Rain pounded down on me as I fled, tearing through the landscape under the protection of Inverse, my heart skipping a beat in excitement. I'd forgotten how good rainwater and cold air felt, even though I was technically experiencing it at over two thousand miles per hour thanks to my recent upgrades and Reinforcement.
I banked left and stopped by a fast-flowing river, diving headfirst into it to wash off the grime before surfacing again. The river led me to a small rural town in the Canadian countryside, which surprised me—if only slightly. I slipped into some baggy training clothes and squeezed into my boots before stepping into town.
My first stop was the local thrift shop. The residents eyed me in my peculiar ensemble: a shirt several sizes too tight for my six-one frame, and a pair of joggers that only reached my knees. I picked out several shirts in the largest sizes they had—anything that fit.
I grabbed a few jackets, boots, jeans, underwear, and other essentials before heading to the register. The girl behind the counter went ashen white when she saw me. She trembled. I could almost taste her fear.
"I-Is that all?" she asked.
"Yes," I said with a plain smile, which only made her more afraid. I resisted the urge to wince. The red eyes weren't exactly reassuring. She was just a kid. I plucked a pair of shades from the counter as well.
"You take American dollars?" I asked, producing three hundred-dollar bills.
She nodded vigorously. I dipped out before anything else could go wrong and ducked into an alley. It was deserted, with no visible cameras or signs of life. I changed quickly, slipping into jeans, a T-shirt, and a bomber jacket, all while keeping my sphere of perception extended.
Somebody stomped into the thrift store moments after I left, and another presence was quickly approaching the alley. I was fully dressed before he reached me and had him pressed into the concrete across town before he could blink.
He was a fairly muscular Black man with a bald head and a wedding band on his finger—unassuming, but definitely not local.
"Luthor is tracking me. How?" I demanded.
"P-please. I was trying to get to the store. Don't hurt me."
I ripped an earpiece from his head and snatched his gun. "Try again."
He tried to pry my leg off, but I increased the pressure, cracking a rib. "My patience isn't what it used to be," I warned him. "I'll only ask once more. There are likely dozens of you crawling around this little town."
The man gasped, his face turning blue. "Alright! Alright! Luthor tags all of his experiments. Bone implant. He drills a hole in your femur and heals over it."
"Any backups?" I pressed.
"No. No!" he insisted, but I hardly believed him. I grabbed his hand and twisted, snapping it in the wrong direction while covering his mouth before the scream could escape.
"Are you sure?"
"I swear! I swear. Check my coat. It has my tracker."
I did as he asked and found his cellphone. An app was open, displaying a blinking icon that pointed directly to my location.
"Which leg?"
"The left."
I shut my eyes briefly and searched through the bone with my mutations. It took a moment to find the chip, but once I did, I expelled it from my flesh. It was pill-shaped, with a small blinking light at the center. I crushed it and watched my tracker vanish on the app.
Then, on a whim, I scanned the bone surrounding my brain stem for an implant—an electrocution failsafe, just like Priya had threatened me with during my first day at the lab. I suspected it had been crushed during my metamorphosis, which might explain why they hadn't tried to shut me down since the escape.
Still, the tracking component might have remained operational. After all, what kind of mastermind didn't tag his valuable test subjects?
I was right. It took some effort this time—I had to crack open my skull and give myself minor brain damage, which I healed with Reverse Cursed Technique. The implant was the size of a large seed. I snapped my stalker's neck and sent both him and my tracker into Cursed Inventory.
I rifled through the app, checking for a secondary tracking signal but found none, then drew up a map and set a course for the American border.
At my speed, I was only a few hours away. I sent the phone into my Cursed Inventory, then relocated to a quiet patch of forest. I took a moment to rest and load up on carbs for the journey ahead, eating through what remained of my food reserves—juice, pre-packaged sandwiches, burritos, and snacks—moaning with every bite. I'd forgotten how good regular food tasted.
They'd only fed me gruel, water, and tough steak without condiments. Cruel and unusual punishment, considering everything else they'd put me through.
I took off again, hitting near Mach 2, and slowed down when I began experimenting with my mutations—the same ones that had helped me win that fight so quickly. I scoured my bones, muscles, and organs for any other trackers, keeping at it for hours before stopping in a wooded area off the highway, minutes from the border.
Finally, I opened my status screen.
Congratulations. You've reached Lv. 39.
+50 CE | +50 Free Points
+5 VIT | +1 AGI | +1 STR | +2 PER | +4 END | +1 CE
Domain Amplification has reached Lv. 5.
Inverse has reached Lv. 9.
New Shadow Style has reached Lv. 8.
Huh. It was more or less than I was expecting, considering the fight I'd just had.
I was one level away from Special Grade. I wondered what kind of boost would come from the promotion. I had a nagging feeling it would be underwhelming. Tyler wasn't in the driver's seat anymore.
The levels were going to come harder now, but I wasn't worried. That was what training was for.
I settled down on a chair I pulled from Cursed Inventory, producing Adrian's twisted arm and Misha's shattered body. It was as good a time as any to finish the assimilation.
My stomach flipped at the thought of eating them. Even after everything I'd put my body through recently, cannibalism still felt like a step too far.
Too bad. I needed the power.
With a deep breath, I buried whatever reservations I had deep, deep down and tore off a digit from both dead sorcerers before popping them into my mouth.
If only I had the body control to deactivate my taste buds. Note to self—something to work toward.
I felt the bony digits slide down my esophagus and splash into my gut, where my Cursed Energy gathered. My body began to process them immediately. In a few hours, once the digestion was done, I'd have Blood Manipulation and Ice Formation added to my Copy Technique.
With a pulse of Cursed Inventory, I banished what was left of my meal and composed a text on a burner phone to the Young Justice League's private line:
I escaped. Don't ask how, and don't look for me.
I've tagged the coordinates of the LexCorp facility I escaped from.
It's a house of horrors. Luthor had clones of human members of the Justice League in there, as well as various sorcerers, and several iterations of Superboy and me.
Do with that information what you will.
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