The rain was a relentless grey sheet against the windows of the Torch office, a rhythmic drumming that Jeremy found soothing. It was a predictable frequency, unlike the jagged, oscillating pulse he was currently sensing from across the hallway.
Clark Kent didn't knock. He burst through the door, his jacket soaked and his face pale with a kind of frantic desperation Jeremy hadn't seen since the greenhouse.
"Jeremy, I need you," Clark gasped, ignoring the way his own body stiffened as he got within five feet of Jeremy's lead-lined pocket. "There's a man... Earl Jenkins, he's currently hiding on my farm. He was a janitor at LuthorCorp. He's shaking, Jeremy. He's vibrating so hard he's tearing himself apart."
Jeremy stood up slowly, his Apex Reflexes already cataloging the tremors in Clark's voice. "The 'Jitters.' I've heard the rumors. You think he's like the others? Like Greg or Jodi?"
"He's suffering," Clark said, his eyes pleading. "He says there was an accident on 'Level 3.' He just wants the truth from Lex, but he's losing control. If you can do what you did for the others—if you can take the 'noise' out of him—he can go home to his family. Please. No one else can get close to him without him accidentally killing them."
Jeremy nodded, a cold, clinical curiosity sparking behind his eyes. "A Level 3 survivor. Lead the way, Clark."
…
The afternoon sun was dipping behind the Kent farm, casting long, skeletal shadows across the golden fields. Inside the barn, the air didn't just smell like hay and old oil—it hummed. It was a jagged, high-frequency screech that made Jeremy's Apex Senses recoil.
Clark had led him here in secret. "He's a friend of my dad's, Jeremy. Earl Jenkins. He's terrified. He thinks he's dying."
Jeremy stepped into the dim light of the barn. He saw a man huddled in the corner, his body a literal blur of kinetic motion. Earl wasn't just trembling; he was vibrating so fast that the wooden floorboards beneath him were beginning to smolder from the friction.
"I can help him, Clark," Jeremy said, his voice a calm, practiced melody. "I've done this before. I'll take the noise away."
Jeremy reached into his lead-lined pocket and gripped the Emerald Shard. He felt the usual predatory surge, the "slot" in his nervous system opening to receive a new gift. He expected to feel a frequency he could harmonize with—a "Vibration" or "Kinetic Charge" he could harvest and add to his library.
He placed his hand on Earl's shoulder.
Nothing.
Jeremy's brow furrowed. He pushed deeper, his Static and Ice searching for a core, a signature, a mutation he could grasp. But instead of a "power," he felt a hollow, rotting absence.
"What is this?" Jeremy whispered, his voice laced with genuine confusion.
He tried to draw the energy out, but there was no reservoir to tap. Earl wasn't "changed" like the others; he wasn't a predator or a miracle. He was a human being whose cellular structure had been permanently damaged by prolonged exposure to refined meteor dust. He didn't have a gift; he had a sickness.
"Jeremy, do it!" Clark urged, watching the dust motes dance frantically around Earl. "Take the shaking!"
"I can't," Jeremy hissed, his knuckles white as he gripped Earl's vibrating arm. "Clark, there's nothing to take! He's not a vessel. He's just... broken. The rocks didn't change him—they're just killing him. There's no frequency to ground. It's just cellular static."
Earl let out a jagged, agonizing scream. The rejection of Jeremy's "siphon" caused a violent kinetic backlash. A wave of raw, unrefined energy blasted outward, throwing Jeremy across the barn and cracking a support beam.
"Luthor... Level 3... they did this!" Earl roared, his eyes wide and bloodshot. Driven by a sudden, manic surge of pain, he bolted out of the barn with a stuttering, vibrating speed that even Clark couldn't catch in the tall corn.