The walk to the Beanery—Smallville's current social hub before the Luthors buy up the old theater—was a sensory nightmare. Every footstep Jeremy took felt like a controlled explosion. With Greg's Reflexes, the world had slowed down into a series of static, high-definition snapshots. He could see the wings of a fly beating in the window of the hardware store; he could hear the distinct, rhythmic clicking of the town's traffic lights blocks away.
But underneath the Speed and the Strength was the Hunger.
He had used Sean's "Ice" to chill the predatory instinct, but the heat of his own "Static" was melting the frost. The emerald shard in his pocket was vibrating against his hip, acting as a conductor for a craving he didn't understand—a biological directive to claim.
…
He found Chloe at a corner table, her laptop open, surrounded by a fortress of crumpled napkins and half-empty sugar packets. She looked up as the bell above the door chimed—a sound that hit Jeremy's heightened ears like a gunshot.
"Jeremy! Over here," she called out.
Jeremy sat down, his movements jerky and over-precise. He gripped the edge of the wooden table, his knuckles turning white. To Chloe, he probably looked like he'd had ten espressos. To Jeremy, the table felt like balsa wood that he could crush with a thought.
"You're late," Chloe said, her eyes narrowing as she scanned his face. "And you're... glowing. Literally. Is that a new moisturizer or did you find another meteor site?"
"Just... the hospital," Jeremy rasped. His voice sounded like it was being synthesized through a transformer. "Greg is better. I think I helped him."
"That's great, but you don't look better. You look like you're about to jump out of your skin." She reached across the table, her hand covering his. "Jeremy, talk to me. What's going on?"
The moment her skin touched his, the "Ice" shattered.
The Greg Instinct roared to the front of his mind. It wasn't about love or romance—it was a sudden, violent chemical surge. The scent of her perfume, the heat of her pulse, the way her pupils dilated—it all processed in his brain as a "match." The emerald shard in his pocket turned searing hot, turning the stolen power into a physical command.
Claim.
"Chloe," he whispered, his eyes turning a dark, shimmering green.
"Jeremy? You're hurting my hand—"
Before she could finish, Jeremy moved. He didn't stand up; he launched himself across the small table with a speed that blurred the air. He grabbed her shoulders, his fingers digging into her sweater with a strength that made the chair screech against the floor.
He kissed her.
It wasn't a gentle moment. It was a collision of Static and Hunger. Chloe let out a muffled sound of shock against his lips, her hands instinctively coming up to push at his chest, but he was a mountain of unyielding, insectoid muscle. Blue sparks danced across his skin, and the smell of ozone filled the small booth.
For a second, the "Hunger" was satiated. The buzzing in his brain subsided into a low, predatory hum.
Then, the reality of what he was doing crashed back in.
Jeremy pulled away, his chest heaving, his pupils so wide they nearly swallowed the irises. He saw the look on Chloe's face—not just shock, but a flash of genuine fear. She was gasping for air, her hair disheveled, her hand going to her mouth.
"Jeremy..." she breathed, her voice trembling. "What was that? Your skin... you shocked me. Literally."
Jeremy looked at his hands. They were trembling now, arcs of blue light dancing between his fingertips. He could feel the Strength wanting to crush the table and the Speed wanting to run until he hit the coast.
"I... I have to go," Jeremy choked out.
He didn't wait for her to scream or call for help. He turned and bolted. He didn't use the door; he hit the side exit with enough force to warp the frame, disappearing into the alleyway before the bell above the front door had even finished its second ring.