Jeremy stood in front of the mirror in his Luthor-funded apartment, adjusting the collar of a dark dress shirt. He felt like an imposter. He looked like a normal teenager, but he could feel the power humming under his skin, a restless tiger pacing behind bars.
He reached for the green rock on his dresser, intending to put it in his pocket, but he hesitated. Every time he got near Clark with the rock, the farm boy looked like he was dying. Jeremy didn't know why, but he didn't want to hurt the one guy who had been nice to him.
Maybe I can handle it for one night, he thought. Maybe I don't need the anchor.
He left the rock on the dresser.
…
The moment he stepped into the gym, the sensory overload hit him. The bass from the speakers wasn't just sound; it was a rhythmic electrical pulse that vibrated through his very cells. The sheer volume of people—hundreds of bio-electric signatures crowded together—made his vision swim.
"Wow," a voice said beside him.
Jeremy turned. Chloe looked incredible in a dark red dress, her hair styled in soft waves. She looked at him, and for a second, the buzzing in Jeremy's head faded.
"You look... you look amazing, Chloe," he said, and he meant it.
"Not so bad yourself, Creek," she teased, taking his arm.
As they walked toward the dance floor, they bumped into Clark and Pete. Clark looked better than usual—his face wasn't pale, and he wasn't squinting in pain.
"Hey, guys," Clark said, his voice full of genuine relief. He shook Jeremy's pockets, and for the first time, he didn't recoil. "Glad you made it. You look great, Chloe."
"Thanks, Clark," she said, her voice steady. She squeezed Jeremy's arm. "Jeremy was just about to show me where to get a drink, see you later." Jeremy smiled and led her away.
He stood near the punch bowl with Chloe, her hand resting lightly on his arm. To anyone else, the touch was a romantic gesture, but to Jeremy, it was a grounding wire. Her warmth was the only thing keeping him from vibrating out of his skin.
"You're doing that thing again," Chloe whispered, leaning in so he could hear her over the mid-tempo pop song.
"What thing?" Jeremy asked, his voice strained.
"The 'I'm-calculating-the-trajectory-of-the-multiverse' stare. You look like you're waiting for the ceiling to collapse." She squeezed his arm. "Relax, Creek. It's just high school. No one is grading you on your dance moves tonight."
Jeremy forced a smile, but his eyes drifted toward the gym doors. He didn't know why, but the air out there felt heavy. It wasn't the "Static" of a transformer or the hum of a computer. It was a buzzing, organic frequency—like a thousand wings beating at once.
"I... I think I just need some air," Jeremy said. The lie tasted like copper. "The lights are a bit much. Coma-brain, you know?"
Chloe's expression softened into that look of protective concern he both loved and hated. "Do you want me to come with you?"
"No," Jeremy said, perhaps a bit too quickly. "Stay. Save our spot near the snacks. I'll be two minutes."
He ducked out of the side exit before she could argue. The moment the heavy metal doors clicked shut behind him, the muffled thump of the music became a distant heartbeat. The cool night air hit him like a bucket of ice water, and for a second, the "Static" in his blood settled.
But then he heard it.
A scraping sound. Rhythmic. Coming from the shadows near the equipment shed.
Jeremy didn't have a plan. He didn't know about "Bug Boys" or "Meteor Freaks." He just knew that the pressure in his chest was spiking in response to whatever was lurking in the dark. He walked toward the sound, his sneakers crunching on the gravel.
"Who's there?" he called out.
A figure stepped into the pale wash of a security light. It was a boy—Greg Arkin. Jeremy recognized him from the hallways; a quiet, twitchy kid who usually smelled like formaldehyde. But tonight, Greg looked... wrong. His skin was pale, almost translucent, and his eyes had a multifaceted, oily sheen to them. He was wearing a tuxedo that looked two sizes too small for his suddenly jerky, elongated limbs.
"Jeremy," Greg hissed. His voice sounded like dry leaves being crushed together. "You shouldn't be out here. You should be inside... with her."
"With Chloe?" Jeremy asked, his hands sliding into his pockets. He felt the absence of the rock like a missing limb. His fingers began to tingle, blue sparks dancing under his fingernails. "What do you want, Greg?"
"I want what everyone wants," Greg said, his head snapping to the side in a sharp, insect-like twitch. "To belong. To find a mate. Lana... she's the one. But everyone keeps getting in the way."
Greg moved—not like a human, but with a blurring, skittering speed. Before Jeremy could react, Greg was inches away, his breath smelling of rotting vegetation.
"You're like me," Greg whispered, his voice vibrating in Jeremy's inner ear. "I can feel the hum in you. You're not human. You're something else. Why are you protecting them?"
Jeremy felt the "Static" roar. Without the rock to stabilize him, the energy didn't just hum; it demanded an outlet. He looked at Greg's twitching hands and felt a strange, terrifying curiosity.
"I'm not protecting them," Jeremy said, his voice dropping into a cold, dangerous register. "I'm protecting me."
He reached out and grabbed Greg's wrist.
The moment their skin met, the world exploded into white light. It wasn't just an electric shock. Jeremy felt a sudden, violent surge of life—a frantic, buzzing energy that felt like a hive of bees being poured into his veins. It was Greg's power. It was the "change."
Jeremy screamed as the energy flooded him. He wasn't just a conductor anymore. He was a vacuum. He felt the "insect" strength, the predatory hunger, and the frantic biological drive of the boy in front of him.
Greg shrieked, a high-pitched, chittering sound, as he tried to pull away. "Let go! You're... you're taking it! You're empty! Stop!"
Jeremy couldn't stop. He felt the "Static" in his chest wrap around Greg's energy, pulling it in, trying to store it. But without the meteor rock, there was no container. The energy had nowhere to go.
BOOM.
A massive discharge of blue-white light threw them both backward. Jeremy slammed into the brick wall of the gym, the breath leaving his lungs in a sharp gasp. Greg vanished into the darkness of the woods, a trail of frantic, clicking sounds following him.
Jeremy lay in the dirt, his skin glowing with a faint, dying blue light. His heart was racing, and his muscles felt like they were twitching with a strength that wasn't his own. He looked at his hands. For a fleeting second, his vision shifted—he could see in infrared, the heat of the gym building glowing like a beacon. Then, as quickly as it came, the sensation faded, leaving him hollow and aching.
"Jeremy?"
The door creaked open. Clark Kent stepped out, his face etched with worry. He looked at Jeremy on the ground, then looked toward the woods where Greg had disappeared.
"I heard a noise," Clark said, reaching down to help Jeremy up.
The moment Clark touched Jeremy's hand, he flinched. Not from the sick feeling of a rock—but from a raw, crackling spark that jumped between them.
"You're burning up," Clark said, his eyes narrowing as he looked at Jeremy. "What happened out here?"
Jeremy stood up, brushing the dirt off his dress shirt. He felt different. He didn't have the rock, but he felt... fuller. Like he'd just eaten a meal after a lifetime of starving.
"Just a localized surge, Clark," Jeremy said, his voice steadying. "The school's wiring really is a disaster."
He looked at the woods, then back at the "Hero" standing in front of him. He didn't know what he had just done, but for the first time, he realized he didn't just move electricity. He moved power.