared in my mind like it had always been there. Control over electricity. Absorption. Redirection. Eventually, maybe, generation.
Two powers. Two paths to mastery.
I spent the next hour testing limits. The electricity absorption worked like the vector manipulation—awareness required, physical contact enhanced it, and there was definitely a storage limit. Push too much into my system and my muscles started twitching uncontrollably. But the potential was staggering.
If I can absorb electricity from external sources... If I can project it outward... If I can combine it with vector redirection...
The headaches were manageable now. I'd learned to pace myself, take breaks, not push past the nosebleed threshold. Progress was slow but steady. My deflection rate had climbed to 60%. The electricity work was newer, rougher, but improving.
Two months left.
CatCo Worldwide Media — Week Six
James Olsen was annoyingly perfect.
Tall. Handsome. Charming in that effortless way that made everyone like him immediately. And Kara—
Yeah. I saw how she looked at him. The original Winn had pined over her for years, never quite brave enough to say anything. Part of me understood. She was Kara. Sunshine given human form.
But I wasn't the original Winn. I didn't have his romantic attachment, just his memories of it. What I felt now was... different. Protective. Platonic. She was my friend, maybe my best friend, and I wanted her to be happy.
Even if that happiness came from a guy with Superman's personal cell number.
"James is nice," I said during lunch. Testing.
"What?" Kara nearly choked on her salad. "I mean. Yeah. He's... nice. Very professional."
"You should ask him out."
"What?"
"You obviously like him. He's obviously available. What's the problem?"
She stared at me like I'd grown a second head. The original Winn would never have said this. He'd have sulked quietly, nursing his crush in silence.
"I... don't know what you're talking about."
"Sure you don't."
I let it drop. But I saw her glance toward James's desk twice more before lunch ended.
Good. Keep her distracted. Keep her normal. The storm was coming, and she deserved these last few weeks of peace.
Winn's Apartment — Week Eight
The training log had grown thick.
Vector Manipulation: 72% deflection rate. Can redirect small objects reliably. Larger masses still difficult. Maximum continuous use: 45 minutes before significant cognitive strain.
Lightning Logic: Can absorb moderate electrical charges. Projection limited—short-range arcs only. Sensing improved—can feel electromagnetic fields within 15-foot radius.
Physical enhancement: Minimal. Some improved reflexes. Need more combat training.
That last part bothered me. I could redirect forces, absorb electricity, but I was still just a guy in his twenties with no fighting experience. Against the enemies Supergirl would face—Kryptonians, aliens, metahumans—I'd be a liability.
Unless I'm smart about it.
Tech support. That's what I could be. Help from the shadows. Provide intel, build gadgets, use my powers for defense rather than offense. The original Winn had done exactly that in the show. Difference was, this version of me had abilities that might actually make a difference.
I picked up the phone. Looked at Kara's contact photo—the two of us at some CatCo party, both making stupid faces at the camera.
One month left.
I put the phone down and started another round of practice.
Author's Note / Promotion:
Your Reviews and Power Stones are the best way to show support. They help me know what you're enjoying and bring in new readers!
You don't have to. Get instant access to more content by supporting me on Patreon. I have three options so you can pick how far ahead you want to be:
🪙 Silver Tier ($6): Read 10 chapters ahead of the public site.
👑 Gold Tier ($9): Get 15-20 chapters ahead of the public site.
💎 Platinum Tier ($15): The ultimate experience. Get new chapters the second I finish them . No waiting for weekly drops, just pure, instant access.
Your support helps me write more .
👉 Find it all at patreon.com/fanficwriter1