Chapter 8: BASELINE TESTING
[DEO Headquarters, Testing Facility — September 2016, 10:15 AM]
The impact meter exploded.
Not literally—the housing held—but the digital display flickered wildly before settling on a number that made Winn whistle low.
"That's... that's definitely not right." He tapped the screen, ran diagnostics. "These units are rated for Kryptonian-level force. You shouldn't be able to—"
"Hit that hard?" I finished, shaking out my hand. The punch had felt normal. Controlled, even. But the readout suggested I'd just matched Supergirl at half-power.
Alex frowned at her tablet, cross-referencing data from the morning's earlier tests. "This is inconsistent with everything we've recorded. Your strength metrics are fluctuating by forty percent depending on the exercise."
"Maybe the equipment is faulty," I offered.
"I calibrated it myself," Winn protested. "Three times. Before breakfast."
The testing facility occupied a reinforced section of the DEO, designed for evaluating alien capabilities without accidentally destroying the building. Padded walls, shock-absorbing floors, industrial-strength everything. J'onn watched from an observation booth above, expression unreadable.
"Let's try the lifting test again," Alex said. "Winn, reset the sensors."
The lifting platform held a series of progressively heavier weights, each designed to measure maximum output. I'd worked through them steadily over the past hour, results swinging wildly between "impressive for a new arrival" and "that shouldn't be physically possible."
I gripped the heaviest weight. Eight tons, according to the display. My muscles tensed. Solar energy flowed. The weight rose smoothly—too smoothly, like it barely registered.
"Nine seconds," Winn announced. "Held stable. No visible strain. Mon-El, you're supposed to look like you're trying."
"I am trying."
"Your heart rate didn't change. Your respiration didn't change. Nothing changed." He pulled up comparison data. "Yesterday's tests showed you struggling with six tons. Today you're casually lifting eight and your body barely notices."
I set the weight down. Thought about what J'onn had said—the field effect, the extension of will. Maybe that explained the inconsistency. Maybe my unconscious telekinesis was supplementing my physical strength, reinforcing my grip, distributing the weight in ways that reduced the strain.
If that was true, then my "baseline" wasn't a fixed number. It was variable, dependent on focus, on mental state, on factors I didn't understand yet.
"Let's move to speed," Alex said. "Maybe we'll get more consistent data there."
The speed tests went better. Running laps, reaction time assessments, short-burst acceleration—all within expected Daxamite parameters. Fast enough to blur, not fast enough to break the sound barrier. Consistent. Reliable.
Then came flight.
"The theory is simple," Winn explained, projecting diagrams onto the facility's display. "Kryptonians and Daxamites manipulate local gravity fields. You don't push against air—you change your relationship with the planet's mass. Think of it like... choosing not to fall."
"Choosing not to fall," I repeated. "That's the technical explanation?"
"I'm summarizing. The actual physics involves quantum gravitational lensing and biological field generation, and honestly even I don't fully understand how Superman does it without a visible propulsion system. Point is: it's mental as much as physical. You have to believe you can fly."
I stood in the center of the room. Closed my eyes. Thought about not falling.
Nothing happened.
"Try jumping first," Alex suggested. "Get some height, then extend the sensation."
I jumped. Got maybe fifteen feet of air—impressive by human standards, pathetic by Daxamite ones. At the apex, I focused on the floaty feeling, trying to grab it and hold on.
For half a second, I hovered.
Then gravity remembered I existed and I crashed into the training mats with enough force to leave an impression.
"That was progress," Winn said encouragingly.
"That was pathetic."
"Everyone starts somewhere. Kara told me she didn't fly consistently for months after arriving on Earth. Something about the psychological transition—your brain knows what gravity should feel like, and it fights the new information."
I picked myself up, brushed off the mat residue. My third attempt went worse—I didn't even achieve hover, just fell with extra embarrassment.
"Maybe flight's blocked by something," I said. "A mental barrier. Some kind of—"
"Alien fear of heights?" Winn offered.
"I was going to say physiological limitation, but sure. Fear of heights."
Alex made a note on her tablet. "We'll revisit flight training later. Let's move to durability."
The durability tests started well. Low-caliber rounds flattened against my chest, leaving nothing but small impacts of pressure—like being poked firmly with a finger. Higher caliber rounds produced similar results. Energy weapons, when Winn pulled them from the DEO armory, dispersed harmlessly against my skin.
Then a standard round grazed my arm, and I was bleeding.
"What the—" I stared at the cut. Shallow but real, crimson welling up along the wound track.
Alex called an immediate halt. "Same ammunition. Same distance. Same angle. Why did this one penetrate?"
I watched my arm heal—accelerated regeneration closing the cut in real-time, skin knitting itself back together. Fast, but not instantaneous. The wound had been genuine.
"I don't know," I admitted. "I wasn't ready for that one. The others I saw coming, but that shot—"
"Caught you by surprise." Alex's eyes narrowed. "You're telling me your durability is attention-dependent?"
"I'm telling you I don't know what my durability is. Apparently."
She exchanged a look with J'onn through the observation window. I couldn't read her expression, but I could guess what she was thinking. Unpredictable. Inconsistent. A potential threat whose capabilities couldn't be accurately assessed.
"Let's take a break," she said finally. "Fifteen minutes. We'll reconvene for the final battery."
Winn caught my arm as I headed for the door. "Hey. You okay?"
"I got shot and it hurt. So, mixed feelings."
"I meant the other stuff. The fluctuating numbers. You looked pretty rattled when the strength readings went crazy."
I considered the question. Considered lying.
"I don't understand what's happening to me," I admitted. "Every test gives different answers. I can lift eight tons one moment and struggle with six the next. I can shrug off bullets unless I don't see them coming. Nothing makes sense."
"Welcome to being a superhero," Winn said. "None of it makes sense. You just sort of roll with it until it does."
"That's terrible advice."
"It's the best I've got." He grinned. "Also, for the record? Your crash landings are hilarious. I'm going to compile a supercut."
I laughed despite myself. "I'll try to make them more dramatic for the camera."
"That's the spirit."
Alex returned with fresh equipment. The final battery focused on sensory abilities—hearing range, visual acuity, detection capabilities. Standard Daxamite parameters, no significant surprises. Small mercies.
When the testing finally ended, she pulled me aside.
"Your cells are still absorbing solar energy at an accelerating rate. Whatever limits you're experiencing now will probably expand over time." She hesitated. "I've scheduled follow-up testing in one week. Try not to destroy anything important before then."
"I'll do my best."
She nodded once and left. Professional. Clinical. But something in her expression had shifted over the past few hours—curiosity replacing suspicion, at least partially.
I gathered my things and headed back to my quarters. The tests had raised more questions than they'd answered. My powers were unstable, inconsistent, dependent on factors I barely understood.
But there was something else too. A pattern forming in the chaos.
When I focused—really focused—things worked better. The lifting felt easier. The durability held stronger. Even flight had responded, just for that half-second, when I'd concentrated completely.
Maybe the key wasn't learning to control my powers. Maybe it was learning to control my mind.
I thought about J'onn's words. The extension of will. Th'arr.
Tonight, after everyone went home, I was going to find out just how far that will could extend.
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