In a weeks time

It's been a week since I've been placed under Martian Manhunter and Red Tornado's supervision and mentoring. The days feel long, but the progress is undeniable. 

They moved me into the mountain—the same one where they plan to relocate the sidekicks in a few weeks. 

I'm not sure if they'll relocate me before then or try to get me to join the team, but I can't help but feel out of place. I'm much older than those kids.

Still, it's not like I have a choice.

I've revealed my Martian shapeshifting to them, and somehow that only reinforced the League's belief that I'm a clone. According to Manhunter, they see me as an amalgamation of different abilities, which to them, is more proof of some kind of experimental creation. 

They don't say it outright, but I know the suspicion is still lingering, especially from Superman. He doesn't trust me.

Red Tornado doesn't talk about it much, but I can tell he's keeping a close eye on me too. He's always calm, but there's something in the way he watches when I train like he's waiting for something to go wrong. Maybe that's why they haven't let me interact with any of the other heroes yet.

Except for Red Tornado himself.

I managed to mimic his powers last week—kind of by accident. It wasn't like with the others. When I mimicked his abilities, I expected the usual boost, something like control over the air after going through a painful transformation. But this time, it was different.

The transformation wasn't painful just internal. My forearms… changed. Beneath the skin, I could feel bio-metal machinery forming, fusing with the bone and tissue. It wasn't painful, but it was strange—like my body was becoming part machine, just like him.

At first, I panicked, thinking something had gone wrong. But the systems in my forearms hummed to life, and suddenly, I could feel the raw power of Red Tornado's abilities coursing through me. Wind control, atmospheric manipulation—it was all there.

It felt… addictive. I didn't want to stop.

But even with very power up, I could tell something was off. The mimicry wasn't perfect. Red's abilities felt more natural to him—more fluid. For me, it was like trying to use a tool I wasn't fully comfortable with. I could manipulate the air, but I couldn't quite grasp the precision he had.

Still, the bio-metal machinery was fused to me now. The thought should have disturbed me, but it didn't. If anything, it excited me. I found myself wondering what would happen if I met more heroes. What other abilities I could absorb, what other changes do they bring to my body?

The craving to mimic more, to feel that surge of power again, kept gnawing at me. But it wasn't that simple.

"It's not safe," Red Tornado had said when I asked about meeting the other heroes. "Your abilities are too unpredictable, and we still don't fully understand the extent of what you can do."

He didn't say it outright, but I knew what he meant. They didn't trust me enough to let me meet the others. Superman's paranoia must have rubbed off on them. Every time I asked, the answer was the same: "Not yet."

So, I spent my time training alone, under Red's watchful eye, or working with Martian Manhunter to get a better handle on my telepathy.

The telepathic training was hard—exhausting, even.

Manhunter was patient, but I could tell he was pushing me to my limits, trying to get me to control the constant flood of thoughts that crashed into my mind every time I lost focus.

And I kept losing focus.

Even after a week, it was overwhelming. Every time I tried to tune out the noise, more thoughts, emotions, and stray memories from people from the town nearby would push their way into my head.

Manhunter said it would take time, but I wasn't sure how much longer I could handle the mental strain.

Sometimes, I could even hear his thoughts bleeding through, though he was careful not to let me in too deep. He kept his mental defences up around me, and I couldn't blame him.

I've been making progress—slowly. But it's not fast enough for me. I can feel the powers inside me, waiting to be fully unlocked, but without more training, without more experience, I'm stuck at the starting line.

And part of me can't stop thinking about what might happen when I meet the others—the real heroes. The League still doesn't trust me, but if I could just show them that I'm not a threat, maybe they'd see me differently.

Until then, I guess I'll keep learning. Keep pushing. And try to ignore the part of me that wants to absorb every power I come across.

Because deep down, I'm not sure I'd stop if I had the chance.

Currently, I'm sitting across from Red Tornado, trying to relax and engage him in conversation about his powers. I'm hoping to learn something that will help me get used to the abilities I've mimicked from him. Red Tornado's always been someone I admired as a kid watching the show—calm, in control, and growing emotionally. Maybe, if I can learn how he manages his abilities, I'll have a better handle on mine.

"Your powers," I start, shifting slightly in my seat. "They're not like the others' in the League. You control the wind, right? How does that even work, exactly? How do you manage something as chaotic as the air?"

Red Tornado tilts his head slightly, that characteristic, calm gaze settling on me. "The air and wind are elemental forces. They are, by nature, fluid and unpredictable. But with the proper systems in place, they can be controlled, directed, and harnessed for specific purposes."

I nod, trying to absorb what he's saying. "Yeah, but… isn't it overwhelming? I mean, air is everywhere. It's constantly moving. How do you keep from losing control?"

Red Tornado pauses, his mechanical mind processing the question. "Control is not about stifling movement. It is about understanding the flow. The air will move regardless of my influence. My task is to direct it where necessary and to understand how it interacts with the world around it. I do not control the wind; I guide it."

His answer is so methodical and so precise, it's hard not to be impressed. But there's also a simplicity to it that makes sense. Control isn't about forcing something to bend to your will—it's about guiding it in the direction you want it to go. I wonder if I can do that with my abilities. If I can guide the power instead of letting it overwhelm me.

"That sounds… easier said than done," I mutter, glancing down at my forearms. The bio-metal I mimicked from him is still there, hidden beneath my skin. "What about the mechanical side of things? You're not just air—you've got systems, tech, parts that make you function. Doesn't that ever feel… limiting?"

Red Tornado seems to consider the question for a moment before answering. "My mechanical nature is not a limitation. It is an asset. My systems are designed for precision. The mechanics allow me to act without the distractions that organic beings may experience. Emotions, fatigue—these do not affect me."

"Must be nice," I mutter, half to myself. "Being able to shut out all the distractions."

Red Tornado doesn't respond immediately, and for a second, I wonder if I've offended him, but then he says, "You assume that control comes from shutting out distractions. That is not the case. Control is understanding what to focus on and when. The rest can exist around you, but it does not have to affect your actions."

I pause, letting that sink in. It's not about eliminating the noise—it's about knowing how to deal with it. That's something I've been struggling with ever since I got these abilities. I've been so focused on not losing control, on not letting the power take over, that I've been ignoring the possibility of guiding it. I'm starting to see that Red Tornado's approach is different from mine—and maybe that's why he never loses control.

Before I can ask anything else, a nearby monitor lights up with an alert. The room fills with the soft but urgent beeping of a notification. Red Tornado immediately turns his attention to it.

I lean back, watching him as he stands and moves toward the screen. His movements are quick, purposeful, as if he already knows something serious is happening.

"There's an incident," he says, his voice even but focused. "I must attend to it."

"Wait, what's going on?" I ask, standing up too.

Red Tornado glances at me. "A situation requiring immediate action has arisen. I will return when it is resolved."

I nod, but the disappointment is obvious. He's leaving, and I'm stuck here, alone in the mountain again. "So… I just wait?"

"Yes. Continue your training. We will continue our discussion later."

And with that, Red Tornado strides out of the room, his mechanical form disappearing down the hallway, leaving me alone with my thoughts. The room feels a little emptier without him, and I can't help but feel frustrated. I was finally getting somewhere with the conversation—finally starting to understand what he meant about control.

But I guess that'll have to wait.

I glance at the monitor, wondering what kind of emergency could pull him away so quickly. It's probably nothing I'd be allowed to help with. They still don't trust me enough to let me out in the field. Not yet, anyway.

As the door closes behind him, I sit back down, running my hands over my forearms. The bio-metal hums slightly beneath my skin, and I feel the urge to tap into it, to see what more I can do with Red Tornado's abilities.

But I hear his words echo in my head: You control them, not the other way around.

It's easier said than done. But I'll figure it out. I have to.

And with that, I turn to the tv in the room and watch the news.