Guide to inner piece.

What happens when you genetically engineer your population to be tailor-made for their future jobs? You get a static society with little cultural diversity, a bunch of nationalist, self-righteous leaders, and a dash of religion. And what does that amount to? A planet-wide cult. 

Of course, you also get a bunch of kids who can hold a complex conversation better than the adults in my previous life. But then again, the bar was so low it was practically on the floor—especially with Americans. *Please*, let this universe's Americans be smarter. I don't think I could handle a conversation with them with my current brain. 

But then again, I don't plan on leaving for Earth if I can help it. I just have to solve the issue of our planet's impending destruction, address the depletion of resources, get a bunch of stubborn fossils to take a kid seriously, kick-start planetary colonization, and do all of that without starting a planetary civil war. Sounds simple enough, right? 

I got on a tangent again. What I was trying to say was, Kryptonian kids are scary smart, and I was *scary, scary* smart. I was currently deciphering why my genius couldn't translate into finding inner peace. 

"Torquasm Rao and Torquasm Vo are the most advanced forms of martial arts on Krypton," Astra explained, her voice calm but firm. "Torquasm Rao allows the user to separate their consciousness from their body, entering an ultra-instinct state that makes them immune to psychic attacks. It's the ultimate defense." 

"I know that," I grumbled, balancing precariously on my thumb and trying to ignore the distraction of my collar being uneven, which was causing an uncomfortable sensation in my armpit for some inexplicable reason. 

"Oh, so you 'know' this?" Astra raised an eyebrow, her tone dripping with skepticism. "Then pray tell, why, in the years we've had these lessons, have you seemingly regressed in your mastery of these arts?" 

Yes, when it came to the forms and stances, I was a prodigy. I'd learned all the forms in the first week—thanks to my hyper-connected nervous system, which gave me adaptive muscle memory on top of my photographic and eidetic memory. When I sparred with Aunt Astra, I could hold my own, predicting her movements with eerie accuracy. But I still lost most of the time due to her superior speed, strength, and her underhanded tactic of overwhelming me with information mid-fight. 

"Because you don't trust yourself, Kara," Astra said, cutting through my thoughts. "You're the smartest, strongest, and kindest child I know, and yet you doubt yourself every step of the way. You bring a whole new meaning to the saying, 'You are your own worst enemy.'" 

She was right, of course. But I'm proud to say I'm better now. Sometimes, I even think of thanking the entity that brought me to this universe—but a Kryptonian is nothing if not stubborn. And that being basically kidnapped me, so no thanks from me. 

"Your Torquasm Vo is better, at least," Astra continued. "More than better. You have such a strong mind, it's scary to think about sometimes. But you have to trust yourself, Kara." 

I was trying to trust myself, but it's hard to do that when you've already messed up one life. Granted, it wasn't entirely my fault, but I was trying. And I'd make sure to see it through to the end—one step at a time. I trusted myself, trusted my ability to absorb information, analyze it, and react to it. But trusting my instincts? That was another matter. Maybe my instincts were just as suicidal as my previous self and didn't like my current life. 

Who knew martial arts could be such an effective tool for therapy? If you ignored the parts that featured psychics and astral planes and such, I was a master. My Klurkor and Horo-Kanu were top-notch, if I do say so myself. 

I glanced at my holo-watch and noticed it was time to go meet my dad. I was currently working with him on research into gravity and gravity-generated tech. This would go a long way in my grand plan of preventing total annihilation.