Chapter 24 : Adaptation
The pattern had to break.
Five extractions using similar methodology—ambush, restraint, direct contact. Even with variations in location and timing, the underlying approach remained consistent. Predictable. Vulnerable to analysis.
Team Flash was smart. Eventually, they'd identify the commonalities. Build a profile accurate enough to be dangerous.
I needed a different approach entirely.
[TACTICAL ADAPTATION RECOMMENDED] [CURRENT PATTERN: 78% RECOGNIZABLE] [ALTERNATIVE METHODS: AVAILABLE]
The system offered no specific guidance, but the parameters were clear. Make the next extraction look like something else. Break the connection between incidents. Introduce doubt.
I spent three days researching the target.
"Shockwave." Real name David Kowalski. Electrical manipulation—nothing major, but enough to be dangerous in close quarters. He made his living in underground meta-fighting rings, shocking opponents into submission for spectator entertainment.
Not a murderer. Not a trafficker. Just a violent man who'd found profitable application for his abilities.
Does he deserve what I'm going to do?
The question lingered as I planned the operation. Tank had been a predator. Ghost had been a thief. Ironhide had enabled human suffering on an industrial scale.
Shockwave was... somewhere lower on the moral hierarchy. A bad person, certainly. Someone who enjoyed hurting others for money. But not the kind of monster that made extraction feel righteous.
The system doesn't care about righteousness. It cares about acquisition.
[TARGET CONFIRMED: "SHOCKWAVE"] [ABILITY: ELECTRICAL MANIPULATION — D-TIER] [EXTRACTION COMPLEXITY: LOW]
I pulled up his address and started planning.
The staged approach required different preparation.
Previous extractions had been confrontational—waiting for the target, engaging directly, overpowering through strength or surprise. This one needed to look like something else entirely.
I acquired sedation supplies from a veterinary contact who didn't ask questions. Studied Shockwave's apartment layout through building records. Researched electrical discharge patterns to understand what authentic meta-on-meta violence might look like.
The plan crystallized over forty-eight hours.
Make it look like Shockwave lost a fight to another electrical meta. Stage the scene with appropriate damage. Let investigators draw their own conclusions about turf wars and criminal competition.
The Harvest would have competition. Or so Team Flash would believe.
3:17 AM. Shockwave's apartment.
I phased through the exterior wall, materializing in his living room with practiced silence. The space was cluttered—pizza boxes, beer cans, the detritus of someone who didn't expect visitors.
Shockwave slept on a couch too small for his frame, one arm trailing on the floor, mouth slightly open. He looked almost peaceful.
I administered the sedative before he could wake.
The needle found his neck with medical precision. His body tensed, then relaxed as the compound took effect. Thirty seconds later, he was completely under.
Different from fighting. Cleaner. Easier.
I carried him to the construction site I'd selected—an abandoned project three miles from his apartment. The location offered isolation, appropriate industrial aesthetics, and plenty of material for staging.
The setup took an hour.
I created blast marks using controlled applications of strength—shattering concrete, denting steel, simulating the impact of electrical discharge. Scorch patterns came from a propane torch, carefully applied to mimic meta-power signatures.
The scene looked like a war zone when I finished. Two electrical metas battling for dominance, their powers tearing through the environment.
Shockwave woke during the extraction.
His eyes flickered open, clouded with confusion, as I pressed my palm against his chest. The sedative was wearing off faster than expected—maybe his meta-physiology processed chemicals differently.
"What... what's happening?"
"Stay down."
[EXTRACTION INITIATED] [TARGET PARTIALLY CONSCIOUS — MAINTAIN CONTACT]
He struggled weakly, hands sparking with residual electricity that couldn't quite coalesce into an attack. The sedative left him too disoriented to focus his powers, but aware enough to understand something terrible was being done to him.
His eyes met mine. I saw fear, confusion, desperate incomprehension.
He doesn't know why this is happening.
The thought disturbed me more than I expected. Previous targets had been awake, fighting, actively hostile. This felt different. More invasive. Like taking advantage of weakness rather than overcoming strength.
Fifty-five seconds. Sixty.
[EXTRACTION COMPLETE — 60%] [POWER ACQUIRED: ELECTRICAL MANIPULATION (MINOR)] [SYNC RATE: 8%]
I released him and stepped back. Shockwave collapsed into the debris, unconscious again, his powers diminished beyond recovery.
The new ability crackled at the edge of my awareness—electricity dancing between neurons, seeking expression. I suppressed the activation with practiced control, filing the sensation away for later training.
Five powers now. Five pieces of other people's lives.
[STORAGE CAPACITY: 5/5 — FULL] [UPGRADE AVAILABLE: +3 CAPACITY — 200 PP]
I had the points. I made the purchase.
[STORAGE CAPACITY: 5 → 8] [POWER POINTS: 520]
Room for three more. The collection continued to grow.
The morning news confirmed the misdirection's success.
"Metahuman found depowered at construction site. Witnesses report sounds of electrical discharge and explosive impacts around midnight. Police investigating possible connection to underground meta-fighting operations."
No mention of the Harvest. No connection to previous incidents. The staged scene had convinced investigators they were looking at criminal-on-criminal violence—turf wars rather than targeted extraction.
Team Flash reviewed the incident that afternoon.
"This doesn't match the pattern," Cisco said, scrolling through crime scene photos. "The Harvest operates differently. This looks like a fight."
"Maybe the Harvest has competition," I suggested. "Someone else figured out the extraction technique."
"Or they're evolving their methods." Barry studied the images with obvious frustration. "Getting smarter."
"Both possibilities worth considering." I kept my voice neutral. "The investigation should probably account for either scenario."
Wells observed the discussion without contributing. His silence felt pointed—the kind of deliberate non-participation that suggested conclusions already reached.
He suspects something, I thought. Maybe not everything. But something.
The meeting ended without resolution. Another incident filed away, another data point that didn't quite fit the emerging pattern. Mission accomplished.
I left STAR Labs carrying secrets that grew heavier with each extraction.
That evening, I stood at my apartment window and catalogued what I'd become.
Five powers. Level twenty-two. E-rank with room to grow. An identity—the Harvest—that existed separately from Harry Griffin, operating in shadows while the consultant walked in light.
I'd built something significant. A foundation of stolen abilities that would eventually make me capable of facing any threat this world could produce.
But the cost accumulated alongside the benefits.
The girl who spent three extra hours in a container while I waited for optimal positioning. Shockwave's confused eyes as I took something he couldn't understand losing. The cumulative weight of choices that prioritized acquisition over immediate action.
Is this what you wanted? I asked myself. When you accepted the system, when you started hunting—did you imagine becoming this?
The answer was complicated. Yes and no. Both and neither.
I'd wanted power. I'd wanted survival. I'd wanted the ability to protect myself and, eventually, the people I cared about.
What I'd become was... something else. Something the system encouraged but couldn't fully explain. A predator with a conscience. A monster with standards. A hunter who felt guilt for his harvests.
[COLLECTION EXPANDING] [CONTINUED ACQUISITION RECOMMENDED] [PRIMARY OBJECTIVE: POWER ACCUMULATION]
The system's priorities were clear. Mine were more complicated.
Tomorrow, Caitlin would ask about my day. I'd tell her consultant work, security reviews, the mundane details of a cover story I'd constructed from fragments of truth.
She'd believe me because she loved me. Because she trusted the man she thought I was.
How long can that last? I wondered. How many secrets before the weight becomes visible?
I didn't have an answer.
The city sprawled below my window, lights glittering against the darkness. Somewhere out there, more metas operated in the shadows—criminals and victims, predators and prey. The system detected them constantly, pinging targets like a radar mapping hostile territory.
Six slots remained empty in my expanded storage. Six more powers waiting to be claimed.
The hunt would continue. The collection would grow. And Harry Griffin would keep walking the line between what he loved and what he was becoming.
One more, I told myself. One more, and then I'll figure out the balance.
The lie was comfortable. Familiar. I'd been telling it since Tank.
I turned from the window and went to bed, the system's notifications blinking in quiet rhythm with my heartbeat.
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