Matters of the mind

Superman was kind enough to fetch me some shorts to wear as he and Martian Manhunter escorted me to the Hall of Justice. They didn't say much, but their eyes kept flicking toward me, especially after my skin shifted from grey to green, then back to my normal colour as I timed out of my fully mimicked Bizarro powers and cancelled the others.

They were baffled, I could feel it, but they didn't press it. Instead, they had called a meeting with the League. Maybe they thought I was dangerous—or maybe they wanted answers.

As we flew, I tried to focus, but my mind was a mess. Every sound, every thought around me surged through my head. The telepathy was overwhelming, like a thousand voices whispering all at once. It took everything I had to block it out, but even then, fragments of thoughts slipped through.

Just as I thought I was getting some control, a new system window popped up in front of me.

**Mimicked powers!**

• Weasel Physiology (altered permanent)

• Kryptonian physiology (Omnireplication Bizarro lesser permanent)

• Kryptonian physiology (Superman lesser permanent)

• Green Martian physiology (Manhunter lesser permanent)

• Mimicked Lasso of Truth magic (permanent)

[Current estimated physical strength]

• Upper Superman

[Current estimated psychic strength]

• UNKNOWN

[Current estimated magical strength]

• WORTHLESS

Quest pending!

• [Acquire meat for Weasel]

I blinked, staring at the list of powers in front of me, feeling the weight of it all. I had absorbed more than I realized. The physical strength was one thing—I could already feel the raw power humming beneath my skin—but the telepathic ability was unknown, untested, and the system wasn't giving me answers. The words "UNKNOWN" lingered in my mind, making the headache return. But I could take it even further with Miss Martian.

And the magic… well, that was worthless.

I took a deep breath, trying to ignore the voices and thoughts that crept into my mind as we flew toward the Hall of Justice. I had bigger problems than figuring out my magical abilities right now.

Superman glanced at me briefly, his expression neutral. He wasn't one to openly show his disdain, but I could feel his mind, he held disgust, that I was just another failed clone sent to destroy him. They didn't trust me yet—and after what I'd gone through, I wasn't sure if I trusted myself.

As we touched down at the Hall, Martian Manhunter gave me a slight nod. "The League will want to hear from you," he said, his voice calm but direct. "About what happened, and what you intend to do next."

I swallowed, the weight of the situation finally sinking in. I was about to face the Justice League, and I wasn't sure if I could keep everything together.

The system window flickered out of view, but that last notification stayed burned in my mind: Quest pending—Acquire meat for Weasel.

Even in the middle of all this chaos, that ridiculous quest was still on the list. Acquire meat for Weasel. As absurd as it was, I couldn't shake the feeling that following through on it might lead me to even more powers or knowledge that could come in handy.

But I didn't have much time to dwell on it as we made our way into the Hall of Justice. Outside, people were shouting, taking photos, and calling out to Superman and Martian Manhunter.

The problem was, I could hear everything.

At first, it was just noise, overlapping voices that blurred together. But soon, I could make out individual thoughts—scattered, unfiltered, and overwhelming.

"Fuck, the pecs on Superman… mmh."

"Why the hell are aliens allowed on our planet?"

"Who is that? A new hero?"

"Why is that guy only in shorts? Does his power need him to be naked?"

"I wish I had an ice cream."

"I can't believe I cheated on my wife…"

The thoughts came at me like a tidal wave, each one louder than the last. It was as if everyone's mind was on display, and I had no choice but to listen. Some of them were funny, some were disturbing, and others were just… mundane.

"Oh my god, I think I just killed that bird."

"Did I lock the door this morning?"

"What if I just dropped everything and moved to another country?"

"Do cats ever feel embarrassed?"

"Why do I always forget names right after being introduced?"

The sheer randomness of it all started making my head spin. I couldn't stop hearing them—people's anxieties, their fleeting thoughts, their daydreams. It was like trying to tune into a thousand radio stations at once, and every single one was stuck on full volume.

"I wonder what my old high school friends are doing now."

"What's the point of mosquito bites? What do they even accomplish?"

"Why do I remember all the embarrassing things I've done at 2 a.m.?"

I clenched my fists, trying to focus, trying to block it out, but it was useless. The thoughts kept flooding in, faster and faster. I could feel my mind racing along with them, trying to process everything at once.

"Maybe I should start working out and get a body like Superman… maybe tomorrow though."

"How do some people just have their life so together? What's their secret?"

"Do other people have an internal monologue like this? Or is it just me?"

"What if I accidentally said my thoughts out loud? That would be awkward."

The people around us—tourists, workers, everyone—were still moving, still talking. But in my head, it was chaos. I tried to breathe, to calm myself down, but it was impossible with the constant barrage of voices.

"How many people are thinking about me right now? Probably none. Hopefully none."

"Why do I even care what that random person thinks?"

"Wait… what was I supposed to be doing right now?"

"Do I really need to go to this meeting, or could it just be an email?"

"I could really use a nap right now."

"Why is it so hard to do things that are good for me?"

Focus, stop thinking about everything. Calm. Just calm down. But as I tried to force myself to focus, something strange happened.

The world around me fell silent.

Everyone—people on the street, the photographers, the shouting fans—stopped talking and moving. Their expressions went blank, and they stared straight at me, as if waiting for something. Even Superman, standing next to me, had stopped mid-step, his eyes fixed on me, his body frozen.

It was like I'd accidentally flipped a switch in their minds.

Panic shot through me. I didn't mean to do it. I didn't know how I did it. The telepathy was still too raw, too wild, and now it was controlling them.

Before I could react, I felt a gentle but firm hand on my shoulder. Martian Manhunter.

The moment his hand made contact, the world snapped back into motion. Everyone resumed what they were doing, as if nothing had happened. Superman blinked, looking around in confusion for a brief second before continuing forward like normal.

Manhunter didn't say anything, but his hand remained on my shoulder, his gaze calm yet knowing. He had felt it too—the telepathic surge I couldn't control.

"Take it slow," Manhunter said mentally, his voice only for me. "Your mind needs time."

I nodded, trying to steady my breathing, but inside, my thoughts were still racing. I wasn't ready for this power, not yet. But whatever happened inside the Hall of Justice, I knew I needed to keep a tight grip on myself—or risk losing control again.