Chapter 6: Buzzing with Secrets
Adam Stiels slouched against a gnarled oak in Nevermore's apiary, the air thick with the hum of bees and the scent of damp earth. Morning fog curled around the wooden hives, their surfaces weathered, etched with tiny scratches from nocturnal critters. His HUD flickered, neon blue text glowing in his vision: Level 1, 7/100 uses, 10-minute cooldowns. Transmigrated into Wednesday's world, Adam was a time manipulator with a sarcastic streak, a knack for pranks, and frustrating memory gaps about the Hyde and Crackstone. His goals were clear: survive Nevermore, unravel its mysteries, and keep Enid Sinclair smiling. The Time Control System was his cosmic cheat code, its snarky voice a constant companion. Alright, universe, don't bench me yet, he thought, adjusting his raven-crest blazer, the fabric stiff against his skin.
The apiary, tucked behind Nevermore's greenhouse, was a quiet haven where Eugene Ottinger fussed over his bees like a doting parent. The kid's glasses slid down his nose as he crouched by a hive, his face pale, hands trembling. "Adam, someone sprayed pesticide," Eugene said, voice cracking, pointing to a canister glinting in the grass. "My bees are dying. This wasn't an accident—it's a sick prank." The canister's chemical stink hit Adam's nose, sharp and acrid, stirring anger. Messing with Eugene's bees was a low blow, even for Nevermore's cutthroat prank culture. Muddy footprints trailed into the woods—likely a Jericho normie stirring trouble. Who's got it out for the kid? Adam wondered, his jaw tightening.
His HUD pinged: Objective: Save the bees. Don't let Eugene cry—he's too pure for tears. Adam smirked, cracking his knuckles. "Let's fix this, Ottinger." He focused: Stop Time: 25 seconds. Activate? The world froze—bees halted mid-flight, their wings glinting like tiny prisms; Eugene's worried frown locked in place, his glasses catching the sun's faint glow. Adam darted forward, boots squelching in the mud, and snatched the canister, its metal cold against his palm. He tossed it into a rusted bin by the greenhouse, then grabbed a rag from his pocket, wiping the hive's entrance to clear the toxic residue. The air was still, the fog suspended like a ghostly veil. The system snarked: Bee savior? Gonna need a cape and a theme song, hero. Time resumed with a snap, and the bees' hum steadied, their tiny bodies buzzing back to life.
Eugene blinked, then grinned, relief flooding his face. "They're okay! Adam, you saved my bees, man. You're one of us now." His voice was bright, his eyes shining behind smudged lenses. Adam clapped his shoulder, grinning. "Bees are the real MVPs, Ottinger. Gotta keep 'em buzzing." They sat on a weathered bench, the wood creaking under their weight, as Eugene dove into bee lore—how they danced to communicate, how a queen's pheromones held the hive together like a tiny kingdom. "They've got this whole society," Eugene said, hands waving, his passion infectious. Adam nodded, genuinely curious, his monologue swirling: This kid's heart's bigger than Nevermore. I'm fitting in, but these memory gaps are like holes in my script. Focus, Stiels—save bees, charm Enid, don't die.
The quad was alive with outcasts when Adam returned, cobblestones gleaming under the midday sun. Enid Sinclair bounded over, her pink-streaked hair catching the light like candy floss. "Adam, Rave'N's soon, and I need your vibe check for my outfit," she said, her grin wide, her werewolf energy practically vibrating. Her sweater was a splash of color against the gray spires, and Adam's heart did that annoying flip. "Wouldn't ditch you, Sinclair," he said, winking. "But your outfit better be as loud as you are." She laughed, nudging his shoulder, her touch lingering. "I'm thinking sparkles—tons of 'em. You in?"
"Only if you don't blind me," he teased, basking in her warmth. They bantered about Rave'N, Enid describing a glittery dress she'd seen online, her hands gesturing wildly. She's a supernova in this gothic dump, Adam thought, his feelings deepening. The system quipped: Sparkles? You're doomed, Romeo. Better polish your dance moves.
In the library, Wednesday Addams sat hunched over the Crackstone artifact—a tarnished amulet from Jericho, its runes glinting under candlelight. Her black dress blended into the shadows, her braids stark, her eyes narrowing as Adam approached. "This amulet's tied to Nevermore's faculty," she said, voice flat as a blade. "Someone's covering up Crackstone's legacy. Dig deeper, Stiels." Her intensity was a weight, both intimidating and motivating. They pored over the amulet's runes, Wednesday tracing them with a pale finger, but Adam's memory gaps blocked any insight. Why's my brain Swiss cheese? he wondered, frustration coiling in his gut. "I'm on it," he said, meeting her gaze, her suspicion a silent challenge.
Later, in the fencing gym, Bianca Barclay cornered him, her saber gleaming under fluorescent lights. "You're too cocky, Stiels," she said, smirking, her silver jewelry glinting like scales. "Duel me. Let's see if you're all talk." The gym was a cavern of steel and sweat, foils clanging as outcasts sparred, the air sharp with effort. Adam grinned, sensing a chance to prove himself. Slow Time: 20 seconds. Activate? The world lagged—Bianca's lunge slowed to a crawl, her siren eyes locked on him, her braid swinging like a pendulum. Adam grabbed a marker from his pocket, painting smiley faces on her fencing mask, the ink stark against the white mesh. The system laughed: Smiley faces? You're begging for a siren's revenge, prankster.
Time resumed, and Bianca froze, spotting her reflection in a nearby mirror. "Stiels!" she snapped, yanking off the mask, but her lips twitched with amusement. "Not bad, but don't expect me to go easy next time." She lunged, her saber a blur, and Adam parried, their duel a dance of skill and banter. He won narrowly, his speedster cover holding, earning her grudging respect. "You're alright, prankster," she said, sheathing her saber, her eyes gleaming with a mix of irritation and admiration.
Back at the apiary, Eugene shared more bee facts—swarm signals, loyalty to the queen—his voice steady now, his trust in Adam clear. Thing scuttled over, signing approval of the duel prank with a flourish. Adam's monologue churned: Eugene's my guy, Enid's my spark, and Wednesday's my puzzle. But these gaps are gonna bite me if I don't figure them out. The system pinged: 9/100 uses. Nice save, but don't expect a parade. Rave'N loomed, promising dance and danger, and Adam braced for the next twist in Nevermore's dark game.
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