The next few days were a masterclass in deception. To the rest of Smallville High, Jeremy was the quiet boy who had miraculously recovered. To Lex's cameras, he was a peaceful ward of the state. But in the dim, blue light of The Torch office, he and Chloe became a two-person task force.
Chloe sat at her computer, her fingers flying across the keys with a newfound, fervent energy. She wasn't just chasing a story anymore; she was assisting a crusade.
"I found another one," she whispered, leaning into the monitor. "I've been cross-referencing hospital records with police blotters from the night of the shower. Look at this: Tina Greer."
Jeremy leaned over her shoulder, his hand resting lightly on the back of her chair. He could feel the hunger itching in his loins, but he kept his touch soft, grounded by the Ice.
"She was at the impact zone near the old florist's shop," Chloe continued, pulling up a grainy school photo. "Lately, there have been reports of 'phantom' sightings at the local mall—people seeing their own doubles in the mirrors, or seeing someone who looks exactly like their mother, only to have them vanish. The doctors think it's a dissociative break, but look at the mineral density in her old scans."
Jeremy looked at the photo of a plain, desperate-looking girl. He felt a different kind of hunger—not for strength, but for utility. "She can change her shape?"
"I think she mimics," Chloe said, turning to look at him with eyes full of a doting, dangerous devotion. "Jeremy, if she's losing herself in these other identities, she must be in so much pain. It's like her very soul is being overwritten."
Jeremy let out a long, weary sigh, a perfect imitation of a man dreading a necessary burden. "The noise in her head must be deafening. If I don't take it from her, she'll eventually forget who Tina Greer even was."
"You're so brave," Chloe murmured, reaching up to squeeze his hand. "To take that kind of identity crisis into yourself... just to save her."
…
Jeremy found Tina Greer in the basement of the local library, tucked away in a corner where the light was dim and the shadows were long. As he approached, he felt the Emerald Shard in his pocket vibrate with a strange, liquid frequency. It wasn't the jagged "Static" or the sharp "Ice." It was a shifting, amorphous hum.
Tina was staring at a fashion magazine, her face flickering—her nose shortening, her jawline softening, then snapping back to her original, plain features. She looked exhausted, her fingers trembling as she turned the pages.
"Tina," Jeremy said softly.
She jumped, her face instantly morphing into a perfect, terrifying copy of Chloe Sullivan. "Who are you? What do you want?"
Jeremy didn't flinch at seeing his girlfriend's face on a stranger. He used Greg's Reflexes to move before she could stand, closing the distance in a blur. He caught her wrists, his grip like iron.
"I'm here to help you stay you," Jeremy whispered. "The shifting... it's a disease, Tina. And I'm the cure."
He didn't wait for her to scream. He pressed the Emerald Shard directly against her palm.
WHOOSH.
It felt like his own skeleton was melting. The sensation of Mimicry was terrifying; for a second, Jeremy felt his own muscles, skin, and bone wanting to rearrange themselves into a dozen different shapes. He felt Tina's deep-seated insecurity, her desperate need to be someone else—anyone else.
He funneled the chaos into the Shard. He felt the "Static" bind the shifting cells, and the "Ice" lock them into a structured library of data. Tina let out a sharp, choked sob as her face settled into its permanent, original form. The shimmering, oily light in her eyes died out. She slumped against the bookshelf, her breathing shallow but steady.
"I... I can't do it anymore," she whispered, looking at her hands. "I'm just... me."
"You're free, Tina," Jeremy said, his voice now layered with a strange, subsonic resonance.
…
Jeremy walked out of the library and into the bright afternoon sun. He felt heavier, more complex. He ducked into a nearby alleyway and pulled out a small hand-mirror he'd taken from the junk shop.
He focused. He thought of Lex Luthor.
With a sickening, wet crackle of bone and the smell of ozone, his face shifted. His hair receded, his jaw broadened, and his eyes turned a cold, calculating hazel. He looked down at his hands—the pale, soft hands of a billionaire.
"Remarkable," Jeremy said, using Lex's exact tone and cadence.
He shifted back to his own form, the process significantly faster than Tina's labored transitions. The Emerald Shard was now glowing with four distinct colors, swirling together like a nebula.
He had the Static, the Ice, the Apex Trinity, and now, the Mimicry.
As he headed back toward the Torch to tell Chloe another "heroic" success story, he saw Clark Kent across the street. Clark was helping an old woman change a tire, his movements slow and deliberate, hiding the strength Jeremy now knew intimately.
Jeremy smiled, a sharp, predatory expression. He wasn't just a boy from 1989. He was a god in the making, and he had the world's best PR manager waiting for him with a smile and a kiss.