Chapter 5 - Phase Shifting

"You're late, Peterson. Again."

Max winced as Mr. Donovan's gruff voice carried across the Harbor News loading dock. The morning deliveries were nearly complete, and Max had only just arrived, his messenger bag slung haphazardly over his shoulder.

"Sorry, sir," he called, hurrying toward the dispatch desk. "There was a... situation in The Shallows. Water main break."

This wasn't entirely a lie. There had been a burst pipe, but it would have only delayed him by ten minutes. The remaining forty minutes of lateness were due to oversleeping after his late night as Rumor and the strange conversation with Mrs. Chen.

Mr. Donovan's bushy mustache twitched with skepticism, his reading glasses perched precariously on his nose as he reviewed the day's delivery schedule. "Water main break. Of course. And I suppose the water formed a perfect barrier around just your apartment building?"

"Actually, it flooded the lower walkways and—"

"Save it." Mr. Donovan waved a hand dismissively. "Your Guardian Tower package is waiting. Special delivery today—hand it directly to Shimmer. She'll be expecting you."

Max blinked in surprise. "Shimmer? The Guardian?"

"No, Shimmer the pastry chef." Mr. Donovan rolled his eyes. "Yes, the Guardian. Is there a problem?"

"No! No problem," Max said quickly, trying to hide his confusion. Mentis had mentioned introducing him to Shimmer at training that evening, not during his courier shift. "I just haven't met her before."

"Well, now's your chance." Mr. Donovan handed him a small, carefully wrapped package similar to the one he'd delivered to Mentis the previous day. "And Peterson?"

"Yes, sir?"

"Try not to get into another heroic confrontation along the way. The insurance paperwork is becoming excessive."

Max felt heat rise to his cheeks. "I'll do my best, sir."

---

Guardian Tower seemed different in daylight—less imposing, more administrative. As Max approached the security checkpoint, he noticed subtle changes since his last visit. Additional scanner equipment had been installed, and the guards seemed more alert, their expressions tense.

"ID and purpose," said the same cybernetic-enhanced guard who had admitted him during the Shock incident.

"Max Peterson, Harbor News," he replied, presenting his courier badge. "Package delivery for Shimmer."

The guard's cybernetic eye glowed briefly as it scanned his credentials. "Verified. Shimmer is currently in Research Lab 4. Take elevator B to floor 7."

"I'm allowed beyond the lobby?" Max asked, surprised.

"You have clearance." The guard's tone suggested this was unusual but not her concern. "Escort drone will accompany you."

A small hovering drone detached from a charging station and moved to float beside Max. It was spherical, about the size of a softball, with a glowing blue sensor array that reminded him uncomfortably of Shock's visor.

"Follow the drone," the guard instructed, returning to her station.

Max did as directed, the drone leading him through the lobby to a restricted elevator. Inside, it interfaced wirelessly with the control panel, and the elevator began its ascent to the seventh floor.

"So," Max said awkwardly to the drone, "been working here long?"

The drone, unsurprisingly, didn't respond.

When the doors opened, Max found himself in a corridor lined with laboratory spaces. Through glass walls, he could see Guardian staff in white coats working with equipment he couldn't begin to identify. Some appeared to be analyzing samples, others monitoring displays showing what looked like maps of New Harbor with various colored indicators.

The drone led him to a door marked "Research Lab 4" and emitted a soft chiming sound. The door slid open to reveal a spacious laboratory filled with mechanical components, holographic displays, and what appeared to be partially disassembled Guardian equipment.

In the center stood Shimmer, her back to the door as she manipulated a holographic schematic. Even from behind, she was instantly recognizable. Her Guardian uniform—shimmering purple and silver that seemed to shift like her powers—contrasted with her practical posture. Her long black hair was braided tightly, revealing multiple ear piercings with what looked like tiny tech devices rather than decorative jewelry.

"Just set it on the bench by the door," she said without turning. "I'll be with you in a moment."

Her voice had a slight accent Max couldn't place—something between Middle Eastern and European tones.

"No rush," he replied, placing the package on the indicated surface.

At the sound of his voice, Shimmer turned sharply. Her quick, bird-like movements reminded Max of a startled hawk. She studied him with keen dark eyes, her expression unreadable.

"You're Peterson," she stated rather than asked.

"That's me. Max Peterson, Harbor News," he said, defaulting to his courier introduction.

"I know who you are." She dismissed the holographic display with a gesture and approached, her movements fluid and precise. "Mentis has told me about your... situation."

Max glanced at the drone still hovering by the door. "Should we be talking about this here?"

Shimmer followed his gaze and made a small, dismissive gesture. The drone immediately powered down and dropped into her waiting hand.

"Guardian Tower has excellent security," she said, setting the deactivated drone aside. "But perhaps not excellent enough for discussions of this nature. Hence—" she gestured to the package he'd delivered, "—the need for secure communication methods."

"What's in the package?" Max asked.

"Nothing important. It was merely an excuse to bring you here." Shimmer picked up a small device from her workbench and activated it. A faint humming filled the air. "White noise generator. Additional precaution."

She moved to a computer terminal and typed rapidly. Security cameras in the corners of the lab shifted slightly, their indicator lights changing from green to amber.

"Loop feed," she explained. "For the next fifteen minutes, security will see us discussing courier logistics."

Max was impressed by the thoroughness of her precautions. "Mentis said you'd be joining our training tonight. I wasn't expecting to meet you... officially... until then."

"Plans change," Shimmer said simply. She studied him with scientific intensity. "I wanted to observe you in your civilian identity before tonight's session. Baseline behavior assessment."

"Okay," Max said slowly. "And what's the verdict?"

"Inconclusive," she replied with surprising candor. "You appear unremarkable in this context, yet Mentis insists your ability has extraordinary potential. The dissonance is intriguing."

Max wasn't sure whether to be offended or flattered. "Unremarkable. Thanks."

A slight smile curved Shimmer's lips. "It was not an insult. Effective civilian disguises should be unremarkable. Your apparent ordinariness is tactically advantageous."

Put that way, it did sound more like a compliment. "So, you're going to help with my training?"

"Yes. My phase-shifting abilities provide unique insights into matter-energy state transitions that may be relevant to your perception-based transformations." She moved to retrieve the package he'd delivered. "Also, I've developed modifications for your equipment."

She unwrapped the package, revealing not documents or technology as Max had expected, but what appeared to be fabric swatches in various colors and textures.

"Your current costume is functional but rudimentary," she continued. "The materials are not optimized for your specific ability fluctuations. I've designed alternatives based on Mentis's data."

Max watched as she laid out the samples with meticulous precision. "You're making me a new costume?"

"Refining the existing design," she corrected. "The spiral motif is effective—symbolic of rumor propagation, visually distinctive, memetically powerful. But the structural composition requires enhancement."

Her technical approach was simultaneously reassuring and slightly amusing. Max got the impression Shimmer approached everything with the same analytical intensity, whether designing superhero outfits or conducting quantum physics experiments.

"Why are you helping me?" he asked suddenly. "I mean, I get why Mentis is interested—scientific curiosity. But what's in it for you?"

Shimmer looked up from her fabric samples, expression serious. "Practical necessity. A Guardian team functions optimally with complete information. Your interactions with our team will inevitably increase. Managing those interactions requires insider knowledge."

"So it's just about control?"

She considered this. "Not exclusively. Your ability represents an unprecedented type of Awakened power. Understanding it may provide insights into post-Collapse reality fluctuations that affect my own powers."

Max hadn't considered that his situation might help others understand their abilities too. "What's happening with your powers?"

A flicker of something—concern, perhaps—crossed her face before her professional demeanor reasserted itself. "Minor instabilities. Nothing critical." She began repacking the fabric samples. "We should conclude this meeting. Extended deviation from routine activities may attract attention."

It was a clear deflection, but Max didn't press. He had enough secrets of his own to respect others'.

"So, tonight then? Same place as before?"

Shimmer nodded. "Mentis's facility. 8 PM." She handed him back the repackaged box. "Take this. Inside are coordinates for emergency rendezvous points should our training be compromised, along with a secure communication device calibrated to contact either myself or Mentis."

Max accepted the package, suddenly feeling like he was in a spy movie rather than a superhero training program. "This is getting pretty elaborate."

"Information security is not elaborate; it is essential." She reactivated the drone with another gesture. "The Guardian team includes a telepath and multiple enhanced sensory specialists. Maintaining your identity separation requires rigorous protocols."

The white noise generator clicked off, and the security cameras returned to their normal positions.

"You should go," Shimmer said, her tone shifting back to professional detachment for the benefit of any monitoring. "The Guardian Tower thanks Harbor News for their reliable service."

Max took the cue. "Always happy to deliver, ma'am. Harbor News appreciates your business."

The drone escorted him back to the elevator, and Max found himself replaying the strange meeting as he descended to the lobby. Shimmer was different from what he'd expected—more intense, more precise, but also somehow more human than her public persona suggested.

And now she was part of his increasingly complicated double life.

---

"Again," Mentis instructed. "Concentrate on the transition sequence."

Max gritted his teeth, focusing on the spinning metal blades of the training gauntlet as they whirred toward his face. At the last possible moment, his body responded—not by dodging as it had in previous sessions, but by partially dematerializing, the blades passing harmlessly through his semi-transparent form.

The sensation was bizarre—like being simultaneously solid and gaseous, aware of his physical form but not bound by its usual limitations. Maintaining the state took tremendous concentration, and after just a few seconds, Max felt himself snap back to full solidity, stumbling slightly from the effort.

"Better," Shimmer commented from her observation position. "The phase transition was cleaner this time. Less molecular disruption."

She'd spent the first hour of the training session methodically teaching Max the principles behind her own phase-shifting ability. Then, through a combination of detailed verbal description and carefully structured belief induction, she'd helped him manifest a limited version of the power himself.

It was exhausting work. Unlike the strength and speed that had come almost naturally, this ability required precise concentration and a different kind of body awareness.

"I don't think I can maintain it for more than a few seconds," Max admitted, wiping sweat from his forehead.

"Expected limitation," Shimmer replied matter-of-factly. "Phase-shifting requires extensive neural recalibration. My own initial duration capacity was similarly constrained."

Mentis made notes on his tablet. "The adaptation rate is remarkable, nonetheless. Your neuroplasticity appears to enhance ability acquisition beyond normal Awakened parameters."

Max leaned against the wall, catching his breath. "In regular-person English?"

"You learn new powers faster than most Awakened individuals," Mentis clarified. "Likely because your abilities aren't truly 'yours' but manifestations of external perception filtered through your unique neurological structure."

"Like running different software on the same hardware," Shimmer added, using a metaphor she correctly assumed Max would understand.

It made sense, in a weird way. Max hadn't developed a specific power—he'd developed the ability to channel various powers based on what people believed about him. In this controlled environment, with Shimmer and Mentis both firmly believing he could phase-shift, he could temporarily manifest a version of Shimmer's ability.

"The question," Mentis continued, "is whether public perception could sustain this particular ability in field conditions. Phase-shifting is visually distinctive but conceptually complex. The average citizen might not form a clear enough mental model to reinforce the power."

"So what you're saying is, I shouldn't rely on being able to do this in a real fight," Max translated.

"Correct," Shimmer confirmed. "Reserve phase-shifting for controlled scenarios with Guardian support. Focus public perception on abilities with clearer visual and conceptual frameworks."

"Like super-strength and speed," Max nodded. "Those seem to stick better anyway."

"Precisely," Mentis said. "Now, let's test the durability parameters of your phase state. Shimmer, if you would demonstrate the variable density technique?"

Before she could respond, a sharp alarm tone sounded from Mentis's workstation. Both Guardians immediately tensed, exchanging glances.

"Another one?" Shimmer asked, moving swiftly to the monitoring equipment.

"Third tonight," Mentis confirmed, pulling up a holographic display of New Harbor. Red warning indicators pulsed at multiple points across the map. "The pattern is accelerating."

Max pushed himself off the wall. "What's going on?"

"Dimensional anomalies," Mentis replied, his fingers flying over the controls. "We've been tracking an unusual surge in rift activity over the past two weeks. Tonight's readings show a significant escalation."

The display zoomed in on one of the red indicators—a pulsing hotspot in what Max recognized as the University District, not far from their current location.

"Proximity alert," Shimmer noted. "Point-seven kilometers. Increasing intensity."

"Guardian response?" Mentis asked.

Shimmer checked another display. "Velocity and Blockade are responding to the harbor incident. Lumina is coordinating civilian evacuation in the Heights. Fauna is offline for recovery after this morning's containment effort."

Mentis frowned. "The pattern suggests coordinated triggers. Too many simultaneous events for our current deployment capacity."

Max looked between them, understanding dawning. "You need help."

Both Guardians turned to him.

"It would be inadvisable—" Mentis began.

"But potentially necessary," Shimmer finished, her pragmatic nature asserting itself. "The university anomaly is showing rapid expansion. Containment protocols require minimum two-person response teams."

Mentis studied the readings, his expression troubled. "Mr. Peterson's training is incomplete. The risk factors are significant."

"My phase-shifting instruction was comprehensive," Shimmer countered. "And his baseline abilities are well-established. The proximity minimizes deployment delay."

They were discussing him as if he wasn't there, Max realized—weighing his usefulness against potential liabilities with clinical detachment.

"I want to help," he interjected. "If these anomalies are dangerous, and you're short-handed, Rumor should get involved."

Mentis and Shimmer exchanged another glance, some unspoken communication passing between them.

"Very well," Mentis decided. "But under strict parameters. Observation and containment support only. No direct engagement without explicit authorization."

"Agreed," Shimmer said, already moving toward an equipment locker. "Suit up, Peterson. Field test commencing in five minutes."

---

The university campus was eerily beautiful at night. Gothic architecture loomed against the starlit sky, the broken moon casting strange shadows across the quadrangle. Under normal circumstances, Max might have appreciated the atmospheric scene. Instead, his attention was fixed on the shimmering distortion hovering ten feet above the central lawn.

"Dimensional aperture," Shimmer explained, her voice low. "Early formation stage. Relatively stable but expanding."

From their position behind a stone balustrade, Max could see the anomaly clearly—a rippling tear in reality about four feet in diameter. Unlike the illustrations he'd seen of dimensional rifts, this wasn't a clean portal or swirling vortex. It resembled heat distortion above hot pavement, but with occasional flashes of colors that shouldn't exist and glimpses of... something... moving within.

"What causes these?" Max whispered, adjusting the modified mask Shimmer had provided for this mission. It included enhanced visual filters that helped him perceive the anomaly's true dimensions.

"Multiple theories," Mentis replied through their communication link. He had remained at the lab, coordinating from a distance. "The most prevalent suggests weakened reality boundaries resulting from The Collapse, spontaneously rupturing at stress points."

"Spontaneous?" Max frowned. "You said these were happening in patterns."

"An astute observation," Mentis acknowledged. "Recent data suggests potential triggered events rather than random occurrences. Hence our concern."

Shimmer completed her scan of the anomaly. "Dimensional signature matches previous university district incidents. Minimal radiation leakage. No biological traces detected." She turned to Max. "Deploy containment field."

Max unclipped one of the devices she'd given him—a small silver disc about the size of his palm. Following her earlier instructions, he activated it with a twist and slide motion, then tossed it with careful precision to land directly beneath the floating distortion.

The disc expanded on impact, unfurling into a circular array of interconnected segments that glowed with soft blue light. Energy beams shot upward, forming a cylindrical barrier around the anomaly.

"Field stable," Shimmer reported. "Preliminary containment achieved."

"Excellent," Mentis said. "Now we can—"

A sudden surge of energy from the anomaly interrupted him, the distortion pulsing with violent intensity. The containment field flickered, struggling to maintain its integrity.

"Field destabilizing," Shimmer reported, her calm voice belying the urgency of the situation. "Energy output exceeding predicted parameters."

The anomaly expanded rapidly, stretching the containment field to its limits. Strange sounds emanated from the distortion—unearthly hums and discordant notes that made Max's teeth ache.

"What's happening?" he asked, instinctively backing up a step.

"Reaction to the containment field," Mentis theorized. "Or possibly triggered response. Recalibrating—"

Before he could finish, the anomaly pulsed again, and the containment field shattered with a sound like breaking glass. Fragments of energy scattered across the lawn, dissipating into harmless sparkles.

"Containment failure," Shimmer announced unnecessarily, already pulling another device from her utility belt. "Secondary protocols—"

She never completed the sentence. The anomaly expanded explosively, doubling in size in an instant. A shockwave of displaced air knocked both Max and Shimmer backward, sending them sprawling across the damp grass.

Max rolled to his feet with the enhanced reflexes he'd come to rely on, his eyes widening at what he saw. The anomaly had stabilized into something more like a traditional portal—a swirling vortex of energy with a dark center. And through that center, something was emerging.

"We have manifestation," Shimmer reported, regaining her footing with fluid grace. "Unknown entity breaching dimensional boundary."

"Classification?" Mentis asked, his voice sharp with concern.

"Indeterminate. Humanoid configuration but..." She trailed off, apparently unsure how to describe what they were seeing.

The figure that emerged from the portal was vaguely human-shaped but wrong in ways that were difficult to articulate. Its proportions shifted subtly as it moved, limbs sometimes too long, sometimes too short. Its surface appeared to be covered in a substance that reflected light like oil on water, colors sliding across it in nauseating patterns.

Most disturbing was its face—or rather, the absence of one. Where facial features should have been, there was only a smooth, reflective surface that occasionally rippled like disturbed water.

"It's some kind of dimensional entity," Mentis said, his voice tense. "Do not engage. Repeat, do not engage. Retreat to safe distance and await Guardian reinforcements."

But retreat wasn't an option. The entity had noticed them, its featureless face turning in their direction. It made a sound—not quite speech, more like the memory of words—and began moving toward them with a fluid gait that covered ground with unsettling speed.

"Fall back," Shimmer ordered, placing herself between Max and the approaching entity. Her hands glowed with the purple energy that preceded her phase-shifting.

Max hesitated. His training told him to follow orders, but something about this situation felt wrong. The entity didn't seem aggressive—more curious, if he had to assign an emotion to its alien movements.

"Wait," he said. "It might not be hostile."

"Unknown entities are treated as threats until proven otherwise," Shimmer replied. "Standard Guardian protocol."

The entity stopped about twenty feet away, its faceless head tilting in a disturbingly human gesture of curiosity. It raised a hand—which flickered between having three, five, and seven fingers—and made a series of complex gestures.

"I think it's trying to communicate," Max suggested.

"Possible," Mentis conceded through the comm link. "But caution is paramount. Dimensional entities operate by different physical and possibly mental rules."

Shimmer had drawn a containment weapon—a modified version of the disc Max had deployed earlier. "Preparing secondary containment. Be ready to retreat on my signal."

The entity made another sound, this one higher pitched and more urgent. It gestured again, pointing first at the portal behind it, then at the sky where the broken moon was visible.

"It's warning us about something," Max realized.

"Speculation," Shimmer countered, but she hesitated, her containment weapon still raised but not yet deployed.

The entity suddenly jerked, as if pulled by an invisible force. It turned back toward the portal, which had begun to fluctuate wildly, expanding and contracting in rapid pulses.

"Portal destabilizing," Mentis reported. "Energy readings spiking to dangerous levels."

The entity made a final, desperate gesture toward Max and Shimmer, then toward the surrounding university buildings where lights had begun to come on as residents noticed the disturbance.

Max didn't need to speak alien to understand that message: danger.

"We need to evacuate the area," he said urgently. "I think the portal is going to—"

The dimensional tear suddenly expanded to twice its previous size, energy crackling around its edges. The entity was pulled back toward it, as if caught in a powerful current.

"Imminent critical event," Shimmer reported, already moving. "Evacuation radius minimum 300 meters."

Max's mind raced. The university dorms housed hundreds of students and faculty. Even with enhanced speed, they couldn't alert everyone in time.

"Mentis," he called, "can you trigger the campus emergency system?"

"Already attempting override," came the reply. "Security protocols are resistant."

The portal pulsed again, energy arcing out to scorch the grass in widening circles. The entity had been pulled halfway back through, its form stretching grotesquely as it fought against the invisible force.

Max made a split-second decision. "I'll start evacuation. East dormitories first."

"Negative," Shimmer ordered. "Too dangerous. Wait for—"

But Max was already running, his enhanced speed carrying him toward the nearest residential building. Behind him, he heard Shimmer curse in what sounded like three languages simultaneously.

The East Dormitory was a five-story building housing approximately 200 students. Max hit the fire alarm as soon as he entered, the piercing wail immediately filling the halls. Doors began opening as confused students emerged, many still in sleep clothes.

"Emergency evacuation!" Max shouted, his Rumor costume lending authority to his words. "Move quickly to the West Quad! This is not a drill!"

To his relief, most students responded with the practiced efficiency of people who had grown up in the post-Collapse world where emergencies were common. They moved toward the exits in orderly groups, helping those who were slower.

"East Dorm evacuation in progress," Max reported through his comm. "Status on the portal?"

"Approaching critical threshold," Mentis replied. "Shimmer is attempting energy disbursement. Campus alert system now activated. Guardian reinforcements ETA four minutes."

Four minutes might be too late. Max finished directing students out of the East Dorm and sprinted to the North building, repeating the evacuation process. His enhanced speed allowed him to check rooms and clear floors in a fraction of the normal time.

By the time he reached the West Dormitory, the entire campus was awake and moving. The Guardian alert system had activated, with automated drones broadcasting evacuation instructions.

"All dormitories cleared," Max reported, returning to the quadrangle where he could see the portal still expanding. It had now reached nearly twenty feet in diameter, with energy discharges striking the ground at increasing intervals.

Shimmer stood at the edge of the affected area, deploying what appeared to be energy dampening devices in a circular pattern around the anomaly. The dimensional entity was nowhere to be seen—presumably pulled back into whatever reality it had come from.

"Containment failing," she reported, her voice tense. "Portal approaching detonation phase."

"Detonation?" Max repeated. "These things can explode?"

"Dimensional collapse releases significant energy," Mentis explained. "Equivalent to approximately two thousand kilograms of conventional explosives."

That was... not good. The evacuation was moving quickly but not completely finished. And even at safe distance, an explosion that size would cause significant damage to the historic campus buildings.

"Can we close it somehow?" Max asked, joining Shimmer at the perimeter.

"Negative," she replied. "Once critical expansion begins, collapse is inevitable. Best case scenario is contained implosion rather than explosive disbursement."

She was working with remarkable precision, each movement economical as she adjusted her devices. But Max could see from her expression that the situation was deteriorating faster than she could respond.

"What about absorbing the energy?" Max suggested. "Or redirecting it?"

Shimmer gave him a sharp look. "Theoretically possible but requires specialized equipment or abilities. Lumina could potentially channel some of the discharge, but her ETA is still three minutes."

Too long. Max looked at the portal, then at the dampening devices, an idea forming. "What if we had someone who could phase-shift like you? Could they disrupt the portal's stability?"

Understanding dawned in Shimmer's eyes. "Possible. Phase-shifting at the dimensional boundary might create interference patterns, potentially forcing controlled collapse." Her expression hardened. "But you are not adequately trained for such precision manipulation."

"I'm a quick study," Max countered. "And we're out of options."

The portal pulsed again, more violently this time. One of Shimmer's dampening devices overloaded in a shower of sparks.

"Mentis," Shimmer called, "scenario assessment. Rumor attempting phase-disruption of critical portal."

There was a brief pause, then Mentis's voice came through, tight with concern. "Success probability 23%. Risk factor extreme. But alternative outcomes show higher casualty projections."

It wasn't exactly a ringing endorsement, but it was enough.

"Talk me through it," Max said to Shimmer, already moving closer to the portal.

Her instructions were rapid and precise. "Approach to minimum safe distance. Initiate phase-shift but maintain approximately 30% molecular cohesion. Direct disruption wave toward portal center using circular motion pattern."

Max nodded, forcing confidence into his movements. "Just like practice, right?"

"With significantly higher consequences for failure," she replied dryly. But then, unexpectedly, she added, "But your adaptation rate exceeds standard parameters. If anyone could succeed with minimal training, probability favors you."

Coming from Shimmer, that was practically a pep talk.

Max approached the pulsing portal, feeling the strange energy wash over him in waves. The air felt thicker here, reality itself seeming to warp slightly around the dimensional tear. He stopped at what he hoped was a safe distance, gathering his concentration.

"Remember," Shimmer called, "belief shapes your ability. I believe you can do this, and you must believe it too."

Max nodded, closing his eyes briefly to center himself. He visualized the phase-shifting process Shimmer had taught him—the feeling of his molecules spreading, becoming less dense while maintaining structural integrity. But this time, instead of letting the power flow through his entire body, he concentrated it in his hands, creating focused disruption points.

When he opened his eyes, his hands had taken on the translucent, slightly purple-tinged appearance that characterized Shimmer's phase-state. The effect stopped at his wrists, the rest of his body remaining solid.

"Partial phase achieved," he reported, surprised at his own control.

"Proceed with disruption pattern," Shimmer instructed. "Circular motions, increasing radius with each rotation."

Max extended his phase-shifted hands toward the portal and began making the prescribed movements. At first, nothing seemed to happen. Then, gradually, he felt resistance—like moving his hands through increasingly thick liquid. The portal's energy reacted to his disruption, ripples forming across its surface where his phase-state intersected with the dimensional boundary.

"It's working," Mentis confirmed. "Portal dimensions decreasing by 3%... 7%... Energy readings fluctuating but trending downward."

The effort was tremendous. Max felt as if he were trying to push back an ocean with his bare hands. Sweat poured down his face beneath his mask, and his muscles trembled with exertion. But he maintained the circular motions, gradually increasing their radius as Shimmer had instructed.

The portal continued to shrink, now collapsing inward at an accelerating rate. The energy discharges became more frequent but less powerful, crackling around the edges of the dimensional tear like lightning in miniature.

"Final collapse approaching," Shimmer warned. "Prepare for energy discharge."

Max had just enough time to wonder what that meant before the portal suddenly compressed to a brilliant point of light and then—with a sound like a thunderclap—imploded. A shockwave of energy burst outward, but instead of the devastating explosion Mentis had predicted, it was a relatively controlled pulse that knocked Max backward but dissipated quickly.

He landed hard on the grass, momentarily dazed, his hands tingling as they reverted to normal solidity. When he sat up, the portal was gone. Only a circular patch of scorched grass marked where it had been.

Shimmer was already moving toward him, her scanner device extended to check for residual effects. "Portal successfully collapsed," she reported. "Minimal collateral damage. No detectable dimensional leakage."

"Did it work?" Max asked, his voice hoarse from exertion.

"Evidently," she replied, helping him to his feet with surprising strength. "The controlled phase-disruption forced accelerated collapse rather than explosive disbursement. Most efficient resolution possible under the circumstances."

From Shimmer, this qualified as effusive praise.

"Guardian team approaching," Mentis informed them. "Lumina and Velocity inbound, ETA thirty seconds."

Max's heart skipped at the mention of Lumina. "I should go," he said quickly. "If they see Rumor here with you, they'll have questions."

Shimmer nodded. "Logical. Your participation will be recorded as 'civilian consultant' in official records. Retreat to rendezvous point three. I'll contact you through secure channel after debrief."

He didn't need to be told twice. With a final glance at the scorched circle where the portal had been, Max activated his enhanced speed and disappeared into the shadows of the campus buildings just as the distinctive light signature of Lumina became visible in the distance.

---

An hour later, Max sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his hands. They looked normal now—no trace of the phase-shifting ability he'd manifested during the crisis. But he could still feel a phantom tingle, a memory of what it had been like to manipulate fundamental reality.

After leaving the university, he'd changed out of his Rumor costume in a pre-arranged safe location and made his way home via a circuitous route to avoid detection. The secure communication device Shimmer had given him remained silent—the Guardian debriefing presumably still in progress.

A soft knock at his door roused him from his thoughts. At this hour, it could only be Mrs. Chen.

Sure enough, his elderly neighbor stood in the hallway, a steaming cup of tea in one hand. But unlike her usual calm demeanor, she appeared troubled, her eyes lacking their customary twinkle.

"You were there," she said without preamble. "At the university."

Max blinked in surprise. "How did you—"

"The broken moon was particularly bright tonight," she interrupted cryptically. "Tea?" She offered the cup as if this explained everything.

Too tired to question her mysterious ways, Max accepted the tea and stepped aside to let her enter. She moved directly to his window, gazing up at the fragmented moon visible through the cracked glass.

"They are becoming more frequent," she said, her tone somber. "The tears in reality."

"You know about the dimensional anomalies?" Max asked, cupping the warm tea between his palms.

"I know many things." She turned to face him. "Including that you helped close one tonight. Using abilities beyond your usual repertoire."

Max set the tea down, suddenly wary. "Mrs. Chen, who are you really? How do you know these things?"

She studied him for a long moment, then sighed softly. "A fair question. One I've avoided long enough, perhaps." She gestured to his small table with its two mismatched chairs. "Sit. This may take some time."

Max complied, watching as she settled across from him with that peculiar grace that belied her apparent age.

"I told you once that I've seen many things in my long life," she began. "What I didn't specify was how long that life has been, or where it has taken me."

She reached up and carefully removed one of the ornate pins from her hair. It was an unusual design—spiraling metal that seemed to catch light from angles that shouldn't have been possible.

"I am not from here," she said simply. "Not from this Earth, though from one very similar. A world that experienced its own Collapse, long before yours."

Max stared at her, waiting for the punchline. When none came, he said, "You're... from another dimension? Like the entity from the portal tonight?"

"Not precisely. The entity you encountered was truly alien—a being from a reality with different fundamental laws. I am human, from a parallel Earth. One where the dimensional boundaries were breached centuries ago rather than decades."

It sounded impossible. But after everything Max had experienced lately, impossible seemed a flexible concept.

"So you came here through a portal?" he asked.

"In a manner of speaking," Mrs. Chen replied. "Though it was less a transit and more a... transformation. My world was dying, consumed by forces unleashed during our version of The Collapse. Some of us found ways to transfer our consciousness across dimensional boundaries, seeking refuge in parallel realities."

"That's... a lot to process," Max said honestly. "Why are you telling me this now?"

"Because the anomalies you're witnessing are not random, nor are they natural consequences of your Collapse." Her expression grew grave. "They are symptoms of a larger problem—one that consumed my world and now threatens yours."

Max remembered the desperate warning gestures of the faceless entity. "What kind of problem?"

"Reality degradation," she said. "A progressive weakening of dimensional boundaries that eventually leads to complete collapse—not just of portals, but of space-time itself."

A chill ran down Max's spine. "And you think that's happening here? How do you know?"

"The pattern is unmistakable to those who have witnessed it before. Increasing frequency of anomalies, specific energy signatures, the appearance of Warning Entities like the one you encountered tonight."

"Warning Entities?"

Mrs. Chen nodded. "Dimensional beings that sense the degradation before most instruments can detect it. They cross over to warn inhabitable worlds, though their methods of communication are rarely understood."

Max thought back to the entity's desperate gestures. "So it wasn't dangerous. It was trying to help."

"Yes. Though in their natural state, such entities can be harmful to our reality simply by existing within it—like introducing an incompatible program into a computer system."

The implications were staggering. "Does Mentis know about this? The Guardians?"

"They recognize symptoms but not the full disease," Mrs. Chen replied. "They lack context—the historical knowledge of how this progression unfolds."

"But you could tell them," Max pointed out. "Why hide in an apartment in The Shallows pretending to be a retired librarian?"

A ghost of her usual smile returned. "I am a retired librarian—or was, on my world. As for hiding..." She shrugged slightly. "Direct intervention has consequences. Sharing too much knowledge too quickly can accelerate the very processes I hope to prevent."

"That doesn't make sense," Max protested. "If the world is in danger, people should know."

"Should they?" she challenged gently. "What happened when your world learned aliens were approaching? When nuclear tensions rose? Panic. Poor decisions. Actions that contributed to your Collapse." She shook her head. "Information must be dispensed carefully, at the right time, to the right people."

"And I'm the right people?" Max asked skeptically.

"You are... unexpected," Mrs. Chen admitted. "Your ability is unique even from my extensive perspective. A human manifestation of collective perception—it suggests fundamental changes in your reality's underpinnings that might actually help address the degradation."

Max's head was spinning. "How could my weird rumor powers possibly help with dimensional collapse?"

"Because at its core, reality degradation is about the breakdown between perception and existence." She leaned forward, her eyes suddenly intense. "In a stable universe, what is believed and what exists maintain separation. In a degrading one, that boundary blurs—not unlike how people's beliefs about you manifest physically."

"So I'm... what? A symptom of the problem?"

"Or potentially part of the solution," she countered. "A bridge between belief and reality that might be stabilized rather than exploited."

Max took a long sip of his cooling tea, trying to process everything she was saying. "Why tell me all this now? Why not when my powers first manifested?"

"Because tonight confirmed my suspicions about both the acceleration of the degradation and your unique potential to interact with it." Mrs. Chen rose, moving back to the window. "You successfully closed a dimensional tear using abilities you barely understood, adapted from another powered individual. That shouldn't have been possible without years of training."

"So what happens now?" Max asked. "Do we tell Mentis? The other Guardians?"

"Not yet," she said firmly. "For now, continue your training. Develop your understanding of your abilities. I will provide context and historical knowledge that Mentis lacks, but quietly, without disrupting the work you're already doing."

"And the dimensional tears? The Warning Entities?"

"Will continue to increase," she said gravely. "The process has begun and cannot be stopped entirely—only managed and potentially redirected." She turned back to him. "Which is why your development is crucial. You may represent an adaptive response—your reality's attempt to create tools for its own preservation."

The weight of her words settled on Max's shoulders like a physical burden. It was one thing to play at being a hero, stopping local criminals and helping with evacuations. It was entirely another to be told he might be instrumental in preventing the literal collapse of reality.

"I'm just a courier," he said weakly. "I deliver newspapers."

Mrs. Chen's expression softened. "And I was just a librarian. Yet here we are." She moved toward the door. "Rest now. Absorb what I've told you. We'll speak more when you're ready."

At the threshold, she paused. "One more thing. The entity you encountered tonight—it recognized what you are. That's why it approached you specifically."

"What I am?" Max repeated. "You mean, someone with powers?"

"No. There are many powered individuals in your world. You are something else. Something newer." She considered him with those ancient eyes. "In my world, we had a term for manifestations like you: Consensus Avatars. Beings shaped by collective belief to serve a specific purpose."

Before Max could ask what that meant, she was gone, the door closing softly behind her.

He sat motionless for several minutes, Mrs. Chen's revelations washing over him in waves. Dimensional refugees. Reality degradation. Consensus Avatars. It was too much to process all at once.

His communication device beeped, pulling him back to the more immediate present. Shimmer's voice came through, clinical and precise as always: "Debrief complete. Your assistance has been logged as critical to successful operation. Training resumes tomorrow evening. Additional protocols will be implemented based on tonight's field test data."

Just like that—back to business. No mention of world-ending dimensional collapse or Max's possible role in preventing it.

For a moment, he considered telling Shimmer about Mrs. Chen's revelations. But something held him back. Trust, but verify, as Mr. Donovan often said when fact-checking sources.

"Acknowledged," he responded simply. "See you tomorrow."

As he prepared for bed, exhaustion finally overtaking his racing thoughts, Max couldn't help glancing out the window at the broken moon. Had Mrs. Chen's world had a moon like this before its collapse? Had someone like him existed there, trying and ultimately failing to prevent disaster?

The questions followed him into uneasy dreams, where faceless entities gestured warnings he couldn't understand, and reality itself unraveled like a poorly knitted sweater, one thread at a time.