Arrowverse: I m A Fifth Dimension Being

Chapter 26: The Whispers of a City

The pervasive, minor absurdities that had followed my last Reality Warping display were no longer confined to my mansion or D.E.O. headquarters. They were spreading. Like an invisible, nonsensical virus, the ripple effects of my increasingly bold interventions were now subtly warping the mundane fabric of National City. I watched it unfold on my vast array of monitors, a fresh wave of internal frustration mingling with a renewed sense of caution.

"This is just fantastic. I go from being a subtle guardian angel to the city's resident poltergeist, making teacups dance and traffic lights play polka music," I grumbled to myself, leaning back in my chair. My fear of being a "dangerous mistake" was not just a whisper now; it was a low, insistent hum. The very act of protecting Kara, of tweaking the timeline, was creating an environment of subtle, pervasive chaos. The irony was not lost on me.

The phenomena were everywhere. News reports, often dismissed as quirky human interest stories, piled up. A local coffee shop's espresso machine brewed perfectly rendered, miniature busts of historical figures. A bus stop bench spontaneously started playing classical opera. ATM machines began dispensing unsolicited, tiny origami cranes. Harmless, yes. Undeniable, also yes. The public was starting to notice. The term "the Glitch" was no longer just associated with Supergirl's battles; it was becoming an urban legend, an explanation for the city's increasingly bizarre quirks.

"Alright, Adam, contain the chaos," I muttered, my fingers flying across the controls. I couldn't stop it completely, not without risking major timeline disruption. But I could mitigate the most disruptive effects. I used Minor Telekinesis to subtly re-align misplaced objects, Sensory Illusion to mask egregious auditory anomalies, and even tiny bursts of Reality Warping to smooth over particularly egregious, reality-defying incidents – like the time a sidewalk spontaneously turned into a bouncy castle. The energy cost for these myriad, tiny fixes was surprisingly high, a constant drain. It was like trying to patch a thousand tiny holes in a dam.

Through Cosmic Empathy, I felt Kara's reactions to these city-wide oddities. A mix of genuine amusement – a soft, tinkling laugh when a fountain started spouting rainbow-colored water – and a burgeoning wonder. She saw them as further evidence of the Glitch's benevolent, albeit eccentric, presence. She even instinctively tried to protect its anonymity. I watched her deflect a curious citizen asking about a floating hot dog stand with a practiced, "Oh, National City is just so… vibrant, isn't it?"

Cat Grant, however, was in her element. Her sharp wit and ruthless ambition were perfectly suited to capitalizing on the emerging "Glitch phenomenon." Her broadcasts and newspaper columns were filled with sardonic observations, attempts to explain the inexplicable with a veneer of high-minded cultural analysis. She saw a goldmine.

"My dear National City," she intoned on CatCo Global Media, a mischievous glint in her eye. "It seems our mysterious 'Glitch' has decided to take up residence not just in our hero's battles, but in the very fabric of our everyday lives. Is it a guardian angel with a penchant for performance art? Or merely a cosmic prankster? CatCo Global Media wants to know! We are launching a city-wide initiative: 'Report Your Glitch!' Send us your photos, your videos, your bewildered testimonials! There's a reward for the most 'glitchy' sighting! Let us unravel the mysteries of our unseen architect!"

"Oh, for the love of… Cat, no!" I groaned, burying my face in my hands. Her initiative was going to be a nightmare. More chaos. More unwanted attention. More people actively looking for the glitches, making my job of containment a thousand times harder. She was inadvertently becoming an agent of mass confusion.

The public, of course, ate it up. My monitors flickered with new "glitch" sightings: a dog barking in perfect Morse code, a statue weeping genuine (but non-acidic) tears, a billboard displaying existential poetry. The city buzzed with a strange mix of bewilderment and excitement. The Glitch, the unseen architect, was no longer just a whispered rumor. It was a tangible, if inexplicable, part of National City's new normal. And I, its frustrated, sarcastic creator, had to figure out how to manage the fallout.

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