Chapter 1: A Rude Awakening and a Falling Icon
The last thing Adam remembered was the searing headache, the kind that felt like a tiny, angry gnome was tap-dancing on his brain with steel-toed boots. Then, darkness. Not the peaceful, sleepy kind, but the abrupt, lights-out, curtain-dropped-on-the-universe kind. He'd been rewatching Crisis on Infinite Earths for the tenth time, probably fallen asleep with a bag of stale chips on his chest. Classic Adam.
Now, there was a dull throb, a distant echo of that headache, but something else too. A cold, clinical chill. The distinct smell of antiseptic and… fear? His own, maybe? He tried to open his eyes, but they felt weighted down, glued shut. He tried to move, but his limbs were heavy, unresponsive. Panic, cold and sharp, began to prickle at the edges of his consciousness.
Then, a sound. A high-pitched, insistent beep-beep-beep. And a flatline. A single, agonizing, drawn-out BEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEP.
"Oh, for crying out loud," Adam thought, or tried to think. "Did my cheap TV finally give up the ghost? Or did I? Seriously, I can't even die properly the first time? What kind of cosmic joke is this?"
A frantic voice, female, young, laced with terror, cut through the oppressive silence. "Code Blue! He's flatlined! Again! Get the paddles!"
A sudden, jarring thump against his chest. Then another. And another. The rhythmic compressions were brutal, rattling his very bones. He felt a jolt, a surge of raw, unbridled energy coursing through him, not from the paddles, but from within. It was like every cell in his body suddenly decided to throw a rave, complete with strobe lights and questionable dance moves.
A voice, calm and detached, yet somehow resonating deep within his very being, echoed in his mind. It wasn't a sound, more like a data stream, a direct download.
[ADAPT SYSTEM: Host life signs critical. Passive activation initiated. Eternal Youth protocol engaged. Biological clock stabilized. Threat: Cellular decay. Adaptation: Accelerated cellular regeneration, doubled resistance to entropic forces.]
Adam's eyes snapped open. The world, previously a blurry, pain-filled mess, resolved into sharp, almost painfully bright focus. The frantic nurse, her face pale and streaked with sweat, was hovering over him, defibrillator paddles still in her trembling hands. Her eyes, wide as saucers, stared at him as if he were a zombie rising from the grave. Which, to be fair, he probably looked like.
He sat bolt upright, a sudden, surprising burst of strength propelling him. The nurse shrieked, dropping the paddles with a clatter that echoed in the suddenly silent room. She stumbled backward, tripping over a discarded IV stand, landing in an undignified heap.
Adam blinked, taking in the sterile white walls, the blinking machines, the general "hospital chic" aesthetic. He glanced at his arm, then his chest. No wires, no tubes, no… death. Just a faint, almost imperceptible glow under his skin that faded as quickly as it appeared. He felt… good. Better than good. Like he'd just had the best nap of his life, albeit one punctuated by a near-death experience and a very rude alarm clock.
He looked at the nurse, still sprawled on the floor, gaping. "Is this standard procedure for Monday mornings, or did I miss a memo?" he quipped, his voice a little rough, but undeniably his. A dry, sarcastic wit, honed by years of pop culture consumption and a healthy dose of self-deprecation.
The nurse scrambled up, pointing a trembling finger at him. "You… you flatlined! Your heart stopped! For a whole minute!"
Adam shrugged, testing the newfound flexibility in his shoulders. "Well, I guess I'm just not a morning person. And apparently, neither is my heart."
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, feeling surprisingly limber. That "Adapt System" thing… it sounded like something out of a video game. Or a fanfiction. And the "Eternal Youth protocol"? "Oh, you beautiful, beautiful system, you just won my eternal gratitude."
He walked to the window, drawn by a distant commotion. National City. The name resonated with a familiar hum in his meta-knowledge-filled brain. He pressed his face against the glass, peering out zthe skyline. And then he saw it.
A flash of red and blue, a blur against the bright morning sky. A massive passenger jet, its engine on fire, plummeting towards the bay. And then, a figure. A woman. Flying. Catching the plane. Gently, impossibly, guiding it down to safety on the water.
"Holy mother of Krypton," Adam thought, a wide, almost manic grin spreading across his face. "It's real. All of it. The Arrowverse. And that, my friends, is Supergirl."
A wave of information, memories, and plot points flooded his mind. Kara Danvers. CatCo. The D.E.O. Martian Manhunter. Crisis on Infinite Earths. His brain, usually a chaotic mess of movie quotes and obscure facts, was now a superhighway of canon knowledge. He knew the villains, the heroes, the heartbreaks, the triumphs. He knew the future.
His grin softened, a flicker of genuine awe replacing the initial shock. He was here. In the world he'd spent countless hours watching, analyzing, theorizing about. And he had a system. A system that just saved his life and apparently promised him eternal youth.
"Alright, universe," he thought, looking out at the city where a new hero had just been born, "you got my attention. Let's see what kind of trouble a sarcastic, pop-culture-obsessed guy with a reactive superpower and a cheat sheet to the future can get into."
He turned back to the still-stunned nurse, who was now cautiously approaching him. "So," he said, pulling a stray thread from his hospital gown, "about that discharge paperwork…"