Chapter 36: Allies and Enemies
The Torch office had never been designed for secret meetings.
Cramped space, windows facing the hallway, a door that didn't lock properly—everything about it screamed "school newspaper office," not "headquarters for a team of powered individuals." But it was ours, and right now, that mattered more than security.
Clark sat on Chloe's desk, legs dangling. Kara leaned against the Wall of Weird, surrounded by clippings and photographs of every strange thing Smallville had produced. Chloe occupied her usual chair, laptop open, fingers moving across the keyboard. And I stood by the door, watching the hallway through the narrow window, making sure we weren't interrupted.
"So Lex made his move," Clark said. "And you said no."
"I said no."
"And now?"
"Now he's going to push harder." I turned from the window. "He's obsessive, Clark. He doesn't give up on things he wants. And right now, he wants to understand what we are."
"Not just understand," Chloe added. "Control. I've been digging through LuthorCorp subsidiaries, and the pattern is clear. Every meteor freak who's been captured in the past six months has been transferred through the same channels—channels that lead nowhere on paper but somehow connect to facilities that don't officially exist."
"33.1."
"That's what I'm calling it. Based on a file reference I found buried in a shipping manifest." Chloe pulled up a document on her screen. "Look at this. Two more transfers happened last week. Both from Smallville Medical. Both meteor-affected individuals who were brought in after incidents."
[THREAT ASSESSMENT: 33.1 PROGRAM ACCELERATING. CURRENT ESTIMATED SUBJECTS: 12-15.]
"We can't let this continue." Clark's voice carried a weight I'd heard before—the tone he used when he was done waiting, done watching. "These are people. Scared, confused, dangerous maybe—but people. They deserve help, not experiments."
"Agreed." Kara straightened from the wall. "But we need a plan. Charging into LuthorCorp facilities without preparation is suicide."
"Which is why we're here." I moved to the center of the room. "We need to establish protocols. Ways to share information, backup signals, safe meeting spots. If we're going to fight this, we have to be organized."
The discussion that followed lasted two hours.
We established communication channels—coded texts for emergencies, regular check-ins, dead drops for sensitive information. We identified backup locations—the Kent barn, an abandoned warehouse on the edge of town, Chloe's cousin's apartment in Metropolis. We developed signals for different situations—danger, all clear, immediate assistance needed.
By the time we finished, the sun had set outside the window.
"This feels different," Chloe said quietly. "We've been investigating strange things for years, but this... this is something else."
"It is." Clark looked around the room, making eye contact with each of us. "We're not just reacting anymore. We're organizing. Fighting back."
"Protecting people who can't protect themselves." I met his gaze. "That's what we do now. That's our mission."
The word hung in the air—mission. It felt formal, almost military. But it also felt right.
"El mayarah," Kara said softly. "Stronger together."
"Stronger together," Clark repeated.
Chloe raised her coffee cup in mock salute. "Stronger together."
I smiled. "Stronger together."
Pete caught me in the hallway as the others dispersed.
"Hey." His expression was complicated—curious, concerned, maybe a little hurt. "Mind telling me what's going on?"
I'd known this conversation was coming. Pete had been on the edges of our circle for months, sensing that something was happening but never quite included. Part of that was protection—the less he knew, the safer he was. But part of it was trust we hadn't fully earned yet.
"What do you mean?"
"The meetings. The whispered conversations. The way you and Clark and Kara keep looking at each other like you're having a conversation no one else can hear." Pete crossed his arms. "I'm not stupid, Cole. Something's going on."
I considered lying. Deflecting. Changing the subject.
Then I thought about everything we'd just established—the alliance, the mission, the commitment to protecting people. Pete deserved better than lies.
"We're helping people," I said. "People who can't help themselves. The meteor-affected individuals, the ones who get hurt or scared or dangerous—we're trying to make sure they're protected."
"From what?"
"From themselves, sometimes. From the people who would exploit them. From the parts of this town that don't make the newspapers."
Pete was quiet for a long moment.
"That's what Clark always does," he said finally. "Helps people, I mean. Even before you showed up, he was always the first one there when something went wrong."
"He's good at it."
"Yeah." Pete uncrossed his arms. "I just... I've known him my whole life. And lately it feels like he's got this whole other world I'm not part of."
The pain in his voice was real—the hurt of being left behind, of watching your best friend move into spaces you couldn't follow.
"It's not that we don't trust you," I said carefully. "It's that some of what we deal with is dangerous. Really dangerous. And the more you know, the more at risk you become."
"I'm already at risk. I live in Smallville."
Fair point.
"Let me talk to the others," I said. "See what we can figure out. You deserve to know more than we've told you."
Pete studied my face, looking for deception. Whatever he found seemed to satisfy him.
"Thanks, Cole." He started to walk away, then paused. "For what it's worth? I'm glad you're here. Clark's been different since you showed up. Better, I think. More... balanced."
"He's a good person."
"Yeah. He is." Pete headed down the hallway. "Let me know what the others say."
I watched him go, thinking about trust and secrets and the weight of knowing things you couldn't share.
[SOCIAL DYNAMICS: EVOLVING. PETE ROSS INTEGRATION: PENDING.]
Another thread to manage. Another relationship to navigate.
The walk home took me past the Talon, where Lana was closing up for the night. Past the Fordman house, where Whitney's car sat in the driveway. Past the corner where I'd first fought Greg Arkin, where the adventure had really begun.
Smallville at night was beautiful in a haunted way—quiet streets, old buildings, the constant sense that something was lurking just beneath the surface. I'd come to love it, despite everything. Or maybe because of everything.
My phone buzzed. Kara.
You okay?
I typed back: Thinking. About everything that's changed.
Good thoughts or bad thoughts?
Both. Mostly good.
Her response was a heart emoji—something she'd picked up from Chloe and now used constantly. It made me smile every time.
[STABILITY: 92%. PURPOSE DETECTED. EMOTIONAL BASELINE: POSITIVE.]
The System's assessment matched my own feelings. For the first time since transmigrating into this world, I felt like I belonged somewhere. Not just surviving, not just adapting—genuinely belonging. Part of a team. Part of a family.
Purpose, the System had noted. Purpose detected.
It was right. I had purpose now. Protecting meteor-affected individuals from exploitation. Building an alliance that could stand against threats like 33.1. Supporting Clark as he grew into the hero he was destined to become. Loving Kara with everything I had.
The road ahead was dangerous. Lex Luthor was watching, planning, moving pieces on a board only he could fully see. Somewhere in the shadows, facilities held people who had been stolen from their lives and turned into test subjects. And every week seemed to bring a new meteor freak—another person twisted by the rocks that had fallen thirteen years ago.
But I wasn't alone anymore. Clark, Kara, Chloe, eventually Pete—we were building something together. Something that could make a difference.
El mayarah. Stronger together.
I turned down my street, watching the stars wheel overhead. The same stars Kara had taught me to name, the same sky that connected this small Kansas town to the vast universe beyond.
Tomorrow would bring new challenges. Lex would make his next move. The 33.1 investigation would continue. More meteor freaks would emerge, frightened and dangerous and desperately in need of help.
But tonight, I was content. I had purpose. I had people who loved me. I had a mission worth fighting for.
The System noted my emotional state with clinical precision: Stability improving. Integration successful. Host adaptation: Complete.
I smiled at that last part. Complete. Not perfect, not finished—but complete.
For now, that was enough.
Want more? The story continues on Patreon!
If you can't wait for the weekly release, you can grab +10, +15, or +20 chapters ahead of time on my Patreon page. Your support helps me keep this System running!
Read ahead here: [ patreon.com/system_enjoyer ]