The alcove was tight, the metal pressing lightly against my shoulders. Perfect for observation, but not comfort. I crouched there, letting my eyes roam across the chaos below.
The Young Justice team was focused entirely on Superboy. That was their mistake—their first mistake. Every move they made was predictable. My system highlighted probabilities in real time, marking every pause, every shift of weight, every blink.
Kid Flash darted across the floor, scanning the environment at a blur, his movements precise but slightly impulsive. Miss Martian floated near a console, her hands glowing faintly as she tried to override Cadmus protocols. Artemis crouched on a ledge, bow nocked, eyes flicking constantly. Robin barked orders. Aqualad moved methodically, countering traps with a disciplined grace.
I cataloged each of them. System pinged softly: Observation EXP +5%, CHA +1%.
Flexing my fingers, I touched a nearby conduit. Sparks ran along it, harmless but satisfying. My system logged: TEC +1%, INT +1%, MAG potential +0.5%. Magic pulsed faintly at the edges of my perception—strong, alive—but untouchable.
Observation was everything. Action could wait. Survival depended on learning first.
I scanned each member individually.
Robin: tactical, humanly remarkable, but predictable under stress. He relied on calculated strategies and backup plans, but his rigidity was visible.
Aqualad: patient, disciplined, instinctive—but reliant on his environment. Remove his surroundings, and his flexibility dropped.
Miss Martian: telepathy and shapeshifting gave her an edge, but mental load limited her efficiency. Her focus was thin, divided.
Kid Flash: speed was deadly, but impulsiveness created openings. Probability of misstep: 18%.
Artemis: lethal, disciplined, but emotional impulses occasionally seeped into judgment.
Everyone has a weakness. Everyone has a pattern.
I ran a silent calculation in my mind, cross-referencing movements, probability, and potential outcomes. The system rewarded me with soft pings: INT +2%, CHA +1%, Observation EXP +3%.
Curiosity led me to a small drone, confined to a containment field. I tested my abilities subtly: rerouted a minor current, adjusted the controls, and watched it drift unnoticed toward a wall. Miss Martian's telepathy barely detected the anomaly. System acknowledged the success: TEC +2%, INT +1%, CHA +1%.
Satisfaction surged. Every experiment, every observation, every interaction—rewarded. Weak-to-strong progression wasn't instant; it was calculated, gradual, precise.
I glanced at Superboy. Muscles taut, reflexes sharp, every movement calculated, obedient—but predictable. Strength alone did not equal unpredictability. My system logged: STR SSS, reaction predictability: high.
A shimmer caught my eye. Arcane, almost imperceptible. A pulse from a containment field brushed against my perception, tugging at my system interface. Magic. Alive, raw, calling. I could feel it but not manipulate it. My system flagged it: MAG detected, potential unknown, inaccessible.
Every new observation reinforced my growth. Each minor manipulation, each test, each careful interaction was an experience point.
I found a small alcove, reinforced, partially hidden behind consoles and containment fields. Perfect for observation. My muscles relaxed but remained ready.
The Young Justice team continued their work, energy flashing, acrobatics precise, coordination tight. Superboy remained their focus. I cataloged every heartbeat, every micro-expression, every strategy. My system calculated probabilities for potential reactions, weaknesses, and openings.
Then a sensor flickered—a shadow, a heartbeat too steady. Superboy's eyes narrowed first. The others followed.
"Who's there?" one called.
I leaned back casually, just enough to reveal a tilt of my head and a faint smirk. Subtle, enough to intrigue. System pinged: CHA influence +2%, curiosity +5%.
They didn't know me. And that was exactly how I wanted it.
Minutes passed. I tested more subtle manipulations—minor circuitry rerouted, a containment pod's lights flickered, a monitor reset. Nothing critical, nothing noticeable to the team, but my system logged it all. TEC +2%, INT +1%, MAG potential +0.5%.
I realized something: my power wasn't physical. Not yet. My weapon was knowledge, calculation, and influence. With time, patience, and practice, I would be unstoppable.
Magic called to me again—a pulse from a distant artifact, barely perceptible. My system recorded the energy, its magnitude, and possible interactions. Someday, I would harness it. For now, observation, calculation, and control were enough.
Hours passed like minutes. I learned patterns, weaknesses, and habits. Kid Flash was reckless when tired. Miss Martian's concentration fractured under mental strain. Robin relied too heavily on structured responses. Artemis reacted instinctively when threatened. Aqualad was patient, but environmental changes caused hesitation.
Every detail logged. Every movement cataloged. My system buzzed softly in my mind. Growth was happening. Slowly, methodically. I could feel my intellect sharpening, my strategic capacity expanding.
And then came a thrill I hadn't felt since the pod: anticipation. Potential. The feeling of being alive in a world that had yet to test me.
I am unnamed. I am dangerous. And I am only beginning.